Page 4 of Royally Embraced: RBMC

Her voice was a husky, smoky tone that made him think of sex and long nights of making love.

Shit, he needed to get his head on straight. He’d never thought of sex and making love. Fucking, yes. Making love? He wasn’t sure he believed in fairytales like the ones sold to little girls. Hell, he’d never told another soul other than his family he loved them. If there was one thing he’d claim to be, it was honest.

“You’d be correct. From the moment Jeter was born, he was a mama’s boy, but he was a little shit. The only reason he’s still alive is because our madre forbade me from killing him.” Kendrick took a sip of his drink, then drained his glass. “One more, please.”

Fuck, the fact they were in a bar wasn’t alarming. Hell, his brother having two large glasses of his favorite bourbon didn’t bother him. However, Jeter wasn’t sure what the fuck was going on inside Kendrick’s head.

In the backroom sat a group staring daggers at them. Jeter mentally noted the number of men, recognizing the soldiers posted against the walls and who he assumed was the consigliere next to the Boss, along with a few other men Jeter figured were high-ranking members. Which Family they belonged to, they’d know shortly.

“Calderone, how’s it going?” A booming voice called out.

“Shit,” he mumbled, setting his drink on the bar as his brother turned and started walking toward the table.

He looked at the woman. “Go into the back, find a room, and lock the door. Do not call the cops, and whatever happens, don’t come out here unless I come and get you or—”

“What’s happening?” she asked in a low tone.

Jeter leaned across the counter. “Listen, Cara, I need you to do as I say for your safety.” He didn’t have time to see that she followed his orders. His brother was his priority. As he was the only backup Kendrick had, he needed to stay focused. With measured strides, he turned and followed Kendrick.

“Sorry you couldn’t make it to the groom’s dinner tonight, Grigori. Of course, you must’ve known your daughter would do a runner,” Kendrick said without heat.

Holy shit. Kendrick didn’t pull his punches. Calling out his ex-fiancée’s father to his face was ballsy. Instead of being home upset at his daughter for running out on her wedding, lamenting all the money they’d lost to caterers and the deposits they’d surely put down, Grigori was drinking with his friends at a bar. What the fuck was going on?

Grigori spread his arms wide. “I’m sorry, Calderone, my figliola only informed me of her desires this morning. As you must know, you can’t make someone love you. When my child came to me and told me she loved another, I couldn’t force her to go through with the wedding. It’s why I’m here drowning my sorrows.” He let out a sigh. “I was going to come to you with an offer to make amends.”

Kendrick swirled the ice in his glass, waiting a few seconds as if contemplating his words. “Is that so?”

“Yes. Since you have a sister of marriage age, and I need a wife to keep me in line, I have a proposal that would be mutually beneficial for both of us. And it would be my way of apologizing for what you went through today. An alliance through marriage of your sister and myself instead of you and my daughter will bring together our two families,” he said, sitting back with a satisfied grin.

Jeter’s entire body jerked. A murderous gleam flashed in Kendrick’s eyes, but then it was gone. If he hadn’t been watchinghis brother closely, he’d have missed it and was sure the other man only saw the calm façade Kendrick portrayed. Huge mistake. Their sister was only twenty-two, but she’d cut their dicks off with a rusty knife before she’d ever agree to marry anyone, let alone a fat old fuck.

“Let me get this straight.” Kendrick rolled his head back and forth between his shoulders. Jeter shuddered as his brother’s neck cracked several times before Kendrick continued speaking, “You propose I allow you, a nearly sixty-year-old man, to marry my gorgeous, twenty-two-year-old baby sister, whom you’ve never met, in place of me and your thirty-three-year-old daughter? Never mind the fact I was in a relationship with Paulina for over four years. Have been fucking her since the night I met her, and you think that makes your marriage proposal decent? Have you lost your fucking mind?” Kendrick finished his questioning. He popped a piece of ice into his mouth as if he were discussing the weather.

Jeter tensed while his brother crunched on ice, wondering how his brother stayed so calm. Kendrick admitting to fucking the man’s daughter since day one might not mean shit to most, but in their world, the level of disrespect was clear.

Shit, he was good at killing, but he didn’t think he could take out more than three, maybe four, of the men around the room before getting taken down.

“You got balls, Calderone. I’ll give you that. Not that I wouldn’t react the same if I were in your shoes. Women are treacherous little things, even figlia mia. However, I blame Masseria. He came in and swooped her off her feet,” Grigori said and sat back.

Kendrick shrugged. “As I said, it’s no loss to me. I don’t need to save face because your daughter did a runner the night before our wedding. The fact she ran off with the capo bastone of the Masseria Family is strange, though.”

“You don’t think it will make you look weak that you couldn’t keep your woman—satisfied? And what do you mean, strange? What’re you suggesting, Calderone?”

Grigori tried to taunt him with his words, but they’d missed their mark. Jeter’s brother chuckled and shrugged. Shit, he wondered what the fuck he’d gotten himself in the middle of? Not that he was opposed to war. The Royal Sons did all kinds of shit that bordered on the line of legal. They frequently had to get rid of evidence by any means possible, whether they had to bury, dispose of, or feed to things that would eliminate any trace. However, he always had backup that came with backup. Kendrick stood in his three thousand dollar suit, looking calm as can be. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that he was an efficient killer with his hands or any weapon available. Jeter was secure in both of their abilities. Even outnumbered, they both had skills they’d learned when most kids were playing kickball.

“As you’re aware, there’s always a line of women to replace your daughter. I only need to snap my fingers to have one or two in my bed. If there are any who are foolish enough to think because a buttana left me for another makes me weak, then they’re the idiot. You see, I’m not taking the sloppy seconds.” Kendrick popped another ice cube into his mouth.

The sound of someone choking had him eyeing a man with beer spewing out of his mouth. The idiot muttered loud enough for others to hear, “Holy shit, is he for real?”

Jeter figured the man would end up dead or wishing he was by the night's end.

“You dare to call my daughter a whore?” Grigori’s face turned an angry shade of red.

“I was speaking in general, of course.” Kendrick waved his glass toward the men against the wall. “You gentlemen doing okay?”

Jeter eyed those who’d tensed. Worried Kendrick was poking the fucking bears. His hand itched to reach for the gun tucked in the back of his slacks.

Deafening silence followed his brother’s question, broken by the large door opening. Jeter had to force himself not to turn toward the entrance. How the fuck was this going to play out?

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