by Jordan Marie
“Mom, I can’t,” Ana argues. The distress in her voice is so thick, I find myself walking into the room before I can even think about it. Ana has her back to me. She’s talking to an older woman across from her who sits at one of those table-on-wheels. “You’re fine here,” Ana continues, walking around the table to her. She begins putting an afghan around the woman’s obviously useless legs. “They take good care of you. With my job, there’s no way I can…”
I see it happening, but there’s just no way I can stop it. The woman screams loudly and slaps Ana hard across the side of the face. The sound of flesh hitting flesh echoes in the room followed by Ana’s pain-filled gasp. I don’t think. I take the few steps that are necessary to get in front of Ana and look at the shrew in question. Her hand is half raised to strike Ana again. I grab it by the wrist.
“Lady, if you lay so much as one more finger on Ana, it will be the last thing you do,” I warn her coldly.
“Who the fuck are you?” the bitch barks at me, trying to yank her hand away. Not happening.
“Roman!” Ana gasps. I lift my eyes to her and the angry telltale hand mark has already bloomed on her face.
“Ana, go to my car.”
“Roman, that’s my mother, I can deal with her.”
“I said go to the fucking car, Ana.”
“Jesus, is this the man you’re fucking?” the woman growls.
“Mom,” Ana starts.
“Now, pet.”
“Yes, now, Ana,” her mother mimics, and I’m starting to see where Ana’s brother gets his charm. Thank fuck my woman seems to have skipped that particular family trait. “Has he taught you to fetch too?”
That’s it. No more. “Ana, Robert is waiting by the limo. Go and get in it now,” I growl and the command in my voice is one I’ve not really used with Ana before, and perhaps that’s been wrong. She looks at me, her eyes round. The anger and coldness in my voice isn’t directed at her, but there’s no way for her to know that. Truthfully, I am upset with her and she will know that later, but I want to shut her bitch of a mother down first, then I’ll deal with Ana.
“Limo? Well, la-de-dah. No wonder she’s fucking you. All that money and you are leaving me in this hellhole? You fucking cunt,” her mother hisses the vile words. Ana’s body physically jerks from the verbal blow. Then I see this steel mask lock into place. She doesn’t even look like the woman I know.
“Maybe if you had stopped shooting up and snorting, you wouldn’t have to be in here and I wouldn’t be working my ass off to make sure there are people to wipe your ass because you left your body too broken to do it yourself,” Ana says, her voice monotone and as cold as I’ve ever managed to make mine.
Her fucking mother starts to respond, and that’s when I tighten my hand on her wrist enough that I know the woman feels the pain. I could break it with just the slightest movement either way. It wouldn’t take much because the woman is a bag of bones. I’ve never in my life threatened violence against a woman before, but in this case, I think I could gladly make an exception. Jesus Christ, what kind of fucking hell has my woman lived through?
“Ana,” I warn her, not wanting her to hear what I’m about to tell her mom, but also needing her to mind me for motherfucking once. Her hand goes to my shoulder, her touch trying to soothe me. It does not. Then, she leans up to kiss my cheek.
“I’ll be by the limo,” she whispers near my ear.
“Not by the limo, Ana. Inside it.”
She stops when she gets to the door. “Yes, Roman,” she says before leaving. Now if I could just teach her to say those words all the time, my life would be fucking simple again. I give Ana a few minutes to get gone. Her mother is strangely quiet. I let go of her hand and step away from her, the bitch stinking up my air.
“You don’t look like a man that has to pay for pussy. Especially worthless pussy like my daughter’s.”
“If you want to remain breathing, you’ll shut your fucking mouth. Do you know who I am?” I ask her. Most people in Miami do, but then most people aren’t locked up in a long-term nursing facility.
