Resisting Royal
Delilah Mohan
RESISTING ROYAL
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Cover Design by Heather Mae at Coverpop Design
Editing by Leticia Sidon, In-Depth Edits
© Copyright: Delilah Mohan
Published: March 2020
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval system, copied in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise transmitted without written permission from the publisher. You must not circulate this book in any format.
Due to violence and sexual situations, this book is recommended for adults 18+.
CHAPTER 1
ROYAL
“Mr. Russo, you need to sit still,” the doctor told me, her mask covering her face—hiding the disapproval that I knew was there—but fuck that. She couldn’t come at me with a needle longer than my own damn fingers and expect me to sit calmly.
I sucked in a deep breath and tried to be calm as she tried again. She made it closer this time before I started to squirm. Really, who would blame me? I’d seen many bouts of torture that began just like this with long needles and pretty ladies. Well, I mean, I assumed she’s pretty. Otherwise, the body that was on display before she put on her coat would be a waste. A damn crime.
She pulled back. “I’ve seen toddlers act better than you.”
I swallowed the spit that had pulled in my throat. “Toddlers don’t know any better.”
“They know enough to realize that a little needle prick is only a small step in removing the bigger problem. In your case, a completely disgusting, infected tooth. Do you want to die, Mr. Russo? Because leaving an infected tooth is a sure way to let it happen.”
I never imagined my death to be from something as mundane as an infected tooth. A stab wound to the chest as I fell dramatically to the ground? Maybe. Five gun wounds pouring blood onto the floor as I fell to my knees and waited for the final executing blow? More than likely. An unexplained warehouse explosion scattering body parts of various unknown subjects five hundred yards in every direction? Hopefully wouldn’t happen.
But an infected tooth? Absolutely not the way to go. I held my body rigidly. “Fine. Do it.”
“Are you going to stay still? If you need to be put out, I can refer you to a specialist.” Her eyewear slid low on her nose as her moss-colored eyes peered over them.
“I can do it,” I informed her as I closed my eyes, waiting for the torture to continue.
“Okay, I’m going to need you to stay really still.” I felt her body hover over me, her breast unintentionally brushing against my arm. “You will feel a pinch, so just keep breathing through your nose. If you have issues, raise your left hand. You do know your left from right, am I correct, Mr. Russo?”
I grunted. Dr. Moretti had a sassy little mouth on her, a mouth that begged to be silenced. Thoughts about the ways I could silence her, including one involving my cock base deep in her mouth, immediately came to an abrupt halt the moment I felt the needle pierce my skin. Tiny pinch? If that was a tiny pinch, I would hate to see what a big fucking pinch was to this woman.
“Good boy,” she told me as she leaned in, angling her head and body in various ways as she moved the needle. I grunted again, convinced that if I was any less manly, I would be passing out under the care of this condescending female.
She pulled back, placing her syringe on the metal tray with a clank, before pulling off her glove. “I’ll be back in a few minutes after you are fully numb.”
She disappeared through the door without a backward glance, a move I most definitely wasn’t used to. I tended to draw women like a moth gravitated to an open flame. To have one not even bother to pay any attention my way, well, it wounded me a bit. She most definitely would be filed away as married, or a prude, or a married fucking prude because not even professionalism had stopped a girl from giving me fuck me eyes or the come-hither finger.
She came back a few minutes later, her eyes still twinkling with laughter from some inside joke I wasn’t privy too. She cleared her throat. “Feeling numb?”
I went to answer her, then stopped to slurp up my own drool. Humiliation, that’s what this was. “I’m numb.”
“Good.” She pulled on a new set of gloves after washing her hands. “Let's get this tooth out.”
She pulled out what had to be the biggest set of pliers I’d ever seen. It wasn’t until she was leaning over me again, her hands heading toward my mouth, that I realized she was planning to use those pliers on me. “Hold on.”
I held up my hand to stop her movement. “You’re using that on me?”
Her eyes rolled upward and stayed there for a minute before her gaze came back to mine. “How else do you expect us to remove your tooth?”
I thought about it for a second, but the truth was, I actually didn’t really know. “A scalpel?”
“Would cutting it out of your mouth with a scalpel make you feel any better?” she asked with a sigh.
“Well, no,” I confessed, but getting it yanked out wouldn’t be much better.
“Your mouth is numb, you won’t even feel it. Look, you might be used to people working on your time, but here, in my office, you are wasting mine, Mr. Russo. Do you want it removed or not? I have other patients that are waiting and willing to get their work done.”
More patients? More important than me? The chance of that was unlikely. But for the sake of avoiding conflict, I let her proceed. Despite the fact that the whole removal process seemed a bit barbaric for a highly rated dental practice, I gave her the go-ahead. In seconds, she was over me again, instructing me to open my mouth, her tool already poised at my tooth.
