by S. Ferguson
This is a man in charge. This is the Ron of legends. This man will make your life, or break it.
I can’t help but be drawn to him, moving even closer. You could barely fit a sheet of paper between us now. My heels have made our height almost even, it’s fascinating seeing his face this close when we’re not trying to kill each other for once. He inhales deeply, looking me up and down one more time. I don’t know how much he can see, our close proximity doesn’t give his head much room to lower.
“Ron …” I start to speak, unsure of what I want to say. My eyes plead with him for … something … anything.
“You’re too young for this,” he mumbles, never taking his eyes from mine. “Too young for me.” It’s almost as if he’s talking to himself and not me. I decide to speak anyway.
“I’m not too young to kill a man,” I retort, the side of my mouth rising in a smirk. Despite feeling so out of my depth I can’t control my mouth. I see Ron’s nostrils flare and his pupils dilate in response to my words.
“Now’s really not the fuckin’ time to remind me of that,” he grumbles. Despite his noise of protest, his eyes move to my lips. My breath hitches and suddenly I know I want this. Whatever this is.
“Kiss me,” I order him. My smirk turns into a full-blown smile when I see his eyebrows rise in shock at my words. Ron isn’t a man used to being bossed around.
“Let’s get something straight.” He moves, closing the miniscule distance between us, wrapping an arm around my back. He jerks me up against him, his gaze so intense it takes everything I have to maintain eye contact. I can feel the hard, long length of him against my lower stomach and it makes me shudder.
“When we’re like this,” he kisses me once, lightly across the lips, “when we are anywhere.” He kisses me again, this time longer, just teasing my bottom lip with his tongue. “I give the orders. Now kiss me.” He doesn’t give me time to respond, pressing his mouth to mine. This kiss is deep, wet and powerful. My first real kiss. His tongue invades my mouth. The stubble on his face scratches, but only in the best way.
Everything south of my stomach clenches and I let out a small moan. He growls in response wrapping his free hand in my hair, his other hand resting on my ass, pushing me onto his leg that he’s placed between mine. My skirt is riding up but I don’t care, as he urges me forward in small, rocking motions. I can’t control it. I’ve never experienced anything like this. The feeling of his hands, his masculine smell, the pleasure the friction from his leg is causing. My natural instinct takes over as I rub against him and I shatter, spectacularly. My body gives small shudders and my legs shake uncontrollably. If Ron wasn’t holding me, I would be collapsed on the floor.
“What the fuck? Did you just come?” Ron pulls back, the hand in my hair pulling my head back at an angle. His voice sounds startled but his eyes show a mixture of amusement and arousal.
“Maybe,” I grumble, grabbing his tie to drag his face to mine again.
“Have you done this before?” He gives me a hard look, holding his face away from mine.
“Of course,” I lie, still yanking on his tie. He’s unmoving.
“Lie to me again and I’ll put you over my knee and spank you,” he warns me. Well, I think he means to warn me, but that’s not much of a threat if I’m being honest. Something about Ron trying to hold me down, to punish me, is sexier than it should be.
“Define this.” I decide to play with him.
“You know what the fuck I mean. Cut the shit.” He starts to step even farther away from me.
“Okay, okay. No, I haven’t. That wasn’t my first kiss, mostly, and as for anything else … no.” I feel my cheeks tinge red. What the hell? I’m not someone you would consider bashful.
I swear I can see the bulge in his pants jump when I basically tell him I’m a virgin. He growls, low and deep in his throat before lunging at me.
He spins me around, pressing his body against mine so hard I hit the wall. My skirt rolls to my waist as I wrap one leg around him. He starts thrusting against me, the pressure exquisite against my overly-sensitive skin. His mouth covering mine, our tongues fighting for dominance.
“Dad … OH WHAT THE FUCK!” Bree screams, she must have just walked in. I never heard the door open, too far gone to be aware of what is happening around me. That’s never happened before. An uncomfortable feeling settles in my gut. Ron shouldn’t have the power to reduce my world to just him.
