READ ME! I AM VERY IMPORTANT! : Russell and Bailey are the same person; Russell is Bailey's original name, the one that he refused to give to the narks.

Authors' Note: This is co-written. This chapter is written by Jill.


I grunted and rolled over onto my stomach, chancing a glance at him just to see if he was still awake. He sat upright, reading a magazine on politics and glowering at the pages as if he wanted to burn a hole right through the poor things. Yep, still awake; but that was Emilio for you, the stupid prick. Guy fucking thought he had to know every goddamn thing there was to know about anything, and being a drug lord or whatever just made him that much smarter and shit.

"Why are you staring at me, Russ?" Emilio asked in his I'm-not-in-the-mood-for-this-right-now tone.

"The fuck?" I sat up and grabbed him by the collar of his black silk undershirt and pulled him toward me. "Don't start with me, you fucking spic." The last thing I wanted to deal with now was his Hispanic ass giving me bullshit over looking at him.

Emilio rolled his eyes at me in obvious annoyance, and I knew for a fact he was holding his temper in check as well as he could. Of course, he was never good at keeping that particular part of his persona in check. That's why so many people ended up dead these days: They pissed him off and he shot them, point blank. He didn't give a fuck.

His hands were shaking from his anger when he pushed me back; I laughed at him outright. "Aw, what's the matter, baby? Politics got your panties in a bunch?" I batted my eyes at him when his eyes locked on mine and he clinched his jaw. He was pissed, and maybe pissed wasn't really the word for it.

"God damn it, Russ!" he all but shouted. "Would you for one moment leave me the hell alone when we're in bed? Do I have to be fucking you every goddamn second of the fucking night?" He got out of the bed, threw his magazine on the floor, and stalked out of the room, not even bothering to glance over his shoulder at me as he walked out.

I shrugged to myself. "Yep, these politics sure do have his panties in a bunch. I bet they're making it even harder to get drugs into the country. Now how are you're going to get all of those nasty little drugs here?" I picked up the magazine off the plush black-carpeted floor and glanced at it, cuddling myself deep into the black silk sheets.

Emilio liked black; he also liked evil and anything that pertained to it. I didn't, but I was happy where I was, being his bitch and all. It got me everything I could possibly want, and I was a greedy little son of a bitch; all I gave a shit about was sex and money, lots and lots of money.

Of course, I had a bit of a sweet side; I got upset with him when he shot one of his men for no reason, and it wasn't like I didn't care about anyone other than myself. I just cared mostly only about myself. But I could sacrifice – I gave Emilio everything he could want in bed, which, trust me, was a huge sacrifice on my behalf. He's such a kinky son of a bitch.

Looking down at the magazine, I read an article about the government assessing the names of the nation's top drug lords. They gave small details about how they planned to go about executing a mission to get small drug dealers off the streets and off the hook easy by having them name who they worked for. Once the government apprehended who the smalltime drug dealers were working for, they'd make them say who they worked for, and go from there.

In the magazine, they revealed who they thought were the top ten drug lords in the nation, and among them, actually, the first among them was -

"Oh, fuck," I whispered to myself. No wonder the fucking spic was so upset tonight. "Emilio . . ." I moved quickly to get dressed. As much as I really wanted to get to Emilio right now, I didn't think it would be the best thing in the world to run to him naked. Not everyone knew we fucked.

"Moaning his name when he's not even around?" someone said from the doorway. I looked up to see one of Emilio's best friends, who constantly tried to get me alone, and rolled my eyes. I think Emilio hired him to test my loyalty. Hell, the only thing I was loyal to was his money. And maybe my life, too.

"Get out!" I growled. I was standing there without a damned thing on and this fucking bastard was staring at me! Don't think so, dick fuck!

He didn't move. "Oh, come on, Russ. Don't want to play?"

"Get out!" I grabbed a wine glass off the nightstand on the side of the bed I always slept on and threw it at him, missing his head by mere inches. He stared at me as if I'd gone insane and backed up a little. He didn't think I'd do it again, I could tell. Well, I'd show that mother fucker a thing or two . . .

