Mind Games - A Bad Boy Romance With A Twist

by Gabi Moore

“Is that so? Shall I play the blushing bride and you can tear my garter belt off with your teeth like the demon that you are?” she said and looked up at me smiling. I kissed her smile.

  “You don’t have to play anything. Just be yourself.”

  She laughed.

  “Myself? God how boring. Did I ever tell you I used to have a big fetish wedding dress? A PVC one? I had a client who loved all that – the rubber and the leather and all that – and once he asked me to--”

  “I don’t want to hear about it” I blurted. “This is our wedding, and that’s all in the past.”

  She sat up in the hammock and made it swing, and the ropes chewed into the bark of the trees. “Dean, I’m sorry, listen to me, Jesus. Forget I said anything,” she said and squeezed my thigh, although her eyes were staring at a point far off in the distance – not towards the glowing wedding party around the house, but into the darkness, and those murky blue-black shapes that led out into the bush.

  “You don’t have to apologize. It’s part of who you are, and I love who you are,” I said. And I meant it.

  Despite all the vicious headlines in the tabloids, Nora wasn’t a bizarre, embarrassing choice for a multi-millionaire’s wife. I wasn’t ashamed of her. Marrying her wasn’t a mistake. In fact, she was doing me a huge favor, and it didn’t matter one bit what she had worn in another life, or what roles she had played, or why. What mattered is that we were together now.

  “Are you happy? Do you regret it?”

  She took a long, long time to answer.

  “I just don’t know how to do any of this, you know? I don’t know the script. What do we do now, that he’s in jail and I have a normal job and we’re married?”

  “What do we do? We do whatever we want,” I laughed.

  She laughed as well but it was something she had brought up time and again as we had planned this wedding. I understood. Nora didn’t know how to be happy. She kept waiting for the next catastrophe, not quite believing that she deserved for things to be this good. But even without the champagne, and the ribbons and the flowers and the sweet words, even without any of it, I knew that this was where we were both meant to be. She’d see that soon. I knew she would.

  She took a deep breath as though she was preparing to say something, but stopped when she saw Charlie walking over to us, his tie hanging limp round his neck and his shirt untucked.

  “Hey, lovebirds. Can I have a word?”

  I didn’t like the look on his face. Nora sat up further, the ropes creaked against the bark, and she stood and stretched, the moonlight catching the sheen of her wedding dress.

  “Tired of the kids forcing you into a game of pin-the-tail?” I laughed. “You can say no, you know. What kind of a big fancy lawyer are you anyway?” I sat up too, bringing my legs down to the ground. Charlie pulled up a log and sat down in front of us. Nora was the first to notice how agitated he looked.

  “It’s uh… it’s a bit of bad news. But I thought you should know. Before you got back to the city.” His voice was slightly slurred but his eyes seemed stone cold and sharp and he stared at the dusty ground between his feet.

  “What is it?” Nora said.

  “It’s your father, Dean,” he said, and rubbed the back of his neck. Nora shot me a look that I could clearly see was panicked, even in the dark. She sat down beside me on the hammock again.

  “I just got a call from one of the interns back at the office. She said one of our sources at the facility let her know that Jeff’s come up for parole. I though you should know before the press caught wind--”

  “Parole? But… but he’s only been in there for a few months, how could he possibly--”

  “I know, it’s a shock,” Charlie said and began rubbing his neck again. I could feel Nora’s eyes burning holes into the side of my neck but I couldn’t look at her now. I didn’t have any answers for her.

  Charlie sat quietly and I couldn’t think of anything to say, but Nora continued.

  “I don’t understand. He’s a murderer,” she cried. “He was sentenced to a ten-year minimum, how the hell does he get the chance to get out now?”

  “It’s just a hearing, Nora, it doesn’t mean…”

  “I can’t believe this.”

  “We’re going to see what we can do when we get back to the city,” Charlie said. “Obviously, nothing is decided yet, but I thought you should know his people are working hard to get him out. He had all those investments with the health board and I know he had a lot of unfinished business… I suspect your father’s been calling in a lot of favors these last few months.”

  The hammock rocked violently as Nora shot to her feet, paced around a few times and then made off quickly into the darkness.

  “Nora, wait!”

  Charlie’s arm came to mine and he held me back.

  “Let her go, Dean. I’d be pissed off too.”

  We stared off as the white of her dress disappeared into the darkness and the black seemed to devour her. I swallowed but my throat was dry.

  “This is my wedding day, Charlie.”

  He squeezed my elbow.

  “Dean, we’re working on it. I’m going to do everything I can to—”

  “I’ll fucking kill him myself,” I said, and we both looked at each other, surprised at how easily those violent words seemed to find themselves on my lips. “If he even so much as thinks about coming after her, so help me god I’ll strangle him myself, I’ll fucking--”

  “Dean, man, let’s not jump to conclusions here, it’s just a hearing, and I’m sure…”

  “You don’t know my father Charlie. You don’t know what he’s capable of.”

  We stood silently there together, the hammock still swinging gently from the disruption.

  “Fuck,” I muttered under my breath.

  “You want a drink?” Charlie said, and we walked back inside together.

