Besides being in the human trafficking game, the Tirana’s were known for running guns. It was the part of the family business he loved, and if he could make enough money from it, that would be all he’d do. “Keep your fucking voice down,” Llir hissed. “You don’t know who’s listening when we come to these things.”
Veton’s smile was easy. “Sorry, big brother,” he said. “I’ll try to remember my place.”
“You have a lot to learn still, Veton.” His brother had one more year at university over in America and Llir knew that if his brother had his way, he’d never go back to finish. All Vet seemed to do in America was find trouble. Altin was constantly calling home to tell their father about how he had to bail Veton’s ass out of jail again or pay off some police officer to look the other way. His younger brother needed to get his shit together because sooner or later, their father was going to get sick of his shenanigans and cut him off. That, of course, all hinged on if their father got better and was well enough to come back as the head of the Tirana family. The thought of the leader of their family, their patriarch, their father, not coming back from his illness made him sad, both for his dad and for himself. Llir wasn’t ready to take over full ownership of the Tirana Syndicate. Hell, he was only twenty-seven years old and the thought of taking over anything made him want to run as far and fast as he could get from every responsibility waiting for him. But what good would that do him or his family? No, As the oldest Tirana brother, he’d have no choice but to assume his role as head of the family if his father should lose his battle with cancer that was eating away at his body.
The lights dimmed and his brother seemed almost giddy. “They are about to begin,” Veton said, smiling his goofy lopsided grin from ear to ear. Llir shook his head at him and sat down at the closest table to the stage. He needed to at least pretend that he was interested in all of this and his father would have insisted that they sit front and center, had he been there with them today. They had a full house tonight, and that was good for business—at least there was that. All he wanted to do was get the hell out of that old warehouse they had turned into a nightclub. Men came for the women they were auctioning off, but then they always stayed for the booze being served. It was quite the racket that his father had come up with, and Llir was there to protect his legacy.
The first woman was pushed out onto the stage and the men cheered around him. Smoke from their cigars filled the stale air and the stench made him want to choke. He always felt like he was suffocating when he had to do this kind of shit—and he was willing to bet it had nothing to do with the damn smoke. The woman was blond and the guys didn’t make him guess if she was a natural blond or not. Tonight, they had forgone putting clothes on the woman and he made a mental note to knock some heads together when this shit show was all over. If the men in the audience got to see exactly what they were buying, it took away the air of mystery that usually drove up the bidding and got them top dollar for their women.
“I like the wardrobe changes,” Veton sneered. God, his younger brother was practically drooling over the hot little blond number on stage.
“You would,” Llir accused. “But remember, little brother, we aren’t here to bid. We’re Tirana’s and we don’t pay for our women.” Veton grumbled something about life not being fair and turned his attention back to the stage. They watched endless women being paraded around up there, most wearing little to no clothing and being led around by their guards on leashes with leather collars binding their pretty little necks. Llir had to admit, he saw the appeal of a woman wearing a collar—giving over her submission to the dominance he craved.
He lost track of how many women they had auctioned off and was beginning to wonder if the night would ever end when the announcement was made that they were down to their last girl and she was “special”. The announcer made them all sound special. Hell, they weren’t in the market of selling off mundane women. Who’d pay for that?
A woman with long dark hair that fell down her waist was pushed out onto the stage and Llir sat on the edge of his seat, as most of the men in the club did. It felt as though everything slowed around him and the room suddenly got very quiet. Even the men who were sitting at the bar, starting the after-party early, seemed to stop and take notice of the fair-skinned beauty on stage. Her full, pouty lips were naturally rosy and God, she was his walking wet dream. All he could think about was those sweet lips wrapped around his cock.
She looked down at the stage and when her handler ordered her to look at the men, she stubbornly refused, even giving a little shake of her head. Llir looked her up and down, noting that her full breasts would nicely fill his hands, and the little moan that escaped his parted lips had his brother turning to look at him, Vet’s lopsided smirk back in place.
“You want her, don’t you?” Veton whispered. Llir held up his hand as if signaling for his brother to hush. “You do,” his brother affirmed without Llir giving his answer. Veton was right—he wanted the sexy little brunette and the idea of any other man laying one finger on her made him want to tear the place down. He wouldn’t allow it.
Her handler tugged on her leash, pulling her back to him, making her gag some from his efforts. The soft sob that escaped her chest nearly gutted him. He couldn’t watch her being mistreated any longer and before the auctioneer could even get out a word, Llir stood and jumped up onto the stage. He walked over to her handler and held out his hand for her leash. The woman didn’t look up at him, keeping her eyes trained on the stage floor below.
“Give her to me,” he demanded. The handler seemed to balk at the idea of just handing her over. Llir knew the score—he might be the head of the Tirana family but each handler got paid a hefty sum for the women they delivered. The guy he ordered to hand over her leash was one of his top men. He was one of the only handlers to bring in women every week to auction and he never gave the Tirana family any shit about his cut like some of the other guys had.
“What about my payment?” the guy spat. “She’s special,” he insisted. “Broke her in myself.” His smile was mean and Llir knew exactly what the asshole meant by that.
“I will make sure that you are well compensated,” Llir agreed. Her handler hesitated and then handed him the black leather leash that had his pretty little prize tethered to the other end. Llir handed the man a wad of cash, causing him to smile.
“Nice doing business with you, Mr. Tirana. Good luck with that one—you’ll need it,” her handler said. He walked off the back of the stage and disappeared into the night and Llir wondered just what he meant.
He was suddenly very aware of all eyes still being on him and his new purchase. “Let’s go, Baby Girl,” he said, tugging at her leash to get her to follow him off the stage. Her eyes flew up to meet his, reminding him of a violent sea during a storm—so much sadness and heartache. He could almost feel everything she had been through himself.
“Please, just kill me,” she begged, a single tear ran down her cheek.
“Now, why would I do that?” he asked, thumbing it away. “We haven’t even started to have fun yet.”
Elira