Page 30 of Straight, No Chaser
"Baby shit yellow Vette."
Fucking shame to ruin something so beautiful. Damn. Molly's glorious pussy splayed across my kitchen table screams into my thoughts.
I shake my head, and my guys glance at each other. Confused that maybe I want something different than my usual punishment. Can't let anyone have any fucking doubts. About me. Or my orders. "Torch it and make sure the bastard is conscious enough to watch."
I sneer and their heads bob in unison. Relief softening the uncertainty lining their faces. The motherfucking boss is back. At least in appearance. My head's still a fucked up mess. With or without whiskey.
They drag his ass to the back while I stride through the VIP section. Nodding at a few prominent deal makers. Even that rapper that's so fucking hot right now. Fuck I'm getting old and I can't remember his god damn name. But at least I know his face. I signal the waitress, holding up two fingers and point to him. Drinks for him and the girl bouncing on his cock. Earning me a chin lift and a chest tap.
Just making sure you and your crew return, my friend. Rising stars are always good for business. So is the boss making his rounds. The surprise on some of their faces doesn't get past me. I was right - too fucking complacent. People need to remember who the fuck I am.
The god damn king of fucking Chicago. Not some pussy whipped ass who can think only of his woman. I don't need any of that shit. I feel better already. Returning to what I've been missing all along.
A humid breeze steals my oxygen as soon as I step outside. Sweat beads instantly running down my back as I stride to the empty parking lot two buildings down in this abandoned industrial complex. The perfect environment for my gaming parties. Exclusive, expensive, and inconspicuous. In and out before dawn. Everyone drunk, happy, and satisfied.
Except for this sorry loser. Sick laughter mingles with the begging of the asshole who now realizes the consequences of my wrath.
"I'll say whatever you want. Do whatever you want. Just don't do it!"
None of my guys pay any attention to his pleading. I've never felt higher than from smelling the accelerant Lucky splashes across the leather interior before tossing in the entire can and slamming the door shut. Glass shattering onto the gray asphalt from the already cracked window.
"No! No! No!"
He's literally fucking crying. Fat ass tears rolling down his swollen cheeks as fast as his kicking legs trying to escape. No chance motherfucker with the Smythe brothers holding you. Fucking scary beasts that I fucking love having on my payroll.
Gasoline wafts from Lucky's fingertips when he hands me the final supplies required for our bonfire. Squatting down in front of the ass wipe, I can’t hold back a smirk from the absolute pleasure rolling through me from his torture. His eye red and throbbing. Blood dripping down his temple from the gash across his forehead. "Need to learn to keep your hands to yourself motherfucker."
"I will! I promise! I'm begging you!"
His head twists in agony as I swipe the match across the cracked ground and bring it to the tip of the fat stogie between my lips. Cuban, my favorite. A long, deep inhale before I toss the tiny flaming stick over my shoulder. Funny how some of the smallest weapons can cause the greatest damage.
One last pitiful sob before orange flickers in his huge eyes. Got to jet before the flames singe my new suit. Which would really piss me off.
Lucky gives him one last kick to his balls before he leans over him like a fucking mammoth. “Tell anyone it was us and you die.”
Simple, straightforward, and oh so true. We leave his sorry ass wailing on the ground. Just like he deserves.
The remainder of the evening flies by. Catch my brother fucking some girl on a surprisingly still operable hoist. Slice the throat of one the new dealers who thought he could short me. Deflect the chick slinking up to me who stupidly thinks I might be interested in her dirty, wasted ass.
All in a night’s work of easily clearing two million. Give or take from the piles of hundreds and twenties stacked on Teri’s makeshift work table. Her hands are a blur as she counts. A great talent to add to her brilliant mind. But I dare not speak to her. Even with a compliment. If I fuck up her tally, she’ll try to fuck up my balls.
Phillip responds to my nod, confirming the crew is almost done breaking down the equipment and loading them into the tractor trailers waiting in the loading docks. “Have a good evening, boss.”
“You too.”
Almost morning actually. With the deserted streets, I make it home by four. Like a fucking addict I glance at her window first even though I fucking swore I wouldn’t. Dark like the rest of the house. Good. Asleep like she should be.
My cock twitches from the thought busting into my mind of her in my bed rather than her own. My heart pounds as I hustle to my room to take a shower. Desperate to be free of the grime and sweat coating me.
Empty.
Fucking perfect. Because I would’ve just had to kick her cute little ass out anyway. Back to where she belongs. Which sure as hell isn’t here. Or with me.
My hand pauses on the knob after I slam the door shut behind me. It’s so fucking late she probably won’t come anyway. Which is no big fucking deal. Probably beyond furious that she’s now fully realized what a jack ass I am. That she’s better off without me. That she deserves better. And, I should be alone.
I slowly turn the lock. A satisfying click against the metal signifying the end. Glad to finally be through with all that bullshit. Now I’m free just like I’ve always wanted.
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