The Leone Crime Family Box Set

by B. B. Hamel

  As cool and calm as he sometimes seemed, Steven liked action. He like danger and blood and pain. I saw the thrill written all over his face as we drove away from that robbery, and although he felt guilty for letting things go bad, he still loved every second of it.

  “At least tell me if this will be dangerous,” I said.

  “It will be very dangerous.” He put his hands on the table palms down and leaned toward me. “Want to stay home?”

  “No,” I said.

  He grinned. “I didn’t think so. Finish eating. We’re leaving in ten minutes.” He got up and disappeared upstairs, bringing his laptop with him.

  I ate my eggs and toast, drank my coffee, and thought about how much trouble I’d gotten in with him, and wondered if I’d ever be able to get back out again.

  I sat in the back seat of Steven’s black SUV, one elbow on the door, leaning my cheek against the glass. We’d been sitting in the car for the last two hours with the windows up, and it was beginning to get so hot that I felt sweat roll down my back.

  “Turn on the air, man,” Davide said, sitting in the seat next to mine. He leaned forward toward Steven, who sat behind the wheel.

  “Can’t,” he said. “It’ll draw too much attention.”

  “Then crack a window. This is fucking torture.”

  Steven rolled his eyes. “Since when did you become such a fucking pussy, Davide?

  “Since you kept me locked up in a god damn boiling hot car. Come on, tell him, Colleen.” Davide looked at me, almost pleading. “You’re hot too. Your face is all red.”

  “It’s hot in here,” I said.

  Steven glanced at me in the rearview. “Not you too.”

  “Just turn on the engine for a few minutes,” I said.

  “Fine.” He turned the key and the car started. The AC blew in strong as he cranked it up. “Ten minutes to cool it all down and then I’m turning it off again.”

  “Fuck yes,” Davide said, leaning over to get closer to the air vents.

  Tate laughed from the passenger side but I noticed he didn’t complain. I let out a sigh as the car started to cool off, but I was still bored out of my mind.

  I didn’t know what we were waiting for or who we were watching. Steven didn’t tell me, and Tate and Davide didn’t talk to me much more than they had to. That was really the first time Davide had even acknowledged that I was a person, and not just some mannequin sitting in the seat next to him.

  We were deep in Celtic Club territory, parked on a quiet block with several businesses on either side. There was a hairdresser, a dollar store, a Chinese food place, and a bodega on the corner. Apartments sat on top of each business, and locals walked along the sidewalks, coming in and out of the buildings, hurrying to get into the shade and hide from the overbearing humidity.

  Even with the AC, I still felt sweat dripping down my skin.

  Steven looked like he couldn’t have cared less. Even in a long sleeve white dress shirt tucked into black trousers, he looked cool and smooth like we were going to church. At least he left the jacket at home, but I thought even that wouldn’t hamper him too much.

  Tate fidgeted in his seat and popped open the glove compartment. He slid out a black pistol and popped out the magazine. He checked it, pulled back and slide, and chambered a round before leaning back and holding the gun in his hands.

  “Put that away,” Steven said.

  Tate looked at him. “Almost go time.”

  “But not yet. Put it away.”

  Tate grunted, pushed it back into the glove box, and shut it again.

  I felt my heart start to beat faster. They were about to do something violent, I was sure of it. I couldn’t say what exactly, but we were so deep in Club territory, it could be anything. I recognized a few of the businesses on the block, especially the bodega and the hairdresser.

  Davide gave me a look and tilted his head to the side. I stared back out the window, and I could feel the anxiety rolling down my skin in waves. I shifted, uncomfortable, afraid, and I wanted to beg Steven not to go through with whatever he planned.

  But as soon as I thought I might open my mouth, I remembered my father, and I remembered what my uncle said to Steven in that bookstore.

  The bastard thought I was a traitor. And he was more than willing to take it out on my father, who had already given so much to the Club.

  I hated him, hated all of them. The Club didn’t deserve my pity. If Steven was going to do something violent, I wanted him to do it. I wanted him to gun them all down, murder all of them, make them pay for hurting my family.

