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I nod and walk back upstairs and through the corridor that connects to the back entrance to our establishments. I take the door that leads to the back rooms of our speakeasy and debate if I should head to the office to take care of some business or go to the bar.
It’s been a hard month. Constantly working, not only here, but home too, making sure our organization is back on stronger feet than before. We lost a lot of men, at least one stream of income, but our reputation seems to be growing by the day. What we did to Bartiste is spoken about in hushed tones through the underground of ours and neighboring cities. I guess taking most of his army down with the few men we had made an impression. At the time, we didn’t give a shit; we didn’t really see that because the purpose was almost blinding us. If only we had some confirmation of Bartiste’s life status…
Fuck it, I deserve a few drinks.
I take the door to the bar and suck in a deep breath as the scents that feel more like home than that penthouse, assault me. Wood, musk, worn leather, basking in the low, warm lights hidden all around the space, in the nooks and crannies, bathing this space in a mysterious aura. The music is a bit louder at this time, deep, southern blues covers the nefarious conversations the patrons are engaged in as they sit in the deep leather chairs, sipping their intricate smoky cocktails or the expensive liquor. This is not the place for just anyone—this is for people like us. Hidden in plain sight and accessible only by memberships or passwords.
This night is one of many to come when we welcome new men within our ranks. These ones in particular came from our cousin, Sloan. He’s been really good to us, asking some of his men if they would like to join our ranks. Some of them were happy to climb down the hills of Venator and come to the coast. We couldn’t refuse the offer, not when these were men with experience, years under their belt spent in the underbelly of our worlds, reliable, and more importantly, trustworthy.
They took over one of the more private corners of the bar area, happily mingling with some of our men who joined us tonight. I signal to the bartender my order—he already knows my preference; bourbon, on whiskey rocks to keep it cool, but not watered down—and join the guys.
It’s going well. We discuss, we plan, we share ideas, we talk about life, and drink until I’m feeling a little bit too warm inside. Finn has already bonded with a couple of guys, and they laugh loudly in their corner, talking about God knows what.
Carter observes everyone from a small round table next to us, sipping his absinthe. He joins in the conversation a few times, but the man mainly keeps quiet, as always, taking note of each and every little thing happening around him. Sometimes I wonder how that brain of his works. Does he see numbers that he calculates to figure out what to make of the world and people around him, or is it colors?
Madds sits next to Vin, acting polite to everyone, but that mountain of a man always has an expression that tells you that he might crush you under his brutal grip if you look at him a little bit funny. It’s not always intentional, it’s just how his features align, with his strong jaw, slightly crooked nose, and low eyebrows that shadow his eyes. The scars marking his skin don’t help his brutal aura. Yet sometimes I wonder if he’s the softest of all of us. He has a heart under all the muscles, and it seems to beat a bit too hard. Although, much like Carter, he keeps quiet unless he’s truly interested in the subject.
Vin’s wearing his all-black suit and shirt, as usual, his wide shoulders and lean frame resting against the back of the sofa, as he taps a finger to his glass and explains something to some of our men. He carries himself with such a natural imposing allure, he gets attention without demanding it.
The pits of his eyes flash to me, as if reading my mind and knowing I was thinking of him, and I raise my glass, cocking an eyebrow. He nods and does the same, without interrupting the conversation he was having.
“I’ve been a bit homesick after moving to Queenscove… but damn, I think I’m about to be cured.” One of our new men, Stefan, speaks, both eyebrows raised as he looks somewhere behind me.
“Christ, one more drink, and I’ll lay myself at their feet. Especially the shorter one on the left. Fuck me, she looks like she belongs in the old-world atmosphere of this place,” Otto, next to him, continues, his eyes glued to the same spot.
Old world?My back warms with something that snakes all over my spine, and when I turn, I’m met with the unmistakable curve of Annika’s ass leaning over the bar to speak to the bartender. She’s dressed in a form-fitting little number that seems to shine with every movement. A dark sage green satin hugs her body, barely touching the middle of her thighs, and when she turns, I’m fucking parched as I witness the soft curve of her breasts peeking between the plunging neckline.
Suddenly, I want to fucking punch these two, slam their heads together, then throw their limp bodies into all the other men in this place who seem to be sneaking looks in her direction. A few women too. She’s here with Katya and Ashley, one of her girls, all dressed to impress, but still tasteful.
“Do you think I have a chance?” Otto asks the other one.
“All you can do is try, brother.”
I swear I’m going to pummel him through the goddamn table.
He doesn’t know her, Ronan.
It doesn’t matter. She’s fucking mine either way. Even if he learns the hard way. I’m about to turn back to him and smash my glass on his head, when Annika’s steel eyes find mine, distracting me and changing my whole purpose. I think she can tell, because her whole body shifts. I could have sworn I saw her nipples perking up through the thin fabric.
Fuck me.
She looks at me like she’s ready to devour me.
It’s been so long since I felt her around my cock. I’ve kept my distance. Tried to be respectful and kind to her situation, to what she’s been through, and her best friend’s death. But this… her lean, soft legs in those heels are going to drive me fucking crazy.
Does she know what she’s doing? Is this fucking intentional?
“Okay, I’m going in.” I hear Otto behind me.
But I swing my arm back, pushing my glass into his chest until he takes it, confused, along with the fucking message to stay put.
This one’s mine.
I stalk toward her, my steps heavy on the floor, reveling in how her legs seem to squeeze together as she watches me, hands wrapped around that glass as she sucks the orange liquid between her soft lips. By the time I reach her, I’m almost fully hard, my cock strained against my trousers, but she still holds that straw between her lips, doe eyes staring up at me with the same innocence that pulled me to her in the first place. It takes but a moment, and her wickedness takes over, my little witch beaming as she releases the straw and gently places her glass on the bar.
“What do you think you’re doing here?” I’m fucking pissed she left the apartment without me, but she’s a goddamn vision.
“The bed got cold. All these evenings, plotting to take over the world…”