  Perhaps, as usual, Nora was the smarter one of us both, and she was right to doubt this new world, this la la land of pink flowers and honeymoons and romance. Maybe she was right and the past did matter, and would always come back to find us.

  We reached the house and went inside, and the guests were still bustling together, oblivious to the fact that at that moment, nothing less than pure evil was making a plan to walk among them again soon. I watched as Charlie poured me a stiff whiskey and then whistled low under his breath as he took a look at me.

  “Dean, talk to me. You’re looking crazy, man.”

  I wrapped tense fingers round the glass, pressed the rim to my lips and threw the burning golden liquid straight back, winced a little and then handed the glass back to him.

  “What are you thinking, Dean? Talk to me. What are you going to do?”

  He knew me by now. Knew when I set my mind to do something…

  “I’m going to do what should have been done a long time ago,” I said. Cheesy, I know. But I meant it.

  I had been a fool to think that the legal system in this country had a hope of containing my father. He was no regular man. And no regular justice would be enough. No, my father possessed a special, unique kind of evil, something that most people could only vaguely conceive of. Once, I had tried to beat my father at his own games. Then, I tried to run away. With him in prison, I had stupidly believed that this was the end of my battle with him. But really, I could see now that it was only getting started. My father was larger than life, bigger and more powerful than people really knew, and nobody could stop him.

  Well, nobody except for one person…

  You’ll find BOOK 3 in the “Mind Games” trilogy in the table of contents!

  (… along with a special deal on my “Bad Boys After Dark” boxed set, containing over half a MILLION words of panty-melting bad boys!)

  Against All Odds

  Blurb

  She wasn’t my type.

  Not even close.

  So how did I end up here, in a steel container in a warehouse, feeling things I’d never felt for anyone before?
>
  I couldn’t put my finger on why, but I just knew that after that night we spent together, our lives would change forever…

  Chapter 1- Evelyn

  I can keep a secret. And that’s the only reason why I am where I am today.

  Ever watched those nature documentaries, the ones where two alpha males go at one another, fighting it out all horns and claws, trying to find out who’s the toughest and strongest so he can settle down and enjoy all the territory?

  Well, I hate those documentaries.

  I always thought, why is it the males who are called “alpha”? Why don’t they tell you all about the females those dumb male animals are fighting for, or say how they’re really the top dogs, when you think about it? I’ll tell you why – because those documentaries are made by men.

  Not that I care much, honestly. The more big-ego, hot-shit alpha males there are to keep one another distracted, the easier it is for me to get what I want, quietly, behind the scenes. The trouble with being a woman is that you can’t play these big boy games. But then again, the good thing about being a woman is that you don’t have to.

  The man on the other end of the line was possibly one of the biggest big shots in this whole city. The entire organization jokingly called him “Mrs. Robinson” because except for an elite few, nobody actually knew who the hell he was.

  I knew who he was, though. A smart man, smart enough to stay out of the lime light, Angelo Valenti was one of those old-school mafia types you just don’t get anymore. He was cold. He played the long game, and completely obliterated his enemies, but I could respect him. And he wouldn’t have placed me in the upper ranks I currently dominated unless he didn’t have a little respect for me, too.

  “You sure they’re not just bluffing?” I asked. I didn’t want to question his judgment, but we had been tricked before, and I was wary of letting it happen again.

  “I want you to go down there, Evie,” he said. “Take Jack with you just in case.”

  I knew that I would be sent down to the warehouse for Jack’s safety as much as he was sent for mine. Fine. I guess I could give up my Saturday evening to scare off some low-level street goons and, maybe, there’d be a little side bonus in it for me.

  “Sure thing,” I said.

  If he trusted his sources, I trusted them too. If there’s one thing I knew about this organization, it was that it was riddled with snitches and spies.

  He hung up.

  I had never actually seen Mrs. Robinson before. But that’s OK. Like I said, the most powerful people are always the most well-hidden. I flicked on my bedroom light and scanned around for my jacket. As I tucked my .22 into the waist band of my tights, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror.

  Not bad.

  Good Italian genes give you a leeway of around 5 years or so when it comes to aging, I swear, but even still, I was getting on in years. A month ago I had found a tiny crinkle lines at the corner of my eye when I smiled. But then, I don’t smile all that much, so, problem solved I guess.

  I never liked drug deals. In my experience, they were always about scared kids holding things up or some random cowboy trying to make a point when we all had business to tend to. Our business works so beautifully because we know how to manage and contain shit like that. We dabble in a bit of everything – drugs, women, weapons – but our strength is that we’re built on a system of compartments. Each compartment has a sub-manager. And when you put the hot-shit guys in positions like that, they get to feel like they’re running the show… the people who are really running the show aren’t distracted by any petty street-level drama, and everyone gets what they want.

  Or at least, that’s how it’s worked all this time. Maybe I’m getting old, or maybe things really are different these days, but I don’t like the way the business is headed. Angelo Valenti’s son was a real piece of work, for starters. And managing his compartment for him was starting to take up more of my life than I was happy with. But that was OK, too. After more than ten years, I was on my way out. Sometimes, the only way to get out of a game is to play by the rules right till the end.

