The Tattoo Artist (La Petite Mort #1)

34. Chapter 34

thirty-four

Alexander

M y phone vibrated against my pocket, waking me up from a memory that has played repeatedly these past two years.Reaching for my phone before it began to vibrate again, I looked down to see an incoming message from my brother Aristotle.

Aristotle:Wolf has a job for you. Call him. It's URGENT

I sighed.

Propping my head on my palm, I watched her sleep, tucked against me. She was on her back, her full lips slightly parted, her chest rising, and the cover casually draped around her midsection. She drifted off with ease, as though all she needed was me. I was willing to give her that if it meant she got some rest, even while it was pure torture for me.

I craved to touch her, not knowing when I'd have her in my arms again. The featherlike touch of my knuckles slowly rolled down the slope of her high cheekbone.

"You're so beautiful," I whispered.

She stirred and let out a moan. I snapped my hand away and froze.

"Mmm," she drawled, the sway of her voice raspy.Did she know I was touching her? That I was rock fucking solid right now, thanks to the dream I had. That I ached for her and only her. Fuck, I hope I didn't wake her. That was the last thing she needed. Her head was still trying to wrap itself around the fact that I was Deimos.

Her body stretched as she let out a series of moans; her knees shifted under the cover, and her hands gripped the sheets.

"Yes," she mumbled.

My pulse speeds.

Holy shit.

She was having…

A sultry sigh left her lips, hot breaths escaped between them, and the covers rolled down her calves. Fuck, she was definitely having one of those dreams. My cock throbbed, and my heart hammered as I continued to watch her getting turned on.

Who the hell was she thinking about? I wanted to kill him already. I think back to when she moaned Deimos. His name coming out of her pretty lips never sounded so wrong. I wanted to kill that son of a bitch because, at that moment, I forgot that asshole was me.

My ragged breaths consumed me as she continued to cry out low in her sleep, pushing her knees into one another.

Without a second thought, I brushed my fingers over the tops of her thighs, so close to where I knew she was warm and wet. The bulge between my legs grew stiffer every second I watched her, wanting to wake her up and ask who she was dreaming about—who was making her feel this good.

Suddenly, her hand reached where my fingers still traced her, and she gripped my wrist.

"Alex," she cried.

Before I could process the fact that it was my name, she was moaning; she moved my hand to her aching core and used me to take her pleasure.

It didn't take her long to reach her high, and before she could wake up, I disappeared as I watched her eyes fly open from my position just outside her balcony doors.

She sat up and gasped for air as her chest heaved, her body still coming down from the high she experienced just moments ago.Quinn searched around her room as her eyes looked everywhere for a sign of me, but the only sign that I was even there was the scent I had left behind.

I turned around and tilted my head again, looking at her closed balcony doors and shut window.

I got on my bike and headed towards the house that held an even bigger secret. I wasn't a man who prayed, but for this, I prayed I wouldn't lose her forever when she found out about this one.

When I arrived, the first thing I did was check on Athena, who had been doing so much better. Once I ensured she was doing well, I headed for my room. Entering the confines of my bedroom, I released a frustrated roar.

"FUCK!"

Yesterday and today had been a complete fucking disaster. I couldn't fault Quinn for reacting the way she did. I should have left her alone; a good man would have, but I never said I was a good man.

Stripping out of my clothes, I headed to my en-suite, turning on the shower. I turned the handle to the highest degree my body could tolerate. I needed the blaze of hell to consume me—to burn me.

Stepping into the hot steam of the black-tiled shower, my cock was still fully hard and fucking angry. I surrounded it with my large hand. My cock throbbed against my palm. I squeezed almost to the point of pain before setting a quick, rough pace up and down my shaft. My dick had been tortured for weeks, and now I had this insatiable urge to fuck her tight little pussy. To feel her cunt wrapped around my cock. It was hot and smooth, and the vein was throbbing in anger, the tip leaking to ease the stroke of my hand.

"Fuck," I groaned, slapping my free hand against the wall and allowing the burning hot water to spill over my lowered head. I watched my cock disappear into my fist, the head reappearing with each quick stroke, angrier and begging for relief.

Relief.

That was what I needed.

And for the first time in three fucking years, I allowed myself to envision Quinn on her knees for me. Her gagging noises. My hand was around her throat. Her tits bounced with the force of my thrust.I could visualize her kneeling before me, saliva sliding from the corners of her mouth, struggling to take me all in.

