Page 36 of Grave Curse

“Can’t you at least give me a hint?”

“Sure.” He shifted me on his lap, and all at once I felt the hardness of his cock pressing against my thigh. My eyes widened even as he deliberately moved against me, just in case he thoughtI had somehow become dead from the waist down and was missing his point—literally. “You got any more questions for me, Snap?”

I could barely find the breath to answer, though whether it was from shock or arousal I couldn’t say. “No.”

“Then let me leave you with a couple statements that might help clear the situation up even more. When I touch you, I don’t want to stop touching you. When I kiss you, I wish I could make time stop so that I could have your mouth under mine for the rest of my forever. When we fuck—and make no mistake, that’s the next step—it’ll be because that’s what we were made to do.”

At some point during his speech, I forgot how to breathe. “If you feel that way, why keep it—keepus—a secret?” If he were ashamed of me, it would be so much easier to reject him.

The look he gave me told me he doubted my sanity. “I’m at war with my ultraviolent psycho uncle. Knowing our history, are you really asking me why?” When I shook my head, he tightened his arms around me in a hold that was borderline painful and clearly meant as punishment for my words. “Feel free to keep trying to attach ulterior motives or hidden agendas to me, but it’s all bullshit, and deep down you know it. So be the brave ball of fire I know you are and face the damn fact that you and I are inevitable.”

That brought my chin up. “I think I have some say in that.”

“Oh, baby girl, no,” he corrected, his arms tightening even more until I had to squeak in protest. That was when he smiled so wickedly the Devil himself would have been shaken by it. “You really, really don’t.”

*

Tyr

The relentless beat of Disturbed’s “Bad Man” pulsed through the marble-covered front room of the Clubhouse. Over the bar—a curved counter that had once been where the bank’s tellers were stationed—a flatscreen TV showed a typical “Delivery Man” porn flick, the sound so low the enthusiastic moans could barely be heard above the rock beat coming from the jukebox in the corner.

That was okay. No one watched for the scintillating dialogue.

The scent of spicy food lingered in the air even though the three large pans of chicken and cheese enchiladas the little mamas had brought in had been sucked up. Absently I kept track of how many brothers were currently within the Gravedigger compound—about forty or so—with more coming in every day. That usually happened this time of year, thanks to the rally the Chicago Gravediggers threw to finish off the season. To a casual observer, that was the logical explanation behind the increase in our population.

The reality was a helluva lot darker. The low but persistent hum of tension in the air told the tale well enough. Every Gravedigger under this roof was primed and ready for war, and the Gravedigger generals—the leaders and high-ranking officers of the tri-state regional chapters—streamed in for what would be the ultimate roll-call.

I didn’t fool myself into thinking Hades wasn’t doing the same thing. Consolidating his power at his compound across town had to be the only reason H was throwing the rally in the first place. In years past he’d barely had his people advertise it, but this year you couldn’t open an email or text without seeing notifications about it. He either wanted cover for bringing in ringers, or he wanted a captive audience to see whatever it was he had planned for us. Hell, it was probably both.

That was why we weren’t going to wait. No point in pretending to be a sitting duck when you were a hunter loaded for bear.

“Hey there, Mr. President.”

I’d been wondering when she’d work her way up to me. For the past five minutes she’d been moving toward me like a shark circling a wounded seal. About time she got this party started.

I turned my head to let her know I knew she was there. To be fair, she’d catch the attention of any man with a pulse. Barely legal college-aged kid, dressed in thigh-high black boots, a black mini skirt so small it showed her ass cheeks and ruffled thong if she moved just the right way. Her halter top was white, seemed to be made of tissue paper, and way too small to contain the massive tits she had going on. They had that bolted-on, anti-gravity look that screamedboob job, but that never bothered me any. Her thick fake eyelashes and purple-tinted contacts didn’t bother me either. Easy-lays were exactly that, and didn’t require too much brain power to figure out what they wanted.

Even if this one wasn’t an easy-lay.

“Question.” Scooting herself in between where I sat and the empty stool next to me, she walked her fingers along the bar the way a little kid would do to where my arm was. “Do you remember me?”

“Kinda hard to forget the bitch I thought was jailbait trying to suck my cock clean off my body.” I turned to her more completely to show her she’d snared my attention. “How’re you doing, Yoyo?”

“Oh, you do remember me.” She made a sound of girlie delight and clapped her hands together. “I haven’t been able to forget about you, Mr. President. Like, at all.”

“Like, really?” I couldn’t help it. Sometimes I just had to be a smartass. “Do tell.”

She leaned in confidentially, making her enormous tits flatten against my arm. I locked my muscles to keep from moving away. “I’ve been thinking about your… you know… piercing.”

I waited a beat. “What about it?”

“I’ve never given a blowjob to someone pierced before, so I was wondering what it would feel like, you know… inside me. Like, would this thing hurt, or feel good?” With her purple-tinted eyes clinging to mine, she reached down between us before I knew what she was going to do, and cupped my junk.

In a flash I caught her wrist, the move nearly yanking her off her high heeled boots. She gasped, eyes widening in alarm as I stood up and glowered down at her. “No one,” I growled, packing as much menace as I could into my tone, “touches me without permission. Got that?”

She licked her lips, then peeked up at me from beneath those false eyelashes. “Permission to touch, Mr. President?”

Man, this bitch was something. I sent a covert glance around the room, clocked that my sudden move had garnered a few interested looks, and got hit with inspiration. “Stay where you are and don’t move.” I dropped her wrist and reached for my phone, not at all surprised when she docilely folded her hands in front of herself while I opened the text app.

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