  For taking so much away from me.

  I took a sharp, deep breath. I looked forward and saw Steven staring at me in the rearview mirror. I met his gaze and forced myself to smile at him. I wanted him to know what I was thinking. I wanted him to know that I was ready for this.

  He smiled back and tilted his head to the side. I thought he might speak, but then he reached forward and killed the engine.

  Davide groaned. “Fuck,” he said.

  “Get over it,” Tate said. “God damn, man.”

  I laughed a little and Davide grumbled to himself. Steven sighed and leaned on the steering wheel, staring out the window.

  Another half hour passed. I wanted to get out and stretch my legs, or at least use the bathroom, but none of the guys looked like they were going anywhere anytime soon. I shifted and tried to get more comfortable, but my mind was racing in loops and dips. I kept vacillating between being afraid for the Club and afraid of more violence, and wanting Steven to go out and kill every single one of them.

  But before I could lose it completely, Steven sat up straight. “I think that’s them,” he said.

  Tate grunted and leaned forward. “Shit,” he said. “You’re right. Look, right on time.”

  Steven nodded and started the engine. Davide let out a happy sigh as the cool air blew into the car again. He leaned forward and reached back behind him, pulling a gun from his waistband as Tate took his back out of the dash.

  “Now, you know the plan,” Steven said. “Kill them and make it fast, but don’t go too wild, all right? There might be people inside that store.”

  “Wait a minute,” I said. “You’re shooting up a bodega again? After what happened to me?’

  “You’d be surprised how often we do this,” Steven said. “And you’re the first civilian I’ve ever seen get hurt.”

  “But people—” I started, but Steven turned to stare at me.

  “Not another word,” he said. “We can’t have you fucking this up.”

  I stared at him then clamped my jaw shut and glared. I wanted to scream at him but Davide laughed and smirked at me. I glanced at him and flipped him off before crossing my arms over my chest.

  Steven turned back around and faced forward.

  “You two ready?” he asked.

  “Let’s kill these fucks,” Tate said.

  “Just keep the air on,” Davide said.

  Steven snorted and pulled out of his spot.

  The car rolled forward. My heart began hammering in my chest as we moved closer to the bodega. I saw two guys standing out front, both of them wearing baggy jeans and polo shirts. One wore a blue shirt with stripes, the other a plain red one. The red shirt guy had a hat on, pulled down low over his eyes, and he was crouched down toward the ground. Both men were in the shade, their pale skin hiding from the strong sun.

  As Steven got closer he slowed down, and Tate and Davide rolled down their windows. They leaned out with their guns, and I heard one of the Club guys curse.

  Gunshots rang out. Tate and Davide fired at the two guys, who tried to scramble away, but they were riddled with bullets in seconds. The red shirt guy took a shot to the skull and his head snapped back, slamming against the window. Blood splattered all over the glass. The stripe shirt guy scrambled toward the door, trying to find cover, but he staggered and fell as more bullets tore into his body.

  “Fuck yeah!” Davide shouted. “Fucki
ng killed them. Fuck yeah, you stupid—”

  Another shot rang out, but this one came from further down the block. Davide’s head snapped forward then slammed back, and blood splattered against my face.

  “Fuck,” Steven yelled. “Fuck, fuck, where?”

  More gunshots. Bullets slammed in through the back window.

  “Get down, Colleen!” Steven shouted as he slammed on the gas. The car leapt forward and Davide’s limp body slumped forward. Blood leaked from his skull and I sat there, staring at his dead body, paralyzed with terror. More gunshots popped off as Tate leaned out the window and returned fire.

  Steven reached the intersection and turned right. The SUV’s wheels screamed as he drove fast, blowing through two more stop signs, turned down another street, then slowed to a more normal pace. He drove north, just getting away from the scene.

  “What happened?” Steven shouted. “What the fuck happened?”

  “There was another guy,” Tate said. “We missed him. Didn’t see him. He was down the block, a lookout I guess, and—”

  “He’s dead,” I said.

