Page 1 of Forbidden Eyes
Prologue
Through turmoil, guns, and gangsters, the mobs have finally settled.
Cane is solid.
Vico—untroubled.
The years of raging wars have gone. The suspicion—gone.
The life of crime, for Cane, is gone.
And the bond between families is dependable, loyal, and without concern.
Life is calm.
It’s taken twenty years.
Twenty years.
But now a new generation is here.
They’re about to test the bonds we’ve built.
And send our calm life to hell.
*Author note - To fully appreciate this book you can go back to the beginning, where it all started, and read Innocent Eyes, Devious Eyes and Vengeful Eyes.
However, this book can be read as standalone.
One
The wall blurs in front of me, my eyes barely bothering to attempt to focus. That’s what happens when I fuck. I lose myself for a while, forget the daily grind of aggravation and borderline mundanity. It’s all the same now, as are the women I fuck. They do as they’re told, no qualms registering on their faces. Not that I look at them. I come from behind or down their throats, oblivious to facial recognition or how attractive they are. I like it that way. It’s easy not to give a damn and remember what I am.
He’s made me that way.
She flicks her hair back, breaking my inner monologue. It pisses me off, making me tighten my grasp on her hips again and look at the way she bucks under me. Her arms stretch taut, strained out in front of me. They’re nice arms: toned, wet with sweat, and trembling under the tension. I like that, too—like them to work hard for me and labour in a state of near exhaustion. They’re pliable like that, ready to take anything I want to give. And fuck, do I give it to them. Hours of it. Bare skin. Exposed everything. Sometimes roped up and held down—forced. As long as they’re contained—bodies unable to get away even if they wanted to—I’m a happy man. Good job, too.
No one likes a pissed-off Carter.
Me included.
My dick pulls out slowly, and my hands let go of her as I look around the luxurious room for the other ass on display for me. The one I’ve left whimpers and collapses onto the floor, her body falling against the wall. I don’t look back. Why bother? She’s just another faceless form, one I have no intention of revisiting. The one I’m aiming for scampers to the bed, eyes wide and lips pouty. I don’t know why. She knew what she was signing up for when I picked her out earlier. They both did. Everyone knows. I don’t hide it either. It keeps the streets thinking about me, keeps the whisper mill going strong. Carter Wade: heartless asshole.
Another thing he’s made me become.
If there was ever a heart there to begin with.
I look at nothing but her body, uninterested in her face now. The redhead pulls her feet up under her frame trying to hide in the bed, maybe. There’s no hiding here. There wasn’t the moment she smiled and showed herself to me. She had her chance to say no when I whispered what I would do before she came in. Most women think it’s a joke, a seductive play. It’s not. I meant it when I said I wanted to fuck her until she couldn’t breathe anymore.
I meant it with them both.
One down, one to go.
My mouth tightens as my hand runs the length of my dick a few times. I’m nearly ready to cum again. I came easily enough the first-time around, straight into the gullet of number one. She gasped and grunted the whole way through, unable to keep herself in the position I’d asked for and struggling to breathe. She was almost poetic under me, showing me that fear I was after. But it wasn’t until her knees buckled and I heard the wail of pain as she hit the ground that I shot my load into her. That’s how it works for me. They hurt; I get off. Never been any different. Fuck analysing it. Perhaps it was those streets when I was a kid that made me this way, or the whores I started my life with. That was all I saw back then—dirt, grime, and women who would bend over and take whatever for a couple of dollars or a bottle of whiskey.
Just like my mom.
Not that I knew her.