Nicoli: Chapter 7

After my impromptu trip down memory lane’s graveyard and sitting on my couch wondering if I had a good enough excuse to drink an entire bottle of bourbon before midday, I decide thrusting my frustration into sex and drowning my feelings in a climax that turns my spine inside out might be a better option.

It’s something I tell myself every damn time, that maybe today I’ll be able to fuck her out of my system. Perhaps this time the past would tear right out of me while I come down a Myth girl’s throat.

Wishful thinking, motherfucker.

I’m about to get into my car when Alexius comes rushing out the front door, wearing his Ray-Ban sunglasses, slipping on his suit jacket, looking like God dunked his ass in ice-cold confidence, moving like he’s featuring in a goddamn men’s cologne commercial.

“Nicoli, we have a problem,” he says, adjusting the collar of his jacket.

“Of course we do,” I scoff, pulling my hair back with my fingers.

“Caelian just called. There’s an issue over at Myth.”

“Myth?”

“Yeah. Some fucker tried to recruit one of our girls.”

I slam my car door closed and face him. “Say what?”

“Some motherfucker got caught trying to smooth-talk one of our girls into leaving Myth and going to work for him.”

“Who the fuck would be that dumb?”

Alexius rounds his car. “Don’t know. Caelian just said to get our asses over there asap.”

“Wait,” I say, narrowing my eyes. “You’re going to Myth?”

“Yup.”

“So, your wife is actually letting you go to Myth without her?”

He opens the door to his car. “Not the time, Nicoli.” Then he gets in, starts the engine, and spins out of the driveway. Dammit, if I had two more seconds, I could have ripped into him with my award-winning sarcasm. But, instead, I’m short on his ass, soon tearing onto the asphalt as I speed off the estate grounds. The idea that someone had the balls to walk into our club and try to recruit one of our girls is fucking unbelievable. Who would have a nutsack that big? Who would want to die so badly he’d scratch the lion’s balls by taking a shit on our porch? I already know it’s not some scumbag, backstreet pimp. This person is high enough on the food chain to be able to set foot in Myth in the first place, let alone get a one-on-one with our girl and think there’s half a chance she won’t be loyal to people who fucking feed her.

Club Myth isn’t just some sleazy strip club. It’s not a cheap brothel where filthy fuckers come to get their dicks wet. It’s the Dark Sovereign’s most elite club. A place where the world’s most expensive champagne flows like water, a place where beautiful women bring the Chicago night sky to life. It’s the playground of the upper echelon of this city’s high-flying society, and you don’t get through those doors with a minimal entry fee and a stamp on your goddamn wrist. Those who frequent Myth have an exclusive VIP membership with a six-figure monthly price tag. With it comes a vow of secrecy and loyalty toward our family’s business.

The only way you’re exempt from that fee is if you make a highly confidential contribution toward our club—the kind of contribution that has a pretty face, firm tits, and a tight ass.

There are so many rumors flying around town about Myth. But my favorite rumor is the one about the women we keep captive to bear children for us, how we raise the girls and teach them to be slaves and whores while we bury the boys below the maple trees.

I snort at the thought.

People can gossip and whisper about us all they want, but if you’re not on our VIP list, you don’t have shit for proof that this club even exists.

The tires of my car screech as I come to a stop outside Myth. Alexius is standing next to his car, buttoning up his suit jacket, his lips pulled in that weird way they always do when he’s annoyed by waiting for someone.

I get out and roll my eyes at him. “Don’t pretend like you’ve been waiting for me for an hour.”

“I have.”

“I was right behind you. Look.” I point at the asphalt. “Those stones are still settling back into place after you assaulted them with your Audi’s cheap fucking tires.”

“Shut the fuck up. My tires are worth more than your car.”

“In your dreams. Oh, my God, Vera will be so excited to see you here without your wife.”

“The only reason Vera is excited to see me is because my brothers don’t fuck half as good as I do.”

I narrow my eyes. “You’re a motherfucker. You know that?”

“Hello, ladies.” Caelian is standing at the top of the stairs, his arms held wide like he’s an entire goddamn welcoming party. “I was hoping you’d get here before I’m fifty.”

Alexius heads up the stairs, straight past Caelian and through the back entrance.

I shrug at Caelian as I walk past. “Our brother is pissed because of his cheap-ass tires.”

“Good God. Are you two ever going to grow up?”

“Nope.”

