Page 30 of Hearts Held
Own her, body and soul.
With a harsh intake of air, I adjust my growing cock, scolding my mind from the demons toying with my imagination.
This succubus alluring me with her beauty, her mystery.
Frustrated with myself, I charge down the steps, then lock the door, returning to my men in the next townhome.
As I enter their room, they are playing a game of cards.
Interrupting their fun, I ask, “What do we know of the dead body?”
Their heads snap up to meetmy eyes.
One of my men answers, “The woman was found by a customer last night. They had an appointment with her but when they entered her room she was slit navel to throat. Blood was everywhere, boss. They are still trying to clean the room.”
The others shake their heads in disbelief and sorrow.
“Anyone know who did it? Was it the client? Is he trying to play dumb? Or was it anyone else that was on her schedule that day?” I coldly ask.
“We each questioned men on her schedule. All had alibis or other girls from the parlor that saw them leave her room with no quarrel or fuss,” Biscuit exclaims. “Girls were in and out of the parlor and no one saw anything suspicious, like a fucking ghost came in, or a demon of some sort.”
I narrow my eyes. “There are no ghosts or demons, Biscuit.”
“S’not what your Baba thinks, boss. She may be able to help us figure out the case.”
My hand juts out, ceasing any more ridiculous blabber from his jowls. “For fuck’s sake, Biscuit, the last thing we need is Baba coming into the massage parlor with her bones, or gypsy or Viking spirits, and scaringthe girls even more. Have more security set to watch the parlor. Biscuit, don’t forget to retrieve the package today. Boys, interrogate old lovers of hers and get to the bottom of this.”
They all state, “Aye sir” in unison.
What a fucking mess I have on my hands. The last thing I need is for the girls to not feel safe in their own work establishments. For hell’s sake, that was the whole point of opening up the massage parlor—to ensure the women would be treated fairly, given more power and protection over their line of work. It was something my grandfather worked diligently on.
Marching down to the office, I make a mental list of the tasks I need to accomplish, grinding my teeth with every new endeavor and responsibility.
As I enter the office floor, I find Frederick.
His hand is gripped around the back of my assistant’s neck.
I can hear his disgusting words as he leans down, sneering into her dainty ear.
“If I ask you to suck my cock, you better get on your goddamned knees and open your fucking mouth. I’m a fucking Afton and you do what I fucking say,whore.”
My nostrils flare, but I breathe in, nice and shallow.
My receptionist spots me and as she mutters, “Ev—”
I land a beautiful blow to my brother’s face, causing him to release his hold on the poor girl. She shrieks and scoots back into the corner of her desk as Frederick stumbles backward and anchors one hand to the adjacent wall.
I calmly yet firmly grab him by the lapels of his jacket, thrusting his back into the kind wall that aided his balance.
“Frederick, dear brother. We don’t talk to woman that way unless they specificallyaskfor it. She does not work in the massage parlor. She doesnotdo that line of work, and if she did, she would be there. Don’t you think?”
I see a trickle of blood running down the side of his mouth, as the movement in his jowls precariously alerts me that he is going to spit. Cocking my head swiftly. I miss the contact as I hear a tooth hit the ground.
“Fuckyou, Everett. I am as much an Afton as you are. I should get what I’mdue,” he mutters with his bloody mouth.
I exhale dramatically.
“See, brother, there are only two things we are certain to receive. That is life and that is death. Everything in between is made through our own choices. It is not entitled to us. What we want in life is earned, given, or taken away. If you lay a hand on my assistant, on any woman without their agreed consent, you will regret it,” I threaten through gritted teeth.