  The words came out strangled and terrified. Davide was lolling forward, more blood rolling from his skull. I looked down at myself and gagged when I saw that I was covered in splatters of it, all over my chest, my arms. I knew it was on my face, and I used my shirt to wipe it off, but it only smeared all over.

  “Fuck,” Steven said. “Tate, call Dr. Chen right now. Tell him to come to my house.”

  “He’s dead,” I said again. “He’s dead. They shot him in the head. He’s dead.”

  Tate looked at me, his face expressionless, then glanced back at Davide. His face twisted into a snarl before he shook his head and got out his phone.

  The next ten minutes were a blur. I kept staring at Davide then at my hands. They were covered in his blood. I felt like the world was dragging around us in slow motion, like I was moving through molasses. I tried to look around but nothing made any sense, and I distantly realized that I was having some kind of panic attack, but couldn’t do anything about it. I was trapped in my own body, covered in a dead man’s blood.

  Steven stopped outside of his house and jumped out. He threw open the back door and grabbed Davide. He pulled the dead man out, his face calm and cool as he dragged the body across the sidewalk, up to his front door, and inside. It was the most brazen, crazy thing I’d ever seen in my life. I sat there for a long moment, staring at the bloodstains on the back seat, the car’s engine still running.

  My door opened and Tate was there. He took me by the arm. “Come on,” he said. “Get out.”

  I let him guide me out of the car. I walked around the back as Tate closed my door then Davide’s door. He reached in through Steven’s window and turned off the engine. I walked on autopilot in through the front door and stood staring at Davide’s body on the couch.

  “Tate,” Steven said as Tate came in behind me. “When the doctor gets here, make sure Davide’s taken care of.”

  “What does that mean?” Tate asked.

  “Make sure he’s fucking dead,” Steven said. “And if he’s dead, start getting rid of the body.”

  “Shit,” Tate said.

  Steven got in his face. “This is what it means to be made,” he said, his voice a savage growl. “Can you fucking handle it?”

  Tate went white, but nodded. “I can handle it.”

  “Good.” Steven stared at him for a moment longer then turned to me. “Colleen. Come on.”

  I didn’t move. I couldn’t move. I stared at the dead man.

  Steven walked to me and took my arm. Not hard, but firm enough to guide me away. He led me to the steps, helped me climb them. He took me upstairs, up to his bedroom. He took me into his own bathroom and started the shower. It was bigger than the one attached to my room and much nicer. I stared at the tile and wondered where it had all come from.

  It was an insane thought to have. But I couldn’t think straight.

  Steam began to rise from the shower.

  “Come on,” he said, his voice soft. “Let’s undress. Clean you up.”

  I let him pull my shirt off. I couldn’t fight him and didn’t want to. He dropped the blood-stained shirt on the ground. He took off my bra, then my tight yoga pants, and finally my underwear. He stripped me naked then led me to the shower. I stepped inside as he took off his clothes, and as I stood under the hot water and let it run down my back, he finished undressing and joined me.

  I looked up at him, heart racing. I watched the water run pink off me. He took some soap from the dish sitting on a small ledge at the back of the shower and lathered his hands. He washed me, cleaning the blood from my skin, my face, my neck and arms. He cleaned my hands, going slow, making sure it all came off. He finished by lathering his hands with shampoo and washing the blood from my hair.

  The water ran pink for a while. But soon it was clear, and I stared down at the drain.

  He stepped close to me when it was done. I felt his body against mine and looked up into his eyes. He was so handsome, so beautiful and muscular and dangerous, and all I wanted to do was cry.

  I buried my face in his chest and he held me tight as sobs ripped from deep within me.

  He held me for a while. I don’t know how long I stayed there, crying in his arms. I didn’t even know Davide, didn’t much care for the guy. But he had died in front of me, died right there next to me. His blood was in my hair, but now it was gone, just like he was gone.

  I got a hold of myself after a while. I looked up at him and he stared into my eyes. He kissed me, his lips gentle and probing. I kissed him back with a hunger that surprised me, and I felt like I’d woken up from a long and horrible dream.

