Page 13 of Savage Debt (The Debt Tales 2)

“However,” the word seems to drag her stare back to mine seconds before the wheel is spun, “I am, and I’m happy about it. I imagine the same shit will happen with children someday.” She keeps her eyes planted on the little white ball whirling around prompting me to inquire, “What about you?”

“I think so…” her voice dips in a nostalgic fashion. “I had like the best fucking parents before they died. I…had a whole other life. It was filled with love and attention and non-stop laughter…We were always together. Doing family things. Cooking or gardening or camping. Never mattered that Mom and I hated camping because Dad loved it. He was so into nature and being away from it all that we were happy to do it for him. After he died from organ failure – fuck the flu for that – Mom basically turned herself away from anything that reminded her of him. She like devoted herself to whatever was the opposite of what Dad was or stood for, which is why my stepfather – whose last name we took as another way of her shying away from the man we both lost – is a monster rather than a saint like the one who raised me…That’s the type of man I hope to raise my own kids with.”

It’s hard to swallow the bitter truth.

I’m not that type of man.

I never will be.

Those are the men that get eaten by their own before they bring me their bones as an offering of loyalty.

I did my own research in between the tales she’s told. Elle’s biological father – Bruno Woods – was a decent man. Almost boringly so. Her mother a little more of a rebel than she knew but also fairly wholesome. It’s why their daughter’s heart is so pure. It’s also what makes her an easy pawn in a game her stepfather had no business playing. Even if I can’t be the goodie two shoes man that she’s hoping to raise her kids with, I can still be the right one who protects her and them from ever enduring the shit she’s been forced into.

I’ll admit.

I love us being together and that would’ve never happened if it weren’t for Edwin’s fuck up.

But I hate Elle being used in a way she never deserved.

That’s the type of guilt that has me burying my tongue deep in her pussy at three in the morning to forget I’m responsible.

Can’t drown in culpability if I’m too busy lapping up cum.

Chips are suddenly swept off the board by the dealer in order for payouts to the winners to begin. Elle squeals in excitement over her win, which naturally pulls another grin back to my lips. “I can’t believe I won!”

“Really the children win.”

A playful glare is instantly shot my direction. “Let me have this.”

“What did I just say? The money’s for them.”

She gives me a playful nudge that gets me chuckling once more. Unfortunately, Mickie taps my shoulder to collect my attention before I’m finished. He motions his head the direction we need to take causing me to clear my throat in preparation of introducing a segue.

“I need to step outside for a smoke,” I announce to Elle who has resumed her studying of the table. “Stay here and keep playing.” When her gaze soars to mine, I add, “Gus will not let you out of his sight in my absence.”

“Don’t be gone too long,” she somehow scolds and requests all in the same breath.

Sliding my hand off her hip and down her arm, I lift her knuckles to my lips for a kiss. “I won’t.”

She hums in approval, turns back towards the table, and resumes gambling. All it takes is a minor head tilt for her personal security member to transfer from where he is waiting a few feet over to looming protectively over her shoulder. His large, round presence immediately demands the other guests give my wife more space, a little fact that allows me to breathe easier when she’s out of my direct reach.

With the ed problem still unsolved and my connection to her growing deeper, I’m finding it more and more difficult to have her out of my sight. At least when she’s working on the properties, there are enough cameras nearby to provide me with additional comfort regarding her whereabouts.

She doesn’t know that.

It’s probably best I keep it to myself.

Much like the secret to the leg accessory I made her swear not to take off.

I pull a cigar from the inner pocket of my gray suit the instant we step outside using an emergency exit in the back. Lifting it to my lips is done during our casual stroll along the path to the nearby parking garage. The object is lit around the time I can hear groans of agony being leaked by the individual three of my men are warming up for me. Upon our arrival, I take a moment to watch knees land in his chest. A grin regarding the sound of his ribs cracking is promptly followed by a deep inhale of the treat between my lips. He pleads for mercy and cries for them to stop. Drops of blood are spewed on the cement between coughs and wheezes for air. Seeing red informs me my victim is now primed for talking.

“On his knees,” I instruct around the smoke wedged in my mouth.

The male is manhandled into a kneeling position as I park myself right in front of him.

“Get his blood on my shoes and one of you will be licking it off.”

My men immediately heed the warning by adjusting him in such a way he’s less likely to dirty my attire.

---