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I just don’t think my father and his men should be allowed to get away with what they did. And no, I really don’t give a flying fuck if one of my men or even one of my father’s enemies ends his life with a well-placed bullet or stab wound.

I really wish I knew what my mom knows, what she’s been told, whether she looked for me, whether she grieved me.

Or, if she simply went through life attending parties, shopping, and flitting through society as she had since I was born and raised by nannies.

Brixton glances at me as he navigates through traffic on our way home. “What’s wrong?” he asks.

Neither of us bothered turning on the radio and neither have spoken a single word since we got in the truck. At first, I was simply trying to calm my libido so I didn’t end up climbing onto his dick while he was driving.

But now…

“I keep wondering what my mom knows. If she thinks I’m dead. If she grieved me.”

He hums a sound but doesn’t comment.

“What sucks is I don’t think she would have shed more than a tear or two. I’m their only daughter and neither gave a single flying fuck about me. Don’t you think that’s fucked up?”

“I’m the last person who can answer something like that, E.”

Because his own family didn’t give a shit about him, either.

We are one fucked up family, that’s for sure.

That’s fine. I love them and they love me more than our parents ever did. I mean, hell, Kato killed Christos to keep his father from killing me or starting a war with the Sidorov Bratva.

And me?

Yeah. I went through hell and almost died to protect my guys. There’s no way anyone could ever doubt how strongly we feel for each other, how deeply our love for each other runs.

Fuck it. I’m done dwelling on the negative shit. At least for now. We have approximately two weeks before I make my reappearance and look my father directly in the eye for the first time in four fucking years.

Yeah, we’re planning the engagement party barely over two weeks from the wedding, but not like any part of our lives together is the norm.

Reaching across the console, I rest my hand directly over Brixton’s crotch and find he’s still rock hard. Huh. Apparently, even the shitty conversation wasn’t enough to kill his boner.

“Need some help with that?” I ask.

Might be a little difficult with the divider, but I can make it work.

Except he reaches down and lifts the console, leaving me plenty of room to stretch out. “Fuck yeah, I need some help,” he says, using a free hand to pop the button on his jeans and tear his zipper down.

I undo my seatbelt and, after looking around to make sure a cop doesn’t happen to be riding close enough to see me give road head while Brixton is driving seventy miles an hour on the highway, I lower onto my knees on the floorboard to give myself plenty of wiggle room to return the favor of distracting him.

Okay. Distracting him while he’s driving might not be the best idea, but I don’t care. I trust him enough to keep his eyes open and his focus on the vehicles around us. He protected mewhen we were kids and I know he’ll continue protecting me, including avoiding a catastrophic car accident.

Reaching into his pants, I pull his long, pierced cock free and lean forward, running my tongue along the bars. I love the way his piercings feel. I have to wonder whether he got turned on by the pain or if this was some form of masochistic thing for him, some way to erase the emotional pain by self-inflicting physical pain.

Yeah. Definitely a conversation for later, because right now, all I care about is feeling him filling my mouth, tasting the saltiness of his precum, and eventually swallowing every drop he gives me.

One of his hands leaves the steering wheel and lands on the back of my head. As I open my mouth and wrap my lips around the flared head of his cock, he adds a little pressure, pushing me down until the tip hits the back of my throat.

“Fuck, I love hearing you choke on my dick,” he grunts.

I really, really hope he’s keeping his eyes on the road.

That thought fades away as I feel the vehicle slowing, then he stops, putting the truck in park and tangling the fingers of both hands in my hair.

No way we’re home already. Which means he’s pulled off the side of the road so he can fully enjoy me blowing him.