“You will feel some pressure, no pain,” she explained seconds before I felt a pop. She pulled back, her tool tossed onto the metal tray again. She grabbed a few tools and a thick black thread, and I closed my eyes, unwilling to look at what she was about to do next. “Alright, there you are, leave the cotton in your mouth for a few minutes. If it bothers you over the next few days, you can take some acetaminophen, as well as gargle some salt water. Liz will show you to the front desk for your payment.”
That was it?
Then she was gone. Like a fuck you blow off, abandoned at the bar type ghosting. Completely disappearing before I could even process who the fuck Liz was. I stood, pulled off my paper bib, and looked around, seeing a homely girl that I could only assume was Liz, standing in the doorway waiting to lead me out.
“How was your experience today, Mr. Russo?” The girl held a folder with some papers attached tightly to her chest as I held my cheek, a weird tingle taking over my mouth. “Would you rate us a five as highly satisfied?”
This time it was me who was rolling my eyes. Was she kidding me right now? They’d just stuck a needle into my mouth, then yanked out a precious tooth like I was a torture victim. I didn’t enjoy a fucking second of it, Liz, not a damn second.
But I was a sucker for a girl with a smile, so instead of telling her it was the worst dental office in the world, I nodded. “This place is great.”
CHAPTER 2
BIANCA
“One more drink, then I have to go home. Peter is waiting for me.” I waved my fingers in the air, indicating I was ready for my next round.
Natalie sighed. “You make Peter sound like he’s your man.”
“He’s the only man I need in my life,” I sighed. It
was true, nonstop drama seemed to come with dating, especially when they found out my income was higher than theirs. Men were pansies.
“He’s not a man, he’s a fluffy, furry, rabbit,” she clarified.
“Shhh.” I glared. “You’re going to hurt his feelings.”
“For fuck's sake! And you wonder why it’s been months since you’ve had a man in your bed.” She downed her drink in one gulp, signaling for another.
“Two months, and four days,” I answered.
“I’m sorry, having a sleepover with Martin and Jasper does not count. They are gay, and I doubt either of them had roaming fingers.”
Damn it. She called me out on it. “Okay fine. One year, three months, and twenty-seven days. But really, who the fuck is counting at this point?”
“Oh, honey, you’re practically a nun now. Why are you not walking around in a black robe?” The look of sympathy she gave me was a hundred percent the real thing.
“Because my work coat is white,” I grumbled.
She grunted. “All you do is work.”
I had to—I had no choice. My father kept getting himself into debt, gambling away his income, and taking most of mine just to survive and stay alive. What choice did I have? He was my only family. He raised me and supported me when I needed it, and now it was my turn to return the favor.
“It keeps me busy,” I pointed out.
“It keeps you single,” she countered.
My drink was placed in front of me, and I picked it up, using the giant gulp I took as a momentary distraction. “Look at it this way, If a guy can’t handle my work hours, I’m obviously not meant to hook up with him.”
She fiddled with her napkin. “You’re making excuses.”
“I’m stating facts.”
She groaned. “You’re impossible, maybe you deserve to be single for the rest of your life.”
“That’s a bit harsh, don’t you think?” To be honest, that stung a bit.
“If you value your work life more than your personal life, you get what you get is all I’m saying. Soon you will be a middle-aged cougar scouting after the leftovers or spouse rejects, and all your friends will be happily married.” She picked up the toothpick in her empty glass, fiddling with the olive inside.
“You’re not married,” I pointed out.
“But, I’m engaged.” She held up her ring finger and wiggled it around.
I took another sip of my drink. “Nothing is final until you say I do.”
“If you just jinxed my wedding, I swear I’m replacing you,” she threatened.
“You would never replace me. Who else would willingly walk down the aisle for you with your handsy cousin?” It was a reminder because no one liked her cousin.
“Good point.” Her new drink arrived at the table, and she nearly spilled it in her eagerness to get to it.
We chatted a bit longer until my drink was finished, and the effects of the alcohol wore off. I wasn’t drunk, I never got drunk. But I did have three drinks, and that was more than I usually had. I said my goodbyes, promising we would have another girl’s night soon, then headed home.
I didn’t live in a bad neighborhood, but the area wasn’t the newest either. I promised myself that once I got things with my father under control, I would upgrade because my little house was beginning to fall apart around me, and I was not known for my handywoman skills. A fact that I was reminded of each time I pulled into my driveway and saw one of the shutters hanging askew.
“I really need to fix that,” I announced to myself as I got out of the car, checking the dark surroundings to make sure no one was ready to jump out at me. It was ridiculous; I knew it. But some habits never died, and growing up in the wrong part of town as a child had taught me to be cautious.
I kicked off my heels the moment I shut the door, flipping on the lights as I walked through the house. “Honey, I’m home.”
Peter, my rabbit, hopped down the hallway toward me. I reached down, petting his ears before picking him up in my arms. “Hey, baby, were you a good boy while mama was at work today?” His little nose twitched, which I could only assume was a yes. “Mama’s going to take a shower, then we can snuggle up and Netflix it.”