“Why the fuck would I?” she hisses. She reaches for her cigarettes on the table. It’s then that I notice one of her hands doesn’t work. Actually, it seems like most of that entire side doesn’t work. I don’t know what happened to her, but from what Ana said before she left, I imagine drugs. I hate fucking junkies. It’s why I don’t deal with the shit. I leave that to Kuzma. The drugs are the only reservation I have about getting into business with him. Being in business with them however, means less headaches for me and added firepower. It makes damn good money sense. It keeps me being the only stop along the coastline for gambling and women. Not to mention, it gives me more firepower to protect what’s mine and to protect the women in my stable. There’s always some motherfucker out there thinking he can take what’s mine, always trying to steal my business. That’s not about to fucking happen, but I’m having to defend that shit so often, having Kuzma’s firepower, not to mention police protection would solve a million problems.
The first item on my list is fucking ending Paul Banks. I’ll be doing it either way, but being certain there would be no legal backlash would be great. I don’t need all of the law enforcement agencies in Miami and Federal people looking at me with a fucking target on my head.
I grab the bitch’s cigarettes from her fumbling hands. Taking one out and handing it to her, I keep the pack in my hand, taking the lighter too. Maybe she’s starting to wise up, or maybe she just really wants that cigarette, but I sense the change in her. I have her complete attention now.
“I own Miami. When I say I own it, I mean this shithole you’re living in too. It will look like fucking heaven compared to what I can do to you. You’re a miserable fuck, I get that. You are probably like your fucking son and would rather die than keep drawing breath. What you need to realize is, there’s much worse things than dying, and I can make sure you find that out firsthand.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” she asks, but I hear the nervousness in her voice; I see her eyes and how they are dilated.
“You like drugs. I have friends use this stuff on their enemies that, with one injection, turns you into a vegetable. When I say that, I mean you will be fully alert, fully awake, but hooked to a machine that feeds you, have diapers on your ass, and not be able to bitch about how miserable you are. Unable to move. It’s bad shit. I’ve never been tempted to deal with it. That is, until I saw a miserable bitch raise a hand to my woman.”
“Ana is—”
“My property. Mine. No one touches what’s mine, least of all you. Your hand, your words, your breath no long touch my woman. If I hear it does, I promise you, you’ll find out firsthand what living in real hell feels like.”
“You’re bluffing.”
“You think? Ask around. I guarantee people here know who Roman Anthes is, even if you’re too stupid to. You don’t want me as an enemy, woman, but that’s too late for you. Much too late. If Ana comes back, you best be a fucking saint ready to kiss her fucking feet. And believe me lady, I’ll have eyes on you from here on out.”
The bitch wisely doesn’t say another word. I smash her cigarettes up in my hand. The smell of tobacco fills the air around me. I make sure there’s not one motherfucker in the pack that can still be used before letting them fall to her lap, then I walk to the door.
“Don’t try me on this bitch,” I warn her on my way out. “I’ve never had much taste for harming a woman, but after what I’ve just seen, I’d make an exception for you, and I’d fucking enjoy every minute of it.” With that, I toss the lighter across the room, having it land on the floor a few feet from her. Then I leave. Time to deal with Ana next. Thank fuck that will be more enjoyable than the other shit I’ve dealt with today.
I’m walking slowly from the building, keeping my tears at bay and trying to keep from running from the nursing home. I fucking hate dealing with my mother. I hate it. It brings back too many ugly memorie
s, too many things I’ve spent my life trying to hide from. The last thing in the world that I wanted was for Roman to witness my shame.
And my mother is my shame. She always has been. I hate her. I despise her and yet I can never seem to turn my back on her. I force myself to visit her once a month. If I went more than that, I’d probably be one of those people about to jump off a ledge they used to send my unit out on sometimes. Dealing with her makes me feel that desperate. It makes me feel that stupid. How can I still feel any type of responsibility or loyalty towards someone who doesn’t deserve it? Someone who was high my entire childhood, passed out, or in emergency rooms from overdosing? Someone who let drug addicts and johns into the same house she kept a twelve-year-old girl and a nine-year-old boy while she worked out her next high?
