Rough Sketches Read online
Rough Sketches
House of Bolton, Volume 3
MJ Green
Published by NaomiAoki, 2022.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
ROUGH SKETCHES
First edition. March 1, 2022.
Copyright © 2022 MJ Green.
Written by MJ Green.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Content Warning
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Epilogue
Bonus Chapter
About the Author
More Books by MJ Green
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Dedication
BIG THANKS AS ALWAYS to my proofreader Abri, to Leigh for introducing us, and to all the readers who cheer me on.
Content Warning
CONTAINS SCENES THAT include or references to violence, murder, and other criminal activities.
Chapter One
RYLAND LEANED BACK in the corner booth reserved for his and Everett’s exclusive use and swept an appraising gaze over the people filling the exclusive club in the heart of Melbourne. One hand stretched along the back of the seat, while the other gripped the stem of a wine glass filled with a Sangiovese that he’d had specially imported from a three-hundred-year-old winery in Italy. But then there was little in the club, from its décor to the alcohol stored behind the bar that hadn’t been imported from Italy with the prices to match. It was what made it easy to discern those who belonged here, and those whose purposes for setting foot inside the exclusive venue had more nefarious intentions.
And it never took long to spot them.
They were the men who only ever ordered a schooner of the cheapest beer on tap, then baulked at the forty-dollar price while trying to act as though it didn’t faze them.
They were the men whose suits were two seasons out of date, never fitted quite right and were constantly tugged on as though they weren’t used to wearing one.
They were the men who stood too straight, forgetting they were supposed to be seducing, not arresting... but if they were really here to find a quick fuck, they’d pay more attention to those flirting with them instead of letting their gazes linger on the members of the Tomasi family present.
But men weren’t the only ones who’d slipped past the bouncers at the door of the exclusive club. Women too had tried their hand at the seduction game, sitting at the bar and displaying their wares as they tried to capture the attention of a Tomasi male... one male in particular, Everett Bolton, heir to the family empire—both sides of it. Yet not surprisingly after his cousin rebuked their advances time and time again, those women had disappeared, and more awkward men had taken their place.
“How many are here tonight?”
Ryland dragged his attention away from the bar and focused it on his best friend and cousin, Everett, who sat in the corner of the booth with the remains of the expensive bottle of red wine he’d opened at the beginning of the night. His friend had no interest at all in the undercover police officers staking out the club beyond the danger they might pose to the family... but then no one had interested his friend since their new PA had started.
“Five... so far.” He lifted the glass of Sangiovese to his lips and took a sip. “But it’s early enough yet.”
Everett snorted. “Meaning... there’s none at the bar worth your pursuing. It’s not like they’re going to make it easy on you cugino. They’re not gonna line up and parade in front of you like a thoroughbred on the auction block.”
He smiled around the rim of the glass and casually returned his attention to the bar. Ryland swept his gaze along the length of the bar in search of tonight’s prey and looked forward to disabusing them of whatever notion that they had of being the predator. He enjoyed the game too, the foreplay of lingering heated looks that were capped off by Ryland inviting them to join him in the back office... letting them believe they’d won the honey-trap lottery as he whispered sweet words and drew out their desire for the glory that came with arresting the consigliere of the Tomasi Famiglia. Fuck them hard and send them teetering out of the club on shaky legs with promises of a dirty weekend at his vineyard.
Digging graves and planting vines tended to be dirty work after all.
“So... which one is on the menu tonight?”
Ryland lowered his glass and licked his bottom lip slowly while sizing up the men on offer. “Not sure yet... we’ve got an Interpol Agent—female, and no doubt searching for our favourite assassin, but thankfully Keswick isn’t here tonight,” he said while Everett smirked.
Their cousin Keswick had been on Interpol’s Red Notice list for the last two years after accepting a job in Italy to take out several high ranked members of a La Cosa Nostra organisation, and then one to remove a member of the Greek Mafia who’d been funneling funds back to their allies in Australia. The last thing they needed was for their competitors to gain power and financing from outside groups; it was bad enough the triads were beginning to push into Melbourne again after several decades of absence. But Interpol didn’t know who Keswick was—not by name, nor by appearance—and according to their allies in Sydney and Brisbane, the agency had taken up an annoying presence there, too.
“Only one? He’s worth more than that... but she’s definitely not here for you.”
“No,” Ryland chuckled wryly. “But I’ve also got two officers from the Victorian Police, one customs border official—who is looking rather green around the gills—and one from the Federal Police... no wait... make that two... who I can choose from still.” His gaze narrowing in on the youngish man who’d strode into the bar exuding confidence and parade-polished steps.
