Kings of Blood and Money (Underworld Kings)

“It’s game time,” Antonio quips as a dark-tinted SUV pulls up the drive. Roman, my security gate operator, had a list of number plates who would be granted entrance. Maddox nearly had a hissy fit when Roman called me for permission before letting him up.

“Here’s the code to the play room.” I hand him the passcode I had Father re-set before he left for the pleasure room. “Let’s hope he enjoys himself.” I smirk, leaving him to welcome the man and show him his home for the night.

Little Tony is in the reception room, already making a dent in a bottle of bourbon when I enter.

“Which one takes your fancy, little Remington?” he boasts, surveying the array of women and a few men they brought in earlier, each one wearing a different color bikini. “These are our finest crop, some trained in the art of pleasure by the very best in the business.”

“Good to know,” I grunt, gesturing for the bartender to fill me a fifth of whiskey. Tonight called for something a bit stronger than a beer.

“You can pick one on us. A gesture of thanks.” He nudges me with his shoulder, and it hits me in the elbow. I bet his dick is in consistency with the rest of his small stature.

“I’m good. Thanks.” I neck the liquid fire and check my phone. Nothing from Remi yet. I hope Freya’s having a good time.

“You have a preference? I’m sure we can cater to whatever it is.”

“I don’t purchase my pussy, Tony,” I snap, agitated by the whole fucking scene. The workers didn’t look ill kept, they had meat on their bones, color in their cheeks, each one clinging to someone else, petting, batting their eyelashes in our direction.

“You don’t need to purchase. I said it was on the house.” He chuckles, and it rattles his entire body. He looks like a wind-up penguin toy.

“You too good for that?” Maddox scoffs. The stench of alcohol pours over him like he bathed in it. I hadn’t even noticed him lurking in the corner of the room like a creep waiting to strike. “Isn’t that how your father met your mother?” he adds.

Hairs rise over my neck, my mood altering the atmosphere. Pinning him with a cold glare, I growl, “What the fuck did you say?”

Holding his hands up, he taps his glass on the bar for it to be re-filled. “No offense intended. I speak truths, right?”

“Maddox,” Tony warns with a quick shake of his head.

“What the hell is he talking about?” I demand. He’s mistaken. Drunk. A fucking idiot.

Wrapping his stumpy arm over my back to clutch my shoulder, Tony attempts to move us away, but he’s weak and fucking high if he thinks I’ll listen to a drunk, waste-of-life Maddox talk about my family in my home and not call him on it.

“Listen, I assumed you knew. I’m sorry.” Maddox throws back the shot of whatever the fuck he’s drinking.

“Knew what?” I growl.

“That your mother was one of ours.” He signals to the sex workers in the room, so nonchalant, there must be brain cells missing in his skull.

Time slows as I grab the bottle of bourbon from the bar and smash it against the edge before launching myself at Maddox. I have him by the lapels, holding the sharp jagged edge of the glass at his jugular. Hushed panic crashes through the room. Tony’s at my side, gun drawn on me.

“Take care with the next words that come out of your mouth,” I warn.

The bartender makes a dash for the door. A few beats later, he returns with Antonio in tow.

“Whoa, what the fuck happened?” Antonio directs his question to Tony.

“You brother has a loose tongue, as per usual,” Tony grunts.

“Noah, let’s talk through whatever the fuck has transpired in the ten minutes I’ve been gone,” Antonio pleads, hands raised out to me.

“You better shoot this cunt,” Maddox rumbles.

I dig in, cutting flesh. “Not before I open you up, motherfucker.”

“Calm down. No one is shooting or opening anyone up. Tony, put your fucking gun down and have some respect,” Antonio orders. “Tell me what he said.”

“That my mother was a sex worker for you.” I hate saying the words, the lies.

Silence.

No.

My eyes cut to Antonio’s. My breathing becomes heavy. No fucking way. “She wasn’t a sex worker,” I croak, but it’s weak, a question.

No.

“Back in the day, your father used to help me out when I brought girls over, I like them to have a full physical examination but for obvious reason it needed to be off the books.” Antonio exhales, his hand still raised, talking a man off a ledge. “There was something about your mother. They had a connection.” I move away from Maddox like he caught fire, dumping the bottle and leaving the room in a rush.