We enter the club, the lights on the high, coffered ceilings reflecting on the pristinely polished marble floors. The highly expensive and significantly over-the-top double-story crystal chandelier is underwhelming and unimpressive with the window shutters open, the natural sunlight suffocating the golden glow that’s supposed to scatter off the rows of crystals hanging at different levels.

The halls are usually quiet this time of day, but today it feels eerily quiet. It’s as if the walls know our little paradise here has been violated by some dumb schmuck trying to lure our angels out of here and straight into the hell he crawled out of. Unfortunately for him, our girls are loyal, trustworthy, and dedicated to this club and us. We take care of them. We protect them. We give them the luxurious life they couldn’t even dream of before they came here.

Our girls aren’t back-alley whores—not unless we want them to be.

“Who’s the girl?” I ask Caelian as he falls into step next to me.

“Yulie.”

“Yulie?” I frown. “The Russian girl who came in two weeks ago?”

“Yup. Makes you wonder if this asshole knew she was new. Hoping her loyalty wasn’t solidified here.”

“Oh, I don’t wonder. I know. That’s exactly what this fucker was hoping. The question squeezing my balls right now, though, is how would he know she’s new?”

Caelian shrugs. “Maybe he’s a regular and saw she’s a new face around here.”

“There’s not a chance it’s that simple.”

“Of course, there’s a chance it’s that simple.”

I stop and turn to face him. “Tell me you’re not as stupid as your face makes you look? Nothing in our world is ever that simple, Caelian. Nothing. If we get the wrong mail delivered to our house, it’s not simply a human error on the postal service’s part. No. It’s a clue.”

“A clue to what?”

“A clue to whoever is about to fuck us in the ass next.”

Caelian snickers. “And if the chef serves us the wrong meal?”

“That’s a sign.”

“Of what?”

“That someone is trying to poison us.”

He slips his hands into his pants pockets. “And if you wake up finding a new scratch on your car?”

“That’s an omen.” I straighten my suit jacket. “One that says I’m about to tear your throat out your ass.”

“Can you two idiots—” Alexius levels us with a glare straight out of Lucifer’s asshole “—focus on the problem at hand?”

“Focusing,” I say, shooting him a fake smile before sauntering past him. “Where’s Yulie?”

“Maximo has her in the bar by the poker tables,” Caelian replies, and all three of us make our way down the staircase, my hand gliding across the gold banister framing the steel rails.

There are two arches on either side of the foyer—one leading you to the lavish dwelling of sinners, AKA fuckers like me, and the other taking you to the deluxe gambling area where we find Maximo standing guard next to Yulie.

“Hey, Max,” I start, approaching him. “Have you ever had an American pitbull?”

He frowns. “No. Why?”

“Just asking.” I circle my finger in front of his face. “You have that fighter dog expression nailed to a T. Makes me wonder if you grew up with a pack of wild animals.”

“I did. I grew up with you and your brothers.”

“That does explain why you’re always walking around with your asshole puckered, just like my twin brother over here.” I slap my palm on Alexius’ shoulder, then almost get obliterated with a glower that can tear the flesh off Satan.

“Okay, then.” I step back and pull a chair closer, taking a seat across from Yulie. Her rosy nipples tease through white lace, her slender body filling the button-front, split-hem sleep dress perfectly.

Yeah, our girls sure only get the best.

Alexius crosses his arms and puffs up his chest like he’s about to fight this woman. “Tell us everything. And make it quick.”

“Hey, hey. Easy, Casanova.” I hold out a hand, gesturing for him to step the fuck back. “Being with one woman has done absolutely nothing for your charisma.”

“Unlike you, I don’t have time to piss around, Nicoli.”

“Just let me handle this.”

Alexius lets out a low snarl behind me, but I ignore his impatient ass and focus all my attention on the beautiful, dark-haired Russian girl in front of me.

“Poor girl,” I coo. “You’re as pale as a ghost. Maximo, get Yulie a cosmo or something. We need to calm her nerves before her brain short-circuits.” I reach out and brush a gentle finger down her cheek. “You scared, little one?”

She nods, strands of dark hair slipping down her face.

“Don’t be.” I place my fingers below her chin and lift her blue-eyed gaze to meet mine. “You’re not in trouble here. We just need to know what happened.”

I don’t break eye contact with her, trailing my fingers along her jaw. I’ve been around these girls long enough to know what they need. And what Yulie needs right now is to feel protected. Cherished. Special. Nothing earns a woman’s loyalty faster than appreciation.