I grabbed a heavy metal and glass ornament that I knew Emilio must have paid hundreds of thousands of dollars for (not that I cared at the moment) and chucked it at him. It almost got him, but he moved out of the way just in time for it not to bash his skull in. Pity, too, I wouldn't have minded him getting hit with it one bit. I continued to grab anything I could find that might leave a considerable amount of damage until he backed off and ran away.

"Stupid prick," I muttered, grabbing my jeans off the floor and slipping them on. T-shirt, t-shirt . . . where did my t-shirt go? I scanned the whole floor and couldn't find it. Well, hell, I knew we threw it somewhere in this room . . .

Curiously, I picked up the black silk sheets and glanced underneath. Aha! Found it; the damned thing was in the bed. I lifted it up and examined it. My luck Emilio used it to clean us up after we fucked, and well . . . I threw the shirt on the floor. No fucking way I was taking any chance of wearing a shirt with fucking cum on it.

Fuck the shirt . . .


I searched the house over for Emilio, and found him sitting calmly with a few of his associates in the parlor, talking about business methods; or in laymen's terms: How to get coke here in the United States without sacrificing too many dealers. See, drug lords are ruthless, and I wouldn't recommend the occupation to anyone at all . . .too dangerous.

"Emilio?" I asked in that timid voice of mine that I always used when I was unsure of something. I didn't know how he'd react to me after I'd been such a dick. But hey, it wasn't like he'd shared his reason for being so bitter and ignoring me. What was I supposed to do? Act like a good, obedient little bitch and let it go? Like hell . . .

"Hey, Russ," one of the guys sitting next to him said to me. He nodded and smiled strangely at me, his eyes glancing gingerly down my frame. What was he fucking staring at?! Oh, shirtless. I was walking around the mansion with only a pair of jeans on.

I smiled somewhat sheepishly and shrugged my shoulders. "So I was too lazy to get completely dressed," I explained. He shook his head and gave a small, amused laugh. I turned my attention back to my "lover." "Emilio, look at me, damn it!" I growled.

"Go to bed, Russ," the stupid spic said without even bothering to look up at me. Prick.

"I am not going to bed!" I wanted to say that I wasn't going to bed without him, but given the circumstance of having people around him, I couldn't. The prick had probably planned it that way, just to screw me over. Stupid son of a bitch. "Why didn't you throw the goddamn article in my fucking face, you prick? You didn't have to let me be such a jackass about it!"

This time he looked up, a somber and not even close to amused look on his face. Shit, I was going to regret this escapade later . . . But instead of saying anything, he merely glared at me for a moment before returning his attention to the wine that sat in front of him. He lifted it slowly to his lips, sipped it, and set it back down. It was some form of white wine; his favorite kind, probably, but I could never remember the name of it. I'd probably could have used the name of it to buy him a bottle as a peace offering. The only problem with that was me being quite underage. I wasn't even eighteen yet.

Turning my back, I headed to get some coffee, and took my time when I added cream and sugar. I tried to keep my eyes on Emilio, to see if he was watching, and got sheer satisfaction when I noticed both of his deep brown eyes locked on me in apparent annoyance. Good. Every time I walked away from that stupid prick he'd watch me like he thought I was going to grab something valuable and run off, trying to steal it. Well, I had news for that dick head, I had the most valuable thing in this house, and I hadn't even had to steal it. Besides, without sticking around with him, I would actually have to get a job and a place of my own. Or I'd have to go back to my poor, white trash parents. Not a chance.

I took my coffee and walked gracefully back over to where he sat with his business associates, my eyes locked on his as I made my way over. As I sipped the coffee, I heard another of his associates say, "You're always drinking coffee, aren't you, Russ? Try the wine for once, why don't you? It's wonderful." But I didn't give a shit about what any of them said; my eyes were for Emilio right now.

"I don't drink," I said softly, trying to keep my tone polite.

"So you're a gentleman to them," Emilio said in a hard voice. Like I said, he was pissed. "But to me you're such a jackass."

"It would be no fun to be nice to you, Emilio." I watched as a smirk found his features. He brought his wine glass to his lips and sipped gracefully. "You have such class, Emilio. There, a compliment."


