Filed to story: The LORDS Series Free PDF by Shantel Tessier
Turning back to the station, I set my now wet tray on the surface, and Beau gives me a sympathetic smile. “Here you go.” He passes me a handful of bar napkins, and I blot my face and lick my lips, tasting the nasty beer.
Well, so much for having a good night. Now I need another bath.
FIFTEEN
TYSON
I sit back in the corner booth inside of Blackout, reviewing paperwork while my staff picks up after closing. Every man who works for me is training to be a Lord.
The lower part of the totem pole, but a Lord nonetheless. Unless you’re like Ryat, Sin-another Lord I’m close with-or myself, high up in rankings, you have to provide a service as you go through your initiations while attending Barrington University. When I took on Blackout, the Lords came to me and asked if I could employ some while they go through initiations. I didn’t see why not. They saved me the trouble of going through the hiring process.
I look up to see Lake sitting at the bar, her back to me. “Come here,” I call out, not even bothering to use her name. She knows I’m referring to her.
Her back stiffens, but she makes no move to acknowledge me.
I pick up my cell off the table to turn on her collar but stop myself. Instead, I sit back in the booth and cross my arms over my chest. I watched her all night on the cameras, and she did better than I thought she would. “I’m going to give you to the count of five to crawl your ass over to me.”
That does it.
Her head whips around, her hair slapping her in the face in the process. She jumps to her feet, glaring at me. “I’m not fucking crawling anywhere in this place. That’s disgusting.”
As if she’d crawl anywhere else. “One.”
She huffs, her large tits rising with the action, and then places her hands on her narrow hips. My eyes drop between her legs, and I wonder if her underwear is as soaked with my cum as her leotard is from the beer that got spilled.
“Two.”
“I’m not fucking doing it, Tyson,” she snaps, her voice ringing out through the silent club.
“Three.”
“Fuck you.” She turns her back on me to storm off and up to the apartment, but she runs face-first into one of my bartenders, Walter. Everyone is aware she’s my wife. I sent out an email before we opened this evening. It wasn’t for her to get special treatment, but to see if they picked on her more. Some chose to ignore her. Others chose to show her just how much they don’t want her here, and I will say she handled it better than I expected.
“When your husband gives you an order, you follow it,” he tells her.
“Fuck you, Walter.” She slams her hands into his chest and shoves him out of the way, but instead, he grabs her hair and yanks her toward me while she screams, trying to untangle herself from him.
My skin instantly begins to burn. My teeth clench, seeing his hands on her. I shift in the booth but stop myself from getting up. I wait to see what she does. How far will she allow him to go? Just how much fight does she have in her?
Finally, she manages to slam her hand into his face but not before he pushes her to the floor. “Don’t fucking touch me, you piece of shit!” she screams at him, shoving her now tangled hair out of her face.
“Four.” I keep counting, my eyes on her while my hands are fisted on the table.
Her narrowed eyes are on mine while she’s gasping for breath.
“You’re already on the floor.” I add to her already pissed-off attitude. “Crawl to me.”
Walter reaches down for her again, and she scrambles away from him. Pressing her back into the side of the bar, she knocks over a barstool in the process.
Everyone just stands around watching the exchange. I look over at Beau-another bartender-and arch a brow. He wants my wife. I also watched the way he looked at her tonight on the cameras. I’ve noticed the way all the men who work for me looked at her. I understand that they are all horny boys who haven’t had sex in years, but I still don’t like how they look at what’s mine. As if they think they’d have a chance with her. That I might be nice enough to strip her naked and tie her down to the bar for all to sample. Offer her up as a bonus. Over my dead body.
Beau throws his hands up. “Respectfully, sir. She’s your problem. Not mine.”
I smile and get up from the booth. She huffs, getting to her feet, and pretends to dust dirt off her already dirty uniform.
Stopping in front of Walter, I remove my knife from my back pocket and flip it open. Grabbing his wrist, I slam his hand down onto a table and stab the knife through it, pinning it down.