Bree doesn’t leave instead simply walking all the way in, shutting the door behind her, and turning to face it.
“Shit, Bree, get out of here,” Ron says, standing up and backing away from me.
“Thank you,” I say sarcastically, adjusting my dress so my underwear is no longer on display, leaning against the wall where he left me.
“Now? Seriously? Weren’t you the one that just chewed everyone’s ass out downstairs about being focused tonight?” Bree complains, still facing the dark wood of the door.
“I don’t answer to you. And when did your mouth get so bad? You’ve been hanging around Jake too much,” Ron complains, motioning for me to leave my stance against the wall.
“What are you gonna do? Spank me?” Bree hisses, turning around.
I can’t stop the snort that comes from me before I can stop it.
“Oh, what the fuck!” Bree throws her hands up in exasperation.
“It’s time for your meeting. You’re probably not going to like who is here instead of Tony.” She looks at her father expecting something.
“Are you fucking kidding me? He sent that fuckwad Alex?” Ron booms. Ah, so that was what she was waiting for.
“Even better. He sent no one. Some guy named Abramo.” She smirks. I think Bree likes watching her dad lose it. I guess I would too if I knew I was the one person safe from his wrath.
“Let’s get this shit over with,” Ron says through clenched teeth as he straightens his tie. “You,” he points at Bree,” get the fuck behind that bar and stick close to Declan. If bullets start flying, like the last time we tried this shit, I want you with him.”
Bree rolls her eyes but nods her agreement.
“You.” This time he points to me. “Show time.” With that, he marches out of the room, his Boss persona back in place.
Looking at him now you wouldn’t believe we just almost had sex against a wall. I hope I look the same, but I don’t have time to check. I march out behind him and soon we enter the bar. I see about five strange guys sitting around three tables that have been pushed together in the center of the room. It looks like a wedding banquet from The Godfather or some other cheesy mafia movie, to be honest. Bree must have ordered catered food, it’s all spread out across the tables, there are places set, bottles of wine lined up with empty glasses all in a row, reflecting the dim bar lighting.
“Good luck,” Bree whispers behind me before walking back to her place with Declan behind the bar. Poor guy looks like he’s going to have a stroke until she’s right next to him. He wraps one of those long arms around her and I give a wistful sigh. Ron is plenty hot to me, but Declan, that guy is a breed all his own.
8
Ron
When we enter the room, the atmosphere is tense, everybody seemed on edge waiting for shit to go down. Suddenly I think that having Kella here is a mistake. Everything in me is screaming to protect her, to get her out of here. It’s so hard to remember, looking at her beauty, that there is a monster inside. It also doesn’t help that she looks stunning tonight. That little black dress couldn’t be any sexier. I lost control when she was so close to me upstairs. Something about her is a temptation I’m struggling to resist. I should regret putting my hands, my mouth, on her but I can’t bring myself to. I only wish we were going on a proper date, not a pretend one surrounded by my enemies. I shake my head to get rid of useless thoughts. I don’t do romance, even if I want to momentarily. That’s a luxury guys like me don’t get.
I approach the tables holding my head high. Fuck ’em. Walking the li
ne between arrogance and confidence is a well-earned skill. Nothing can be mistaken for weakness tonight. The decision was made earlier that Kella would trail a few steps behind me. If I keep her at my side throughout the negotiation part of the meeting she might seem too important to me. Abramo may be here to negotiate peace, but he’s also here to take notes and report back. Most of the talking tonight won’t be done with our mouths, but rather through a complicated dance of body language.
The men he brought with him are sitting at the main table, a few looking bored, most of them are constantly scanning the room. I don’t blame them, they’ve come back into the Wolfe’s den. If he doesn’t want peace, Tony is an overconfident fool sending so few men back here. The last meeting ending in bullets and blood, and we were on top. If he wants a repeat tonight, the results will be the same but with one difference: I won’t let any of his men walk out alive this time.