I carried Peter to my room and sat him down on his bed on the floor, then went straight for my closet to find pajama pants and a t-shirt. After tossing my pajamas on my bed, I went into my bathroom and headed straight for my shower, flipping the water on and setting it as hot as possible. I let the water run, knowing it would be at least another five minutes for the water to heat up, before heading back to my room to get my clothes ready for work tomorrow.
I hated getting up early, and if I was truthful, I’d hit snooze on the alarm a minimum of five times each morning before rushing out the door and heading to work. I liked my sleep; I liked comfortable blankets and fluffy pillows. But I also wanted a paycheck.
I was fully immersed in my closet, picking out the right blouse to go with my skinny black pants and ankle boots when I heard the first rustle. “Peter, you better not be chewing on the curtains, I just replaced the last ones you snacked on.”
The red would be the obvious choice to go with the pants, but there was something that kept drawing me to the royal blue. Yes. The blue, I decided, taking the hanger off the bar, then turned around, running smack dab into a hard chest.
“Don’t scream,” the man said both gloved hands in front of him.
I did the only thing I could possibly do, I screamed.
CHAPTER 3
ROYAL
“I said, where’s my money, Frank?” The older gentleman in front of me quivered, his body visibly shaken just by my tone.
“I don’t have it,” he admitted, and I couldn’t even imagine what it must be like to be in his shoes, a poor piece of scum continuously making wrong decisions.
“I gave you an extra month.” I slammed my hand down on the desk, the sound vibrating through the room.
“Yes . . . but . . .” he paused, sucking in some air through his bloodied lip. “I had it. I did. But I thought I could just double it; it was a sure bet.”
It’s funny how they always seemed to think something was a sure bet, yet they found themselves groveling at my feet, begging for mercy when mercy had finally run out. “If it was a sure bet, where’s my money?”
He gulped. I visibly saw it. “I lost it.”
“What do you mean you lost it?” I roared, he flinched.
“Well, you see . . . I . . . Um . . .” The stuttering was getting old.
“Spit it out!” I demanded.
“I had your money, and I doubled it,” he confessed.
I grunted my annoyance, “So where is it, Frank?”
His eyes dropped to the floor. “I placed another bet, all or nothing, and I lost it all. All of it. I couldn’t get it back.”
I stepped around the desk, then rested against the front with my feet crossed at the ankles. The moment I got close to Frank, my guys flanked his sides, ensuring he wouldn’t try anything stupid. “So just so we are clear, you bet money you didn’t have—my money—and lost it all?”
He whimpered, an honest to god whimper. “Yes.”
“Frank,” I groaned. “Why would you do it?”
He bit his lip, uncertainty clouding his face. If only he realized now was not the time for doubt. He should have thought about the consequences before betting my payment away. But I guess that’s the problem with addiction; your desire for the next thrill clouds your judgment. You can’t think of the consequences when your mind is entirely on the thrill of the outcome. You want so badly to come out on top that you would believe any word that proves in your favor.
“I don’t . . . I don’t know,” he finally admitted.
“Frank, you’re going to have to give me something.” I took a step closer. He held his hand up in fear, two fingers dangling at the most peculiar angles. “What can you offer me?”
Just asking the question caused him to flinch and pull away, making me
wonder just how deep he really was. Was I the only guy he owed? “I . . . I’ve got nothing.”
“You have to have something. I don’t really want to kill you. I like this suit, and somehow, I always manage to get my clothes stained with blood flecks, no matter how hard I try not to.” The mention of death didn’t have this guy begging for his life like they usually did; instead, he broke down in massive hysterical sobs, his whole body wracked with their force.
“Fuck, Frank. I haven’t even touched you yet, and you’re taking it like a little girl whose nail polish spilled.” I walked around his chair while taking off my blazer.
“It’s just that, I have nothing.” He sobbed again, already repeating the information he gave me.
At this point, I was willing to take anything as a compromise to buy him time. We could work out the value later. I liked to think I was a reasonable guy. I honestly didn’t like killing, and that was my last resort. A life for a debt, it seemed fair. “Do you own a house?”
He looked down at my feet. “I sold it a few years back.”
“A car?” I snapped my fingers in front of his face, hating not having eye contact.
He shook his head furiously. “No. Well, yes. But it doesn’t run. It broke down a week ago, and it’s been sitting in the dime store parking lot on Eight and Main.”
“Nothing. You quite literally have nothing, and yet you bet my money, money that was not yours to spend. Are you even shocked that you’re sitting here broken and bleeding at my feet?” I still couldn’t wrap my mind around it. Did people honestly think their life mattered to me over money?
“Troy, wallet.” My right-hand man reached inside his pants, pulling out the leather billfold, then tossed it to me. “Leather, huh, at least you don’t skimp.”
It was a mocking blow, I knew it. But when someone owed you two hundred and forty thousand dollars, there was no real low blow. Frank slurped, no doubt sucking up the spit and blood that pooled along the inside of his lip and dripped out of the corner of his mouth. “It was a gift.”
Resisting Royal (The Repayment Series) Page 1