Chapter 1
TATE
I’ve had this woman bound and waiting for twenty minutes, and I’ve fucked a hundred just like her already.
She’s a brunette with a tight body and tits that cost someone a fortune. Currently she’s tied spread-eagle to my bedposts with her ass in the air, and the open mouth gag keeps her jaw stretched wide enough to take my cock whenever I decide to give it to her.
The moaning and pleading are getting more desperate the longer I leave her there. But she knew what she was getting into when she begged me to fuck her. I told her what I was going to fucking do. She’ll get it when I’m good and fucking ready.
I’m seated in a high-backed chair in my bedroom, answering a few emails and tracking the location of the woman I actually need to see tonight.
Reese Donaldson. She’s Jenson Donaldson’s daughter. The man is a sick fuck who tried to buy my sister-in-law to be his own personal sex slave. I promised my older brother Fox that I’d put my skills to use and find a way to bring his entire operation down. And that’s what I’m going to fucking do.
In our world, made up of the rich and elite, we call ourselves the Ravens. We operate within our own set of rules, but that shit can’t stand.
She just left her father’s house, according to the alert on my phone. She’ll make an appearance at Velum soon if her patterns hold.
I pull up the photos I have of Reese on my phone. She’s gorgeous with her dark blonde hair, gray eyes, and full pouty lips. I noticed that the first time I pulled her file. But that doesn’t matter. I’m not going to fuck her. What I need is information.
The woman in my bed—I really can’t remember her name—moans again and tries to wiggle her ass.
I glance out the window instead, taking in the Boston skyline. I’m not going to bother closing the shades over the full floor-to-ceiling windows. No one can see in from this height, and even if they could, I don’t give a flying fuck.
The brunette moans around her open mouth gag again, and I watch her this time. Drool seeps into my thousand-dollar sheets. Her pussy is slick and swollen, and she’s been more than ready since I tied her down.
I pour myself two fingers of Macallan and take a slow sip.
I pull out my phone and text my younger brother, Thorne.
[Me: Got another one tied up at my place. Want a piece? She’s down for it.]
She was eager as fuck when I made the suggestion. The Sinclair brothers have a reputation in our world, and there is no shortage of women throwing themselves our way to see if we fuck as good as they’ve heard. There’s a collection of them out there who’ve had all of us in the same night. If this were a few months ago, the three of us would’ve taken turns with the woman in my bed, passing her back and forth until she couldn’t walk straight. But I’m afraid she’s shit out of luck tonight. Fox is married now, completely in love with his wife, making him a one-pussy kind of man.
Good for him, I guess. I never thought he’d settle into married life. But he’s happy, and that’s all that matters to me.
Maybe one day I’ll find what makes me fucking happy. Besides watching the life go out of the eyes of someone who deserves it. I fucking love that shit.
That’s what’s going to happen to Jenson Donaldson. But it’s Fox who gets that kill.
Three dots appear on my screen.
[Thorne: Damn. What does this one look like?]
[Me: Brunette with great tits, already gagged and waiting. Impatiently.]
[Thorne: Tempting, brother. But I’ve got a thing tonight.]
Then why does he give a fuck what she looks like?
[Me: A thing? What the fuck does that mean?]
[Thorne: Don’t fucking worry about it.]
[Me: Well now I have more questions.]
[Thorne: Tough shit, fucker. Have fun without me.]
I toss my phone on the nightstand. I mostly wanted him to help out with making sure the woman comes a couple times. I just want to get off and get back to work, but I can’t have a woman leaving my bed unsatisfied.
The woman moans again, doing her best to beg with the gag.
“I haven’t forgotten about you, good little slut.”
I set down my whiskey and look at her, really look at her.
She’s like every other woman I’ve fucked, with her perfect ass in the air, her back arched, and her skin flushed with anticipation. She’d do anything I asked right now. I could fuck every hole she has, leaving her bruised and satisfied, and she’d fucking thank me for it.
Same as the countless other women I’ve had in this position.
My phone buzzes, and I snatch my phone back to see if Thorne changed his mind. But it’s a text from one of the men I have watching Reese Donaldson. She just arrived at Velum, a popular club for the elite. Most Ravens are members.
I need to fuck hard, and then I’ll go see what she’s doing there and if she’s interacting with anyone of interest.