I’ve never met him before, but it isn’t hard to figure out which one is Abramo. He’s sitting in one of the chairs at the head of the table. He’s relaxed like he doesn’t have a care in the world. If I was Tony I would cut this one off, it isn’t hard to see he’s imagining himself on the throne. Someone like that is a danger to you and your entire outfit. The other men from New York are watching him, their surroundings, and he’s watching no one. The man may have ambitions but he’s a fool and a fucking waste of my time. If I had doubts about whether Tony was serious about peace or not, they’re settled now.
“Abramo, how are you?” I make a point of not extending my hand when I greet him.
He raises an eyebrow at me, refusing to stand up as a sign of respect. I would be offended but I earned that one. Then he opens his mouth. “Is Jake still working for you?”
This sets alarms off in my head. I wrack my brain, trying to remember a reason he could have something personal against Jake. Nothing is coming to mind, but Jake has been around a while, and he’s not exactly known for how nice he is.
“Yes, why?” I keep my voice even, my posture stays the same, my hands resting on the back of my chair. I don’t want my body to say what my mouth isn’t. I take a moment to be grateful he didn’t wait for me to sit down. I need to be on my feet if this is going in the direction I think it is. Jake, as a topic or as a person, is a ticking time bomb in the best of situations.
Abramo’s eyes fill with fury, and for just a moment I hang my head, weary with the reality of the situation. There will be no meeting tonight. They’re here to pick a fight, and they’re going to get it. There is nothing else I can do.
“Finocchio!” Abramo yells before spitting on the ground near my feet. “You let a faggot work for you?” Spittle flies from his mouth as he continues to scream. “How can he get anything done? He’s probably too busy trying to blow the guys you send him to off.”
My fist slams down on the table before my mind even fully registers my rage. I open my mouth to tell him to get the fuck out, but a scuffling sound comes from behind me. I start to turn my head to figure out what it is but never get the chance. Declan flies across the table, sending glass and cutlery flying as he grabs Abramo’s throat, sending them both to the floor. All six feet and five inches of Declan lands on top of his opponent. Abramo barely has time to grunt from the impact before Declan’s large fist pounds into his face.
“Don’t you ever fucking talk about my brother!” Declan roars, his fist hitting Abramo with a sickening cracking sound. Blood spurts from his nose, spraying Abramo and Declan’s chests.
Abramo gives a pathetic cough, muttering in Italian. Declan sits back for a second and I think for a moment he’s done with his attack, but Abramo says something else. Something in English I can’t quite hear, but Declan did. He responds by lunging forward and wrapping his hands around Abramo’s throat.
It takes a lot of effort to strangle someone with your bare hands. I know this from far too much personal experience. It’s not like the movies where you hold someone’s throat for thirty seconds. There are few men strong enough to do it. Declan is one of those men judging from the flex of his biceps and the deep shade of red covering Abramo’s face. I realize I may have underestimated Jake’s calmer, usually more rational brother. I snap out of my thoughts and shove the chair out of my way, marching toward them.
“Get the fuck off him!” I yell at Declan.
“Don’t work for you,” Declan grits out through his clenched teeth. His hands squeezing tighter. I can tell he’s using everything he has to choke the life out of Abramo and it’s working.
Abramo’s legs and arms are flailing but Declan’s just too big, his arms too long, for Abramo to shake him off. Abramo’s resistance is nothing but an empty gesture. He starts to claw at Declan’s arms, his blunt nails leaving small, red stripes where they break the skin. Declan gives no reaction to the scratching at all, his face tense.
“DECLAN GET THE FUCK OFF HIM!” I shout again, we don’t have time to argue. Abramo is dying in front of my eyes.
“Dec, please babe.” Bree appears at my side, giving Declan and me a pleading look.
I use my left arm to push her behind me. “You guys planning on doing any fucking thing about this?” I hiss at my crew. All of them are unmoving, standing in a semi-circle around the scene. Except for Jake who is trying to struggle out of Greg’s arms and I know he doesn’t want to stop Declan. If Greg hadn’t caught Jake, Abramo would probably already be dead, Jake has never had the patience to kill a man slowly.
