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The woman is bored as she does as she’s told, her wide thighs spread for Ci. She also loses the clip, and her brassy hair tumbles down her back.
“What are you doing, Emil?” he asks, his hands up as if to ward her away. After Alexa, he’s practically allergic to women.
Emil pulls a cigar out of his pocket, unconcerned that we aren’t drinking as he cuts the corner off. We are not facing the man who is the loving grandfather and family man. This is the goddamned mob boss who will play dirty to get his way.
This man is a rat bastard.
“Her pussy is wet. Doesn’t that do anything for you?”
Emil drags his cigar through Roya’s arousal as I watch in part horror and part disgust. Is he for real right now? I can hear how wet she is as she whimpers on the table, her hands moving over her breasts.
It feels rehearsed, and all I can think about is how many other guys she does this with. I’m not saying we haven’t all been fuck boys at one point or another, but this is not my vibe.
Without a thought, Emil flicks a lighter with his thumb, using the flame to toast the end of the cigar. He rotates it slowly before he begins to puff on the uncut end of the cigar gently, unbothered by the waitress’ pussy juice on it.
I can smell the acrid smoke as he blows it over me, and I wait to understand what the point of this is.
“Eat her pussy, Ciaran.”
Ci glances at the woman spread out in front of him, and his hands fist and open over her body.
“I have no interest, sir.”
“Why not? Do you prefer girls with dark hair?” Emil asks snidely, puffing on that damn cigar.
Roya glides her hand down her body and begins to masturbate, causing my discomfort to grow.
How the fuck do we get out of this without offending Emil to the point where he casually shoots us. As if he’s reading my thoughts, his gun makes an appearance next to his scotch.
“We’re gay,” Ciaran snarls, slapping Roya’s thighs in disgust. She yelps, flinching, but doesn’t stop. “The only person who fucks me are Alastair and Draven.”
“Alastair wasn’t gay when he impregnated my granddaughter, come mierda. How is your brand aging, Draven?” Emil asks, his lips twisting into a smug smile as he lifts his tumbler and takes a sip.
The gun remains where it is, and I continue to breathe. I remind myself that the logistics don’t make sense for him to kill us. I will absolutely not shit myself again.
“It’s pretty,” I reply. “People are allowed to change their sexual orientation, sir. Maybe you should sit down with your family and let them explain how that works. When Noor died, our interest in women went with it.”
“With all due respect, the only person pulling us back into the past is you,” Alastair grunts, sliding out of the booth.
Ci has a harder time because the woman is moaning like a bitch in heat, digging her heels into his thighs. He’s going to need a scouring hot shower after this. I manage to lift her leg and flip her into Emil, who barely manages to catch her without burning her.
That would be one hell of a workman comp situation.
“We’re moving on,” I tell him, nodding curtly at him as he helps Roya stand. “I would never tell you what to do with your grief, sir. Sit with it or not, that’s your business. However, we’re going to skip out on that drink.”
“So you really only fuck each other,” Emil says shrewdly, smoking his cigar as we all ignore the scrambling waitress as she gets dressed and moves on.
“Ciaran’s ass is the tightest of us all in case you need a play by play,” Alastair says, rolling his eyes.
“Why isn’t this, you know, out in the open?”
“We play hockey professionally,” Ci snorts. “Polyamory isn’t exactly accepted. If you feel like you need to be petty and air that out…”
“Meh. That would be hypocritical. My family’s dynamics are complicated. I don’t care who they’re fucking as long as they’re good to each other. You, on the other hand, I will gladly haunt. I don’t like you.”
He stubs out the cigar he’s smoking in disgust, and it takes everything inside of me not to laugh.
“Every few years, someone in my family will pop up to remind you of what you did. We don’t fucking want you to move on. We want you to suffer and to know that we own your souls.”
