The Perfect Stroke (Lucas Brothers #1)(113)

“Mine,” he growls. “You’re mine, Ana.”

His words feel like a brand, as hot and as heated as the cum he’s shooting inside of me. The tears come without warning. They fall unchecked as he takes my mouth.

I could love him …





“Damn it, Bruno, you better start getting it together or I’ll find someone else who can.”

“Got it, boss,” he says before shaking his head and leaving the room. I’m taking out my frustration on him. It’s not right, but that’s definitely what I’m doing. I’m so f*cking keyed up over Ana, I don’t know which end is up. I’ve thought of little else since I left her this morning. That’s how f*cking twisted in knots she has me. It’s ridiculous. It’s also why I’m looking at her lowlife piece of shit brother instead of working like I need to be doing.

“Why are you still letting me breathe?” he whispers, his voice hoarse. Not from beating. No. My guys haven’t touched him since I met Ana. No, the detox from the shit in his veins is what is killing him now. Quitting cold turkey when he’s this addicted is probably not wise, but I have the doctor on my payroll checking him out and Bruno or one of the boys watches him twenty-four-seven. I figure that’s more than he deserves and definitely more than I owe the f*cker.

I have him chained to a cable like a damn dog. On his wrist is a tight cuff that’s attached to a steel chain. The chain connects to a link that’s on a steel cable. It allows him leeway to walk to a bed and then to a bathroom that contains nothing but a toilet and small shower. He has no shirt on, but his jeans are starting to look extremely dirty. In truth, he looks like hell, but he’s still breathing. You would think that’d make the douche thankful. I guess not.

“Ana,” I tell him and watch as shock slams through him. That describes it perfectly. It hits him with the force of a fist to the gut.

“How do you know about Ana?”

“You’ve been too high to notice before, Stevens, but I know everything. What I can’t figure out is how someone as beautiful and giving as Ana shares the same f*cking blood as a parasite like you.”

“Oh yes. Saint Ana. Let’s all take a minute to bow at her feet. If we’re lucky, she might spare a minute to turn her nose up at us.”

His words turn me cold as I hear them. I don’t think about it. I grab the f*cker by the neck, slamming him up against the wall.

“Do not say one thing against Ana. You’re only alive right now because for some unknown reason to me, she cares about you. Be grateful, motherf*cker.”

“How did straight-laced, holier-than-thou Ana get hooked up with you?”

I apply pressure to his neck, squeezing until he can no longer take air. He brings his hands up to try and claw at me, his face turning blue. “She’s been putting herself at risk to try and save your f*cking ass. Something I have a feeling she’s done her entire life. So do yourself a favor and do not mention Ana to me unless you can be a grateful f*ck. Because I warn you, Stevens, one more bad word about my woman and I’ll cut your tongue out and feed it to you. Are we clear?” He doesn’t answer, but then he can’t. I ease my hold just enough to allow him a breath. “Are we clear?” I ask again. His fear of death must be larger than I gave him credit for, because his red, splotchy face nods in agreement quickly. A pity. I think I would have enjoyed cutting out his tongue. I give him one last shove. He doesn’t go anywhere because he is still against the wall, but it makes me feel better. Then, I step back.

“Why are you here?” Allen asks when he can talk again. His neck is red from where I held him and I feel a certain amount of satisfaction from seeing it.

“Since I’m letting you live, I thought it would be a good time that you and I come to an understanding, especially about your sister.”

“And if I refuse? You’ll kill me? You might as well do it now.”

“No.” I sit in a chair just beyond the reach of Allen’s chains. “If you insist on being a f*cking idiot, I’ll do worse.”

“Worse than dead?” He laughs. Jesus Christ, he is na?ve. No wonder Ana has worried herself sick over him. She’s done him no favors trying to protect him and take care of him, though. He’s weak in more ways than just his penchant for sampling his own merchandise. “Good luck with that.”

“Much worse,” I assure him, staying on course. Today’s visit is all about putting real fear into him. “I’ll turn you over to Kuzma,” I tell him, naming the head of the Russian mob. “I’ll be sure to tell them you’re the f*cker who’s been messing with their business in town.”

He pales, and I know my barb hits home. Even he’s not that stupid.

“He’ll just kill me too. Either way, I’m dead.”

Apparently he is that stupid. Again, I’m amazed that he and Ana share the same blood in their veins.

“He’ll make you pray for death and eventually he will kill you. It’s what he does from the time he has you until he grants your prayer that you need to worry about.”

“What do you want from me?” Allen asks after a few minutes of silence.

“Just your cooperation. Well, that and some information.”

“About what?” he asks, hate shining in his eyes.