Blaine, Destiny - Domination Plantation [Southern Plantation 1] (Siren Publishing Ménage and More) (20 page)

“Oh my…Brogan. More. This is what I need.”

“I know what you need, lover,” he reassured her.

After Jules’s condom snapped in place, Brogan lifted her hips and changed his position, giving Jules enough room to lay claim to her pussy. When his first stroke drew out a sudden sigh, Brogan slipped back in place.

Together, they made slow and easy love, erotic and delightful before the waves crashed around them. The orgasms took them, and together, they shook the bed—and rocked their independent worlds—for what seemed like endless hours.

Chapter Fourteen

The phone rang in the middle of the night. Jenna tossed one way and then another, but Brogan and Jules kept her sandwiched in between them.

Jules looped his heavy arm around her middle, facing her. Brogan spooned her, his forearm under her neck. Kissing the back of her head, Brogan sat up and grabbed the phone from the bedside table.

“Evans.”

“Meet me in your party barn. Ten minutes,” the voice said. “Bring your brother.”

Brogan replaced the receiver and rolled over on his back. He glanced over the top of her head and stared into Jules’s knowing eyes. He nodded once and they both slipped out of bed.

Once they were dressed and in the hallway, Brogan said, “Don’t take Velázquez for a fool, and never make a quick move. He would kill his own daughter to get what he wanted. From what Heath said yesterday, those beatings were brutal enough to risk her life. If he orchestrated the brutality against Jenna, then he doesn’t care if he endures casualties, even if the lives lost are those of his children.”

“I can handle myself.”

“And keep an eye open for Jenna. I’ll face one end of the barn. You stay focused on the other. I don’t want Velázquez near her. If he’s here, he has the manpower to take her away from us.”

“Are you kidding me? After last night, if he so much as tries it, he’ll drag her away kicking and screaming with a gun aimed at his back.”

Brogan stopped walking and placed his palm to his chest. “Jules, listen to me. He would hurt her, and he would do it to get his way. We have to decide how far we’re willing to let him push us, and what we’re willing to do now to keep her safe.”

“You think he knew from the beginning that we’d fall for her and now he’ll use her to ensure our cooperation.”

“Oh, hell yeah. There’s no doubt. He’s here to negotiate business, and his terms will be nonnegotiable, thanks to his ace in the hole…Jenna.”

Minutes later, they left the house and gained a surprise. A convoy of vehicles lined up in their circular drive. Men dressed in dark clothing stood in front of sleek limousines. When Brogan leapt from the porch, a car door immediately opened. Velázquez St. Martín stepped away from his car and directly into their small, Southern world.

“All for me?” Brogan asked, with his arms spread wide in front of the vehicles parked before him. “You shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble, Velázquez.”

A gun was drawn, then another. Two more followed. Brogan immediately recalled the abuse he’d endured when he’d gone after Velázquez in hopes of avenging his parents’ deaths.

“I believe in offering men curbside service when conducting business.”

“I think what you mean is that you like to catch your victims by surprise, approach them when they never see you coming.”

“But I have a feeling you saw me coming, didn’t you, Brogan?” Velázquez asked, ignoring Jules.

“From miles away,” he replied. “Yeah, I’ve been expecting you.”

“So, uh, the two of you are enjoying my daughter, I take it.”

“Very much,” Brogan said. “I appreciate you loaning her to us.”

“Ha!” he exclaimed, jabbing his finger high in the air. “Nice try, Evans. You expect me to believe you don’t care for her?”

“I don’t,” he said, keeping a straight face and praying she wasn’t nearby or awake to hear him. “If you came to collect her, you’ll have to go upstairs and retrieve her. She’s in my bed covered with my cum. You can clean her up before you haul her off.”

Jules clenched his fists and moved closer to Brogan. “What the fuck are you doing?” he whispered.

“Shut up,” he growled, staring straight ahead.

