Page 30 of Chaos
"Move," I whisper, hips shifting experimentally. "Please, Jace."
He does, pulling back slowly then thrusting in, shallow at first, building a rhythm. Each slide sends a ripple of pleasure through me, the burn fading into bliss. He hooks my legs over his elbows, changing the angle, and suddenly he hits deeper, brushing that spot over and over. "That's it, baby. Take my cock. You feel so good—gonna fuck you just like this, make you come all over me."
His dirty words fuel the fire, and I meet his thrusts, our bodies slapping together, sweat slicking our skin. The bench rocks under us, the world narrowing to apinpoint—just him above and me below, our eyes locked, our breaths mingling. He's possessive even now, growling low as he drives harder, one hand bracing beside my head, the other pinching my nipple.
"You're mine, Rowan. This cunt, this body—all fucking mine." He slams in deep, grinding against my clit, and I shatter, orgasm crashing over me like a wave, walls clenching around him as I cry out his name. Stars explode, pleasure dragging me under, toes curling.
He follows with a roar, burying deep as he comes, hot pulses filling me. We cling together, panting, his weight pressing me into the bench as aftershocks ripple through us. He doesn't pull out, just peppers kisses on my neck, my jaw, my temple, murmuring praises. "So good. So perfect. My good girl."
The words are soft and unexpected, and tears prick my eyes—not from pain, but from the fullness of it all. Him. Me. Us. This crazy, intense thing I’ve fallen into. I hold him tighter as the world slowly comes back into focus.
As the haze clears, Jace finally eases out, a trickle of our combined release following, but he grabs my panties from thegrass, cleaning me gently with a tenderness that contrasts his rough edges. "Stay still," he murmurs, tucking my soiled panties in his pocket before helping me back into my clothes.
His fingers seem to linger on my skin like he can't bear to stop touching me. I watch him as he dresses himself, muscles flexing under inked skin.
We sit there after, me curled in his lap again, his arms a steel band around me. The koi fish swirl lazily, oblivious, and I trace a tattoo on his forearm.
He presses a kiss to my temple, and his hand covers mine, lacing our fingers. "You okay? Wasn't too rough?"
I shake my head, smiling against his chest. "It was perfect. You made it perfect." The ache between my legs is a sweet reminder.
He chuckles, the sound rumbling through me. "Good. 'Cause I plan on doing that a lot more. In every way you can imagine." His eyes gleam with promise, and that heat stirs in my core again.
He stands, lifting me with him and setting me on my feet. "C'mon, sweetheart. Let's get you some food before I drag you back to bed."
Chapter 14
Chaos
"The only good cartel member is a dead cartel member." Antoine slams his fist on the conference table, making the glass ashtrays jump.
I nod in agreement. “Those Los Cuervos fucks murdered two of our prospects, carved them up like fucking Halloween pumpkins."
We're at Vinny's Steakhouse in the private back room—neutral territory for this kind of meeting. The place closed an hour ago, but Vinny keeps it running for special clients like us. Thick cigar smoke hangs in the air, mixing with the lingering scent of grilled meat and top-shelf liquor.
Antoine Marshall of the Black Kings sits across from me, his massive frame looking almost too big for the chair he’s seated on. His eyes, always calculating, watch me from behind designer glasses. To my left, David Arabo of the Chaldeans strokes his salt-and-pepper beard. He’s draped in a tailored suit that probably cost more than most people's monthly rent. Gold rings flash on his fingers.
Between the three of us, we control most of Detroit's criminal underground. The Black Kings have the east side drugtrade locked down tight, running it with military precision. The Chaldeans control liquor distribution throughout the city. And Renegade Kings? We handle everything from protection rackets to underground fights, plus the gun trade across three states.
"Patience, Chaos." David's voice carries the slight accent of his roots, despite the fact that he’s lived here for almost thirty years. "These Colombians are not some little street gang you can stomp out with your big boot.”
Fury stands quietly behind me. My VP usually has plenty to say in these meetings, but tonight, I do all the talking. He's tense, jaw clenched tight.
One of David’s men pulls out a folder, hands it to him, and he slides it across the table. "What we know so far. They appear to be laundering money through their new establishment."
I flip the folder open. Inside are photos of a high-end gentlemen’s club called Midnights that opened downtown six months ago. It's upscale—valet parking, private rooms, champagne service. Not the kind of place you'd associate with a ruthless Colombian drug cartel at first glance.
"They're moving at least five million a month through that place," David says, clearly having done his homework. "Clean money coming out the other end."
"So what's the play?" Antoine asks, eyes sharp. "We go to war with these pieces of shit?”
“We need to send a clear message." I lean forward, turning pages, scanning the contents of David’s folder. "They’re killing on our turf. They’re moving product in our neighborhoods."
"They're recruiting locals. Offering serious cash to corner boys willing to push their product in new territories.” Antoine's massive shoulders shift as he adjusts his position. "And their product is highly addictive. Similar to MDMA but with hallucinogenic properties. They're cutting it with cheap shit, which is why we're seeing overdoses."
David shakes his head, lighting another cigar. “I’m not denying the need to strike back and strike hard, but we need more information first. Know your enemy before engaging, yes?"
The meeting continues like this for another hour—me pushing for immediate action, David urging caution, and Antoine quietly contemplating.
