Get Lucky

Except Terry was doing worse than anyone thought. His drug issues were out of fucking control, as were his appetites for… other things.

And Kelsey found that out the hard way.

Terry came to collect her alright, but he didn’t protect her. He tried to hurt her. He tried to force himself on her, fucked out of his mind on whiskey and cocaine. And when she managed to get away from him, he laid into her with his fists before leaving her to bleed.

That would warrant a shotgun shoved so far up his arse that it breaks his teeth. But it gets worse. It was a girl who found her crying in Terry’s office after Terry ran off. A working girl. A really young working girl.

…We as an organization don’t run girls. And we sure as fuck don’t run girls that age.

Terry had started his own thing, pimping young girls in secret. And between that and roughing up Connor’s daughter? Oh, you better believe his ticket was ready to be punched.

But a message had to be sent. A faceless hitman was too easy, and this had to be personal. So, we laid our trap. We placated Terry, assuring him that Connor wasn’t mad, and that we were “sure there was a misunderstanding”. We told him Kelsey admitted to being drunk and in the wrong. And we didn’t mention shit about the girls we’d found out about.

None of that has been fun for the last few weeks, but necessary for Eamon and I to come here on our own without spooking Terry. So we could lay our hands on him, tie him up like the beast he is, cart him back to the meeting table of the kings, and execute him like the scum he is.

So, that’s why we’re here. Except… the plan is changing. The plan is falling the fuck apart, actually, but I know neither of us are even capable of changing that at this point.

…Not with her being introduced to the equation now.

The plan was always to mess with Terry’s hot-headed nephew with the poker game. A notorious gambler, drunk, and sore loser, we set the game up ourselves to bait him. The plan was to get him mad enough to go cry to his uncle, and maybe get him out of his goddamn hotel room.

Right, yeah, that’s the other small problem. Terry being the paranoid, drug-addict, power-hungry piece of shit he is, he’s pretty much sequestered himself in the penthouse hotel suite he lives in, surrounded by drugs, girls, and more importantly, a small army of loyal guards.

…Not exactly the best scenario for snatching him up and dragging him back to our plane.

So that was the plan: fuck with his nephew, who’d go cry to Terry, who’d drag his ass out of his hotel room to meet with us and try and smooth shit over.

But we’ve gone way off plan at this point.

Taking his money? His car? His dignity? Sure. But the man’s fiancée? That could be bad. That could mean more pushback than we were expecting.

…But that doesn’t change anything. Because “the plan” went out the window the second we laid eyes on her. She doesn’t belong here. Not with these scumbags, and sure as hell not with Patrick. One look at her, and Eamon and I both knew, without a word between us, that she changed everything.

Beautiful, innocent, and fierce—we saw that in the way she snapped back at Patrick when he started getting drunk and mean. We saw it in the way she ignored the lecherous eyes of the creeps here for the game. No, this girl isn’t just a pretty face. She’s got fire inside. That much is clear.

And she’s hooked us somehow. Badly. She’s somehow slid under our skin, and we knew in an instant that there was no scenario here where we didn’t make her ours.

So that’s exactly what we’re about to do. This might jeopardize everything, but I know damn well neither of us cares. Or at least, neither of us is going to stop.

My fingers trace the smoothness of her inner thigh, feeling the heat between her legs against my hand. Eamon’s hand is tracing up the other leg, and between us, Phoebe is barely able to catch her breath she’s panting so hard. I can feel her leg tremble, muscles clenching and unclenching as she desperately tries to swallow back a whimper of pleasure.

She’s enjoying this. A lot. And that alone has my cock pulsing hard enough to tear a hole in my goddamn pants. She’s loving being pinned like this by two rough, older, powerful men like us. I could see the flame blazing in those emerald eyes, and the way that fire in her hair seems to dance a little fiercer when we yanked that little dress up high over her panties.