“You expect me to believe that she’s just like the rest of the women who visit here?” Velázquez asked.

“Isn’t she?” Brogan asked. “It took me less than a month to get in between her legs. She wants me to collar her, show everyone—the world—Velázquez St. Martín’s little girl belongs to me. What do you say, Velázquez? You think I should do it? Make her believe she’s the only one?”

“You’re not fooling anyone, Evans,” he said, stepping closer to their porch.

Brogan saw the man he remembered. Velázquez had tan skin, black curly hair, and looked more like a painter than an arms dealer, or one of the most dangerous men ever known in the human trafficking business.

“Let’s cut to the chase,” Jules said, a gruff edge in his voice. “What do you want?”

Velázquez nodded toward the men closest to him, and they grabbed his arms while another man delivered a punch to his gut. Brogan flinched but never looked over, even when another punch was thrown and a knife was pulled.

“Ah God!” Jules screamed.

He had to work Velázquez by playing him like a chess game. If he showed too much compassion for his little brother or for Velázquez’s daughter, then his perceived weaknesses would become dangerous liabilities, and he didn’t want liabilities right now. He wanted a solution.

“Now, little boy,” Velázquez drawled, addressing Jules. “Let the adults talk, okay?”

Jules moaned and tried to fight against the men restraining him.

Brogan knew Jules was charbroiled with anger by now. He still didn’t look at him. He kept his eyes on Velázquez, his hand on his stomach, reminding himself again and again of the scars he wore daily because of the man standing in front of him. He didn’t want the same for Jules.

“I’m ready to start dealing in your immediate area, and I want your cooperation.”

“You want cooperation. I want information.”

“Information?” Velázquez asked. “Ah, that’s funny. You think you’re in a position to ask for favors and yet my girls aren’t housed in your stalls yet. My weapons aren’t traveling eastbound on eighty-one and…” He paused, and in wry amusement, he shouted, “And you want favors!” He shook his fist at Jules, an indication of who would suffer if Brogan pushed too far.

“Yes,” Brogan stated flatly.

“And for this information, what do I get in return?” Velázquez asked, looking over at his men and laughing, encouraging them to do the same by mimicking Brogan.

“Grandchildren,” Brogan offered. “Something your sons have yet to give you from what I understand.”

Velázquez’s expression quickly changed. “And you think Jennifer is willing to give you children?”

“Jenna,” Brogan corrected. “Will do what I tell her to do.”

“And if you care so little about her,” Velázquez said thoughtfully. “Why would you allow her to bear your children?”

Brogan shrugged. “We’ll hand the brats over to you.” He watched him flinch. “Don’t worry. I don’t want to be a father any more than you did at my age. I’ll see to it that we keep her pregnant and fat with your heirs. Isn’t that what you really want?”

Velázquez rubbed his chin. “And this will allow us to become partners, correct?”

“If she can have Evans offspring, then we’re in business. If not, then you’re shit out of luck. The only reason I’ll allow my children to share your blood is because of the guaranteed placement my heirs will later have in your lucrative trade. And I still want some detailed information before we begin bedding your daughter with more honorable intentions.”

Velázquez crossed his arms. He was a gambler, and Brogan knew it. He had a lot of investments in offshore casinos. “I don’t have to play games here. Let me remind you of who the dominant partner is in our business arrangement.”

Brogan narrowed his gaze. “I haven’t forgotten, but let me explain something to you. When I told you that I’ve been waiting for you, it wasn’t a lie.” He reached in his back pocket and pulled out a folded legal document, one he’d kept in his bedside table for months, on the chance he needed to show it off in the middle of the night. “Here,” he said, shoving the documents at Velázquez.

“What’s this?”

“It’s a copy of my will. In the event of my death, every asset I have, including this place, has been bequeathed to the government. My hope is, as you’ll see pointed out there, they’ll use it to train their military.”

“Why you stupid fuck!” Velázquez screamed.