"Because you like me feisty," I retorted, grinning when I realized exactly what I had said and where. "Why would you want to work with some lowlife who followed every order you gave and who's afraid of you?" I added, just to fix my error. Some of the business associates laughed.

"Gee, why would I want to do that, Russ?" Emilio asked, returning my smile a little.

"Exactly," I continued. "You wouldn't, because you take extreme pleasure in arguing and such, and some timid little blow-job of a kid just isn't going to cut it."

"Blow-job of a kid," one of the associates repeated, and then laughed. "Never heard that one before."

I had the sudden urge to tell him to shut his mouth, but instead I made a wiser decision and said, "Oh, you should hear half of what I come up with when I get tired." I sipped at my coffee and stared down Emilio. "You should get some rest," I told him nonchalantly. "Don't you have something important to do tomorrow?"

That was a mistake if I ever made one. Emilio simply glowered at me as his business associates gave small gasps and chattered among one another before they all turned to Emilio and demanded how I knew that.

I just laughed. "Are you guys really that dense?" I asked, rolling my eyes. I could see the heat rising in the hole I'd dug. What fun . . . Fuck me, I was screwed, and hopefully, if Emilio got pissed enough, in the right way. "He has something 'important,'" I quoted the word with my fingers, "every goddamn day. That's all I fucking hear. 'Go away, Russ, I have something important to do.' 'Damn it, Russ, do you have to bug me right now? It's late, I have things to do in the morning.' Don't tell me you haven't heard that a million times, too."

Well, I did make a good show if I do say so myself, not that I actually succeeded in convincing anyone . . . Emilio finished off his wine and threw the glass on the floor near my feet as he stood up and walked over to me. I backed away from the broken glass shards. Ah, fuck . . . this was going to be bad.

"GODDAMNIT RUSS!" I felt his hand grab a hold of the back of my hair; his face was not even a centimeter from mine and he looked scary.

"Oh, fucking let go, damn it," I growled. I had no idea where I got off saying that to him. It must have been a pride issue, because I was kind of scared of him at that moment. "Don't get all pissy with me."

"Don't get pissy with you?" Emilio repeated. "I told you not to open your fucking trap about that shit, or did you not hear me, whore?"

"Whore?" Okay, that pissed me off. Yeah, so fucking what if I was his whore? As I recalled, he was the one who was so keen on keeping it a goddamn secret, and I wasn't exactly a fan of having what I was to him out in the open either.

I pushed his chest hard and he let my hair go and took a step back. I really wanted to do something to get him back for that, I really, really did.

"Okay, if I'm so much of a whore, then I guess I'll act like one. And you can explain this to all your petty little 'friends,'" I growled as I grabbed him by the collar of his black silk undershirt and pulled myself to him, pressing my lips hard against his, my hand going to the back of his head and holding it in place.

He pushed me off with so much force that if he hadn't reached out and grabbed me by the shoulders, I would have fallen right into the fucking glass. Stupid jackass. He spun me around and slammed me into the wall that had been previously behind him, making sure that I was looking him right in the eye as he said, "If you ever do that again, you stupid fag, I'll fucking shoot you, got it?"

My eyes narrowed and I kicked him in the shin. We didn't kiss on the lips. Don't know why; it was just some stupid rule of his. "Fuck you, you stupid bastard. Don't even try that shit with me. You're the one who started all of this. You brought me here because I'm a fag, and it's not like anyone here can't tell what I am. So what if you want something a little different on the side, not their problem."

The slap stung something awful. And I swear my heart stopped when I heard him say, "Does anyone here have a gun I can borrow?"

Everything went still for a moment in my mind, and I couldn't hear anything as someone's mouth opened and he said something to Emilio before handing a .9mm to him. I just watched as everyone else in the room got up and walked out, leaning against the wall with my heart over my chest as I stared at the man who had handed Emilio the gun with disbelief. He was the one who told me about the wine.

"You'll stay, won't you?" Emilio asked him. "I'll need someone to help me clean up the blood after I shoot the bastard."

