The Family Business 3 (The Family Business #3)(66)

He walked up on me. We were face to face—well, not literally, as I towered over the man who was even smaller in stature than the Jew. He looked at me for a moment like a father welcoming his son home, but then, in a swift move, the palm of his hand connected with my check so forcefully that I thought my head might spin around. I would never have expected him to be able to throw such a powerful blow.

He looked down at my fists, which were balled up out of reflex.

“Oh, what? You want to get physical with me?” He hit me three times: once in the ribs, once on the thigh, and a kick to my knee, paralyzing my left side momentarily. He had to have hit pressure points. “Is that what you want?”

“No, no, no.” I raised my open palms in a gesture of surrender.

He snickered, knowing I’d never lay hands on him.

“We gave you Vegas on a silver platter the other night. How the hell did you screw that up?” he asked.

“We?” I questioned, looking over at Bernie.

“Don’t play stupid,” Minister Farah said. “You know the information came from me.”

He was right. If I’d thought about it, I would have known that. Seemed like I’d been slipping a lot these days, starting with the way I’d slipped up and underestimated the Duncans. When this whole thing started, I thought I was dealing with a bunch of car salesmen. Sonya’s infidelity had really thrown me off my game.

“I’m sorry. But he had help.”

“Of course he had help,” Farah shot back. “Daryl Graham is back in town. But that doesn’t change the fact that Vegas should be dead right now. I will not stand for failure, Xavier. Do you think I fed you all that information about your wife and Junior Duncan just so you could get revenge for a man sleeping with your wife?” he asked me.

“It has always been about LC Duncan. Junior, he’s no threat. He’s soft. He has a heart. LC Duncan and Vegas are ruthless, and neither of them want to give up H.E.A.T. Now, we’ve got Orlando ready to give us what we want, and with LC on his death bed, all we need is Vegas dead.” He stared at me like he was a ten-foot tall giant looking down on me. “You got that?”

“Yes, sir.” I bowed my head, reiterating the respect I had for him.

“Then get the hell out of here!” he shouted. “Leave us grown folks to talk, and close the door behind you . . . boy.”

I turned toward the door and hurried out. It didn’t go unnoticed that Elijah paused before following me—almost as if he didn’t want to follow me anymore.





Sasha





46


The way he’d gripped the ends of that rope and tied my wrists together, I knew those were some strong hands that could do magic. I just never imagined they’d be cupping my breasts the way they were now.

Hell, who was I kidding? Sure I had. I had imagined that and more from the moment I saw Elijah—once I took my eyes off the gun that was being aimed at my head. Brother Elijah was one fine-looking man. He couldn’t hide from me what I knew was under that bowtie and suit. Almost made a sistah want to convert.

“So soft,” he moaned, caressing them, using his thumbs to fondle my nipples and make them hard. It didn’t take much for my young, perky girls to stand at attention. Unlike Paris, I’d had no kids, so my breasts were just as tender and firm as they were when I was in high school. And these beauties were bringing out the dirty little boy in Elijah.

I wanted to reach down and grab his manhood so bad, but my hands were still restrained. Truth was, though, that I was getting off on being tied up while he had his way with me. I was looking forward to having one hell of an earth-shaking orgasm.

“Put ’em in your mouth.” Always the assertive one, I was giving orders even while I was tied up.

I watched him lower his head to my breast, his mouth open, ready to inhale my areola. My head fell back in ecstasy.

I jerked my head up and my eyes flew open when I heard the heavy footsteps of someone entering the room.

“Elijah,” I said, wondering how much he’d witnessed. That little fantasy I’d been having had me really worked up.

If he knew what I’d been doing, he didn’t let on. He closed the door behind him and walked over toward me, looking every bit as serious as he always did. Whatever was on his mind, it definitely wasn’t sex.

He grabbed a chair and pulled it up next to mine.

“You all right?” he asked me.

I nodded.

“Did they treat you okay while I was gone?”

I nodded again.

He sounded more like a father who had left a child home with the babysitter, rather than the man who was holding me captive. You’d think he’d be trying to clip off parts of my body to send back to the family, but instead, he’d been going out of his way to show me small acts of caring. Perhaps he was starting to feel a sense of protectiveness over me. Maybe there was some type of kidnappers’ syndrome named for that behavior too. I’d never been held hostage before, but from what I’d seen so far, it was making both me and my captor behave in some pretty unexpected ways.

“Do you need to go to the bathroom?” he asked.

“No,” I replied. “I’m good.”

“I brought you something,” he said.

I raised my eyebrows expectantly, waiting to see what he had.