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“And where in the fuck did the car come from? When did you even get here?”
“’Bout one a.m. or so. I’ve been talkin’ to Baby all night about you. When I came in, you were passed the fuck out.”
“How did you know where I was?”
“You didn’t think you’d be goin’ out of town without me knowing where you were, did you?” He rolls his eyes, the irises the same shade as a cloudy sky. He’s clearly annoyed at the thought of me believing I could keep something from him. Little does he know, I have a whopper of a secret. Let’s hope he hasn’t figured that one out as well.
“Who’s car?” I repeat with more grit behind the words, knowing he damn well doesn’t own the expensive luxury vehicle.
He shrugs. “Don’t know, and I really don’t fuckin’ care either, brother. I saw it down the road at a hotel in town, keys in it. Figured they wanted it off their hands and I obliged.”
“Jesus fucking Christ, Saint. The only motherfuckers leaving keys in cars is fucking mafia! How could you be so careless?” Yanking my phone out of my back pocket, I hit the speed dial to call the Prez.
He’s going to be livid when he hears about this if he hasn’t already. There’s a decent chance someone’s already told him. I’d like to think he’d have called me, though, if that were the case.
“Viking.” He answers, even though his ID should show it’s me on the other end.
“We have a problem. Saint’s here where I am, and he’s in a lime Lamborghini. Needless to say, we don’t own it.” Like he doesn’t know that bit already, but I throw it in anyhow.
“Motherfucker. I thought you were going to tell me it was the Fists on your ride over, but this is pretty fucking bad too.”
“Is it Chicago?” I guess aloud. It was the first thing I thought of when he said the car had the fob in it.
“Nah, Joker’s Lambo is marmalade or some fancy orange shit, or his was a Phantom? I can’t remember what that overpriced foreign piece of metal is that he drives. This is Masters’ I’d bet. Beau’s the only one I know with that color. It was a gift from his father, he said.”
“Masters, as in Russian mafia Masterson? Are those the same?”
“Yeah, he’s the one that sent us to Mexico looking for that chick.”
“Holy shit. The cop?”
He grunts. “If Saint showed up in that car...” Viking leaves off, but I already know what he’s thinking.
“I’ll fix it. Later,” I promise and hang up, glowering over at Saint. “You have any idea who that damn car belongs too?”
He ignores me, still kissing on Jude’s neck and my fist flies into the wall beside me. The fake wood paneling erupts, a hole the size of my hand left behind as well as splits going in every direction. I’m too angry to feel the impact on my knuckles, immediately sharing the information Viking just enlightened me with.
“It’s the motherfucking Russian Mafiya. You steal their shit, they’ll know where that car is, and you know as well as I do what’ll happen. They’ll be here in no time, smoking you, me, and her. Get it back, now, Saint...before we can’t fix this. Why in the fuck would you take it in the first place?”
“Because I wanted to,” he responds nonchalantly. “Who’s going to fuck with an Oath Keeper anyhow? Rich pussies don’t have a nutsack large enough.”
“The Mafiya, Saint! The motherfuckin’ Mafiya, that’s who.”
He stands, the blanket falling away. He’s clad in only a pair of jeans that hug his hips. I can make out the outline of Saint’s cock, hard as stone beneath the material. It was only a matter of time before he fucked her and stole her innocence away.
“Come on, baby, you can ride with me,” He offers, smirking as he jerks Jude to her feet as well.
“No, no, no. Jude, you’re staying here,” I demand and Saint cackles, sounding so evil it could be the devil himself.
“Fuck that, Sinner. The bitch is coming with me. I’m not finished having my fun.”
He croons in her direction, “Isn’t that right, baby? Come with daddy.” He shoves past me, hauling her behind him. She’s in the clothes from last night, what little material there is, thank God. At least he didn’t have her naked yet.
“Jude, listen to me,” I argue, attempting to stop a train wreck from happening.
She follows him along, laughing like this is some big adventure. They’re out the door in no time, with me following to the porch. “Don’t get in that car with him!” I’m yelling at this point. Fuck the neighbors.
He’ll kill her or get her killed and not think twice about it. “Saint! Stop! Don’t take her; she’s too fucking good.”
