Page 38

“ B e careful, we don't have time for you to be sidelined,” Roman says.

I huff but give him an indulgent smile. “I am always careful, Little Prince. Remember, Carter and Jude are in charge of security. So, if shit hits the fan, you and Hollis fucking listen to them. Understand?”

He rolls his eyes. “Yes, Tennant. Go, the last thing we need is to piss them off by being late; they're already unhappy we delayed the exchange.”

“I'll check in when the deal is over.”

He raises his chin and I kiss him, slow and sweet. “Later, I'll take you upstairs and lavish you with the attention you deserve. Maybe I'll watch Jude take you first, and then fuck his cum out of you.”

Roman moans and reaches for me, but I back away, smirking at the desperation on his face.

“I'll see you soon.”

Walking away is hard, especially when I know how much he needs space to just let go, after the hell he's been through.

Hollis told me about their conversation the other night, and I hate that there's nothing we can do to slay the demons in Roman’s mind, aside from being there to catch him when he falls.

I am much better at the physical than emotional stuff, but over the years, I've tailored myself to be what my lovers need. And now, that goes for Benjamin. It was… unexpected, but not unwanted.

I've never been one to deny myself pleasure. And Benjamin gives me so much—physical and…the dreaded emotional. Playing with him is as fun as it is when Jude challenges me, just in different ways.

J oel is waiting by the front door, and he straightens up from where he was leaning against the wall. “Benjamin's driver let us know that he made it inside the Martelli mansion.”

“Good. I still hate that they didn't allow me to accompany him. We could have headed to the meeting from there.”

He snorts. “Yeah, sure. I doubt Ignacio would have let you leave, had you shown up on their property, with Benjamin looking the way he does. There wasn’t any chance they would have let you go unscathed. Roman would have killed you if you were late for the meeting because of some petty posturing.”

I sneer at the bodyguard as we make our way out to the car. “I don't appreciate you being the voice of reason.”

“Someone needs to be,” he says mildly.

I roll my eyes as I slide into the backseat. We decided it would only be Joel and I going to the meeting—not counting the people in charge of transporting the weapons to the drop—as we don't want to put the gang on edge even more than they already are.

The mid-sized Jamaican gang might not have a foothold in our territory; thanks to Petrov, the Martellis, and us being in the area, but it would be remiss of us to discount them.

That they happily shell out money for our weapons is telling of the firepower they have behind them.

No, it's better to not spook them anymore than necessary.

T he drive is long, as we agreed to move the meeting from the usual place to a neutral territory near the gang's stomping grounds. The move makes sense with the police breathing down our necks, but there were plenty of other places we could have done this that were closer to Amato territory. Nevermind, as long as we all walk away with what we want, nothing else matters.

Joel takes longer than necessary to scope out the situation when we get to the industrial park they chose as our meeting place, before opening my door. I keep my expression smooth, since we're in mixed company, but he knows me well enough that I'm sure he can tell I'm not impressed.

“Mr. Mason,” the gang leader says. “Wasn't sure you'd actually show up.”

“We're early. Not only that, we've never broken our word before.”

He narrows his dark eyes. “But you have been rather inconvenient recently…”

I give him an indulgent smile. “I mean, if you want to run the risk of being arrested, I'll note that for next time.”

That earns me a huff. “You're lucky your product is as good as it is. I would hate to shop around…”

Shrugging, I gesture to the driver of the truck, giving him the signal to prep for the transfer. “If that's what you want. I can guarantee you won't find a better deal, no matter who you go to.” And if it's the Martellis…well, I think it's safe to say, we can negotiate with them, if need be.

“Shall we get this over with?”

The leader nods and snaps his fingers, then one of his lackeys hands him a phone. A few seconds after he types something on it, my own phone buzzes.

HOLLIS

Payment received.

Giving the signal for my men to open the truck door, all hell breaks loose.

Cop cars come screaming from either direction as people rush out of the surrounding buildings.

In the chaos and confusion, as the gang members—except the leader and two others—try to scatter, while my men move to secure the product, Joel shoves me back against the car when I pull my gun.

“Are you crazy?” he hisses.

“Fucker sold us out.”

“And we'll deal with that later. If you go down for weapons and murder charges, Hollis will fucking kill me.”

I curse because I know he's right. We're already in enough shit, the last thing we need is to make the fuckers’ jobs easier for them.

Putting my gun away, I sigh and raise my hands when police descend on us. They yank Joel away from me, and the bodyguard is not happy.

I wince because I'm sure a resisting arrest charge is going to be stacked onto him with how he's fighting. Hypocrite .

Having gone through a song and dance before, despite it being under different circumstances, I don't bother resisting, or responding to anything they say.

As they strip me of my weapons and phone, and read me my rights, I run over everything needed in my head.

Thankfully, I went with my instincts and left Jude at home, rather than use this as a teaching opportunity. Roman is going to need him, as both a Second and a lover—Hollis will too, though he'll be reluctant to admit that.

“You could be a little more gentle,” I snark when the cuffs are placed on my wrists. “I like it rough, but only with certain people.”

I'm ignored and marched to a waiting car. Really, the whole thing is uninspiring, and if it wasn't for Joel, I'd probably be on my way to the hospital with police-issued gunshot wounds, rather than shoved into the tiny backseat of a police cruiser. Pity. I would have preferred an ambulance ride.

The car door slamming behind me reverberates in my head, and weariness settles in as I anticipate a long wait until Sinclair can work his magic.

Cristian can never find out about this…