Page 23 of Burning Embers

I begin to fuck her mouth as she cries around my length, trying to pull herself free, but the dumb slut should’ve known what she was getting herself into when she propositioned me.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I fumble to grab it while still pistoning in and out of her mouth.

“Yes?” I grunt as my balls grow unbelievably heavy.

All I can hear is stuttered breathing, nearly inaudible amongst the raucous crowd, and then a raspy voice says, “She’s here.”

“You know what you need to do.” I pull my phone away from my ear and throw it onto the hood of the car.

At the same time, my pleasure races through me like lava, and I come with a groan, spilling my seed inside the woman’s mouth. She chokes and sobs and struggles to pull herself away from me, but I continue holding on to her hair.

“Shhh. Shhh. Shhh.” I reach down to grab both of her cheeks and pull her back to her feet. I can’t help but think of how beautiful she looks like this—her face stained with tears, her cheeks puffy, her mouth coated in my arousal, and her perky breast on display. “Don’t cry. Everything will be okay soon.”

She sniffles. “What are you?—”

I grab her neck between both of my hands and give it a twist, causing her body to fall to the ground dead at my feet.

Frowning, I pull my pants back up and tuck my dick away before grabbing my discarded phone. I then turn towards one of my men, who has been waiting by the doorway of the car, surveying the surroundings with a cold, detached look he’s perfected.

He doesn’t even glance my way as I slide into the passenger seat and snap, “Get rid of it!”

Once I’m settled comfortably in my seat, belatedly aware that two of my men are grabbing the arms and legs of the unnamed whore, I turn back to my phone.

No updates yet.

It’s no matter.

With Isabella in town, everything is going as planned.

Nine

IZZY

The need to fight is an almost physical force within me—it curls my hands into fists, creates tension in my shoulders, and paints the room in a bloodred sheen.

I can’t remember the last time I’ve been in the ring. Too long, that’s for damn sure. It was probably when I stayed at my last foster home with Mrs. Penya and her delinquent son.

If I thought it was loud outside the barn, that’s nothing compared to the inside. I can barely hear myself think over the raucous crowd all gathered around a makeshift circle in the center of the room. A few bodies jostle me as I move through the throng of people, but Grayson’s intimidating size keeps them from getting too close.

In the ring, two men are fighting savagely, blood spurting in every direction and bruises already beginning to pepper their skin. The blond-haired one is on the ground while the brunette pummels his face with ruthless abandon.

The designated announcer—a sleazy fucker by the name of Dennis—calls an end to the match as the crowd roars. Money is exchanged. Unofficial fights break out. Someone in the distance screams.

It’s fucking paradise.

I’m so preoccupied with the fight that it takes me a second too long to realize I lost Grayson in the crowd. I push up on my tiptoes, attempting to see over all of the heads, but I can’t seem to pin down his shock of dark hair.

I wonder if he’s with Sydney.

The thought sits like acid in my stomach, though I quickly try to smother my instinctive reaction.

“Hey, gorgeous,” a sly voice purrs in my ear a mere second before arms curl around my waist.

I recognize the voice almost instantly.

Justin Miller.

“Let me go, Justin,” I say, not even bothering to look over my shoulder. “Before I break every finger in your hands.”

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