Raw Bloody Power

Chapter 17

17

ROT IN HELL

Rio

My fingers thread through her inky black hair, promptly curling in a tight fist as I thrust into her mouth. Nadia hums around my cock and doubles her efforts to drive me wild, crystalline blues fused on my browns. Another thrust and I hit the back of her throat. Tears leak free and spill down her cheeks, but she doesn’t resist the onslaught, allowing me to mold her and use her as needed.

“Fuuuck.” My head slams against the leather couch, eyes squeezing shut.

I’m right there, riding the edge of euphoria, eager and desperate to fall into its depths and find my release. Both hands in her hair now, I fuck her fiendish little mouth without reserve, chasing the high, feeding off the erotic symphony of her moans and the way she gags. “Al- most-there,” I grit, every syllable followed by a harsh flex of my hips.

On the last one, I explode with a hellish roar. My balls tighten, the sensation rippling through every limb and within seconds, I’m spilling rope after rope of hot cum down her throat. She takes it like always; sucking me in deeper, milking me, pumping the base for every last drop.

When the spasms finally cease, Nadia drags her tongue along the underside of my shaft and flicks it along the tip one last time. “You really needed that, didn’t you?” she quips, a triumphant smile glimmering back at me as she wipes the corners of her mouth.

I nod, that’s it, holding onto the haze of pleasure for just a second long?—

“We may or may not have a little problem on our hands,” Zeb says.

I lean into my seat. Something about the uncertainty of his words demands every ounce of my attention. “Let’s hope not. We’ve had enough to deal with lately. What’s going on?”

“We found something while scoping out Koshka.”

My hand rolls through the air for a continuation despite the fact he can’t see me. “And what would that be?”

“He’s out with the Belucci princess.”

My eyes bulge from their sockets, blood pressure spiking in tandem. “What do you mean, out?”

“They’re having dinner at Black Tavern,” he answers quietly.

An aggravated growl, low and deep in my throat, breaks through a replay of the call that’s been on repeat for the last two days. Stuffing my cock back into my slacks, I shoot off the couch and stalk the short distance to my desk.

Or start to anyway.

Nadia pipes up behind me, mildly irritated and definitively confused. “That’s it? What about me?”

I stop dead in my tracks and spare her a glance over the curve of my shoulder as I pull up my zipper and buckle my belt. “What about you?”

“Are you serious right now?” Her head rears. “You’re not gonna get me off, too?”

Normally, I would. She’s a great fuck; kinky as hell with a predilection for manhandling and degradation. It’s why she’s my go-to amongst the revolving door of usuals in my contacts. Right now, though, her pussy won’t be the magic cure all.

Nothing will.

No matter what distraction I immerse myself in, the thought of Ivory on what sounded like an actual date with Benedikt Koshka will not fuck off—and I hate it. I hate that I give three fucks, hate that it plagues me to this extent. I hate her for doing this to me.

“I have work to do.” I shrug.

“Wooow,” she laughs, not a lick of genuine amusement to be found. “So I drove all this way to have my throat abused and walk out with nothing but a throbbing cunt?”

“Throbbing cunt tracks ’cause it sure seemed like you enjoyed it,” I counter, dropping into my chair. “Feel free to lounge about and finish yourself off.”

Nadia rises off the floor and snatches her purse off the coffee table. “What is wrong with you? Who the hell pissed in your cereal this morning?”

My ex, that’s who.

“Nothing and no one. Like I said, I have work to do.” I say carelessly, rifling through a small stack of papers that includes quotes and receipts for my newest property flip, all of which I need to hand over to Alvaro for the books to ensure I’m staying on budget.

When it’s clear standing there wordlessly and observing me isn’t going to redirect my attention her way, she finally heads for the door. “Don’t bother calling me,” she carps.

“Oh, but I will.” Only my gaze moves, flicking up to her petite frame now on the threshold. “And you’ll come crawling like you always do.”

