Page 35 of Dangerous Men (Fortune City Mafia #1)

SEBASTIAN

The scene replays in my head, over and over again.

I can’t stop thinking about it. I stare at the laptop screen in front of me, watching my work pile up. There are accounts to shift through, books to cook, but I can’t focus on anything but that moment. For the rest of the afternoon, I sit in front of my laptop, thinking of nothing else.

Nothing but Sydney, her face tight with exquisite rage, bristling with anger, saying something inaudible but obviously threatening to that waste of oxygen stuffed into cheap polyester. Sydney, looking like she was three seconds away from snapping and ending that man’s life.

For a moment, her eyes were as dark and merciless as Viper’s.

And then, just a few seconds later, it was gone. I watched her swallow down all that beautiful rage and push it back inside herself. Painting that disgusting, pseudo-calm facade on her face.

I fucking hate it .

And I can’t stop thinking about it.

Ignoring my work, I spend a few hours digging deeper into Sydney’s past. I find little beyond what I already knew.

Her parents died in a car accident, but this time I pull the full hospital records and discover there was a girl in the backseat at the time who survived with minor injuries.

Sydney Sinclair herself. Still, nothing suspicious about that.

It might be a little traumatic, but everyone has some trauma in their past.

Doesn’t make her special.

Hacking into her school records gave me a little more information.

A perfect angel throughout college, and most of high school after her parents’ death, just as I’d discovered previously.

But before the accident? There were a lot of behavioral write-ups from back then.

Counselor appointments and suspensions. Fights.

Her behavioral record doesn't sound anything like the Sydney I’ve been watching these last few days. They sound like the write-ups Ashton used to get, after they tried separating us. The first time he was adopted.

By the time they close their shop for the day, and I pack up my things to go, I’m a whirlwind of emotions.

It’s bad enough Alec has me on babysitting duty, bad enough that I’m spending every hour of the workday here in this cutesy little store keeping tabs on his little pet.

But now she’s in my head too, and I can’t have that.

I need a release.

A few hours in the wet lab would do it. That would be enough to quiet this energy humming inside me and set me right.

But with Viper sorting out a few contracting issues in Seneca, and no one currently high enough on our shit list to justify an unexpected visit from me, I’m left with only one other option. A last resort to let off some steam .

The private parking lot beneath the Second Circle hotel is nearly full when I pull my motorcycle into Sterling’s reserved space. It’s not a surprise to see it like this. Of all our business ventures, this has always been the most reliable source of income.

Nothing sells better than sex.

From the outside, the Second Circle is a five-star splendor.

Rivaling any high-end hotel in the country, this place is the epitome of class, luxury, and impeccable service.

The manager, Francesca, runs the Second Circle like a well-oiled machine, catering to anyone willing to shell out several thousand dollars a night for a lavish hotel room and treating them all like royalty.

There’s truly nowhere better in all of Fortune City to rest your head for the night.

A select clientele know the Second Circle for more than its opulent rooms, perfect service, and world-class spa, though. Francesca handles that side of the business too, and she’s one of the few employees on our payroll that Alec trusts without question.

He should. Francesca has never once given us reason to doubt her. And she has always been more than accommodating on days like today, when any of us needs a little extra attention. Days when I need to get out of my own head for a few hours.

“Master Sterling!” the concierge greets me when I enter the hotel lobby, beaming at me. It’s not my last name—not my real last name, anyway. But we’re a family, and Alec insists on the staff greeting us as such. “What a pleasure to see you! What can we help you with today?”

“I’ll take this, Jonathan.” Francesca’s voice is cool and professional as she approaches. Her high heels click against the marble floor. She touches him on the arm gently. “Why don’t you go to the kitchens and see about rustling me up a nice cup of tea, hm? ”

“Of course!” Jonathan inclines his head, stepping back from his station. “With a splash of bourbon, maybe?”

Francesca’s lips twitch. “Naturally.”

As the eager young man bounds away, Francesca turns to give me her undivided attention. At sixty years old, most of her peers are enjoying their retirement, spending time with their children or grandchildren, learning to knit, hosting book clubs, and complaining about the weather.

