Break For Him: A Possessive Mafia Romance

by B. B. Hamel

  And then I remembered that I was essentially his whore and wanted to throw up.

  “Don’t look so down,” he said. “You’ll get used to it.”

  I took a step away from him and sat at the end of a large queen bed. The comforter was dark blue with a flower motif stitched along it. Multiple throw pillows covered the top. The walls were light blue and the bureau had fresh flower in a vase.

  “Who lives here?” I didn’t know why I asked. The room just didn’t feel like it could belong to this man. It was feminine, almost soft.

  “This is my house,” he said. “I prepared this just for you. Do you like it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I understand.” He pointed toward a door at the end of the room. “Bathroom, all yours. The door locks from the outside I’m afraid, and there are bars on the windows, so please don’t make a racket. I’ll let you get settled for a little while.” He turned to leave.

  “Wait.” I didn’t know what I wanted from him, but being left alone scared me.

  Almost as if it made this all real.

  “Yes?” He tilted his head.

  “Can I have… I don’t know… my phone?”

  He laughed. “Of course not.”

  “Then some clothes. And something to eat.”

  “I can do clothes and food.” His face remained passive. “Anything else, little Leigh? I want my newest employee to be happy.”

  I wanted to throw up.

  “No, that’s fine.”

  “Get settled. Sleep if you need to. I’ll be back soon.” He left the room. I heard a lock clunk shut on the other side.

  I fell back onto the comforter and stared up at a ceiling fan.

  Three hours ago, I was sitting in the back office of my little retail shop. I designed and sold t-shirts and custom shoes. People could drop off their Vans or whatever other sneakers, and I’d draw designs on them. When Owain broke into my shop, I was doing a Snoopy design for a customer and trying not to think about my dead brother.

  I closed my eyes.

  Fucking Jason.

  I had no clue, but I should’ve known.

  He’d always had problems, all through school. My dad died when we were just kids and that set him off. He spiraled after that, and my mom was too busy working all the time to support us to do anything about it. She tried, but she was way in over her head. I couldn’t do much, since he was four years older than me, and we were never that close. So he got into trouble all the time and sort of drifted away, doing his own thing.

  I heard from him sometimes. Saw his social posts online. He was in San Francisco, Florida, Denver, Texas. He traveled across Thailand. He lived in Japan for a few months.

  Then a couple years ago, he showed back up in Philadelphia with a proposal.

  I design the shirts and run the store, and he’ll do the business end. He raised the money, found the store front, and did all the advertising. Business was going surprisingly well, and I was too stupid to ask him who was investing and where the money was coming from.

  Fucking Jason screwed me. He screwed me and himself.

  I could still see him slumped over in the back room, sitting on the floor behind the desk, a needle stuck in his arm. He must’ve died in his sleep. That was what the coroner said at least.

  It broke my mother’s heart. She didn’t cry at the funeral, but I think she’d already cried all her tears.

  I wanted to be sad he was gone. Three hours ago, I was sad. I was devastated and trying to figure out how I was going to save the business I’d worked so hard to build with him.

  And now my feelings are a little more complex.

  Fucking Jason got all our money from the mafia. Or whoever this Owain guy was.

  I was screwed, I was so screwed. I couldn’t be a prostitute. I barely had any experience with guys. And now that bastard was going to sell me to men until I could pay off two hundred thousand dollars.

  I tried to imagine how long that would take.

  Months. Years. An entire lifetime. It didn’t matter, so long as he got paid.

  God damn. I was going to die in this room.

  Owain didn’t come back right away. A small clock glowing red letters on the nightstand ticked down the time. An hour passed, then two, then three. I found clean towels in the bathroom and took a shower just for something to do. I put my old clothes back on and paced around the room, trying to come up with some way to escape.

  The drawers were all empty in the bureau. The nightstand held a bible and some gum.

  I thought I could shatter the vase and use the pieces to cut him.

  But Owain could rip me to pieces. That much was obvious.

  He was six inches taller and probably a hundred pounds heavier.

  Still, I had to do something. I couldn’t end up this bastard’s whore.

  Even though my brother owed him money, that didn’t mean he could take me and use me like this.

  More time ticked past. And I got mad.

  Eventually, around seven that night, I heard a sound outside. The floor creaked. I threw myself across the room and stood behind the door, heart racing. I didn’t know what I was going to do, but I had to try something.

  The lock thunked. The door creaked open.

  “Little Leigh,” Owain said. “Sorry it took me so long.” He stepped into the room but didn’t see me. I stared at his back. He held a plate in one hand and a duffel bag in another. He put the bag down on the floor and the plate on the bed. He tugged at the comforter.

  I made a break for it. I ran around the door and threw myself out into the hallway. I slipped on the floor and smashed against the far wall, but kept running. The walls were white and mostly bare. I heard a TV on downstairs. I reached the top step and went to jump down—

  Something iron hard grabbed my wrist and yanked me back. I let out a primal scream of rage and pain.

  Owain pushed me up against the wall and pinned me there.

