Page 22 of That Sik Luv

“This outfit. With a short wig.”

Interesting.

“And how do they like it?”

“It depends—“

“Just fucking tell me!” I growl, pulling the top of her hair back, forcing her to look at me.

She squints her eyes. “From behind. Anal mostly. He calls me Brady. Always Brady.”

Jesus. Could they be more obvious?

“Who’s he?”

Looking down, she contemplates answering.

“Caldwell.” She looks back up at me and there’s no guilt whatsoever.

The fucking bishop.

“What time does he visit you?”

She sighs. “Always 3:30.”

“And who’s paying you to protect him?” I demand, with venom lacing my tone.

She licks her lips, swallowing before looking up at me again, still debating in her head if she should deceive the man paying her, or take the bullet to the skull. The fact she’s even considering dying for that piece of shit has me wanting to blow her brains across that tiny stage myself.

“C-Cal,” she stutters, her body trembling. “Callum Westwood.”

I stare at her for a minute. I suspected this information, just needed it confirmed to build my case against the prick to destroy him from the inside out.

“Do you fuck him, too?”

Her eyes narrow further, attempting to penetrate me with her gaze. She doesn’t want to answer but finally nods.

“Bravo Brandi,” I say with a grin, loosening my grip on her hair and sliding it down the side of her face before slapping her cheek twice. “Bravo.”

I lean back into the couch again, grabbing for the black ski mask in my leather coat. I pull it out, tossing it in her face. She grabs it, looking confused as she peers down at it, then back up at me.

“Now cover your face.”

I spread my legs, adjusting my hips as I rest my neck against the back of the couch.

Sliding the mask over her wig, she puts it on, glaring up at me through the eyeholes as she adjusts it.

“Cover that weak, money-hungry, morally depraved face, and get me off,” I demand.

Seemingly back in her element, she leans up on her knees, unbuckling my belt, quick to open my jeans. Her fingers find my cock as she grips the base and angles me to her mouth.

“Nah, baby,” I say, using a hand to stop her. “I don’t want your dirty mouth on me. Only hands.”

I lean my head back against the couch, imagining that porcelain skin, those red, trembling lips, the natural curves of her supple breasts. I pretend the woman touching me is the innocent beauty about to fall to her desires. A groan leaves my lips as I envision the dark-haired doll I’ve become obsessed with twisting her soft hands around my hardening cock.

Briony does something to me no one else has. She’s maintained an innocence in a world of corruption, somehow shadowing the truths I’m bound to expose her to. Briony Strait is about to break for me. I will break her. Dirtying her to anyone else. But the sins I’ll have her caving to will be her reawakening. Her baptism in human nature and the animalistic desires that drive us. A lesson in what it means to be alive from the one she’ll soon be calling God.

“Ah fuck, doll,” I murmur to myself with my eyes closed tightly, thinking of my girl as I find my release with my wholesome father’s closet whore.

---