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New York City, NY. Black harness strap flock mesh animal bra tape Aereo thus argues that it is not redistributing the broadcasters’ programs for profit but is merely acting as a remote antenna for each of its customers. The blonde hastily recovers the globe.

Rich, powerful, cocky and short-tempered, his only skill greater than his persuasion or intimidation is his marksmanship.

If land barons still existed, then Barnes — owning property in all the five boroughs, the state, the country, even on other continents — would easily be one.

When you think of the Russian mafia, you think of Barnes. Here is James Barnes, gracing the scum and lowlifes of Brooklyn with his presence, and here is Steve Rogers, not-so-cheap yet consistently broke hooker, sitting on his lap like he belongs there.

See the end of the chapter for more notes. The warehouse is clouded with the scent of sweat, blood, liquor and smoke. The ramshackle ring is just a chalk circle, and Rando Alpha 1 is about to knock Rando Alpha 2 out of it.

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He keeps idly picking at his nylons, waiting for something interesting to happen or for somebody to come up to Rumlow and buy a favor off him.

That favor being Steve. Next to him, Darcy lays down on the floor and puts her head in his lap. Steve rolls his eyes. Darcy raises her eyebrows.

They have a silent conversation of how long is this fucking night going to be and I have no fucking clue, and Steve sighs again.

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Brass Fang runs the illegal fights and Rumlow runs Brass Fang. To show off.

Like they are his pets and he is a collector of exotic animals posing for his portrait. The gang barely controls a neighborhood. The fight ends and Rando 2 is hauled off half-unconscious.

The both of them can sleep with their eyes open; Steve can even sleep standing up.

Instead of picking at his nylons, Steve starts picking at the frayed hem of his shorts. Steve thinks he looks like a country groupie and regrets everything.

His arms and the gold tiger tattoo of Brass Fang’s symbol on his wrist are exposed by the crop top, which is mesh to begin with, so Steve is freezing.

Steve glances at his phone again. He liked John Garrett, the last guy in charge of Brass Fang, a hell of a lot better.

Even with his all his faults and failings, Garrett never made any of his Omegas sit at his feet. The guy goes up on his elbows and spits out blood and what looks like a tooth.

Steve wrinkles his nose and pulls his feet away, worried the loser got blood on his boots.

The fella that was talking business with Rumlow finally leaves, and Rumlow redirects his attention to the ring. The doors of the warehouse burst open then.

Five people are walking up to Rumlow now.

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Steve recognizes the Alpha in the lead by reputation and newspaper clippings only. The cigarette smoke parts to reveal the shine of his hair.

The large factory lights swaying just to accentuate the curve of his cheeks and jaw under the shadow of the hat pulled low on his brow.

The other three men are relatively unimportant, but the Omega, spinning a knife over her knuckles, Steve recognizes as Natalia Romanoff, the second in command of the Seyrbakov family.

In the lead, then, is the infamous James Barnes.

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His hair is slicked back and falls just past his jaw, which is lightly stubbled, just bridging the line between carelessly gorgeous and wild.

His eyes flash yellow and then green in the old lights, and even the gray at his temples makes him look refined rather than aged.

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A celebrity mob boss, he exudes an aura of power, prestige, old and dirty and bloody money, the American dream. That aura is pressed into the hand-stitches of his tailored suit.

It fills the whole damn warehouse without even trying, in the way only men with that kind of power and money can succeed in doing.

Steve thinks his voice sounds like molten chocolate. Rumlow does not stand up and Barnes does not look impressed by the hookers on display.

He waves a hand and Ward puts away his gun. The rest of the gang members follow suit.

Barnes does not look as though the guns even bothered him in the first place. Barnes glances over his shoulder at the ring, then shrugs and pulls a billfold from the pocket of his suit.

He counts out a few Bens, then holds them out to Ward.

Ward takes the money wordlessly and heads to find the actual bet collector. Barnes looks at Rumlow and raises an eyebrow expectantly.

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But he rises to his feet, brushes the dust off his hardly covered ass and the backs of his nylons, and goes in search of a chair.

Darcy sits up when he leaves. Steve makes his way towards the bar, grabs a folding chair, then walks back to Rumlow and sets it up.

Steve yawns and immediately sprawls onto it, then he hears the sound of water running. Black harness strap flock mesh animal bra tape He wishes he still had his phone though. It is also to be noticed that the space between the two bows is considerably darker than the rest of the sky.

Barnes still does not look impressed and even less so with the folding chair. Barnes looks at the folding chair, then at Rumlow and raises his eyebrows.

Steve does, too, glancing between his pimp and the most dangerous man in the entirety of New York. Rumlow works his jaw, then stands up, kneeing Darcy in the back in the process, who scrambles to her feet and away.

Rumlow smiles tightly and stiffly offers the armchair to Barnes.

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He shrugs off his trench coat and removes his hat, knocking snow off the brim. One of the lackeys takes both and steps aside, as Barnes turns and sits in the leather armchair.

He flexes his fingers on the studded arms, leaning back and lounging in the chair to make himself comfortable in the way Alphas do to make themselves look bigger and tougher.

Normally, Alphas look like douchebags when they do this. His three lackeys file around to stand behind the chair and Romanoff stands beside him, flipping her knife with a bored expression.

Barnes sets his hands on the arms of the chair, leaning back casually and assessing the fight with disinterest. Barnes has heard of him? Since fucking when?

Steve is no longer shook. He’s not afraid of Barnes and he’s not going to be so blatantly demeaned like that, he’s a hooker, not a slave.

Steve crosses his arms and gives Barnes a dirty look. Unruffled, unaffected, uncaring, it’s impossible to tell.

Until his lips curl slowly at the corners, and he raises a hand to crook a finger beckoningly. He almost takes a step forward. Steve no longer knows what’s happening.

Rumlow gives Steve another warning look. He moves forward, and Rumlow smiles until Steve passes him. He is all too happy to do anything that makes Rumlow so pissed and yet unable to punish him for it.

The Seyrbakov family has been gathering land, money, and power in New York since Prohibition times, and now that Barnes is in charge of it, he owns half the city.

Rumlow is nothing despite his leopards. Steve might not be afraid of him, but Barnes is quite literally the most powerful man in New York.

He turns to watch the fight, his expression bored, and Steve props his temple on his fist to go back to napping with his eyes open, acting as indifferent as Barnes himself.

Darcy catches his gaze and raises her eyebrows briefly. Steve flicks his upward, then lets his eyes unfocus. A hand sets itself on his thigh.

Steve says nothing.

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Barnes raises his hand and grips Steve by the chin, forcing him to look him in the eye, then sweeps a thumb over his lower lip.

He takes care to drag his tongue piercing up the length of his thumb, then sucks it farther into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks in the process, down to the knuckle until it hits the back of his throat.

Steve lifts his gaze, looking at Barnes through his lashes, then purposefully licks the trail of spit off his lower lip.

Then he looks away, face still bored, to watch the fight again. Steve flicks his eyebrows up once more.

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He rests his head against his arm, curled around Barnes’s neck, and lets his legs hook over the arm of the chair and turns his disinterested gaze on the ring again.

Steve relaxes in Barnes’s lap, comfortable and seductive in his ease, like he belongs there. Ward comes by and gives Barnes his winnings.

A tip means he can keep all of it, and his rent this month is definitely going to get paid. Steve clenches his jaw and swallows, leaning away.

Rumlow will rough him up. Barnes, frankly, might kill him. He’s seen Alphas challenge each other before, but he’s never seen an Alpha make making a challenge seem so derogatory the way Barnes has just done.