Honored_ An Alpha Mob Romance(57)

She didn’t ask me not to go. I half expected her to, but she didn’t. I could tell she hated everything about the meeting, hated my plan, but she knew I was going to do it whether she wanted me to or not. And I hated saying no to her. We slept together in the shitty old bed those nights, though I guess I shouldn’t say we slept. Truthfully, we fucked like teenagers, and I couldn’t get enough of her smooth skin, the way her lips parted slightly as I slid my cock into her for the first time. It was almost too much, how badly she wanted my mouth and my fingers to explore her soft spots, but I loved it.

And as I was getting changed to go, I loved that she pinned me up against a wall, her eyes burning. I had grinned at her, made some joke, but she dropped to her knees and tugged off my pants.

“Something to think about on your ride there,” she said as she slipped my already rock-hard dick into her mouth.

I don’t think I’d ever come so hard in my entire life. My hands wrapped in her hair, muscles tense, as thick spurts of cum shot out into her greedy mouth. Fuck, and she didn’t miss a beat, cleaning me off with a fucking smile. She was right: it was a great image to have in my head as I went off to what was probably going to be my death.

The train shuddered and stopped, and the doors opened. I looked up and caught the sign: Olney Station. I jumped up and hopped off, blending into the throng of people walking up the stairs. At the top, out on Olney Avenue, I turned right and began the walk out toward whatever was going to happen.

De Barra’s territory was a shit neighborhood. Most of north Philly was a shit neighborhood; for a bunch of reasons, it basically became the ghetto. It was the place the city had forgotten. Abandoned buildings with their windows boarded up dotted the streets, broken glass and trash littered the ground, and cars up on blocks were at almost every corner. Any empty lot was covered in garbage and other crap, like needles and empty dime bags. There were good people all over north Philly trying to make a life for themselves and their families, but years of shitty policies, housing segregation, and the loss of manufacturing jobs basically wiped out any good prospects for most people trapped up here.

And de Barra took advantage of that. There were a lot of desperate people, and desperate people were willing to work for a psychopath selling drugs and stealing whatever wasn’t nailed down. De Barra ran his territory well with a tight fist, although he was constantly fighting off other local gangs. It was a war zone, more or less, like something out of the news, and I was sure that I wouldn’t see a single cop car my entire time in the hood.

I shook my head, forcing myself to focus. I wasn’t trying to save the fucking world. I was trying to save the people I gave a shit about.

I made a right at the block ahead and glanced at my watch. I was running a few minutes late, which wasn’t a big deal, but I picked up my pace anyway. Sweat was running down my back, and the familiar weight of my gun pressed up against my spine, tucked into my pants. I pulled the hood off my head, not caring who saw me.

I could see the spot up ahead. Parked in front of it were two large black SUVs, which I guessed were de Barra’s people. We had said no guns, but I didn’t think for a second that his people would come unarmed. Frankly, I was surprised he had agreed to see me at all; I had expected him to insist we meet at his home restaurant.

My pulse skyrocketed as I crossed the street, heading directly for the empty lot. Back in the right corner of the lot, there was a small alley, about wide enough to fit a single car plus the dumpsters that I knew were back there. Otherwise, it was penned in on all sides by residential buildings. They weren’t de Barra’s people, but they were still people used to seeing shit go down on a regular basis and who probably wouldn’t talk to the police. But I was banking on the fact that de Barra didn’t control the streets, hoping that would make him think twice about putting a bullet in my head right in the middle of the field.

As I walked into the lot, the second of the two black SUVs opened up, and three men climbed out: two goons I didn’t recognize and Boss de Barra himself.

I stared at de Barra. It had been years since I last saw him, but he was a hard man to forget. His jet-black hair was about shoulder length and pulled back into a tight ponytail. He wore a long black coat, which hid who knew how many guns, plus dress slacks and dress shoes. His face was tight and drawn, wrinkled from years of smoking, but his eyes were a fierce, deep blue. He looked like some sort of animal, maybe a giant rat or a wild cat. He smiled at me and spread his arms.

“Liam Sullivan, as I live and breathe.”

I nodded to him. “Boss de Barra, how are you?”