  I pushed my body against his, my heart racing, my mind wild. I reached down between his legs and his half-hard cock. I felt a thrill run through me. Even after what happened, even after cleaning blood off me, he was still half-hard just from seeing me naked. I stroked him, kissed him, bit his lower lip. He let out a growl and grabbed my hair hard as his cock stiffened in my palms.

  I stroked him faster and he turned me, shoving me back against the cold tile wall. I gasped as his hand went between my legs and he kissed my lips.

  “This is what you want?” he whispered. “This is what you really want?”

  “Yes,” I moaned.

  His fingers teased me, slid up my slit, rolled around my clit. I needed to feel alive, I realized. I needed to feel like someone cared about me in this world, and right now, I thought Steven was the only person that really truly gave a shit whether I lived or I died.

  I stroked him faster before moving back away from him. I stared into his eyes as he looked up and down my skin, his gaze lingering on my breasts. I turned around slowly, spread my legs for him, arched my back. I looked over my shoulder and bit my lip as his cock got rock hard, quivering with need for me.

  He stepped up and pressed his cock against my dripping wet pussy and slid himself deep inside.

  I gasped and moaned his name. “Steven,” I said. “Oh god, yes.”

  He pushed himself deep inside. I felt wild with pain, pleasure, fear, excitement. I felt like I might be sick, or I might come any second. He pulled my hair and kissed me over my shoulder as he began to fuck me, his strong hands dominated me, gripped my hips and moved me. I worked my back and bucked against his shaft, rode him up and down, moaned his name over and over again.

  Pleasure flooded me, forced out the image of Davide’s head snapping forward then slamming back, of his body slumping forward as blood covered my hands. I moaned and reached back to kiss Steven as he fucked me faster, his hands hard on my hips. He slapped my ass and slammed himself inside of me, taking me like an animal, taking me like a monster.

  He teased my breasts from behind as he fucked me faster and faster. I gasped, arching my back. He grabbed my hair and took me, sliding deeper, his body massive behind mine. I felt overwhelmed and dominated, and I kept saying his name as the only thing I could feel w
as pleasure. All the horror was gone, all the blood was gone, washed away down the drain, taken away by Steven’s cock, his hands, his lips.

  I gasped as I felt my orgasm peak. I came as he slid himself deep inside. He growled in my ear and thrust faster, pushing me over my limits as my fingers curled against the tile wall. I shook, shuddered, moaned his name as he slammed into me again and again. His roar drove me wild and I felt my orgasm crest and slowly fade.

  He slid himself back and turned me around. I dropped to my knees as he stroked himself. I took him into my mouth, sucked him three times, sliding him deep into my throat, and he came on the fourth. He filled my mouth and I moaned, swallowed him, his massive cock twitching on my lips. I licked him clean before he pulled me up and pinned me against the tile wall again. He kissed me, tongue against my tongue, and I held him tight.

  We stood there in the shower, steam rising around us. I stared into his eyes and he held my hair in his palm, his other hand on my hip. His cock was still stiff as he stared at me.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “I think so,” I said.

  He clenched his jaw and I could see anger and pain in his eyes. I realized with a start that he just lost one of his soldiers, and I could only guess at the way he was feeling in that moment.

  I reached up and touched his face.

  “Go down there,” I said. “Go be with them.”

  “I have to… have to take care of him. Get rid of his body. We’ll bury an empty casket, but he’ll get a funeral.” He let out a breath. “I’ll take care of his mother and his sister, too. They’ll never want for anything.”

  “Good.” I kissed his neck. “Good, you’ll take care of everything.”

  He pulled me away and his eyes roamed my body before he kissed me again then stepped out of the shower. He toweled himself off, gave me one last look, then left the room.

  I watched him go then slid back down to the floor. I pulled my knees up to my chest and let the hot water flow down my head, down my shoulders, and into the drain.

  When I closed my eyes, I saw Davide again, slumped forward and lifeless.