Brotherhood of Cain (Werewolf/Mafia)

Chapter Forty-Eight: Little Lolita

"Step one, accept she was a damn boss. Step two, hide all the guns, knives, and maybe the pillows, too." - Ruthless People, J.J. McCoy

Chapter Forty-Eight

Ethel's POV

I twirled my finger in the glass, watching the bourbon coat my fingers in a copper gloss. Sitting in the back of Queen of Hearts, I surveyed the crowd, taking in every face, every feeling, and every intention.

  Queen of Hearts was one of Draven's clubs, and that meant that he didn't spare any expense in its making. The building used to be an old warehouse for one of the local "businesses" which meant a shit ton of shady shit was going on in it. The police busted it back five years ago and Draven bought it for pennies on the dollar; something he'd happily bragged about.

  Now, it had be converted into a sleek wonderland for rich Northerners with money to spend, and boy were they glad to. Despite being Draven's mate living without a worry for money now, thoughts of slipping my hands in their designer wallets still flashed in my mind. They wouldn't notice and I could take off without a trace.

  Snorting, I aimed my sights back onto the opposite side of the bar. Specifically, the man reclining against the granite bar top with a panty dropping smile and too dark clothing. He was young, mid-twenties, with a wandering eye and tattoos coating his arms. But despite the playfulness he emanated, I still noticed his tensed posture, his analyzing stare, and the flinch he gave when a gunshot sounded in the rap song playing overhead. Normally, Citadel boys relished the sound, because it spoke of some misguided glory and money in their pockets. But I knew that he'd had spent years under the stone cold leadership of some southern cartel. And they weren't nice to white boys.

  Noel Samuel Stone. Otherwise known as the shitbag who pushed Del out of his car. Near the sewers. Above the Alliance. Where she almost ended up raped and killed in the street.

  Disgust boiled in me, bubbling up as I watched him. He suddenly turned towards the door, and a figure moved into the light. It was a young girl, with messy pink hair longer than the tight, nude dress she wore. And there was undoubtedly a fake ID in the purse on her shoulder. She was way too young to be in a place like this.

  Her painted smile went up ten notches when she caught sight of young, dumb and full of cum, Noel. He held out a hand and she gladly took it, twirling around under his gaze. She thought it was a romantic gesture, Noel knew it was appraisement. There was nothing in his eyes but a cold sort of calculation. No lust, no attraction, certainly not love. I wanted to shake her and scream that he was using her.

  "Who're you?" a rough voice spoke up beside me. I turned to the bartender, watching him lean a hip against the counter. He was an older guy, maybe late forties, with a buzz cut and too light eyes set under bushy eyebrows. He wore a dark shirt, the name of the club written across it in a bloody red font, with matching black jeans and an old rag over his shoulder. He pierced me with his stare, his mouth set in a grimace. I had a feeling it was perpetually like that.

  "Who're you?" I questioned back, raising an eyebrow. He wasn't phased by the question, his look turning more probing. If a feral mid-shift werewolf hadn't stared at me like a juicy bone before, I might've even felt uncomfortable.

  "Three guys have approached you in less than thirty minutes, you turned each down without even a glance. That's not even counting the ones salivating like dogs over there-" He gestured lazily to some off corner of the bar, his greying mustache twitching as he talked. I didn't bother looking.  "-and you look like you'd rather be punched in the face than continue being here."