He wasn’t wrong in identifying the man as a cop—federal branch at that because the famiglia kept detailed records on all the local state police—and yet with the way the man signaled the bartender to fetch him a drink from the top shelf, Ryland wondered if he’d pegged him wrong. No undercover cop ever dared to order from amongst the bottles that cost more than an average weekly mortgage payment. His clothing wasn’t drastically out of season either, nor did it appear to be off the rack. But there was a self-righteous aura about him that could only be attributed to a cop.
Ryland’s gaze drifted over the man’s body, taking in the breadth of his shoulders, the narrowness of his waist, and the way his suit pants pulled tight over his arse. Uncertainty about the man still lingered, but it was quickly being beaten into submission by the arousal flickering through his veins. If the man wasn’t a cop, then he’d get a good fuck out of it... and if his intuition was correct, then Ryland would soon be adding ano
ther body to the soil beneath his vines.
But this was a game, one Ryland always won, and he had no intention of ruining that streak by rushing to the man’s side. Better to let his prey make all the overtures, to show their interest before he approached them, and this new man to the board wasn’t disappointing. It amused Ryland to watch as the man spun on the stool and leaned back against the bar, putting on an air of arrogance that came close to that given off by the socialites surrounding him. His breath hitched at the slow drag of the man’s tongue across his lip, capturing the stray drops of wine that hadn’t made it into his mouth... and he’d done it all while holding Ryland’s gaze.
They’d been exchanging heated looks coupled with flirtatious advances all night, and even after the other undercover cops had disappeared from the bar, this intriguing federal officer had remained. Ryland had been biding his time, but now the time to make his move had come. Rising from his seat, Ryland made his way toward the bar, toward the man with the alluring smile and chuckled softly to himself. This game was so familiar to him, Ryland reckoned he could do it in his sleep and yet there was something different about this man. Something about him that promised Ryland, that this time the game would be different, more exciting... and as he drew closer to the man, Ryland worked out what it was. The undercover cops up until now who’d attempted to seduce Ryland into spilling incriminating secrets had all been gay, or at least bisexual while this officer... this officer screamed straight.
Ryland knocked back the last of his wine and dropped the empty glass on a table as he passed it. If the police thought he’d go easier on a man who’d always considered himself straight, then they were sorely mistaken. If anything, they’d just gifted him the best toy ever. Gay men knew what they wanted, what to expect, and what their limits were. Straight men, those who slipped into undercover roles like this, didn’t have that knowledge or confidence, and Ryland wondered how far the man would be prepared to go with his ruse. How long would it take for him to baulk and scream, ‘not gay’ or would it be Ryland’s name he’d scream instead?
“Mio bello,” Ryland purred. “You’ve been staring at me all night with those heated looks.” He placed his hands on the bar on either side of the man, their bodies separated by a whisper of breath. “Made promises with your eyes... your lips that I hope you don’t plan to renege on.”
He prayed this wasn’t the moment the cop baulked, because now that he stood in front of the man, Ryland wanted to see those lips stretched around his cock. He wanted to learn what sounds this man made when he came... wondered if his hair was as soft touch as it looked... and how soon before the man fell to his knees and begged. But if the cop flinched when this game got a little too real for him, then Ryland would be pissed. He might even feel the need to show his hand a little earlier than planned.
And yet, there was something equally satisfying to watch the cockiness of the cops sent to honey-trap him fade away as their faces paled, and their legs trembled. Men who’d been sent blindly undercover without being warned of the dangerous web they were walking into and that once ensnared, there was no escaping Ryland’s clutches. The Red Widow was what the papers called him every time another police officer went missing with only their badge recovered... left behind on the steps of the Police Headquarters of whatever branch they’d worked for. Ironic really when it was the female of the redback widow species that was deadly, and not the male. But that moment when the cops in his grasp realised the truth was... almost better than sex.
Almost better... though his brother Gio would have probably disagreed, and said it was better with sex, not instead of.
Chapter Two
FUCK! HE WAS SO DAMNED fucked. Lucas knew he shouldn’t have accepted the undercover assignment, no matter how brilliant it might have been for his career. Rising through the ranks wasn’t worth the risk that came with stepping into this very exclusive, very swank, and way too fucking expensive club in the heart of Melbourne. Staying at fucking sergeant forever might be better for his life expectancy in the long run... and if he’d been given more information, Lucas might have run fast in the other direction. But his bosses at the Australian Federal Police in Sydney, where Lucas had been stationed for the last five years, had only given him a paper-thin dossier on his target, and refused him access to anything else on the man in the system.
Lucrative. Career making. Once in a life-time opportunity. That’s how his bosses sold it to Lucas while admitting he’d only been tapped on the shoulder for the job because of his Italian heritage and the fact that he spoke the language—knowing a handful of phrases didn’t count toward any kind of fluency. And yet understanding any Italian he heard muttered during the course of the assignment was the least of Lucas’s worries, not now that he’d spotted his target and realised one very important fact his bosses had left out. Ryland Beltrame was gay. Very fucking gay...with a capital G and A and Y... while Lucas, he was very fucking straight.
