Page 50 of The Gangster King
That limb thickens in my jeans, so I stretch out my leg and imagine her on her knees sucking my cock while wearing my ring on her finger.
Christ, that would—
“Think that did the trick?” Nick asks, interrupting my daydream.
Damn him.
I nod, because I have no doubt it will get Braxton’s attention.
“He looked fucking scared.” Jono smirks from the front seat.
“You would too if four mobsters were pointing oozies at you and your wife,” I say, as if he’s an idiot. “Where did you find those fucking things?”
Nick snickers. “Old warehouse. One of the boys found them last year. Thought they would look scarier than Glocks.”
“They don’t work. Dead as a fucking duck.”
I snort softly and glance outside.
Truth is, neither of them deserved that. Their son is a US Marine. He’s given his life for this country, and they should be proud of him. Now I’ve shown up on their doorstep with a bunch of armed, scary looking thugs demanding information.
I thought at one point Mr. Ashford would fold.
When he didn’t, fuck me, all I could think wasgood on you, man.Even if I did want the information.
It doesn’t matter. Braxton will receive the message, and he’ll get in contact. It’s not like he doesn’t know how. Gianna is my sister, and she has my phone number.
Nick pulls onto our street, and we drive slowly past the two white vans that are a permanent fixture these days. FBI vans.
I glance at them through the dark tinted windows of the first one and they glare back, giving me the bird.
“Nice.” I shake my head at the assholes.
“Fucking pigs.” Jono grates out. “Have they returned your father’s body yet?”
“Mom said they’re delivering it tomorrow. We’ll bury him next week,” I say as we near the house.
A black vehicle heading toward us suddenly speeds up.
“The hell?” Jono grips the dashboard, glancing behind us at the two cars full of my men following us.
“GET DOWN!” Nick yells.
A gun appears outside the side of the approaching vehicle as the engine roars when they floor it.
Coming right for us.
I fling myself flush against the back seat despite the bulletproof windows as Nick yanks the steering wheel and steers us away.
“Motherfuckers!” he yells as the tires hit the pavement and my body jolts at the impact.
“Fuck!”
Pop, pop, pop.
“Fucking idiots, don’t they know the feds are right there!” Nick yells, slamming on the brakes so we don’t crash into the fence.
I sit up, then duck as another two pops hit the side of my car. Then lift again, watching them speed past the FBI vans. One of them pulls out, and a siren starts screeching as they follow.