The linoleum tiles beneath my boots are scuffed and worn from many others who, like me, have been detained over the years. A hiss of chatter floats down the hallway, where police officers and staff congregate to do their work. Someone must have brewed fresh coffee because the aroma is thick and warm. Too bad they won’t offer me a cup. I didn’t get to grab my belongings, so it’s cold in here without a jacket.

There’s also something about my arrival at the station that doesn’t feel right. I thought I would have my photo taken and get booked. Instead, I got tossed into a jail cell with three other dudes sleeping off booze. 

One of them is snoring, and I don’t understand how anyone can take a peaceful nap on a hard wooden bench in a cage that smells like piss from a urinal two feet away that desperately needs scrubbing. 

Seriously, if I pee in that thing, I’ll probably get chlamydia. 

Hours have passed, and each time a police officer walks by, I ask what’s happening since this doesn’t feel like protocol. Why did they shove me in here? I should have asked for a lawyer.

“Hey, hey!” I growl at an officer walking up to the cell. “What’s going on? Why haven’t I been booked?” 

“Relax…” the officer stares me down, then shouts, “Open up three!” There is a buzz, then a click, and the jail cell door rolls open with a clang. The officer backs up and motions me forward. “Come on out, and follow me.”

“Now, what’s happening?” 

“You’re being released.” The officer proceeds ahead of me.

“Why?

“Beats me. I’m just walking you to the front.”

We pass the cubicles of employees burning the midnight oil at their desks, with mugs of coffee on standby for sips. The officer walks me to a window where another officer stands inside a room filled with cubby holes. 

“Miguel Gomez needs his things. We're releasing him.”

“Alrighty…” the other officer turns to the cubbies, searches for my name, and pulls out a plastic bag with the belongings they took from me. “This is yours. It should all be there.”

“Right.” I open the bag and shuffle the items, which isn’t much: just my watch, phone, wallet, and the card from Emilio Suarez.

I’m damn glad I tossed out whatever that drug was.

The officer walks me to the end of the hallway, then says, “You’re free to go.”

Hesitation causes me to look from him to the exit, then back to him again, but he shrugs and walks away. This is weird, yet I head for the doors, step out onto the cement steps of the precinct building, and let my head fall back. A mini cloud escapes my mouth with my long breath, and I glance around. The street is bathed in the deepest pink of twilight, so it must be getting close to six AM. But why was I detained for hours, only to be released like some guy shoved in the drunk tank to sleep it off? 

“Get inside.”

I jerk my attention to the right, and there is a black SUV idling, with fog streaming from the exhaust pipe. Bernard stands next to the back passenger door, dressed in an all-black suit, and motions inside. I’ve only met this man once before, and it was when Augusta threatened to have him fling me over his shoulder and force-feed me duck.

“Where are we going?” I walk down the steps.

“Just get in.”

“Ok…”

The driver pulls away from the curb, and we proceed in silence. He must be taking me to the warehouse to meet with Kay and Lucas, but after a few blocks, he doesn’t turn toward the piers where the old warehouses are. Instead, the driver heads toward Golden Gate Park. So it’s safe to say I’m being taken to Augusta. The cityscapes transform into tall emerald trees as we weave through the park and eventually roll through the gate up to the mansion.

“Get out,” Bernard says, his seat belt clicking.

Hopping down, I smooth my t-shirt, which smells like a stinky jail cell. My hands are grimy, and wiping them on my jeans doesn’t improve it, considering my pants were in contact with the same nasty benches that naked, drunk asses have sat on. Yuck. 

I’ll need to be bathed in antibacterial.

We hike up the porch steps, and the sun is starting to wink passed the trees as it rises to greet the city for a new day. Bernard is massive, so his shoes make a thomp, thomp as he leads me up the stairs and into the foyer. However, he doesn't show me straight to the sitting room. Instead, he ascends the stairs to our right.

“What’s up here?” I ask.

“Breakfast with Augusta,” Bernard grunts, and my brows arch in surprise. 

Not only did he answer, which is a shock since I’m usually ignored, but I was brought here so soon after our sit down with Emilio Suarez. So, this must mean she has news about Alma.

Otherwise, she wouldn’t be wasting her time with me.

Right?

∆∆∆

When Bernard said I would have breakfast with Augusta, I imagined another dining area. Perhaps one reserved for smaller meals. However, as we climb to the third level, the stairs empty into an atrium shaped like a crescent moon with a glass ceiling. The walls are wrapped in bookshelves made of dark walnut, and two oversized chairs are facing each other, with a table between them and a chess set ready for players. 

But Bernard doesn’t leave me here.

Instead, his meaty hands grab the gold handles for a large set of double doors, and he swings them open.

 “Jesus Christ, Bernard!” Augusta shouts. “You must knock.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am.” He bows his head, and I steal a peak past his large body to see Augusta lying on a masseuse's table, a white towel barely covering her naked body as some pretty-boy beefcake rubs her down. 

“Your guest is here as you asked.”

“Good.