Nadia says nothing. She doesn’t need to. While incensed by my insensitive and undeniably cocky statement, she can’t oppose the verity behind it. Not four months ago she threatened me with the same bit after expressing she wanted more. I shot her down. The next time I called, she was knocking on my door within thirty minutes. Fast forward a few weeks later—the exact same scenario and results all around.

I might be a dick, but I’m one-hundred percent clear with my intentions from the jump; i.e. I make it known I’m not looking for something casual to turn serious. It’s not my fault they get attached and start imagining a future where I’ll eventually cave and have a change of heart. Some females are built for no strings, others claim to be and then end up hurting their own feelings. Nadia is the latter .

She’s gone after that, leaving nothing but a whisper of her presence lingering in the silence. It doesn’t affect me in the slightest. I refocus on the task at hand, highlighting estimates for electrical, plumbing, and the pool reno from the various contractors I’ve reached out to over the last week. A part of me regrets the impulse decision to buy this house. It’s falling apart and needs a lot of work before I can do anything with it, but it’s in Garden City. Average annual income for families in that area is just under four-hundred-thousand, which means dollar signs out the ass whether I decide to rent it out or sell it. I made a half a mil last year from a house I flipped and sold in the same locale. And with this one being almost three-thousand feet larger, it’s a no brainer. I just wish the workload wasn’t so taxing.

“And you’re sure it was her?” I bark at Zeb, knowing it’s not his fault yet unable to control turning my frustrations on him.

“I’m certain. Felipe went in under the pretense of grabbing a drink and confirmed. They’re tucked in a corner table as we speak.”

The pen in my hand snaps in half as the visual consumes every corner of my mind. “Pictures?”

“Sending now,” he affirms. Tapping sounds trickle through the line for a beat until the ping of my notifications meets my ears.

I throw Zeb on speaker and click on the dropdown. Instant regret washes over me, red specks of fury dotting my vision. Chummy doesn’t describe what I’m looking at. They’re close, stares intertwined…and Ivory’s fucking feeding him.

The highlighter slips free and clatters onto my desk, breaking the spell of another Wednesday’s call reprise. I drop my head into my hands, tugging at my hair in an attempt to ground myself, but it’s there.

Outrage.

A screaming, asinine sense of invidiousness.

And it won’t go away.

Why do I care? No, seriously… why do I fucking care so much? Why is this grating at me?

I’m out of my seat, scooping up my gloves and helmet as I barrel out the door before I can internalize further, much less put thought into what I’m about to do. Hell, I don’t even know what I’m doing. I take the back hallway with long strides, stuffing my hands into my gloves as I speed down its length, and push through the glass door into the parking garage of the hotel. My helmet’s already locked and loaded by the time I close the short distance to my bike.

Swinging one leg over the back, I fire up the Ducati and take off, flying up the ramp of the underground zone to the first level and out onto the city streets. A few honks follow my hasty exit, a couple more as I blow past the now red light and book it down Park Avenue. In and out, I weave through everyday Manhattan traffic, stopping at lights only when I’m too far back or blocked in by assholes outside the lines of their lane. Even then, I still haven’t quite grasped what I’m doing, where I’m going…

It’s not until I pull up across the street from Ivory’s new spot and shut off the bike that it dawns on me. The rumble of the engine dies between my legs, and I sit there for a moment, questioning my sanity. I almost leave because really, what am I doing here, when the front door swings open. It’s her.

Half in, half out, she’s fully engaged in a conversation, laughing, not a care in the damn world. The impulsive bastard in me brought me here, but it’s the wrathful beast who convinces me to stay.

Helmet. Gloves. I rip them off and leave them with the bike before darting across the street into the safety of the narrow alley. Her conversation continues for nothing more than another thirty seconds before she takes her leave and starts down the sidewalk to her car. The moment she comes into view, I yank her into the corridor by the thick knit fabric of her black sweater and toss her against the brick exterior of the building, caging her in with my body.

She yelps as expected, eyes wide in alarm. Then she realizes it’s me. Panic morphs to irritation right before my very eyes. “What in the actual fuck?”