Roman wasn’t wrong. There’s a reason I sleep with a gun under my pillow. A big reason, and it has nothing to do with being a cop. It has more to do with a frightened little girl and boy hiding in a closet scared the latest monster would be worse than the one before. It has more to do with the last time a fucking asshole thought it was okay to try and rape a sixteen-year-old girl. One man stopped him: Paul Banks. He took me out of the hellhole, set my brother and me in county care, and took an interest in seeing me succeed. I tried to get Allen to follow me, but I think the memories haunted him more. I’m not sure. He turned to the same shit that helped make our life miserable to begin with. There are days I can’t forgive him for that. I’m so lost in my thoughts, I jump when Robert touches my shoulder.
“Go ahead and get inside, Ms. Stevens,” he says, surprising me.
“Ana,” I tell him, and my voice is thick with unshed tears.
“Ana,” he says gently. Maybe he can sense how close I am to breaking.
I get into the limo and look out the far window, lost in memories I’ve spent a lifetime trying to forget. I’m so deep in them I almost didn’t notice Roman opening the door and sliding in beside me, pushing me further on the seat. It takes him all of two minutes to grab me and haul me back on his lap. His arms go around me and his heat slowly melts into my body as I relax against him, burying my head in his chest.
“I know I told you to do nothing today and rest. To wait for me to get some business done so I could help you move to the house.”
“I needed to visit the sea creature.”
“The sea creature?”
“Vanessa. The womb donor from hell. Everyone always call her Nessie. She was more terrifying than the loch ness monster growing up. So Allen and I took to calling her the sea creature.”
“Let me guess. You and your brother were into Sci-Fi when you were younger?”
“We had a neighbor, Mrs. Lancaster. She loved old movies. We’d sneak over there when mom was out and watch television and Mrs. Lancaster would feed us. It was fun. I still watch the movies today with a smile.”
“What happened to Mrs. Lancaster?”
“She passed away last year.”
“A pity.”
“Yeah. She has a great-granddaughter. She’s working herself through school by waitressing. Mrs. Lancaster’s daughter died of cancer. Life is cold sometimes, Roman,” I whisper, keeping my head buried in his chest.
“That it is, pet. Let’s get back to your apartment, pack up, and get you moved in to my place.”
“You still want me around, even knowing what kind of branches exist in my family tree?” I ask him, only half-joking. My mother is my dirty little secret, one I’ve kept hidden from everyone but Paul. The only reason he knows is because of our past. I would have gladly made sure no one ever found out, especially Roman.
“Maybe because of it,” he says, and I go completely tense. No. That’s not happening.
“I don’t want pity, Roman. I’m not some kid in need of rescue now. Maybe I once was, but I rescue myself now. I don’t have to depend on anyone. I fought hard to get that, and I don’t want you trying to swoop in and make it better for the poor charity case. That’s not—”
I trail off when he grabs the side of my neck and pulls my face up until I’m looking at him.
“I’m trying to go about this gentle, pet, because you’re upset.”
“I’m not…”
“Don’t lie to me. If the way your body is shaking doesn’t give you away, the tears in your eyes do. So this is me, a man not used to putting others first, trying to be gentle with you. But I know you can feel the way my cock is hard against your ass and I think you get I want to be touching you and holding you all of the time. If not, let me spell it out for you. There’s not a fucking thing about you I view with pity. I see a strong woman, a beautiful woman. I see a woman I want to fuck and dominate and lose myself in over and over. I see a woman I’ve claimed and one I won’t give up. I see a woman who fucking fascinates me to the point that I canceled the rest of my day so I can spend most of the afternoon being gentle with her in hopes of getting between her legs without feeling guilt tonight, when I’m not so gentle.”
“There’s a lot there to take in,” I tell him, my brain replaying his words. All of them and everything they say storms through me and they make me feel alive. Roman doesn’t give flowery words and seduction. His words are raw. I could be lying to myself, but I think they are full of truth. I decide to give him truth in return. “What if I don’t want gentle?”
“Ana.”
“What if need the exact opposite of gentle from you, Roman?” His eyes literally bore into me for a minute, maybe two. Then he reaches over and pushes the button on the door.