"That's it, Princess. Take every inch," I growled. I envisioned her lips swallowing me down and bluish-gray eyes staring up at me. I slammed my eyes closed, pumping faster and harder. And I came—hard—my release hitting the tiles and sliding down the wall in thick trails. "Quinn," I moaned, letting my forehead thunk against the wall of the shower as I continued to pump myself dry.

Fifteen minutes later, with a towel over my hips, I hurried out to grab my phone, hearing the beep. I felt the ache inside my chest grow with the confirmation that Quinn had not texted or called me.

Aristotle: Here! Hurry the fuck up.

I made my way downstairs and into my office. Aristotle and Sebastian were standing too engrossed in what was currently spread out on the table. Shutting the door behind me rather loudly, only Maximo tilted his head up to glance. "Why are you in such a rush, asshole," I questioned suspiciously since my brother never hurries business. I reached the wide circular table where a map of the United States was spread out.

"There are eleven major ports in California. We run the Port of Los Angeles, the Port of Long Beach, the Port of San Francisco, and the Port of San Diego." Maximo disclosed.

"The remaining ports are either used by families that have a blood contract with us or are either dormant," my brother Sebastian added.

I studied the map in front of me. "The ports circled in dark green are the ones the Hades Mafia Family runs. The Port of Los Angeles generated $92.5 billion last year in profit from our legal and illegal businesses," Aristotle said with a smirk. I chuckled. This motherfucker loved money and power.

"The Port of Oakland was used to smuggle 170 children just two weeks ago. The children were headed for Russia. Thankfully, we intercepted the shipment and rescued the children, but the women–" Maximo paused. "The women left from a different port bound for New York, which has the Volkovs fucking busy," Maximo added.

His sister was kidnapped when she was only three months old. He was sure his mother's so-called friend had something to do with it because when his sister disappeared, so did she. That poor baby girl was most likely trafficked or dead, but he didn't give up hope of one day finding her.

Our efforts to end the skin trade have paid off. We were able to decrease the volume of human trafficking in Greece by 68 percent in the last two years. The United States, however, hasn't been so lucky. With California being the number one state where human trafficking happens, our business has taken a hit since these fucking bastards are using our ports. We don't deal with skin trade, never have, and never will, especially after what happened with Athena.

The conglomerate first comprised five mafia families, but it grew each year. Each year, the five mafia families, along with other members of the conglomerate, took part in Operation Lucia, named after Maximo's sister. We raid the shipping containers docked throughout the 11 ports and ports all over the United States. This year, the Russians would be taking the lead.

"The Volkovs will take the lead with New York, New Jersey, Miami, and Baltimore. We will take Los Angeles, Long Beach, San Francisco, and Oakland. The Yakuza will take care of Hawaii. The Spanish, the Italians, and the Turkish will take the Southwest, making sure to target Houston." I confirmed. My brothers and Maximo nodded.

Maximo rolled the map up and left the room, leaving my brothers and me alone. Taking a seat in one of the leather chairs, I got ready to discuss my next hit. Freddy. That son of a bitch had nine fucking lives, but it was a good thing he was on his last one. I chuckled sinisterly. I'd been after him for the past two years. My informants stated he was seen entering the Russian border from Poland. I was set to leave for Russia in the coming months once we could figure out where he was hiding and who the fuck was helping him. I didn't want to leave Quinn unprotected, so I planned on staying here so that I could watch her.

"Freddy," Aristotle uttered his name with hate. I lifted a brow to signal him to continue. "He was seen entering Russia from Poland. Nikolai is sure someone is helping him. He asked the Elders if they knew of anything, but it's been quiet, according to them. But we all know Nikolai doesn't trust anyone in his organization except his father, his uncle, Alexei, and their right-hand men."

"It's settled then. I'm leaving," Sebastian announced, giving us a chin-up and slapping my shoulder on his way out. Aristotle downed his remaining whiskey.

"What's wrong," He asked me.

"She knows," I replied.

He raised his brows, asking me if she knew the truth about herself. "No," I clarified. I didn't have to give him any details. He knew what truth I was talking about.Quinn knew I was Deimos. He stood from his chair and buttoned his suit jacket, looking like a billionaire businessman. Stupid fucker!

"I may be heartless," he said, placing his palm on my shoulder. "But I'm sorry, brother," he said and gave my shoulder a good squeeze.