Page 21 of Brick

CHAPTER SEVEN

Brick

The king of Brick’s corner of the underworld was a fifty-year-old Mexican with a bald head and an expensive purple suit that would have looked ridiculous on anyone else. Anyone who might hesitate to order the skin flayed from your body.

Sucre proved daily he had no qualms about such things. Still, Brick knew the man refused to think of himself as a thug. He took pride in those over-priced suits and the sparkling rings he wore on every finger. Even his name was an attempt to sound like something other than he was. He’d told Brick once after too many tequila shots it meant sugar in French, and he thought it sounded slick.

Brick didn’t know his real name, and it didn’t really matter. The Sucre persona was firmly in place long before they ever met.

Sucre waited for him on the plush throne in the back of El Cabron, the dark bar where he held court. An actual fucking throne with gold trim and blue velvet seat cushions. No one else dared touch it unless they wanted their fingers broken. Brick knew the bitter lesson better than anyone, since he’d be the one to break those fingers.

No less than four women ever sat at Sucre’s feet. He showed off an assortment of girls, black, white, Hispanic. They were different every day, but they all had the same things in common; they were young, barely dressed, and they wanted either the power or the drugs Sucre could provide. They’d all end up in the man’s bed tonight.

“Brick.” Sucre smiled and swung out his arm, palm up, in a royal gesture of greeting.

He ducked his head in deference, then took a seat in the chair always kept empty for him to the left of the throne. He said nothing. Sucre would let him know when he wanted him to talk.

The bar smelled like stale beer and weed. Everyone here smoked freely. Sucre owned the place, and no cop had ever dared step foot inside. Not if he wanted to step out again.

Sucre stretched lazily in his seat, his body undulating like the serpent living under his skin. He nudged one of the girls with his shiny black wingtip shoe. “We’ve got company, hermosa. Why don’t you greet Brick properly?”

The blonde nodded her head without hesitation and walked on her knees the short distance to Brick’s feet. She barely looked eighteen, but her eyes were old and her spirit, broken. The heavy make-up she wore barely covered the purple bruise on her left cheekbone. He’d seen this kind of girl too many times to count, and he wanted no part of what she had to offer.

The girl would probably fuck him right here if Sucre said the word. She put her hands on his knees and fitted her body between his legs. “What’s your pleasure, baby?”

“Get me a beer,” he growled, fighting the revulsion from her touch. This girl was every bit as damaged and dirty as him. It should have been a match made in heaven, but he wanted out of this cesspool. Not to mention, an eighteen year old struck him as more of a child than anyone old enough to be in his bed. Like the groupies at the gym, the girls Sucre commanded didn’t turn him on; they made him sad. There was no room for feeling anything in a place like this.

The tiny girl sauntered off toward the bar, her high heels clicking on the floor and her short skirt barely covering the cheeks of her ass. Sucre shot him a knowing look. “Only a beer, huh? One day, I’m going to find a girl you can’t resist, hijo.”

He dug his nails into his palms as he forced an easy smile. “You know I like to find my own pussy, sir, but I appreciate the offer.”

“Porsupuesto. Nothing but the best for you, Brick. How’s your grandmother doing? I hear she got herself a haircut this week.” The man never missed an opportunity to rub salt in a wound.

He shrugged. It was futile to pretend like he didn’t care, but they played the game. Sucre’s men sent him a picture of his grandmother almost every day. While she slept, while she had lunch, even once during a sponge bath. He swallowed his rage and forced his words to sound bland. “I appreciate you asking about her.”

Sucre answered with a sly smile, and he imagined a mouthful of sharpened teeth beneath his lips. “Anything for family.” Their dance complete, it was time to move on to business. “So, tell me how things are progressing with Tre.”

He struggled to find an answer his boss would find acceptable. “He has a lot of enthusiasm for the job.”

Sucre tilted his head. “You say it like it’s a bad thing. I want my boys to enjoy their work.”

“Whatever you say.” The slight narrowing of Sucre’s eyes kept him talking. “I only want to make sure he maintains some discipline. He hasn’t crossed any lines. I—We want ’em to be afraid to cross you, but not afraid to do business with you. I don’t want anything to mess with the operation.”

The blonde returned with his beer, but he kept his attention firmly on his boss. Sucre steepled his hands in front of his chin, considering Brick’s words. “You’re right. This is why you’re my guy, Brick. Big man like you, people might underestimate your intelligence, but not me. You’re always thinking.” He tapped at his temple. “And you can rest assured, I know it.”

Why did those words feel like a warning?

“I’m feeling a bit…unsettled. Why don’t you come to my office for a few minutes, so we can finish talking?”

Fuck.

Brick finally accepted the beer and took a deep pull from the bottle. He hated it when Sucre dragged him to the back room. It wasn’t so much an office as a room dominated by a king-sized bed with red satin sheets and chairs lining the walls on either side. Sucre intended to fuck his girls and give Brick a front-row seat. It was one of a thousand ways his boss flexed his dominance. The only small blessing was Sucre no longer asked him to join in.

Sucre led the way, the girls and Brick at his heels. As soon as the door closed, two of the girls scurried to Sucre’s feet, removing his shoes. The third carefully removed his jacket and hung it on the back of one of the chairs. There would be hell to pay if Sucre found any wrinkles.

He sat down and faced the show. He knew better than to avert his eyes, but he let the scene in front of him drift slightly out of focus.

One layer at a time, the girls peeled away Sucre’s clothes, leaving him naked at the foot of the bed. The scars of hard living marked his light brown skin, but his body was firm and packed with wiry muscle. The only visible hair was a trim patch surrounding his hardening dick.

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