  “Now, now,” he said, voice soft. “Come on, little Leigh. That was your escape attempt.”

  “Fuck you,” I said.

  “You barely got to the steps. You should’ve tried to hurt me first. Maybe broken the mirror and stabbed me.”

  “What do you want from me?”

  The pressure on my wrist lightened ever so slightly. “That’s what I’m here to discuss.”

  I felt my heart racing in my chest. I wanted to scream, or groan, or fight.

  But I couldn’t move and his lips were inches from my neck.

  “Do you want to hear what your job will be?” he asked.

  “I already know what you want from me.”

  He laughed and stepped back. I turned around, rubbing my arm.

  “You have no clue. Now get back in that room. We need to have a conversation.”

  I hesitated. The last place I wanted to be was back in that room, but I didn’t have any options.

  He smiled at me. He knew I was screwed

  So I turned and did as he asked. I walked back into the room.

  He followed and shut the door behind him.

  I sat at the end of the bed. The plate had a sandwich on it. My stomach growled, so I picked it up and ate. Turkey, cheese, mustard. Simple, but I was starving. I devoured half in two bites then crossed my arms and did my best to give him an angry stare.

  It barely worked. I couldn’t control the fear that coursed through me.

  “Okay,” I said. “Tell me what you want.”

  “I have a problem that I think you can help me solve. In fact, I think we can help each other.”

  “Help each other?” The idea of helping him revolted me. “I don’t think that’s how this works.”

  He held up a hand. “I understand you’re confused. But let me start out by saying that I have no plans to make you a whore.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “What?”

  “You are not going to fuck men for money. You’re not going to fuck anyone. That’s not what I need from you.”

  A str
ange sensation washed over me. It was relief mixed with disbelief mixed with more fear. If he didn’t want me to sleep with men, then I wasn’t sure I wanted to know what he did want.

  Because it couldn’t be good.

  And it might be worse.

  “Just tell me,” I said. “I’m not sure I can keep dealing with this cryptic bullshit.”

  He grinned and nodded. “Fair enough. You remember the warehouse from earlier today?”

  “Yeah, sure. Lots of boxes.”

  “That’s right. I own that warehouse. And I own all those boxes. Can you guess what’s inside?”

  “Spatulas. Cooking utensils. You want to start a chef’s store.”

  He shook his head and laughed. “No, but that does sound fun. No, those crates are full of pills. Mostly Oxycontin, but other opiates as well. And I need to sell all those opiates.”

  “Of course you do.”

  “That’s where you come in, little Leigh. You see, selling drugs on the street comes with risks. My guys get caught, I have to pay their legal fees. It’s not as lucrative as you might think. But about a year ago, I came up with an idea.”

  I felt dread spread through me. “How do I fit into this?”

  “My idea was simple. I find retail space with a legitimate business and I sell pills out the back.” He clasped his hands behind his back and paced across the room. “You see, most fronts, they start out as fronts. They aren’t real businesses first. They don’t have a track record of sales that you can point to and say hey, look here, I am a real business. But if I found a retail spot that was growing and truly selling product, I could use them to piggy back off of, in a sense. And nobody would be the wiser.”

  I sat and stared. He came to a stop and looked at me with a little half-smile. His head tilted as he studied me, eyes moving up and down my body.

  “That’s where you come in,” he said.

  “You want my store?” I almost laughed. I almost cried.

  “I want you to keep running your business. But while you do that, I also you want you to run my business. I want you to sell my pills while you sell your shirts. Do you understand?”

  “You want to use me as your front.”

  “Exactly. I will launder money through your business. Not too much, not too fast, but enough to make it worth my time. You’ll pay off your debt that way, and one day, when we’re all squared up, you’ll be given the option to stay on.”

  “Stay on?”

  “Continue selling or walk away and I’ll find someone else. But you must understand that from here on out, your business is mine. All of it is mine, forever. You’re being given the option to work off your debt in this manner instead of fucking strange men or getting shot in the head. Do you understand?”

  I shook my head and tried to process. For the last few hours I thought this man wanted to make me his whore.

  When he really wanted to make me his drug dealer.

  “This is crazy. If we get caught, I could go to jail for a really long time.”

  “True, but doing time is better than being dead or whoring.”

  I flinched and looked away. “How would it even work? We put a sign out front?”

  “Of course not. I’ll find the customers and handle that end, don’t you worry. All you’ll have to do is continue to run your shirt and shoes business and sell to my customers when they show up. We’ll work out the details over the next few days.”

  I shook my head and stood up. He looked at me with a curious mix of amusement and desire, and I couldn’t tell which one pissed me off more.

  “I’m not a drug dealer,” I said. “I don’t know anything about this.”

  “You’re a businesswoman. You know how to run a business. That’s all you need.”

  “I design shirts. My store’s called Shirtadelphia. It’s not even a clever name.”

  He laughed and shook his head. “I know, it’s a terrible name, but it works anyway.”

  “This is really all you want?”

  “This is it. You work for me, you sell my pills, and we get rich together. Or you pay off your debt and walk away a free girl.”