“Nah, I think he’s good,” Dave spits out.
“Fuck.” I push Bree farther behind me, making her stumble toward the men, and make my way toward Declan’s back.
As I get closer, I hesitate. It’s been a while since I’ve fought someone hand-to-hand. At least someone that I thought had an actual chance of beating me. Declan is younger, stronger, and faster. Not to mention the three inches and at least fifty pounds he has on me. But I’m wise, battle-hardened. Experience is always the best bet. Before I can launch myself fully at him, Kella flies past me. I can see she’s lost those sexy as sin heels, her little feet pounding the scuffed wooden floor at full speed. She latches on to Declan’s back, both Abramo and Declan making a noise of protest from the added weight. He refuses to release his grip on Abramo’s throat, leaving the back of his neck exposed. I watch Kella’s fingers grip the nerve on his shoulder. Declan grunts in pain, but he doesn’t let go. She shoots me a panicked look before latching her free hand on the other side. Declan yelps and throws himself back, releasing his grip, and sending Kella flying toward my feet. I don’t quite manage to catch her, but I help her back to her feet quickly.
Bree runs and slides to her knees by Declan. After wrapping her arms around him and whispering in his ear, she looks at me and nods. Declan slowly rises to his feet, kicking a choking and sputtering Abramo in the ribs before he starts to walk away. He wraps an arm around Bree, who is still hanging from his neck, to help support her weight.
Thank God that’s over. I’ve never been so fucking wrong about someone before. I always thought Declan was a gentle giant, now I know better. And fuck if it doesn’t make the sick bastard inside me happy my daughter has him.
9
Kella
I’m in the middle of standing up with Ron’s help, and dusting my dress off when I hear a gun cock. It’s quickly followed by the sound of tens of other guns repeating the motion. For a moment time stands still. For just that moment we hang on the precipice. There’s something about that metallic sound. No matter when or where you hear it, it sends a shiver down your spine. I brace myself, but I’m not sure what for, I’m not bulletproof. The moment is shattered by Ron’s voice.
“Look, Abramo, you might think this is what you want, but it’s not.” Ron tries to reason, slowly easing himself closer to me. I’m standing between him and the barrel of Abramo’s gun.
Well shit.
“You shut the fuck up. All you do is talk, Ron. You couldn’t even stop your man from attacking me. It’s not really a surprise though. You�
�ve already had one traitor, you really think he was the only one? You’re an old fool who won’t let go of a kingdom he no longer rules. Your men are nothing but a group of fucking fags that have gone soft …” He’s cut off mid-speech, by a bullet right between his eyes. His body crumbles, the only loud sound the metal of his gun hitting the floor with the force of his fall.
I swivel my head and see Jake standing close to Ron’s back, a slight wisp of smoke coming from his gun. “No one will ever fucking call me that again.” Jake’s voice is as cold as ice, as he starts to lower his gun.
The next moment, we all fall right off the cliff. The room explodes. It sounds like the fourth of July. Explosion after explosion tearing through the air. I see a few men fall, I can’t tell if their Ron’s or Abramo’s. Ron grabs my arm yanking me toward him when I hear one shot louder than the others. Closer than the others. Ron looks down at my chest wide-eyed and I follow his gaze trying to see what is wrong. I look in disbelief seeing crimson slowly pour from my shoulder before a blinding pain consumes me. My vision clouds as I feel myself begin to collapse. The last thing I hear is Ron shouting my name.
My eyelids feel so heavy as I begin to slowly awaken. Taking in my surroundings, I see a familiar room. The place of my nightmares. I see he is here, staring at me from his place across the room. He started watching me when I first moved in, always from the rocking chair in the corner of the room. Long abandoned after the baby it was purchased for moved on. Why am I back here? I look down at my legs, curled to the side as I lay on the mattress. The scrawny legs I hated as a child are back. What is happening? I struggle to fight this … it can’t be real. I feel myself hurtling toward blackness, my mind both welcoming it and fighting it. I can’t sleep when he’s here. I hear myself gasp and suddenly my eyes fly open.