I unbuckle my belt. The woman arches her back higher at the sound, presenting herself like a gift.
I fuck her because she’s here and willing. And the release is going to stave off of the hunger for a bit, even if it’s getting far more difficult to satisfy. I use her mouth first, watching her throat work around me while tears leak from the corners of her eyes. Then I pound into her pussy until she’s screaming around the gag. She comes twice before I finish down her throat.
The whole thing takes maybe fifteen minutes.
I untie her wrists and ankles while she catches her breath. Red marks circle her skin where the ropes bit in. She’ll have bruises tomorrow.
I remove the gag last. She works her jaw, then gives me a satisfied smile.
“Holy shit.” Her voice is hoarse. “That was—”
“The guest bathroom’s through there.” I nod toward the door. She’s definitely not sharing mine. “If you want to freshen up.”
She blinks as if she’s expecting something else. If she knows anything about my brothers and me, she should know there’s no fucking cuddling after. Except maybe Fox. It wouldn’t surprise me if he’s a goddamn cuddler now. But he’s forever home with his wife.
I’m already walking toward the shower, locking my bathroom door behind me.
Several minutes later, I step out of the bathroom with a towel sitting low around my waist to find that she’s fully dressed and lingering near the door. She’s redone her makeup, and I hope she didn’t waste that effort on me.
I still can’t remember her fucking name. Brittany? Brianna? She told me at the club earlier tonight, but it didn’t stick.
“That was incredible.” She moves closer and runs her fingers along the tattoos on my chest. “When can I see you again?”
“I’ll call you.”
I don’t make a habit of lying, but that’s definitely a lie. I just need her out of here so I can get back to Velum.
“You don’t have my number.”
I don’t say anything, because I’m not going to fucking ask for it. She knew what this was.
Her face falls for just a second before she covers it with a smile. “Well. If you change your mind, handsome, I’m at Velum most weekends.”
She leaves, and I check my phone before the door even clicks shut. My man says Reese is still at the club.
I get dressed in dark jeans, a black button-down shirt, and then holster my Glock. I run my fingers through my messy dark hair, not caring that it’s still a little damp. Then I grab my keys and take the private elevator down to the garage. My McLaren’s parked in its usual spot, one of several cars I rotate through depending on my mood.
It’s time to get back to work.
When I arrive at Velum, it’s fucking packed.
The club caters to Ravens and rich wannabes who want to play without questions, offering private rooms, expensive drinks, and a strict policy of minding your own fucking business. A lot of shit goes down here, but that isn’t my concern tonight.
I believe Reese Donaldson is my way into her father’s operation. Jenson Donaldson is a Council member for the Ravens, equal to my father’s ranking. And now we know he’s running one of the largest human trafficking networks on the East Coast. My father and Fox want to know how deep it goes before we make our move.
My men have been tracking her for four days while I dig up as much as I can.
Surely she’s Daddy’s little princess and probably knows exactly what he does. Many of the women in our world have to turn a blind eye to what some of these rich assholes do. She probably only cares that Daddy ensures she marries well and stays covered in expensive clothes and diamonds.
After a few minutes, I finally spot her at the bar, and my chest tightens.
The photos didn’t do her justice, not even close.
Wavy dark blonde hair spills over bare shoulders. The pink dress is tight enough to show off tits that would fit perfectly in my hands and hips that flare out in a way that would be perfect to grip while fucking. The hem barely covers her ass, and her legs are long and toned, ending in heels that add at least six inches.
But it’s not just her body—it’s the way she stands with her shoulders back and her chin up, like she owns this place and everyone in it. The way she scans the room with those gray eyes, like she’s looking for her next target.
That’s a look I know quite well.
I find a spot in the shadows and order a whiskey I don’t plan to drink. My eyes don’t leave her.
Reese Donaldson finishes her drink and sets the glass down. Then she moves.
She doesn’t just walk through the crowd. She cuts through it, her hips swaying in a way that turns heads. Everything about her is captivating and commands the attention of everyone around her. I watch the muscles in her thighs flex with each stride, watch the way her ass shifts under that tight pink fabric. My cock is rock fucking hard.
Her eyes lock on someone I can’t see yet. I shift position, and that’s when I spot him—some mid-thirties asshole in an expensive suit, standing near the back hallway.
He doesn’t see her coming.
