Page 60 of Draco's Defiance
“Hi.” Moira acknowledged Cherie before turning to Rebecca. “You’re Oliver’s sister?”
“I’m afraid so.” She sighed. “Let me guess, you hate him, too?”
“I don’t hate him.” Moira shrugged. “I don’t really know him, but I do know he tried to follow me last week, and I don’t like to think what might have happened if Draco hadn’t stepped in.”
Draco’s grin grew at her praise.
“What’s wrong with him?” Clearly exasperated, Rebecca shook her head. “Why are all the men in my family deranged?”
“It’s not your fault.” Moira had a troublesome brother of her own, although thankfully Frank had never been responsible for anything as vile as the things Monroe was accused of. She knew well enough, though, that people weren’t responsible for their family’s choices. “I heard about what happened to you, and I’m sorry.”
“Thanks.” Rebecca’s smile seemed sincere enough. “Maybe now we’re all together we can figure this mess out.”
“That’s the plan, believe me.” Balthazar’s expression darkened as he stared one by one at his brothers. “Oliver needs to be leashed.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Oliver
“FUCK THIS!” SLAMMING down his expensive crystal ware, Oliver waved away the blonde woman gyrating in front of him.
It didn’t seem to matter how good her hips looked as they swayed before him, or how pert her ass was as she spun around; all he could think about was the damn Vaughn family. Between the four brothers and their father, those guys had messed him and his father around for years. Business rivals and probably the only family as wealthy as the Monroes, the Vaughns were a constant thorn in his and Jonas’ sides. They presented the positive attributes of affluence with their charitable organizations and philanthropy, a stark contrast to the Monroes’ proclivity for women, drugs, and fast cars, but in recent times things had gotten personal.
After Michael Vaughn’s death, Jonas had started to obsess about taking over the financial arm of the Vaughn family business. Watching Tiffany cradle her breasts as she twerked in her tiny thong, Oliver still wasn’t sure why his dad thought it was so important, but Jonas’ desire had only strengthened in the last month.
That had coincided with Oliver’s run-in with the eldest brother, Balthazar, over Oliver’s then-assistant, Cherie. The annoying bastard had intervened when Oliver had dressed her down, taking Cherie under his wing and waking the chimera. For a while there, Oliver had lost control, hellbent on revenge as he scaled the Vaughn’s mountain lodge and snatched Cherie away before holding her hostage.
Naturally, it had been the Vaughns who’d come to her rescue, seizing her from under his nose and causing yet more humiliation for Oliver to bear.
Then another of the hapless brothers, Sebastian, had started dating his useless sister. Oliver’s jaw tightened at the irritating thought. As far as he was concerned, the idiots deserved one another, but Jonas had found the union an affront, as though Rebecca had run to a Vaughn just to offend them. His brow rose as an image of Rebecca floated through his mind. Who knows, maybe she had? He wouldn’t put anything past her.
The fact that a third riling Vaughn had been there to protect the hot little lawyer, Moira, was the final straw. Oliver was determined to retaliate properly. His knee-jerk visit to Sebastian’s pad the prior day had been ill-thought-through, but next time he would do better. He’d give the Vaughns something to fucking cry about.
His hand balled into a fist at the exhilarating thought. Vengeance was such an intoxicating thought, but his current impotence was doing nothing to help him enjoy his evening.
Usually when his mood grated, an evening at the Diamond Club with one of the attractive girls who spent the nights serving drinks and twirling around silver poles successfully settled his thoughts, or at least enabled him to tune out of the reasons why he was pissed off. Tonight though, even Tiffany—one of his favored few—wasn’t taking the edge off his irritation. He couldn’t get the Vaughns out of his mind.
“Mr. Monroe?” Catching her glossed lip between her teeth, she glanced at him warily, her voice barely audible over the thrum of bass from the dance floor below.
“Not tonight, Tiffany.” His balls ached even as he turned her away. “I’m not in the mood.”
“Oh.” Her face fell, not, as his ego would have liked, because she was hung up on him, but because, he had no doubt, she needed his cash to survive. A pang of something akin to guilt flickered in his chest. It was the closest thing to a conscience Oliver had. “Okay.”
Nodding, she glanced around, scurrying to collect her skimpy outfit. Her delicious breasts bounced as she moved, sending a thrill through his blood and inspiring regret in his decision.
“Hey!” He beckoned her over with his index finger, relishing the way she came running at his command.
That was what he wanted in a woman; big firm tits and an insatiable need to obey.
“Sir?” She waited by his side, no doubt hoping he was going to tip her regardless, which of course, he was. “It’s not personal.” Reaching for her hand, he feigned what he trusted was a suitable smile. “I’m just in a strange headspace today, but you still have the best tits in this place.” And based on the competition, that was truly saying something.
“Thank you, Mr. Monroe.” Her lips stretched into a smile of her own when he reached into his inside jacket pocket.
“Here.” Finding his wallet, he grabbed a wad of notes and thrust them at her. “Here’s an apology from me.”
He watched as she grasped and counted the money excitedly, her expression giddy as her gaze met his eyes.
“I really appreciate it.”