While Francesca has made a name for herself as the most successful Madam in the region. Hell, maybe even the country.

I ran an extensive background check on her when she was hired for this role, but it wasn’t necessary.

Francesca has been an open book since we found her.

Born into an even shittier situation than most of my brothers, she had to steal and fight for everything she ever earned.

She started as a sex worker when women in this city were forced to work the corners and parking lots of cheap motels, hiding whenever a cop car drove by.

And when she finally reached the top, she made it her mission to ensure no one else in her profession ever had to suffer the way she had.

Sex work is work. Hard work. But thanks to people like Francesca, and places like the Second Circle, it’s far less dangerous than it once was.

When we first approached her with our plans for this brothel, she came back to us with a lengthy list of demands.

And the first, most important rule for her was this: anyone working in her hotel had to be there of their own free will and would never be pressured to do anything they didn’t feel comfortable doing.

It was the same rule we’d decided on amongst ourselves when we’d come up with the idea. A rule we refused to break.

“What can we do for you tonight, Mr. Sterling?” Francesca asks me, clasping her hands in front of her. The gemstones on her rings alone are worth more than most high-end houses. She wears luxury well.

“Is Vicky working tonight?” I ask, sliding my hands into my pockets. I don’t need to specify why. And Francesca would never need to ask.

Francesca inclines her head ever so slightly. “I can inquire if she’s available to see you. In the meantime, we have a few viewing rooms open, if you would enjoy that?”

I shake my head quickly. I don’t want to watch tonight. I need something more. I need something to stop myself from thinking, to get me out of my own head.

“In that case,” she waves a hand toward the elevators, “you’re welcome to wait in your penthouse. I’m sure someone will be available to join you shortly.”

The penthouse suite of the Second Circle is by far the most opulent of Alec’s rooms throughout the city. A private elevator takes me up to the room, and without thinking, I find myself heading over to the bar, taking my gun out of its holster on my back, and setting it on the glass tabletop.

I don’t enjoy drinking. Even when I’m dragged to Alec’s stupid fucking charity events and business parties where the bottles of liquor cost more than most people’s rent, drinking is a rarity for me.

I like my control. I don’t often give it up willingly.

But I’m feeling unsettled enough tonight that I don’t stop myself when I reach for a bottle of scotch and pour myself a good two fingers into a crystal glass. I swallow it without even tasting it, feeling it burn all the way down my throat.

Dull little Sydney has a dark side. It’s all I can think about as I pour another shot and bring the glass to my lips. Maybe she’s not such a perfect little angel after all. That little flash of anger, that spark of something more?

That was unexpected.

I’ve caught a few glimpses of it before. But this afternoon was something different. Not irritation, not anger.

Violence.

Sydney has a violent side.

The sound of the elevator doors opening makes me look over, just in time to see Vicky step into the room. She keeps her eyes on the plush crimson carpet at my feet, the picture of decorum.

A perfect submissive.

“Hello, sir,” she greets me. There’s an unmistakable eagerness to her voice. A breathless anticipation.

I swallow the rest of my drink and set my glass down on the bar top

Vicky has been my favorite girl here at the Second Circle for a little over a year. She knows exactly what I like, and how I like it. And the enthusiasm with which she engages in all the filthy things I make her do makes me think she might like it too.

Whether she does or not is irrelevant to me. I’m not here for her sake.

“Take off your clothes,” I order, leaning back against the bar. I watch her closely as she complies.

Eyes still lowered, Vicky reaches behind her back to unzip her dress, gracefully shrugging it off her pale shoulders. It pools around her on the carpet, a puddle of expensive silk. The matching bra and panty set follows.

She keeps the thigh-high stockings and garters on. It’s a nice touch. They look good on her.

I take my time drinking in the sight of her, completely exposed before me.

She’s flawless. Perfectly smooth, not a single hair or ounce of fat visible on the full length of her taut body.

Before she started working for Francesca, Vicky was well on her way to becoming the next big runway sensation.

In a few years, she could have been the next It Girl.

But she turned down a modeling contract in Empire City to stay here after finding sex work suited her.