She approaches with a wide smile. Her hand slides up his chest. Her lips brush his ear. Whatever she says makes him set his drink down so fast the liquor sloshes over the rim.
She takes his hand and leads him down the back hallway.
I follow.
The hallway is dim, lined with doors to private rooms. She doesn’t use any of them. She pushes him against the wall between two doors—somewhere semi-private but not hidden. Anyone walking by could see them.
She drops to her knees.
Holy fuck.
The position hikes her dress up. From where I’m standing, I can see the curve of her ass, the arch of her back as she leans forward. She looks like a fucking goddess, and she’s about to suck off some random bastard who doesn’t deserve to breathe the same air as her.
Her hands work his belt until she frees his cock, strokes him twice, and takes him into her mouth without hesitation.
I should go back to the main floor and wait for her to finish whatever the fuck this is.
My feet don’t move.
The man’s head falls back against the wall, his hands fisting in her hair. He’s moaning, thrusting into her mouth, clearly close to finishing, and she takes it all.
But she’s not performing for him, and she’s not making it pretty or drawing it out. She’s in complete control of the man.
He comes with a grunt that echoes down the hall.
She swallows without flinching, then pulls back and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.
And then she stands up and walks away without looking at him.
She doesn’t fix her hair, doesn’t check her makeup, and doesn’t glance back.
The man is still slumped against the wall trying to catch his breath, his dick hanging out of his pants. She’s already gone.
My cock strains against my zipper so hard it aches.
I knew she was hot from the photos. But this—watching her use that man and throw him away—that makes me want to take my cock out and fist myself. And I haven’t done that since I was fucking teenager.
She would be the perfect fucking challenge. Every woman I touch surrenders before I have to work for it. They want to be used and hand over control because I’m a Sinclair and saying yes to me is easier than saying no. There’s no chase, nothing to win, and nothing that makes the conquest mean a goddamn thing.
Reese just used that man and threw him away like he was nothing.
I want to know what it would take to make her kneel for me like that. What it would take to break through that control, strip it away piece by piece, and watch her fall apart. Because I’d be the one in control, and I crave a fucking challenge.
She’s heading toward the exit now, moving fast. I follow, keeping enough distance that she won’t spot me.
Then she stops.
Her whole body goes rigid. Through the glass doors, I can see a black car idling at the curb. I can’t see the driver, but I can see her reaction—her hands curling into fists, her breathing going shallow.
She’s scared of whoever is in that car.
I close the distance between us, stepping into her path. Her head snaps toward me, and I watch recognition flicker across her face. She knows what I am, and she probably knows my name. The Ravens can be a small world.
“Going somewhere, sweetheart?”
Her eyes narrow. Up close, she’s even better than the photos—high cheekbones, pouty lips swollen from having a cock down her throat five minutes ago.
“Get the fuck out of my way.”
“Now, that’s not very friendly.” I step closer, backing her toward the wall. “Especially after the show you just put on.”
She goes still. “What?”
“Back there in the hallway, with you on your knees.” I let my gaze drop to her mouth, then back up. “That asshat didn’t last long, did he?”
Her chin lifts. “Because I know what the fuck I’m doing.”
The lack of shame does something to me. Most women want to at least pretend they aren’t into playing the part of a hot little slut. But she fucking owns it.
“Were you watching me, Sinclair?” She takes a step closer instead of backing away. “Did you like what you saw?”
So she does know who I am. My cock twitches. She notices and licks her bottom lip.
Fuck, I need that fucking mouth.
“I’ve been watching you for days, Reese.” I match her step, closing the distance until I can smell her perfume—something soft and floral. Then I am close enough to feel the heat of her breath. “I know who you are. I know who your daddy is. And I’ve got some questions that need answers.”
She doesn’t step back. Most people do when I get this close. I’m known as an intimidating man. I catch the way her breath stutters, and her chest rises a little faster. Her body knows what her mouth won’t admit.
I could kiss her right now. Or wrap my hand around her throat. She doesn’t know which one I’m thinking about, and I like watching her try to figure it out.
The answer is both. I want my hand around her throat when I kiss her. Goddamnit. I need fucking information, not distraction.
Her gaze flicks toward the exit. The black car hasn’t moved.
I watch her decide what she’s going to do. Putting aside how hard I am, I came ready to drag her ass out of here if I had to. Not to force her to fuck. I’d never force myself on a woman. But I’ll force information out of her. I’ve done this many times before, and I know how to get what I want.