The guy nodded and I just stared. "Emilio . . ." I whined, grabbing for his arm, which he jerked away. "Emilio! No!" I wanted to say something witty, to be an ass right down the end, but I couldn't.

I think I hit the floor when I heard the gunshot, and my breathing ceased almost instantaneously. All I knew at that moment was that I was staring up at Emilio, who was screaming at the man who had handed him the gun.

"The answer was no, you fucking wop!" he screamed at the top of his lungs. "Did I not tell you that I love this boy? And you actually have the audacity to pull out a gun and hand it to me." Another shot sounded and I heard another body hit the floor. The guy was facing me, and had a bullet hole right in the middle of his forehead.

I screamed.

"Oh, for God's sake, Russ," Emilio growled, watching me cover my eyes. He knelt down beside me and pulled my hands away from my face. "Now, you're going to be a good boy, right? You wouldn't want to make me have to do that again, would you? He was a very valuable business associate of mine, you know. And now I have to find someone with just as much brains as he had. Look what you went and made me do."


Some people were downstairs cleaning up the body, and Emilio had someone take me upstairs to my room. I couldn't move; I just lay there staring at the wall. I wasn't shot. He'd shot the other guy. But out of all of it, I think the thing that struck me the most was Emilio saying, "Did I not tell you I love this boy?" before he shot him.

Emilio, love me? On a normal day, I'd laugh at the mere thought until I couldn't breathe, but he'd said it. He'd said that . . .

Moving myself slowly, I got up and headed myself in the direction of Emilio's room, actually pausing to knock on the door for once instead of just barging in.

"Go away," he snarled.

I smiled because for me he would have said; "Fuck off," instead. It was because I knocked – he had no idea it was me.

"Emilio . . ." I said softly, resting my palms on the door. "Let me in, please." Wow, now I really did sound like a good little wussy bitch. But, at least he opened the door for me, and gave me a somewhat sympathetic look when I looked up at him. "I need you," I said, wrapping my arms around his waist.

"I have work to do tonight, Russ. I told you that earlier. I can't fuck you every second of the night. Haven't we already had this conversation? I thought having it once a night was enough . . . I don't think I'm up to giving it twice a night now."

"I don't mean like that," I retorted with at little edge. "I just want you to hold me for a minute. And let me sleep with you tonight. I never said anything about sex . . . We don't have to have sex. I just want to be with you."

He pushed me away, a small smile forming across his features. "I should shoot people more often."

"Not funny."


It was three o'clock in the morning when he woke me up, all finished with his work, and wanting sex. I told him the same thing he said to me every morning at three o'clock when I wanted sex; that lecture that he never tired of. We can't screw every second of the night.

"I let you sleep for three hours," Emilio retorted, grinning at the smug look across my face.

"Fine, but if you're getting me up, then we have sex my way."

"Fine, we'll have sex your way, Russell Stover."

And sex my way it was. He even let me kiss him on the mouth – that hot steamy kind that led to my juvenile hands wandering all over his body, feeling every inch of him over his clothes until I tired of the escapade and tried to slip my hands up his shirt. He was still being the domineering son of a bitch he always had been, making sure that he got to hover over me and control every little thing that happened between the two of us. He got to dominate the kiss, his tongue darting into my mouth every chance it got, and his hands keeping mine from undressing either of us for the time being.

I didn't mind really – I sucked on his tongue when he stuck it into my mouth, bit on his lips, and kept trying to stick my hands up his shirt. If he were a girl, I swear I'd have been slapped countless times for trying to feel him up so relentlessly; but there you have it, I was the bitch and he was a guy.

I broke away from the kiss after a minute or two and glared up at him. No matter how relieved or happy I was that this was happening (mind that I still wasn't too happy about getting woken up, and was starting to understand why he was so much of a dick about it) I didn't really show it. I was still the feisty little bitch of his that made him so horny and made him want to have the kinkiest sex possible every chance (except during the late, late hours) that he got.


It's the Author talking again: Okay, so I think I'm going to leave off here. I'll update later. Just remember that this is all before the whole Drug Rehab episode . . . Long before.