She’s exactly what I need tonight. Vicky looks nothing at all like my brothers’ little obsession. Her hair is dark and smooth as silk, her pale face delicate as a doll’s. She’s exactly what I need right now.

“Get on your knees,” I say, rolling up the sleeves of my dress shirt slowly. Anticipation thrums through my body. “Crawl to me.”

“Yes, sir.”

There’s a quiver of eagerness to her voice, a hint of excitement, like she needs this just as badly as I do. Maybe she does.

It can be just as satisfying sometimes to be the one giving up control to someone else. There’s something cathartic about letting go and trusting someone else with your agency.

She sinks to her knees gracefully and crawls to me on all fours, stopping only when she reaches me. Then she sits back on her ankles, running her hands up the front of my pants and to my thighs.

Fuck, I need this. My breath hitches as her hand glides over my stiffening cock before she continues up to my belt.

I’ll make her suck me off for a while before I fuck her.

I want to take my time with her tonight.

I want it rough. I want her bent over the bed, facing away from me the way I like it best, screaming for it. Begging for it.

I feel a little tipsy already, the alcohol making its way quickly through my system.

Her fingers make quick work of my belt, and before she can unzip me, I reach out to grab her by the hair, pulling her head back and forcing her to look up at me. Her quick intake of breath is exquisite.

Fuck yes. This is exactly what I need right now. Her on her knees before me, her soft chestnut curls wrapped around my fist, my?—

I drop Vicky’s silky black hair and yank my hand away.

Soft chestnut curls.

Sydney. I was imagining Sydney’s hair clenched between my fingers. Sydney, on her knees in front of me. Sydney, waiting patiently for me to use her.

“Is something wrong?” Vicky asks, staring up at me with big liquid eyes, framed with expertly applied black liner. And in that moment, she’s perfect. So beautiful, and so perfect, and so willing.

But not what I want.

“We’re done,” I say suddenly, turning away from her. It’s suddenly hard to catch my breath. I press both of my palms against the wood of the bar top, scared if I don’t, I won’t be able to stop them from shaking. “I need you to put your clothes back on and leave.”

“But…” Vicky’s voice quavers slightly as she speaks. “I didn’t… Did I do something wrong? Sir?”

I can’t answer her. I can’t breathe.

I can’t do this.

It’s a terrible idea. A reckless, idiotic, dangerous idea.

But I do it anyway.

Less than two minutes of digging, and I have Sydney's address. It takes me another minute to fully comprehend what that address means .

You’d never guess from the front that her little bookshop has two duplexes hidden on the second floor. The building owner did a good job concealing the back with privacy bushes and trees.

A shame they didn’t think about the height of the windows when they planted those trees. Didn’t think about how the branches would offer a perfect, uninterrupted view straight into her bedroom.

Really, such a shame.

I’m not exactly comfortable, sitting on a thick branch with my back against the tree trunk. But I’ve put up with worse. The pain is almost comforting.

I glance at my watch. Barely 10 PM. Her bedroom light is on, but the room is empty for now.

My breath catches when she appears.

Her hair is wet from the shower, and she’s wearing a comically large T-shirt, long enough to cover everything but so threadbare the fabric is almost transparent.

I’m suddenly aware of how hard I am. Vicky in nothing but her thigh highs had barely given me a reaction, but this?

I reach down to adjust myself.

Sydney towel dries her hair, plumping her curls, her movements practiced and unhurried. She disappears briefly to put the towel away, and when she returns, she has a book tucked under her arm and a glass of wine in her hand.

The bedroom light turns off, and a moment later, the soft glow of the lamp at her bedside flickers to life. Sydney crawls onto her bed, propping pillows up against the headboard. She settles down against them and opens her book, her legs tucked up next to her as she starts to read.

I… I simply watch her.

It’s uneventful. Mundane. But not boring, not to me.

I watch her gasp as she reads. Then giggle, the noise so soft I can’t hear it.

I can only imagine it, bright and joyous, like music.

More than once, she closes the book and squeals, her feet kicking out against the covers like she can’t stop herself. Uninhibited, private enjoyment.

I feel calm watching her. And after a while, I let myself smile.