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Even things he hated.
I circled my hips once, and stared down at him unsmiling, utterly in power as I hopped off and immediately took his cock into my hand. Now that he could breathe again, he exploded in my hold, coating my skin white. He grunted, lifted with his shoulders as his core tensed and wave after wave of his release sprayed all over me.
When he was done, I offered him a sultry smirk, then delicately slipped my legs off the side of the bed and stood, walking toward my dresser and cleaning my hand with a tissue I had placed there in its holder.
I’d been messing with my father’s operations ever since I grew breasts and could turn a boy’s head. Before that, I’d relied on my child-slim frame to get into places I wasn’t supposed to be.
Usually, I used violence to get my answers, in fact, that was the only way I got my answers.
Fucking wasn’t for gain, I’d never use my cunt for easy favors like a common whore. It was simply pleasure. Because sometimes, my past would haunt me, and my desires became too hard to control.
“Damn, babe. That was some wake-up call,” he mused, a dopey smirk taunting me and I gritted my teeth at the endearment.
I was nobody’s babe.
I hummed softly and finished cleaning my hand as I left him unanswered.
Finally, I turned back to face him and said, “Now, Erik. Be a dear and tell me what you know about this supposed alliance my father is creating with the Polish?”
CHAPTER FOUR
Alessia
-Twenty Years Old-
“Burn It to the Ground” - Nickelback
“A little closer,” I purred as I stared through the sight of my sniper rifle. “Just a little closer.” The damp ground seeped through the skintight, black body suit I was wearing.
A chill as cold as ice tickled against my nerves but I held myself steady, untroubled by the winter air as it gushed a torrent around me. It was a lucky thing, being olive skinned with hair as dark as the night because while I laid here, waiting for my target, I knew that I blended in seamlessly. That the shadows concealed me as if we were one. My breath was even, my hand even calmer while I watched the warehouse with a deadly trained eye.
My father had a shipment coming in, courtesy of the Scottish mafia.
Delivery of the deadliest weapons Devilwood County—or any county for that matter—could do without. These weapons were military grade, untraceable and downright disastrous. Unique in the way they had been altered. In the wrong hands, it wouldn’t be those born in sin that would burn.
It wouldn’t be the privileged that would be tormented. It would be the lost souls that got ripped from the streets and sold into horrors worse than their very own nightmares—because we often don’t truly know what they are until we live through something far worse—but not the soccer moms and the Wall Street lawyers. The teenagers having fun at the mall or the grannies playing bingo.
It would be the low to middle class families that become terrorized by this new wave of heinous carnage. Schools would shut down, shopping centers too.
If these weapons ever made it into the hands of those who awaited them, nothing but hell would reign down on this earth.
We normally worked with the Russians and those bad boys could get their hands on anything. But the Scotts? They were trying to prove themselves and get in with the Kings Wolves. The current president had the foresight to tell them where to go. He knew better than to accept that kind of trouble here.
My father, however, loved only one thing.
Power.
I mean, who even heard of the Scottish mafia?
And if they did, who the fuck would tremble at the sound?
The stuff they’d gotten into far exceeded what even madmen would tamper with.
There was merit to these kinds of weapons, don’t get me wrong.
But in the right hands.
The assholes waiting on this shipment won’t be receiving them any time soon.