  I yanked out my phone and gave Jack a call.

  “Mrs. Robinson wants us at the warehouse,” I said as soon as he picked up. “He thinks there might be trouble with the kid’s new shipment. He doesn’t want the deal to get nasty.”

  Jack took his time with a slow sigh.

  “OK, stay put. I’ll be over in ten,” he said, and hung up.

  I looked at my reflection again. It was a shame, what was going to happen to Jack, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t enjoy the opportunity while I had it. I quickly grabbed a lipstick on my dresser counter and swiped on a layer of cherry red. I cracked my neck on either side, did one last scan of my untidy apartment and then waited patiently for Jack to pitch up.

  Women can rise in this “industry” if they’re persistent and have the stomach for it. To succeed in this business, you need unflinching focus, smarts, and just a little bloodthirstiness. I think most women, whether they know it or not, are already deeply blessed in those areas.

  Women are tough.

  My grandmother birthed four of her nine children in a Sicilian spinach field during the war. She survived three husbands and the countless young bucks who came in there with their polished shoes and their hair triggers. I came from a long line of women who were tough as burnt nails. I was no exception.

  Stupid men with king complexes would always be the norm. But women like me would always find new ways to work around that. In any case, this is a long way of saying: I never liked drug deals.

  By the time I heard Jack’s car idling outside the front of the house, I felt mildly irritated at having to give up my Saturday evening. Again. Little Joey Valenti was making a mess again and big daddy needed me to swoop in and clean it up. The more things change, huh?

  I grabbed my keys, zipped up my black leather jacket and pressed my lips together. I locked up, walked over to the car and took my time getting in. I wanted him to really have a good look before we had to head off to the warehouse and focus on whatever crap we had to when we got there. My jacket creaked as I settled into the passenger seat and looked over with a faint smile. He smiled back, then swung around, whipped the car into reverse and had the tires screeching as we pulled off and headed over.

  Jack was …hot enough. Most importantly, he was there. Quiet guy, company-man, the kind that are thick on the ground in an organization like this. He had a broad jaw, a small mouth, and eyes that seemed like they were always focusing on something happening a few hundred yards off. He didn’t say much, ever, but turns out, I was in a stage of my life where what I needed from a man wasn’t exactly his conversation skills.

  “Nice night,” I said to nobody in particular.

  I had been trying to get this guy into bed for weeks now, and the only progress I had made so far was to get him to actually answer me occasionally.

  “Yeah,” he said, and kept driving, steely eyes glued to the road ahead.

  I adjusted my weight to ease the butt of the gun jabbing into my hips.

  “Hey, do you know a lot about this new stuff? The stuff on the shipment?” I asked. Like blood from a stone, I swear.

  He briefly flicked his gaze over to me but then back at the road again. I knew that in that split second he had noticed my tightly fitting jacket. He knew. I knew that he knew. But I was getting impatient.

  “Nah. They say new stuff, but it’s all the same shit to me.”

  There was something really sexy about how quietly you could speak in a car on the road late at night, and still be heard. Or maybe I was just really horny.

  “Oh come on, really? You’re not even a little bit curious?”

  “Nope.”

  “They say it’s an aphrodisiac, though,” I said. “That it makes sex super intense. Like, you almost get to read the other person’s min.”

  “Sex should be like that anyway,” he said quickly, and readjusted his hands on the steering wheel
. I smiled. At least this Jack could be a little unpredictable.

  I leaned back into my seat and watched the street lights race past my vision.

  “You spoke to Mrs. Robinson?” he asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “He told you to call me?”

  “Uh huh.”

  I could make out his strong hands tightening and loosening around the steering wheel. It was a fun power play, seeing all these thugs and hitmen slowly realize that in this nasty little web, I had superiority over them, and that yes, I spoke to the illusive Mrs. Robinson. Quite often, actually.

  “What’s he like?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “What does he sound like?” His eyes never shifted from the road.

  I gave a dry little laugh.

  “Well, that’s a secret, isn’t it?” I said, and pressed my crimson lips together again.

  And that’s the only reason why I am where I am today.

  I can keep a secret.

  Chapter 2 - Jack

  It wasn’t that she was an older woman. I mean, that had something to do with it, but it was more than that. It’s not that she intimidated me, either. She was a hair over five feet and couldn’t have weighed more than a hundred pounds.

  But she still felt dangerous somehow. It still felt like a tease, when she came at me with her cutesy small talk and climbed into my car wearing those tights that looked like they were painted onto her legs.

  I didn’t have time for drama. Fucking one of the key ladies in the organization seemed almost suspiciously easy – so I hung back. It might sound strange to hear a hired hitman talk about principles, but even I have my limits. Mixing business and pleasure is just one of those don’t-shit-where-you-eat type fundamentals that I didn’t have the guts to mess with.

  Still. She looked fucking hot.

  We drove in silence, her leather jacket squeaking every time I made a turn. I had been to this warehouse a few times before, but never like this. Never with just that lone street lamp on the corner and that ominous blackness wrapped all around it. I took a moment to scope out the front entrance – it didn’t look like anyone had been through here recently.