Lucas shook his head and let out a frustrated huff while nudging at the coaster beneath his wine glass. Yesterday, he’d have argued black and blue that he was straight, that only women turned his crank... but now Lucas was beginning to question everything about himself, and not just why he’d agreed to take on this assignment that wasn’t supposed to be some kind of honeytrap. And the reason for this not-even-a-mid-life crisis Lucas was currently experiencing was the very man who he’d been sent to... seduce. Ryland Beltrame, future Consigliere to the Tomasi Family, CFO of House of Bolton. Because a man shouldn’t look that sinfully good in a suit that no doubt cost more than Lucas earned in a month... and he sure as fuck shouldn’t want to strip it off Ryland to see what lay beneath it.
Straight? Yeah, Lucas didn’t think that really applied to him any longer.
Gripping the stem of the wine glass, Lucas wondered if it was too late to ring up his handler and beg off the assignment as a little voice inside his head screamed at him to leave the bar before death came knocking.
He twisted on his stool and glanced back over at the booth in the far corner of the exclusive venue where Ryland sat with who Lucas could only assume was Everett Bolton the heir to the Tomasi Family—both the publicly acceptable corporate arm and the criminal side that was only spoken of in whispered conversations. The family’s ability to procure any illicit substance for their wealthy clientele was well-known, Lucas had quickly gathered from the socialites who dominated Melbourne’s club scene, and even amongst the country club set. But despite that knowledge, evidence linking the family directly to the highly lucrative drug trade was non-existence, and unsurprisingly—as he’d learnt upon his arrival in Melbourne—officers who’d taken on these undercover assignments in the past mysteriously disappeared at the hands of a killer the press had dubbed the Red Widow.
Nothing about this would end well, whether he stayed or left.
Lucas swallowed hard as Ryland glanced up and caught his gaze, held it for a long few seconds that could have been an eternity. Heat flared in his veins unlike anything Lucas had ever experienced as the dangerous man smirked at him, and once more, the voice of reason screamed at him to get out. His body refused to listen, already ensnared by the glorious sight that was Ryland Beltrame as Lucas watched the man rise from his seat and stride through the club with all the grace of a panther. Hungry and determined as he stalked his prey... and fuck if Lucas didn’t want to be the one the man feasted on, a thought that both startled his already confused mind and yet, the prospect still didn’t send him running.
“Mio bello,” Ryland said in a soft husky voice that wormed its way into Lucas’s veins and aimed directly for his cock. “You’ve been staring at me all night with those heated looks-” placing his hands on either side of Lucas, caging him against the bar until their bodies were separated only by a whisper of breath “-made promises with your eyes... your lips that I hope you don’t plan on reneging on.”
His breath hitched, mouth falling open to speak, and yet Lucas wasn’t sure how to reply. He hadn’t been aware
of the looks he’d been throwing the man, or of whatever promises those looks might have contained. And whatever plans Ryland had for his lips... Lucas wouldn’t be saying no.
And maybe it had nothing to do with some latent bisexuality that Lucas hadn’t been aware of, this desire to do whatever Ryland wished. Maybe it was simply a visceral reaction to the arrogant, confident aura that radiated from the man. Confidence backed up by the wealth, power, and intelligence that Lucas had read about in Ryland’s file. The document his bosses had given him might have been light on information, but it hadn’t failed to mention that Ryland had walked out of university with a double Master’s in Law and Commerce. Lucas couldn’t understand the desire for it himself: he’d barely walked out with a Bachelors—one that had started off as a law degree until his desire for a social life won out and he’d switched to one in viticulture, much to his parents delight. Two degrees had to be some kind of strange torture, but it meant that no one blinked when Ryland took up the mantle of CFO for the House of Bolton, a fashion design company the Victorian Police and the Australian Federal Police believed was nothing more than a front for laundering money.
But it wasn’t just Ryland’s cockiness that struck Lucas and set him off balance. Dominance simmered beneath the surface of Ryland’s skin and along with it a sense of safety that didn’t fit at all with the man’s reputation.
“Do you have a name to go along with that heated desire, mio bello?”
“Cooper... my name’s Cooper D’Enrico.”
Ryland cocked an eyebrow as though surprised by the name. “Italian?” he muttered. “Can’t say I expected that.”
Lucas nodded. “Fifth generation on my father’s side... second generation on my mother’s.” It wasn’t a lie either. His father’s family had emigrated to Australia from the Lombardy region at the beginning of the gold rush—one of them at least—while his mother’s family had emigrated after the second world war from Calabria.