This is her room, and my jaw hits the hardwood floor when I'm escorted inside.

There have been occasions in my life where I’ve sprung for luxury suites in Las Vegas while partying with the fellas, but even those don’t come close to this master bedroom. A bed as wide as two king-sized mattresses are the main feature, and my eyes immediately land on its four posts reaching for the dome ceiling, where clouds are painted to mimic the sky. A gauzy canopy drapes over the posts, creating a partition that reveals silky champagne linens and countless stacked pillows.

Across from the bed is the massage table, where Augusta props herself upright, causing the towel to fall and reveal her entire back, butt crack, and side boob. Then some servant emerges and holds out a white robe for her. Augusta stands, showing off the total curvature of her bottom, and I should look away, like Bernard, but I can’t.

She must be doing this on purpose. Unless she thinks we're too beneath her for it even to matter that she’s naked in front of us all? I’m guessing it’s the latter, so I facepalm myself and rub my temples. There are far more important things than a naked woman.

After shrugging into the robe, she ties off the belt to synch it closed while sliding into a pair of sandals. Then, she glances back at me and nods for me to follow while heading for the French doors leading to a terrace. 

“Bernard, you are dismissed.”

“Got it, ma’am. I will be right outside these doors.”

“First, I need you to get with Niko about upping security.”

“Got it, ma’am,” he says, bowing and escorting the servant and masseuse out of the room before closing the doors behind them.

So now it's just Augusta and me, alone on the terrace, and it suddenly feels stuffy despite being outside with a garden view and birds chirping happily in the trees.

“Sit,” she orders me and gracefully sits at the wrought-iron bistro tables arranged with breakfast for two and crosses one leg over the other. 

Like a good boy, I plop onto the chair opposite of her and try not to notice how her robe has loosened up. I swear this feels like a test. She proceeds to cut into the omelet on her plate with the early morning sun bouncing light off the gold silverware, and with each movement, her naked breasts jostle beneath the robe.

So, I pretend not to see it. My mind might be in the gutter, but I can still be a damn gentleman!

“Eat,” she orders.

“Augusta…” I grab the fork and knife, which are polished to perfection. Not a single water spot. “Why am I here? Are you why I wasn’t booked for violating my restraining order?”

“Yes."

“But how?”

Augusta rolls her eyes. “A thank you would be nice.”

“Thank you. I mean it.”

“I know you do.” She takes a sip of coffee, the steam curling around her face as she marvels at the sunrise for a few beats.  “Although, that isn’t why you’re here.”

“Then why? Did Emilio receive word on Alma?”

“Yes. Now eat.” she sets the cup down and cuts another bite of omelet. 

“He did?”

“Yes.” 

“Well, what did he find out?”

“Are you seriously going to spoil this beautiful sunrise and this meal with questions, or can you wait until we’re done?” 

“I need to know. We're all going crazy not knowing her whereabouts.”

Releasing a ragged breath, she sets the fork and knife down, dabs at her mouth with a cloth napkin, and scoots back in the wrought-iron chair.

“Since you’ve insisted on talking through breakfast, I want something from you.” 

“Ok…”

“I hear you’re supposed to meet with Kay this afternoon, and I believe Jocelyn will be there. She’s been…” Augusta’s brows furrow for a second as she formulates her thoughts. “Acting a little off. Bernard thinks she and Kay are having an affair, and as much as I respect Kay, he is wrong for her. Dating employees never works—especially someone from our security team. The next thing you know, terrible knee-jerk choices are made instead of rational ones, which is dangerous. Our lives depend on our security team remembering what their job is.”

“So, what? You want me to spy and gather dirt?”

“No. More than that. I want you to be vigilant. Read between the lines of their interactions. With the recent threats on my life, we need to beef up security, and if Bernard is right, then I worry Jocelyn won’t be safe with Kay. Love makes people soft.”

“Wait. Who’s threatening you?” I furrow my brows.

“Jocelyn thinks it’s the Cartel, but Emilio would never. He and I have an… arrangement. Plus, this all started when you dropped into our laps, so it’s probably Richie’s thugs.”

My eyes widen. “You think it’s my fault?”

“Don’t be dramatic,” Augusta snorts. “And don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re not important enough for me to worry about.”

“Right,” I grunt. “So, will you share the news about Alma now?”

“Not yet.” Augusta finishes off her coffee, sets it down, and stabs me with a funny stare. “Did you think I’d get you out of jail, invite you for breakfast, and that would be it?”

“I thought me spying on Jocelyn and Kay was the payback?’

“Not even close.”

With a deep sigh of regret, I ask, “What do you want in return?”

August sizes me up, but there is a glimmer of mischief in her eyes as her fingers tug the belt, barely holding her robe together. The material slinks open, revealing the front of her body, and I swallow hard when her legs spread wide. A playful smile stretches across her face as she leans back in the wrought-iron chair, lighting one of her long cigarettes. "I'd like for us to have an arrangement of our own."

“You want a sexual favor?” I scoff. “You can get that from your sexy masseuse.”