He screams, trying to jerk it away, but the knife is in the wood.
“Apologize,” I order.
“Wh-hat?” His shrill voice fills the open club.
I grip his hair, yanking his head back. “Apologize to my wife. Now.” My eyes go to hers, and she’s looking at me wide-eyed, her body frozen in shock.
“I’m … I’m sorry,” he growls through gritted teeth.
I remove the knife from his hand. He drops to his knees, holding it to his chest as it bleeds everywhere. Running the blade across my thigh, I close the knife and slip it back into my pocket. “Walter?”
“Yeah?” He lifts his head to meet my glare. I remove my gun from the back of my slacks and shoot him right between the eyes.
Lake’s scream follows the sound of my gun as blood splatters her uniform, and his body falls to the floor where she had been lying. She places her hand over her mouth, and silence follows as everyone stands paralyzed at what I just did.
“This will be your only warning. Don’t put your hands on my wife. Ever.” My voice rings loud and clear. Reaching out, I grab her shaking hand and yank her to me. “Clean this shit up,” I order, and everyone scrambles, getting back to work.
I pull her into the hallway, and she yanks her arm free of my hold. “Why don’t you just whip your dick out and piss on me,” she growls. “It might help get your point across.” Her palms hit my now bloody shirt.
I wrap my hand around her throat and shove her back into the wall, pushing my hips into her to pin her in place. “Nothing is off the table, darling.”
Her nostrils flare, her pretty blue eyes swimming in tears that she hasn’t allowed to fall yet. “You’re disgusting.”
I lower my lips to her ear, and whisper, “I am, but I will make you crave everything I choose to do to you.”
LAIKYN
I’m not surprised Tyson just killed that guy. I’ve known my father was a Lord since I was young, and I also knew what that entailed. What I am surprised about is that he killed Walter because of me. I don’t want that on my conscience. Another dead body because I couldn’t save them. Even if the man was a fucking prick.
Tyson steps back, grabs my hand, and I look over my shoulder to see the body already gone. Beau is on his hands and knees, cleaning up the blood that remains with towels and a bucket of water.
We get into the elevator and ride it up to the fourth floor in silence and step off. We enter the apartment, and he pulls me through the master bedroom and into the bathroom. “Get undressed. We’re showering and going to bed.” He lets go of my hand, and I come to a stop, watching him undo his blood-covered button-up and then shrug it off his shoulders. He removes his gun from the back of his slacks, pulls back the slide, and removes the magazine. He places them all on the countertop by his sink.
If I knew how to use a gun, I’d take the opportunity to shoot him but, I know I’d fail or end up shooting myself. Then he toes off his shoes and removes his socks. Last, he undoes his belt before unbuttoning his slacks, shoving them down his legs along with his boxer briefs.
This is the first time I’m actually paying attention to his naked body. Last time we showered, I was too embarrassed to even look at him. And thankfully, he demanded I turn around. When I watched him with my sister, I never paid much attention to it. But now I couldn’t look away even if I wanted to.
He’s got scars on his back, above his right shoulder blade. Looks like a small circle. Bullet wound, maybe? I hate that I want to ask what it’s from. Another on his arm, and a third scar down on his left lower back. Possibly a stab wound?
My eyes drop to his ass and my breathing picks up at how chiseled it is. His muscular thighs flex when he opens the glass door and steps into the shower, turning it on.
I sigh, removing my clothes, knowing I’m covered in blood and alcohol and need to clean off before I go to bed. I’m exhausted. It’s been a long day, and I never stay up this late.
Getting naked, I step inside and pause for a second, remembering he’s got a fucking shock collar around my neck. I’m afraid to get it wet, but then I remember I already took a shower with it on before I even knew what it was. I highly doubt he’d kill me this soon. He married me for a reason. Whatever it is, I’m sure he’s playing the long game here.
He turns to face me, and I step back until I’m up against the cold tile wall. He cages me in, a smile tugging at his lips. “What’s wrong, little darling?”
I snort. Way too many things to answer that question.