“Let’s start at the beginning. Did you get a name?”

“We have him as Aldo Costa,” Maximo responds, and I simply narrow my eyes at him.

“Thanks. I’d like to continue this conversation with Yulie, if you don’t mind.”

The creak of leather is audible as Maximo tightens his arms in front of his chest. He’s on edge. Angry. Annoyed. I’d bet the entire Dark Sovereign money pot that Maximo is about to cut through glass with his tight, sharp jawline. Whenever we have a problem that seems to have slipped through a crack in security, Maximo takes it as a personal failure and will not rest until he fixes it…and spends an entire six months sulking while riding the backs of his men with a whip and chainsaw.

I shift in my seat and drop my hand to Yulie’s knee, easing my thumb along the inside of her leg. “What, exactly, did he offer you?”

She licks her blush-pink lips. “He said I would be his number one,” she replies, her Russian accent thick and hot as fuck. “That I would be treated like royalty.”

“Do we not treat you like royalty, Yulie?” I tilt my head, keeping eye contact.

“Yes,” she replies, tucking her hair behind her ear.

“What else?”

“He said that his club will be three times the size of this one.”

I raise a brow. “Oh, would it, now?”

“And if I can get more girls to go with me, he will reward me.”

“Reward you how?”

“I do not know. He made me uncomfortable, so I told him to wait while I got another girl to join us, pretending I was interested in what he was offering.” Her breath hitches as I inch my hand slowly up her inner thigh. “I went and called security, but when we got back, he was already gone.”

My fingers reach the soft fabric of her panties, and I trace my fingertips up and down her slit. She welcomes my touch by parting her legs, giving me better access.

“And you didn’t once think to take him up on his offer?”

“No, sir. Never.”

“And why not?” I slip her panties to the side, brushing a finger along her smooth pussy lips.

“You have…” She sucks in a breath. “You have shown me more kindness since I got here than I’ve been shown throughout my life. This is my home now.”

Abruptly, I sink a finger deep into her wet cunt. “Good girl.”

Yulie throws her head back, Russian words slipping from her tongue. I have no idea what she’s saying, but whatever it is, it’s making my dick hard.

Isaia finally decides to join us and curses when he sees Yulie’s legs spread while her pussy sucks my finger deeper into her. “So, this is what you’re up to when I’m not around. Do you fuckers ever work?”

I stand, leaning down and wrapping my other hand around the back of Yulie’s neck, whispering into her ear, “My little brother is going to fuck you now.”

“I am?”

“Be a good girl and do exactly as Isaia says. Understood?”

She’s biting her bottom lip while nodding. Her irises are pools of desire, her pussy ready to be ravaged. I’d be up for the challenge, but it seems this morning’s events have screwed with my head, and even though it’s Yulie sitting in front of me now, it’s not her I’m seeing. It’s not her eyes staring back at me. It’s not her lips glistening with temptation. And it’s not her body rocking against my palm.

I pull my finger out of her and straighten. “Isaia, give Yulie a good fucking. She deserves it.”

Isaia steps up. “Sure will.”

Caelian slips in behind Yulie, placing his hands on her shoulders. “I’ll stay and watch, make sure he rewards her really well.”

Maximo joins Alexius and me as we walk out, leaving Yulie in the capable hands of my two brothers.

“Find a clear picture of this asshole’s face and run it through all the video footage,” Alexius says to Maximo. “I want to know everything there is about this fucker. Where he lives, where he eats, where he shits. Even his goddamn blood type. And we need to know how the fuck this guy got through our security.”

“That’s easy,” I start. “We have someone with questionable loyalty and a need to feel me rip their spleen out their ass.”

Maximo’s phone vibrates, and I watch as he reads whatever’s on the screen. “I know who it is.”

“Who?”

“Ruben Willard. He was on gate security but transferred to bodyguard duty at the last minute.”

“Let me guess.” I roll my eyes. “He walked around our club playing guard dog to this Aldo Costa.”

Maximo nods. “And disappeared right after the last video footage we have of Costa.”

“Find this Ruben cunt,” Alexius orders. “Get as much information about Costa out of him as you can before you kill him.”

“Yes, sir.” Maximo stomps in the other direction when I call out after him.

“Actually, I’d like to join in on this one.”

Maximo turns to face me.