She looks at the car, then looks at me, and makes her choice.
“What kind of questions?”
I’m curious about why she keeps watching that car. But if it helps ensure she leaves with me, I’ll take it.
“The kind you won’t want to answer in public.” I nod toward the side exit. “My car’s out back. We can talk somewhere more private.”
She laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “You think I’m stupid enough to get in a car with a Sinclair?”
“I think you’re smart enough to know that if I want you to come with me, then you’ll come with me.” I lean in close, my mouth near her ear. “Fighting it is a mistake, by the way. People who don’t answer my questions tend to regret it. But we can discuss that later.”
Silence. I can see the tension in her jaw, the way she’s fighting to keep her expression neutral. She’s scared, but she’s not panicking—she’s weighing her options.
“Fine.”
I expected to have to grab her. I expected a damn fight. In truth, I kind of wanted one.
She pushes past me and heads toward the side exit.
I follow, thrown off by her again tonight. She walks to my car like she’s the one who decided to be here, like this whole thing was her idea. I unlock the doors and open the passenger side.
She pauses, looking at the interior.
“What?”
“Nothing.” She slides in. “It’s just that a custom McLaren seems so typical.”
She thinks she’s fucking cute. I grind my teeth as I close her door and go around to the driver’s side. When I get in, she’s already buckled with her hands folded in her lap, looking calm and composed.
But her eyes keep darting to the rearview mirror.
I start the engine and pull out of the lot. She twists in her seat to look through the back window, watching the black car until we turn the corner and it disappears from view.
Only then does she face forward again, and her shoulders drop with relief. But there’s something underneath it. Something that looks a lot like dread.
Whoever was in that car, she didn’t want them to see which direction we went.
“You want to tell me who that was?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure I don’t owe you a goddamn thing.” She turns to look at me, jaw tight, eyes blazing. “You want to ask about my father? Fine. But my personal life isn’t part of this deal. And if you think kidnapping me gives you some kind of leverage, then you’re dumber than you look.”
“Kidnapping?” I almost laugh. “Sweetheart, you got in the car willingly.”
“Don’t call me sweetheart.”
“Princess?”
Her jaw tightens. “Don’t call me that either.”
God I really like this woman. Even if every part of my body didn’t want to fuck her, I’d still want her around.
“Then what should I call you?”
“Nothing.” She faces forward again. “You shouldn’t call me anything. Ask your questions, get your answers, and let me out of this car.”
I let the silence stretch. She’s good at this—the sharp tongue, the refusal to show weakness. But I caught the way her eyes roamed over me back at the club. The way her breath changed when I leaned in close.
She’s not as unaffected as she wants me to think.
We drive in silence. She doesn’t ask where we’re going, doesn’t try to grab the wheel or jump out at a stoplight. She just watches the road, occasionally checking the mirrors.
She came with me to escape someone. Whoever was in that car. And I don’t know why yet.
But I’m going to find out.
I glance at her profile in the glow of the streetlights—the sharp line of her jaw, the curve of her throat, the dark blonde hair falling across her shoulders. I think about the way she looked in that hallway.
My cock twitches again, and I shift in my seat.
She catches the movement. Her lips curve into something that isn’t quite a smile.
“See something you like, Sinclair?”
“I see something I’m going to take.”
The words hang between us. Her smile falters. I watch her reassess—watch the moment it lands that I’m not just some rich asshole asking questions about her daddy. Her eyes drop to my hands on the steering wheel, then back to my face. She’s looking for something. Trying to figure out exactly how much danger she’s in.
She’s a smart girl.
“You’re not going to hurt me.” She says it like she’s trying to convince herself.
She holds her fingers against her mouth, parting her lips like she might suck on them, which would push me over the fucking edge. But then rests her hand back in her lap.
“Not in the way you might fear. But I’m going to get the information that I need.”
She’s quiet for a long moment. When she turns back to the window, her shoulders are tighter than before.
She might think she escaped something—whatever the fuck that was—by getting in my car. But she has no goddamn idea.
I’m going to peel back every layer of that control she wields so well until she tells me what I want to know.
And if she willingly gets on her knees in the process, even fucking better.
But something tells me this woman isn’t going to break easily.
Good. I’ve been fucking bored anyway.