Page 11 of Lust and Honor

I pass by the cages where fighters are tearing each other to shreds and head toward Brando’s office. There’s a death match scheduled for tonight, and instead of pussy, I’m craving some testosterone. I’ve already placed my bet, and I want to see with my own eyes that the fighter I put money on is going to kill that other son of a bitch and triple my money.

The crowd’s bigger than usual tonight. I have to admit, ever since Carlo publicly backed his brother Brando, the profits we’re pulling from Brando’s betting fights are getting close to what we make off drugs.

Before I knock on the office door, I hear a woman screaming over the roar of the crowd, and no question, she’s getting fucked.

Leaning against the wall, I light a cigarette. What can I say? Even when I’m not chasing pussy, it chases me. There’s still time before the main event, and I don’t want to cockblock Brando. So I decide to be a gentleman, wait outside like a proper man, and fire up a quick sex call with one of my girls while he finishes fucking some girl senseless.

Right as I’m getting the girl off over the phone, I hear Brando’s roar. Moments later, Brando steps out. His T-shirt’s soaked with sweat, clinging to the colorful tattoos covering his body. His blond hair’s still slick and neat, which means he tied the girl up again. Brando’s got a thing for domination.

He raises an eyebrow when he sees me and claps a hand on my shoulder. “Maxim. Didn’t know you were coming.”

I glance over his shoulder at the girl passed out on the couch. Her hands are cuffed to her ankles, legs spread, her pussy red from the pounding. I look at the hand on my shoulder and smirk at Brando. “Your hand smells like pussy.”

He grins right back. “Your favorite kind of perfume.”

We start heading toward the cages when I ask, “You’re not going to uncuff her?”

He shakes his head slowly. “Couple hours in cuffs won’t kill her. Caught her skimming cash from the bar.”

Then he turns to me. “You place a bet?”

“Yeah. On Crab. If he loses, I’ll cut his dick off.”

He laughs. “You do realize losing in a death match means actual death, right?”

I shrug. “Didn’t say anything about life or death. I said I’m cutting his dick off. Because the only thing worse than a dead man... is a dead man with no dick.”

This time, he laughs louder and curses me out. “You sick son of a bitch.”

We reach the bar counter, and Brando pours us two shots. But before we can even knock them back, the alarm on our phones goes off. We both check our screens in a flash. This alert only goes off when Carlo or his family are in direct danger.

Without a word, we bolt for the exit. I jump behind the wheel while Brando calls Carlo and puts him on speaker. The second I hear Carlo’s voice, I feel a little less tense. At least he’s not the one in danger. From the background noise, I can tell he’s loading weapons.

As always, his voice is firm and commanding, “Follow the signal I’m sending you. Giorgio’s sending you the plate number and vehicle description. It’s a black van. Don’t make a move unless I say so.”

I slam my foot on the gas. “Who’s in the van, Carlo?”

There’s a pause before he answers. “The nanny and her kid.”

“Fucking hell,” Brando mutters under his breath.

Carlo hangs up and I’m left wondering, why the hell would anyone want to kidnap the carrot and her mom? And more importantly, why does Carlo care enough to have trackers on them? And the final question: why should we care?

One look at Brando’s face tells me he knows something I don’t. But this isn’t the time for questions. First, we save the little carrot. Then I’ll start digging into whatever the hell is going on between these two brothers.

Nearly an hour later, we spot them on a deserted road outside the city. Carlo caught up with us a few minutes ago with three vans full of armed men behind him. Even though our car’s bulletproof, I’m not taking any chances. I grab the vests from the back seat and toss one to Brando.

The black van finally clocks us and floors it. A couple of assholes lean out the windows and open fire. Carlo’s orders are clear: no one shoots. He’s probably worried the van isn’t bulletproof and the girls might get hit.

That leaves us with one option. We close in from all sides, weaving and pacing until we force them to a stop. About twenty armed men crouch behind our bulletproof rides, waiting for the bastards to burn through their last rounds.

Finally, silence.

The van doors slide open. The kidnappers climb out, dragging the redhead and the little carrot with them, keeping both in front of their bodies as human shields. All I can hear is our ragged breathing and the wind cutting through the open road. I peek around the car door. There’s three of them. One’s got the little carrot, unconscious, a gun pressed to her head. The other’s holding her mom, but I can’t see her face clearly.

The third guy’s waving his gun around, shouting threats, trying to sound tough. I bet all three of them have pissed their pants by now.

Carlo doesn’t leave his cover. He just raises his voice and speaks with deadly calm. “You know who I am?”