“Let me know when you have him, and I’ll make sure he sings like a fucking bird.” I won’t be trying to fuck her out of my system today, but maybe a man’s screams, tears, and blood will make me forget for just a little while. “Oh, and give Yulie the night off. She’ll be thoroughly fucked after they’re done with her and rendered completely useless for the next twenty-four hours.”

Maximo simply waves a hand at me before disappearing around the corner.

I scoff. “That man will live like he has Satan on his heels until we figure all this out.”

“Which is why I’m confident we’ll have this Aldo Costa’s tongue real fucking soon.”

Alexius stops as we reach the bottom of the stairs, the oversized chandelier hanging above us. “I will not allow anyone the honor of thinking they’re competition for us, Nicoli. We need to find whoever is behind this and cut them down before they get a chance to set up camp on our streets.”

“We will,” I say, grabbing a napkin from one of the waiter’s trays and wiping Yulie’s pussy juices off my fingers and palm. “If this person has big enough balls to come to our club and try to recruit our girls, they probably have an ego the size of Japan, which means he won’t be able to stay hidden for long. Arrogance likes attention, and that’s what they got now. Our fucking attention.”

It’s not even two hours later when I walk into a luxury apartment with Ruben Willard tied to a chair in the middle of his own living room. Maximo has already beaten him to a pulp, one eye swollen shut, his lip busted and bleeding.

I slide off my suit jacket and drop it on the black granite kitchen counter. “Wow,” I remark, glancing around the lush apartment with floor-to-ceiling windows, expensive leather furniture, and a richly polished wine cabinet that features expensive wines from around the world. “We sure pay our employees fucking well. So, that makes me wonder why our friend here felt compelled to fuck us in the ass, because clearly, it’s not about money.”

I look over at Maximo. “Got everything you need from him?”

He nods. “It’s the Ferrero family. Paid him to get one of their guys in the club for some recruiting.”

“Of course, it’s the Ferrero family. I’d be surprised if it wasn’t. They move in and take the drug trade, and now they want to get their filthy hands on the sex trade as well. Greedy cunts.”

Maximo’s knuckles are bruised and bleeding, but the look on his face says he’s barely begun. Pity for him, because I’ve been downright itching to unleash some pent-up aggression. It’s been a while since I could allow myself the freedom to be a cruel fucker.

I walk over to the wine display and run my fingers along the rows of expensive bottles. “I must admit, Ruben, your choice in business associates is questionable, but your taste in wine is exceptional.” I take one with a dusty label, an imported red all the way from South Africa, and smash it against the wall, relishing the sound of glass shattering into a million pieces.

Ruben startles, his one good eye widening in fear. I turn to face him, holding his gaze as I take another bottle and smash it against the opposite wall. Fragments of glass rain down, the light turning it into a webwork of prisms that crash onto the pristine white floor tiles, turning them into a sea of crimson and shores of shards.

I pick up another bottle with an elegant white and gold label, then start to pace. “I have a pretty good idea why you were so fucking stupid, Ruben. Let’s see if I’m right.” I settle in front of him, widening my stance, still holding on to the wine bottle. “You make enough money working for us. Live a good life. Fuck a different woman every weekend.” I shrug. “You have enough money to buy mommy-dearest one of those expensive espresso machines for Mother’s Day, but that too has a selfish connotation because your mom doesn’t drink coffee. You do, and you don’t want the cheap shit she keeps in her kitchen cabinets for when you visit. And you don’t have the balls to tell her that you think her coffee tastes like piss.”

His bloodied nostrils flare, and I know I’m hitting it on point.

“You have enough money to book a flight to the Maldives for a nice tropical vacation. You drive a flashy car. It’s no Maserati or Aston Martin, but it gets you from point A to point B and manages to turn some heads.” I glance down at his wristwatch. “You have enough zeroes in your bank account to spoil yourself with expensive shit like a Rolex every second year.” I smack my lips together, dragging my gaze around the apartment. “I’d say you have enough to live an extremely comfortable life. But what you don’t have, I’m afraid, is common fucking sense.”

I fling the bottle of wine across the living room, sending it flying into the wine cabinet, and more than half of his collection tumbles out, shattering on the floor, decorating his white walls with splatters of red.

“See, it’s fuckers like you who simply can’t be content with their lives. You’re overindulgent leeches who want more, and more is never enough. This is where common sense comes in.” I place my hands on his wrists tied to the chair and lean in, bringing my face inches from him. “Greed makes you desperate. Desperate makes you sloppy. And sloppiness gets you killed.”

