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Fearless.
“I must go,” Anteros said, standing up.
“Afraid of a rematch?” She looked up at him. From that angle her eyes were even bigger, even bluer, like looking into a crystal lake. There was a fierceness in her face, too, as if someone lit the lake on fire. It was a teasing that he wanted nothing more than to tame. She gripped his king as if goading him.
He bent over and, wrapping his fingers around her neck, pulled her to him. He kept her close but not touching. Her scent, sweet yet spicy, like chili pepper and chocolate, wafted into his nose and curled around his brain. He could feel her steady breath grow unsteady against his lips.
“There will be a rematch,” he said, and then he let her go.
“Are you going to let us know…” Pretty Boy drew his hands out wide in a sweeping, mocking gesture, “why you missed the meeting?” Pretty Boy continued to draw his hands out so wide he eventually covered Big O’s face, who promptly pushed it out of the way.
Behind his desk, Anteros thought back to Frankie, who he’d left alone in his room. “Something came up.”
“Is everything cool?” Big O asked, squeezing a worn plush basketball in his hands.
“Thousand bucks says it’s Emilio,” Pretty Boy said. “I knew the idiot couldn’t handle this. I don’t care if we need him. Let’s off him. We can get another puppet to put in the government.”
“Oh.” Little O sat forward, sounding excited. Sandwiched between Pretty Boy and his twin, Big O, on the couch, he’d obviously drawn the short-straw that day. “While we’re at it, can we just fucking kill The Council? We don’t
even need their money. We’re doing fine.”
“More than fine,” Pretty Boy added vehemently.
“Sounds like a plan—”
“Everything is fine,” Anteros interrupted them with a hand before they could get completely lost in their tangent. “I just got caught up with the slave.” Quickly switching topics, Anteros asked, “So where are we with Emilio?”
“Caught up with the slave?” Pretty Boy raised a brow, ignoring his question.
“You know how it is,” Anteros said. “Sometimes it’s not enough to fuck them. You need to leave them bleeding.” The lie came easily and without thought. Anteros picked up a paperweight from his desk, thinking back to the chess match. There was no way he could explain that to his Wolves. Blood and malice, though, that was a language they spoke.
“He’s fuckin’ pussy whipped,” Big O said, shooting the basketball into the small hoop that hung on the wall behind Anteros’s desk. The warehouse was once derelict, a place Lucio only kept for storage. Among the crates of drugs and guns, he and his Wolves had found their camaraderie. Over the years they had grown out of their Michael Jordans, but they’d never destroyed the place where their alliance was born.
Right then, though, Anteros contemplated it. As the basketball Big O shot narrowly missed his head, he wondered if it was time to finally fucking redecorate.
“Virgin pussywhipped,” Little O added.
“Is that true?” Pretty Boy asked. “Are you in fact pussywhipped by a slave?”
“I have plans for her,” Anteros growled.
Pretty Boy nodded as if considering Anteros’s response. He drew in his eyebrows as if really thinking hard about it, and then asked, “Do these plans involve your cock?” Big O and Little O laughed. Still laughing, Big O lobbed another shot with the toy basketball. Stopping it midair, Anteros gripped the basketball, crushing it in his hand. Then he launched it back, aiming for Big O’s face. Big O ducked and, grinning sheepishly, picked the ball up off the floor, setting it in his lap.
“I think we should hear all arguments for his pussy being whipped,” Pretty Boy continued, “and all arguments against his pussy being whipped.” Anteros narrowed his eyes. If anyone else spoke to him the way Pretty Boy did, they would be dead, but Pretty Boy was not anyone else. The Wolves were not anyone else.
Crazy A, Big O, Little O, and Pretty Boy had been just like Anteros, slaves with the rank of a soldier. All of that changed the day Anteros lied about a De Luca councilman. It would have meant Anteros’s death, but they owed Anteros and he cashed in that day. All four of them backed up Anteros’s lie.
If it had just been Anteros’s story, or even if only one of them backed him up, it wouldn’t have mattered, but since it was five against one, the De Luca councilman was sent to his death. That paved the way for Anteros to continue to advance.
He gave them an option that day: have their debt wiped clean and stay a slave, or follow him and keep advancing. They followed. The way the four of them constantly backed Anteros up was unprecedented. In the Family, it had always been every man for himself, but together they became more powerful than anyone could have foreseen.
“I think I should kick your ass.” Anteros exhaled, setting the paperweight down. “Do you have any new information for me or have you all been too busy fucking each other?”
“Hmm…” Pretty Boy said, drawing his hand to his chin. “Your defiance is definitely an argument for it. More arguments for? Little O, start us off.”
“He did not let us see her pussy,” Little O pointed out.
“It would have been the polite thing to do,” Big O added.
