Clicking my tongue, my face transformed as I knelt down, gripping the back of his head lovingly and gently bringing it to my bosom. I stroked his sweaty face, and muttered, “I don’t like hurting my babies.” In a split second, my face contorted. I gripped his hair and tugged hard, forcing him to look up into my eyes. “But you continue to shame me.” My eyes landed on the knife sticking out of this thigh. I put my hand down and pushed on it.
The young man’s face twisted in pain, and he gasped, but he didn’t scream. Instead, he bit his lip hard enough to bleed. My heart started to race.
Damn.
All this blood and pain was making me hot.
As I brought my face to his, I pressed harder on the knife’s handle, and when a choked sound gurgled in his throat, I threw my head back and my mouth parted in desire.
I really needed to get laid.
When I slowly ran my tongue over the youngins lips, I felt his short, panting breaths against my mouth, and I pressed my lips to his, sweetly thanking him for his service. As I pulled back and stood, I peered down at him impassively. “Go home. Now.”
With a sigh, I put my hand to my hips, legs braced, and looked on at the carnage that ensued.
Bodies littered everywhere; it was a bloodbath, and when I felt someone come up from behind, I put my hand to the .22 caliber concealed in my garter.
But then he spoke. “This is getting out of control.”
My eldest brother, Van. The only brother I really bothered with, the only one of my family who understood me, because he was the same.
I nodded slightly, and when Van pressed his front to my back, I closed my eyes and swallowed hard.
It was a game we played with each other, pushing the limits.
Yeah.
We were fucked like that.
His hand came to rest on my hip and he leant in close, placing his lips to my ear. “This is your domain. Take control.” The hand at my hip squeezed. “Be the queen I know you are.”
I twisted to look up at him and he kept his face close. Too close.
Without breaking eye contact, I took out my gun, lifted it, and fired three shots.
Van’s eyes smiled, shining with pride, and I returned that arrogant smile, peering down at his lips a long moment.
“Ling.”
I bit my own lip, wondering what he’d taste like.
“Ling,” he warned roughly, taking hold of my wrist and snapping me out of my stupor.
Blinking, I shook the unnatural desire off and looked around, searching the floor, momentarily surprised to find all eyes on me. Luckily for them, I loved the attention. Lived for it.
I took in a deep breath before my gaze darkened, and I stated loudly, “I’m disappointed.” Peering into every set of eyes, I went on. “Should I lie down right here, or would you prefer if I bent over the bar?” At their clear confusion, I said, “Well, you’re all fucking me so hard that I may as well get comfortable.”
At that, every set of eyes turned downcast in silent apology.
The Turks knew better than to come here. This was my club. I fucking owned it, but that didn’t excuse the behavior of my Dragons.
I thought about this situation, and the single sentence I thought so often came to mind.
What would Twitch do?
It was my mantra, how I lived my life, and so far, it had served me well.
“Who was it?” I took a step closer. “Which wise guy started it?”
After a long moment, one of them stepped forward. I didn’t hesitate. I lifted the gun and pulled the trigger, the echo of the shot sounding too loud in the almost empty building. I took no joy in watching the man fall to the ground in a lifeless heap.
I closed my eyes and took in a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “When are you fuckers gonna learn? Ling giveth.” My eyes snapped open once again and my face twisted in rage. “Ling taketh away.”
As I turned, I uttered, “Decide where your loyalties lie and decide quickly.” I was so angry. “Because Momma’s this close to drowning her young.”
An agitated sigh left me.
Sometimes, it was hard being queen.
I felt his presence, knowing he was on my ass, and the second I stepped outside, his strong arm came around my shoulders, pulling me to him. “Don’t sweat it.”
It was frustrating. I expected this position to give so much more than it took. No wonder none of my brothers objected to my takeover.
Five brothers, and none of them wanted the throne. I should’ve known.
On the other hand, I had their respect. I’d told them all straight up. They didn’t have to love me; they didn’t even have to like me, but they would respect me. Because I was the motherfucking queen of The Dragons, and that position demanded respect.
It was important to me.
I started from the bottom and quite literally fucked my way up to the top, but now that I was peering down from Mount Olympus, I realized something was missing.
A king.
Only one man had ever been worthy of the title, and he was gone. He was missing. It meant nothing without him.
It was supposed to be us, the two of us, doing this together.
Sure, I might’ve been queen, but without a worthy king, the empire gained meant squat.
I still mourned the asshole, but I did it silently, in private, away from prying eyes.
So when Van pulled me deeper into his side and muttered, “Come smoke a blunt with me. We’ll talk,” I nodded.
Because nothing made me feel worse than being alone, and tonight, I was lonely.
The second we stepped inside Van’s house, I kicked my shoes off and threw my purse down on the counter before walking over to one of the three sofas and throwing myself back on it. Looking up at the ceiling, I wondered what the hell I wanted in life.
I had it all.
The money. The power. The grandeur.
Why was I being such a pouty little bitch?
Van came over to me, sat on the floor in front of me, put a hand to my knee, and squeezed it in a show of silent support.
He was my champion. My biggest supporter.
Sometimes, it felt like he was my only supporter.
Without a word, he took the small tin from his pocket and started rolling. He lit the end of the joint, taking a hit before passing it to me. I took it, putting it to my lips, and breathed in the strong, pungent smoke. I took another hit, then another, until the joint was plucked from my fingers.
We sat in silence a long time before I spoke into the dimly lit area, my voice just above a whisper. “Do you ever think about what Cha did to us?”
Our father was abusive in every way, shape, and form.
He didn’t hesitate. “All the time.”
It was hard growing up in a Vietnamese family and being the last of six children. To make matters worse, I was a girl. My father didn’t care for that at all. He let me know every moment of my life. The stories he told would shape me into the woman I was today.
How, the moment he found out I was a girl, he threw my mother down the stairs, right there in the hospital. How he reveled in her bleeding.
Unfortunately, I survived. In fact, I survived multiple attempts at termination, all at my father’s hand, and when I was born, he vowed to be rid of me, sooner rather than later.
Being groomed for sex was confusing. I remember being confused, at five years old, wondering why my father was suddenly being so nice to me. Had I been but older, I would have realized it was a trap. Being so young and craving my father’s approval, I did whatever was asked of me because when I did, he was happy with me.
It was your classic case of training. A textbook case of conditioning.
The coward didn’t even do the things he did himself. He would have my brothers do those terrible things to me, and when I took the throne from my father, I was going to make my brothers pay for what they did to me.