  “You make it sound so simple.”

  “It is simple. You’re being held back by fear and by some outdated sense of morality, but it’s simple. We take what we want and we make a fuck-ton of money in the process. I’m bringing you into something big, even if you don’t realize it yet.”

  “I never wanted to be brought into anything.’

  “Too bad. Here you are.” He stepped toward me and I had to force myself not to step back. “Think about it tonight. In the morning, you’ll have to decide.”

  “What if I say yes then I run?” I asked, feeling dizzy with confusion. “What if I go to the police?”

  “You go to the police, and I kill you.” He smiled and put a hand on my shoulder. “You try to run, I hunt you down, and I kill you. Or I kill your mother. Either way, someone you love dies.”

  I felt a chill run down my spine. “How do you know… about my mom?”

  “Jason told me.” He squeezed my shoulder. “He’s very stupid.” He released me and walked to the door. “Think about it tonight. I’m making a good offer here. I’m sorry for all the theatrics up to this point but I had to test you. I wanted to see what you were made of.”

  “Test me? And what do you think I’m made of?”

  “Something tough, but brittle.” He opened the door and when he looked at me, I could’ve sworn he stared deep down inside of my mind. “We’ll harden you up though. Make you less likely to shatter.”

  He left the room and locked the door behind him.

  I sank back down onto the bed and finished the other half of the sandwich. When I was done, I stared at the floor and tried to understand what was happening to me.

  If I didn’t work with him and sell his drugs, he’d kill me. Or he’d kill my mother.

  I couldn’t run, not if I wanted her to live. And I knew I couldn’t tell her about any of this. It would break her heart and probably kill her if she knew that Jason got me into this situation.

  Assuming she’d even believe me.

  Which meant I had no choice.

  Unless I wanted to whore for him for the rest of my life, I was going to sell his drugs.

  And I didn’t know if that was any better.

  3

  Owain

  I got up early the next day and made breakfast.

  I cooked Leigh a feast: eggs, bacon, pancakes. I made fancy pour-over coffees and hand-ground the beans. I even put a littler vase with a tiny daisy inside of it on the tray as I piled everyone and carried it up to her room.

  I smiled to myself. I was a killer and a bastard. And here I was, bringing breakfast to a woman. It was almost comical.

  But I still planned on bleeding her dry.

  I unlocked the bolt on her door from the outside and knocked.

  “Leigh, little diamond, are you awake?”

  No answer inside.

  I knocked again. “I’m coming in, little diamond. Whether you’re decent or not.”

  Again, silence.

  I pushed open the door.

  She came at me like an animal, all claws and screaming. She knocked the tray from my hands and her burning hot coffee spilled down my legs. I growled in pain as she raked her fingernails down my cheek.

  I caught her wrist and shoved her back. She stumbled but didn’t stop. She came at me again, throwing her weight into the attack this time.

  That pissed me off. I caught her and threw her down onto the floor. I heard her breath blow out from her chest in a whoosh. I pinned her down and stared into her face, a snarl on my lips.

  “I thought we were past this.”

  She glared back at me. “You’re trying to turn me into a drug mule.”

  “What do you think would happen if you got away? You think your mother would be safe?”

  “I wasn’t trying to escape.” Her lips curled into a sneer. “I just wanted to hurt you.” />
  I stared at her for a long moment. My thigh felt like hell from where the coffee spilled and soaked my slacks and a trickle of blood dripped down my cheek where her nails caught me.

  And then I burst out laughing.

  My god, what a delight. What an absolute perfect delight.

  She wasn’t trying to escape. She wasn’t trying to run away. She just wanted to hurt me because she’s angry with me, and she was willing to risk her own safety to score some meaningless hits.

  What a lovely, beautiful, gorgeous creature.

  Stupid, but incredible.

  “It’s not funny,” she said, practically spitting the words at me.

  “Oh, no, it’s very funny.” I released her and stood, brushing at my leg. “Maybe I underestimated you yesterday. I said you were brittle, but perhaps that wasn’t quite right.”

  She sat up. Her hair was in a messy bun. She wore a pair of gray sweats and a black sweatshirt. She looked like she hadn’t slept at all the night before. Her eyes were rimmed red with big black bags beneath them.

  “How about you just go to hell?”

  “Don’t worry, my little diamond. I’ll be there soon enough.” I turned away and gestured at the fallen tray. “That’s your breakfast. The coffee was good. Sorry you won’t get any.”

  “Fuck your coffee.”

  I shook my head. “I understand why you’re reacting this way. You’re angry at your situation and you’re taking it out on me. But don’t forget that it was your brother who got you here.”

  “And it’s you that’s keeping me.”

  I raised an eyebrow and nodded, a smile on my lips. “That’s right. I’m keeping you. That’s a good way of putting it.”

  She looked away. “I’m not going to make this easy on you.”

  “Good.” I took a step closer. “Don’t misunderstand me though. I like a challenge, and I like to play rough. But if you try and fuck me over and ruin what I’m building, I will kill your mother in front of you before I tear you to pieces.”