He sucks air through his teeth, and by the fear that swirls in his mouse-colored eyes, I know that he knows he’s a dead man. I take his jaw between my fingers, studying this asshole’s piss-poor attempt at growing a mustache. “What is this? A teenager’s version of a fanny tickler?”

Maximo snorts, and Ruben snarls…right before he spits in my face. “Fuck you.”

I wipe the saliva off my face and release his jaw, stepping back. Ruben smirks in defiance as if he’s won some kind of victory by spitting on me. I shake my head, disappointed by how predictable human beings truly are.

“You have a death wish, don’t you?”

“You’re gonna kill me anyway.”

“True. But now I plan on making it as painful as possible.” My voice is low but firm as I walk toward the broken wine bottles scattered across the tiled floor. “So, not only do you have zero common sense, you’re dumb as fuck too.”

Glass breaks and cracks under my Italian leather shoes, the crunching sound similar to shattered bone. Ruben tries to glance over his shoulder to see what I’m doing, but since he only has one good eye, he can’t see shit. I grab a handful of crushed glass, not caring that the tiny, jagged edges slice into my palm. When I’m high on bloodlust, I don’t feel pain. Like the bullet that landed in my chest the night shit went down with our dearly dead uncle, Roberto. I felt nothing. One minute, I was standing in the Dark Sovereign room, and the next, I woke up in my bedroom with those annoying as fuck beeping machines.

“Maximo, you’re sure you got all the information you need out of this one?”

Maximo lifts a brow. “Yeah. We have everything we need.”

“Good. Because after this, he won’t be able to say shit.”

Maximo lifts a brow as he watches me move to stand in front of our royally fucked friend, whose eyes went from defiance to terror in record time. “What…what are you doing?” He’s shaking, and I can practically smell the fear.

“Open wide.”

“No! No!” He shakes his head violently, horror lacing his expression like he’s living in his own goddamn Saw movie. Maximo slaps his palms against Ruben’s ears, keeping him still so I can shove the shards of glass in his mouth.

“Eat up, fucker,” I sneer. Ruben tries to scream, but it’s all muffled by my palm flush against his mouth, and the more he tries to fight it, the deeper the glass goes. Blood trickles down the sides of his lips and chin as he tries to sputter around the pieces of glass in his throat. His eyes are so fucking wide I’m sure they’re going to tear out of his skull. “That’s what you get when you fuck with us,” I say as he chokes on the shards and his own blood, tears streaming down his cheeks. God, the power pulsing through my veins right now is fucking exquisite. There’s nothing like holding a man’s life in the palm of your hand, knowing you’re in control, that you decide whether he lives or dies. Unfortunately for this fucker, his fate was decided the moment he let Aldo Costa through our club doors.

I step back, and a thrill shudders up my spine as I witness the scene in front of me. Ruben’s mouth falls open as he tries to scream, but it’s more choked gags and tortured cries, blood-stained pieces of glass expelled from his mouth with desperate breaths.

His lips, his tongue, it’s all pierced and gashed by what looks like thousands of tiny fragments of glass. Pain is laced through every line on his face, but it’s not enough. I pick up a large piece of glass, the sharp tip glinting, my own palm bleeding. I can feel the tiny shards digging deeper into my flesh, but there’s no pain. No burn. No sting.

“You should have settled for the way your life was, Ruben. Because compared to others, it’s a pretty good fucking life.” I swing my arm, slicing the sharp edge through his cheek, his head jerking to the side.

He doesn’t scream. He’s not making a goddamn sound, his cheek now a large, gaping hole, and I can see parts of his teeth through the grotesque wound. His one good eye is still wide but starts to flutter, his shoulders slumped as he seems to teeter on the edge of unconsciousness.

“Oh, no. You get to look in my eyes while you die.” With a snarl, I grab his hair and pull his head up so he faces me, and when he looks at me, I jab the broken glass into his jugular, severing the vein. “See you in hell, motherfucker.”

His last gasp is garbled and wet, his body rigid and shaking. The sight of his blood pouring out over my hands is pure ecstasy. There’s no better scene than watching a traitorous fucker like Ruben Willard die at my hand.

Adrenaline courses through me, Ruben’s body going lax as his life drains out of him. Power engulfs me, and I’m lost in a blood haze. Hypnotized. Entranced. Until beautiful green irises push through the cruel vapor, reminding me why I’ll never have the one thing my heart and soul desire most. Because it’s as clear as the blood coating my hands.

She’s a queen…and I’m a fucking monster.