“I want the name of the man who built the bomb that killed my parents,” Brogan said. “And anyone else associated with their death.”

Velázquez smiled. “You know who ordered their deaths.”

“We’re looking at him,” Jules said, catching another punch to the gut.

“Release him,” Brogan said. “No one is going to die here today. If anyone does, there are videos of this meeting, hidden cameras you’ll never find.”

That was a lie, a blatant bluff, but it enticed everyone there to start looking around at the house, trees, even the cars parked nearby that belonged to Brogan and Jules.

The men let go of Jules’s arms and he shook them off defiantly then turned on Brogan. “What the hell do you think you’re doing promising something so absurd?”

“Stand still, Jules, this doesn’t concern you,” he snapped from the corner of his mouth.

“I have a say-so in what happens to my future children.”

“Not if they’re the grandchildren of Velázquez St. Martín,” Brogan informed him. “Isn’t that right, Velázquez?”

“You’re a smarter man than your father.” Velázquez pulled a handkerchief from his shirt pocket as he studied the documents. “I’ll give you the names. You’ll give me five grandchildren. You will send each of them to Madrid on their first birthday. And you’ll treat my daughter with respect until our more personal business dealings are brought to a closure.”

“Sure, pops,” Brogan said sarcastically. “But there’s one other thing. We don’t have any business to conduct until I find and take care of the men who killed my parents. Consider it foreplay, okay?”

“No,” Velázquez stated flatly. “I need this property now. We have shipments to move and—”

Brogan threw his hands in the air. “Then shoot me here and now. My attorney will have the paperwork drawn up in a matter of hours, making sure the property is transferred as quickly and as publicly as possible. Is that what you want?”

“You’re bluffing,” he said.

“I don’t bluff,” he scoffed. “Because I remember what you’re capable of. I’ll never forget.” He glanced over at Jules and saw his brother’s jaw tense. He silently prayed Jules wouldn’t say anything to change the tide.

“You have a deal. The names will be faxed to you and to save you the trouble, I’ll give you the last known location of the men involved, minus myself, of course.”

“Of course,” Brogan said.

“All of the terms are acceptable,” Velázquez said, reaching for his hand.

Brogan didn’t take it. “I’ll get your daughter so you can say hello.”

“That won’t be necessary. In fact, I don’t want to see her until she gives me my first grandson.”

“I thought you might feel that way,” Brogan stated. “It doesn’t make a damn to me either way.”

Like hell it didn’t. He was almost ready to break open an expensive vintage in celebration. He’d wait until the company was a little better before retrieving one from the cellar.

Velázquez stuffed the paperwork Brogan handed him earlier into his jacket. “We’ll meet again soon.”

“I’m counting on it,” Brogan said.

“Me, too,” Jules added.

The men returned to their vehicles, and before Velázquez entered the car, he looked up. Jules and Brogan didn’t turn around because they knew what, or more precisely who, he saw when his expression changed.

His face softened, which was somewhat unexpected, and he tossed his hand up in a circular motion with one finger extended upward. It was a gesture that proved he really didn’t care about his daughter beyond the things she could secure for him—grandchildren, a property he wanted to use, and perhaps even a little retribution.

As Brogan watched him drive away with his convoy in plain sight, he said, “He still wants revenge as much as he wants to use this land.”

“What do you mean?” Jules asked.

“Mom and Dad were good folks, Jules. They didn’t want to deal with Velázquez. Dad thought he was above men like Velázquez, and he was. Velázquez couldn’t deal with it. One of the deepest forms of hate is when one person is made to feel less than another. Dad, probably unintentionally, made Velázquez feel beneath him. Now, we’re paying the price.”

“Speaking of,” Jules began. “What are you going to do with the names Velázquez sends you?”

“Nothing,” Brogan said. “I’m tired of fighting a battle we’ll never win. Velázquez isn’t the kind of man who redirects his plans or changes his focus on request. I just bought us some time.”

“You promised our future children is what you did!”