I’m the last person she wants to see, and I don’t give a shit.

“Are you really that stupid?” I leer. I’m so close, the tips of our noses nearly brush as her face contorts indignantly.

“Excuse me?”

“Don’t play dumb. I warned you about Koshka, and you went out on a fucking date with him?”

Ivory gasps. “How did you…” That tawny gaze of hers bounces back and forth between my hardened stare, confusion etched in their depths—until the lightbulb goes off. “Have you been following me?”

“No, but I make it my business to know what my enemies are doing at all times.” Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.

“Sounds like you need to get a hobby,” she scoffs. “What I do in my free time—no, scratch that. What I do with my life , is none of your concern and definitely none of your business. Our deal? Done, which by the way, thanks so much for upholding your end of it.”

“Consequences for your actions. I told you not to leave with him, and then you blocked me .”

“I’m not a fucking child, Rio!” Her voice carries through the alleyway as her palms jam at my chest. “You can’t take my toys away when I disobey you! We had a deal! We made a truce!”

“A temporary truce,” I correct her, catching her wrists. “Long gone now, by the way.”

Ivory sends her eyes for an infamous spin and yanks herself free from my hold, trying to sidestep around me. “No shit, Sherlock. Thanks for reminding me what a malevolent, unreliable piece of shit you are.”

“I’m unreliable?” Her throat. My hand. I slam her back into the wall and press up against her. “You left with Koshka!”

“It would have looked bad if I didn’t!” she yells back.

“How? Because normal people don’t order an Uber or catch a fucking taxi rather than leaving with someone they just met?” I don’t understand her reasoning. Not in the slightest.

Did no one teach this girl stranger danger?

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize normal people also don’t leave with someone they just met if they feel comfortable and want to, I don’t know, hook-up! ”

Hook…hook up?

She can’t be fucking serious…

“You know, it’s funny,” I chuckle flatly, releasing her in disgust and backing up a mere step. “You were so bent out of shape, under this grand assumption I was insinuating you needed to spread your legs and grant him a front row seat to your pussy, yet you pulled the easy little slut card all on your o?—”

Slap! “Fuck you, Rio!” she barks viciously.

My head torques from the force of her strike, the residual sting of her palm smarting the entirety of my cheek. “Been there, done that—I’ll pass.” Our stares realign as I rub out the ache. “Call Koshka…maybe he’s down for another round.”

She slaps me again, this time to the opposite side, and swiftly follows that up with her fist, leaving me zero seconds to shield myself. Her knuckles make perfect contact with my nose, not once but twice. “Rot in hell, you insufferable bastard!”

You think I’d be enraged, provoked and ready to strike back, right? I’m not. Watching her snap, her perfect feathers ruffled is the ultimate in satisfaction.

“Oh, don’t worry, I will.” I grin, wicked and victorious, a stream of crimson rolling from my nose, down my lips. “So will your precious Russian, though, sorry.” My grin turns upside down with purpose, bloody bottom lip poking out and all.

“Ugh!” Her hands meet my chest, shoving and shoving until I hit the opposite side of the alleyway, the rough brick scratching against my pressed black shirt. For a second, I’m certain she’s on the verge of another impressive punch, but she backs away instead, shaking her head. “Stay the fuck away from me, you hear me? Just stay the fuck away and watch your fucking back.”

That’s when the switch flips.

Gone is the enjoyment I felt not a minute ago, replaced with every ounce of fury that’s pent up since she got into that car with Benedikt. I snatch her by the arm and whip her back into my line of sight. “Cut it off, Ivory.”

“Let go of me,” she fumes, struggling against my grip.

“I’m so fucking serious. Cut Koshka off and stay away from him, or so help me God…”

Ivory stills then, head tilting to one side in what I can only describe as curiously. The dark tresses of her ponytail spill over her shoulder. “I see what this is now…” Stare narrowing, a sinister smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. “You’re afraid.”

“Afraid?” I scoff a laugh. “Afraid of what?”

“The possibility that two of your enemies are working together.”