“I don't sleep with employees. There is no fun in that.”

“Augusta…” I trail off because this has to be a joke. The woman is usually an ice queen, yet she’s spread eagle for me.

This can’t be real.

This has to be a test of some sort.

“I know it might seem like I sit around snapping my fingers all day, but heavy is the head that wears the crown," she explains. "I have my father’s name and reputation to uphold, so I don’t always have time for romantic relationships, unlike my sister who gallivants night clubs and has boyfriend after boyfriend. I don’t have the time unless it's for business. Like last night.”

There’s a venomous edge to Augusta’s words. Is she envious of Jocelyn’s freedom or ashamed? I have no idea what Augusta’s day-to-day entails, but I bet her and Jocelyn’s dynamic is much like Prince William’s and Harry’s. She upholds the Abramovitz name, while her younger sister is free to carve her path. 

But I get the feeling Jocelyn wants to carve her way into running the show and be the queen bee. 

“Now, why don't you get on your knees,” Augusta says.

This isn’t how I saw things panning out, so I clench my fists because I'm not someone's little bitch. “No. I can’t.”

“Miguel, people don’t say no to me. Not after I’ve done them such a huge favor. I’m not asking you to move a mountain—just produce an orgasm.” 

“Is this a test? Are you fucking with me?”

“A test?” Augusta laughs. "No. It's for fun."

"Fun?"

"Yes. My father taught me long ago that women hold power between their legs, and if I was ever going to take over the family business, I needed to learn how to use it. At the time, I thought what he said was grotesque, but then in college, I learned he was right. So later tonight, Emilio will come over, and I will have sex with him to pay for his generous help."

"Augusta, you don't have to do that. Especially not for me."

"I'm not doing it for you. I'm doing it for the business. Emilio is enamored with me, so he'll jump when I snap my fingers, but to do that, I need to give him a taste now and then. It's how I keep him loyal and why I can go to him for help finding your friend. It's the brutal reality of working with criminals, but I'm not ashamed.”

“So then, what is this?” I motion between us.

"Like I said, fun. I want to have something that feels like mine."

My brows shoot to my hairline. "Well, for me, it feels like you're holding the information about Alma hostage until I fuck you, and my friends and I don't have time for that."

“I'm not holding the information hostage."

"Then what is this?"

"I'm just asking for a little oral fun." She shrugs and studies me. "Don't tell me you haven't felt the sexual tension between us lately."

My brows fly to my hairline. What sexual tension? All I have felt is fear. The voice in my head screams at me to run while the stupid part of my brain says I’ve had sex with Celia. Therefore licking some pussy should be a cake-walk. Augusta did get me out of jail after all, and she's helping us find Alma.

“And you want to do it out here?” I ask.

“We’re on the third level. No one can see us.”

“Uh…” I motion towards the garden where workers with wide-brimmed hats prune the roses. 

“They’re busy.” Augusta rolls her eyes. “And my employees know to mind their business. Now, how about you stop wasting time?” 

“So if I do this, we’re even about getting me out of jail, and you'll tell me what Emilio discovered, and I can leave.”

“Yes."

“How do I know you’ll keep your word?”

“Don’t believe me?” Augusta blows out smoke. 

“I guess I don’t like being your cabana boy all of a sudden. Because, as I said, my friends and I don't have time to waste.”

“If it makes you feel better, I can pay you handsomely. How does ten grand for each orgasm sound?”

The offer zips through my ears like sonar, pinging off every money-driven desire I’ve ever had. It won’t make me rich, but it could get me the hell out of here, buy a home in a small town up north with my mom so that we can ditch this dreaded place. Life could be so simple, yet so fulfilling, as we spend our days only sweating the small stuff, like what the fuck we’ll cook for dinner.

But what am I thinking?

“Why offer me money if this is supposed to be fun? Something for yourself?” I ask.

“The money doesn’t mean anything to me, but it does to you. And if you get on your knees right now, I’ll double the offer. Either way, we both win.”

“You would seriously pay me that much for a sexual favor?” I ask again.

“Yes. I’ve had a stressful few days, so at this point, I’d hump the coffee table to get a proper release. Not to mention that later tonight, I'm going to have business sex, which won't be as fun.” She massages her temples.

I laugh because this still feels like a joke.

“What’s so funny?” she asks.

“Just so we’re clear. You’re horny, and you want me to get you off because sex with Emilio is... boring?”

Augusta glares, the cigarette smoke streaming from her nostrils as she flicks ash to the side. “I do not appreciate being mocked, so if you insist on behaving like a little boy instead of a man, I’m taking my offer back, and you can get the fuck out.”

“No!” I blurt.

“Don’t forget that you came to me for help, and I delivered.”

“I haven’t forgotten, and I am grateful—”

“Then you know what to do.” Augusta spreads her legs wider.

*
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Thanks for reading ❤️ I was nervous about posting this chapter, since I know this seems out of left field, but I swear there's a reason for the madness 😁

Have a great weekend!