“Yeah, boss?” Robert’s voice comes over the intercom.
“Change of plans. Take us to my apartment, Robert,” Roman tells him, then immediately turns the intercom off. The heated way he looks at me makes everything inside of me grow hot. “I hope you know what you’re asking for, pet,” he warns me.
So do I.
The rest of the ride is tense silence. Tense because I really want to fuck her now and not wait. The only thing that stops me is, I want her in a bed. Correction: I want her tied to the bed and at my mercy.
Somehow, I make it out of the limo and elevator without attacking her. The way she keeps looking at me, the obvious desire on her face, and the ragged breathing that makes her breasts literally dance with each breath, all combine to make that a near miss. So much so that when I turn to close the apartment door, locking us inside, I remain facing the door to calm my breathing. At this rate, it will be over way too soon and I don’t want that. Ana is a flower I need to unwrap one sweet, delicate petal at a time.
“Roman?” Ana questions.
“Bedroom. Now, Ana. Lose the clothes and lie on your stomach and wait for me,” I tell her without looking at her, going to the bar to grab a drink. I need to calm down, to take the edge off before I go to her. I expected her to argue, but she doesn’t. Instead, she silently walks down the hall to the master suite. I watch her go, my eyes transfixed on the way her jeans hug her ass. I finish my drink and pour another one, all while barely taking my eyes off of the last place I saw Ana before she disappeared. All while imagining her on my bed naked and waiting for me, that tight ass of hers sticking up in the air. I down my second drink, not even taking the time to enjoy it. I’ve held back as long as I can. When I clear the doorway to the bedroom, I almost come in my fucking jeans.
I thought I was prepared, but I realize there’s no way you could be prepared for this. Ana is resting on the dark purple sheets on my bed. Her milky white body, a perfect contrast. Her blonde hair is scattered across her neck and shoulders, her head turned to the side, and those violet eyes are watching me. How did I get to be the lucky son of a bitch to have her in my bed? How in the fuck did I survive before she came along? More importantly, how the fuck did I get so wrapped up in her in such a short time? All are good questions, and all of the answers to those questions don’t matter one fuck. The point is, she’s here now, and she’s mine.
I take off my cufflinks, leaving them on the small table by the door, my eyes glued to
Ana’s. She swallows nervously as I loosen the tie from around my neck.
“You get that you are mine now, pet? How it displeases me if you put yourself in a situation where you could be hurt?” I ask her, walking towards the bed and wrapping the tie around both my hands, stretching it.
“I’m sorry, Roman,” she whispers. I expected arguing, something.
“On your knees, Ana, and face me,” I order. Her eyes go wide, but she does as I order. “Give me your hands.”
My eyes could get entranced by the way her breasts sway with her movements and the puckering of her nipples as she reaches out her hands to me. Everything about Ana screams feminine and it calls to the man inside of me whose job it is to claim and protect it. I pull her hands together so the wrists touch and caress one another. I wrap my tie around the delicate area, admiring how small and perfectly contoured she is. There’s not a part of her body that I don’t love—not a part that I don’t want to stamp my ownership on.
“Roman?” she asks, not quite knowing what she’s asking, but I understand. I read the excitement coursing through her body almost as clearly as the fear that broadcasts in her eyes. Fear. Another emotion that calls to the man inside of me. The beast that is at my core. The need to conquer and possess.
“Turn and face the headboard, pet,” I instruct.
The delicate muscles of her throat work as she swallows and turns to do as I said. Just another thing to be fascinated over. I love everything about how her throat works when it drinking down every drop of my cum. Each time seems different, special. Will it always be that way? That’s definitely something I will devote myself to learning. I take the ends of my tie and secure them to the latch I keep attached by a clasp under the mattress. It will give her limited movement, which is exactly what I want. I then start slowly unbuttoning my shirt. Our eyes are locked and the look on her face makes me feel like a King. Greedy. She’s greedy for whatever comes next. For what I give her, next.