AllFreeNovel
Share Us
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
*Kaldon “Kal/Prez” - President*
Leaning back, I watch the platinum head bob over my cock. When she fans her eyes up, desperately seeking approval, I have none to give. This distraction has tanned skin and bleached hair but not the right gin-colored eyes or long, thick lashes. Certainly not the perfect, bow shaped lips like Lace.
I place my wrapped hand on her head to block her face with my forearm in order to imagine the face I want to see instead. When that fails, I close my eyes and try again. But nothing works. “Get out,” I growl through clenched teeth.
Her head stops twisting and moving up and down, but she keeps my soft cock sucked between her lips, resting limp against her saturated tongue.
My fingers clench into her hair, and I yank her head back and bore into her pathetically submissive gaze. “I said get out.” Her eyes immediately fill with tears. I shove backward in my chair, and she staggers upward, sniffling. “Do not make me fucking say it again.”
She pivots on her thick, stilted platforms and dashes out the door, closing it gently behind her, terrified she might anger me even more.
After leaving the endo demonstration, I rode straight to Tit for Tat, stormed inside, found the only dancer that came anywhere close to looking like Lace, pointed at her, and said, “Come.” She ran into the office behind me faster than a pimp who just got pregnancy test results.
What a fucking joke to think for even a second that I could get away with pretending. She was so far from being similar to Lace. I pick up the old antique mantle clock ticking away, adding to the pounding in my head and reminding me that every tick is one less second that I have left to get shit done, and I pitch it at the ornate oval mirror hanging above the couch.
The imagery of that elegant item shattering inside this dusty, old room comes closer to reminding me of Lace than the hot piece of ass kneeling between my legs did.
Beautifully broken.
The mirror broke, but that fucking clock still ticks. I broke her, but not time; time still keeps carelessly going forward.
After aggressively pushing the hair out of my eyes, I pick up the faux rotary phone and dial up Foster.
He answers right away, but neither of us say anything — just two men, both driven by symbolic passions with one singular motivation at the center of it all.
In this non-verbal game of chicken, he loses. “Last I checked, you were supposed to keep your fucking hands off her.”
I have absolutely nothing to argue against that. Foster is right; I fucked up. Kissing Lace was a terrible fucking idea. Not my proudest moment. Not at all. But I just wanted one more taste. One more taste before—
“I was wrong. You are not cut out for this, Kaldon. That stunt with Lace proved as much. You’re fucking weak. Stoney is going to bend you over in front of the entire county and ram your asshole, full-blood relative or not.”
Despite the speed at which the hits come, I still watch the figurative car as it zooms toward me, and I refuse to jump aside.
Foster falls quiet again, hopefully intimidated by my silent treatment. Since I knew he was planning his next big move, a move that might mean his deflection against Stoney, it has crossed my mind more than once that perhaps Foster has something to do with the hired hit on Harry. Mr. Kensington was only partially an innocent bystander in this entire ordeal, and if anyone has a motive to kill him, that would be Foster.
But a move like that goes against the one thing Foster wants more than to see Harry Kensington dead: ensuring Lace stays local for just a couple more days. Guess he has me to thank, in a sick kind of way, for making sure she sticks around a little longer. After all, that is what he is paying me to do.
Nothing of the sort crosses the line, though. Does he even know? I guess time will tell.
My mental road goes dark as the vehicle barrelling toward me shuts down and Foster reverts from the enemy back to the man full of unending wisdom that I always looked up to. “Count me in. Let me know when and where, but keep to the timeline, regardless of whatever shit is unraveling between you and your men. You need to focus on the ride toward your destination, not overanalyzing the route. The countdown has started. Get your head straight. Stoners can see the cake falling apart, and they are fucking hungry for every little crumb.”
Ever since finding out that someone betrayed me, I realized that I overlooked important details thanks to my careless urgency to wedge my stake into the ground to mark where I have been and where I intend to go. According to Foster, those missed details are worthless, though. What matters is moving forward regardless.
The line clicks, and not for the first time since leaving Georgia, I find myself closing my eyes and silently asking the Universe for guidance.
