by Jc Emery
The longer it goes on and the more graphic the scene gets, the less Mindy’s looking at anything in particular. She stares at me, not in my eyes, but through my eyes. I hate how long it takes me to get to where I need to be, but when I am, I focus myself enough to talk.
“This could be you, Melinda. And it wouldn’t hurt. It wouldn’t be scary. We could have this together. Tell me you could want this,” I say through gritted teeth as I do my best to fight off my orgasm.
“I might want it,” Mindy says. The woman beneath me arches her back and moans. I’m certainly not touching her anywhere I need to, but a quick look at her confirms that she’s touching herself, rubbing small circles over her clit. Her insolence annoys me, and I find myself choking her as I pound into her more quickly, fiercely. I’m enraged with Kaz for making it about her when this is about Mindy. My hands around Kaz’s neck sets off a chain reaction, and I come immediately.
There’s a light in Mindy’s eyes now that wasn’t there before. She chews at her bottom lip and lowers her eyes. So quietly I almost miss it, she says, “I could want that, too.”
Chapter 10
My arms are stretched out in front of me and my focus on-point as I unload the clip of bullets into a distant redwood. It’s all I can do to distract myself from what I really want to focus on.
Mindy.
Christ. Mindy is a pain in my ass. The best kind of pain in my ass. I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking. I have no business owning a woman like Mindy. I have no business owning anyone, but especially not a woman like her. She’s good—too good—and she has no idea what being owned means. And I have no idea where her head is at. We haven’t really spoken since that bullshit at the clubhouse. First, she went and tried to get me to hurt Scavo and then she begged me to fuck a lost girl. The whole night was fucked and when I dropped her off back at Grady’s, she was acting fucked too. She seemed fine which is why I think she was acting strange. How could she not be fucked over that?
I empty another clip into the same tree before moving to another tree and changing my target. Too many more bullet holes and the redwood might not be able to take it. I don’t like destroying things. People, sure. But not this tree. Unlike people, trees just exist and grow without intent to harm anyone.
Unlike Carlo Mancuso.
My hands make quick work of discarding the empty clip and sliding a new one into place. Taking a deep breath, I spin around and face the woods behind the house I’ll always call home. In a matter of seconds, I fire off round after round into the trunk of the redwood until this clip is also empty. Again, I pivot and grab another full clip from the bench behind me, load it into the hand gun, and spin back toward the woods, ready to fire.
I hate him.
I hate him.
Ma always says the choices we make are a reflection of either what we fear or what we love. Giving up her twins in their infancy, in her words, was a reflection of her love for me. But she’s full of shit. Giving them up was a reflection of a mother’s ultimate fear. She couldn’t stomach allowing one of us to die so she could keep the others—not that Carlo would have allowed her to live. In light of her fear, I choose love. Which is why I’m going to carve Carlo Mancuso’s heart right out of his chest and hand deliver it to her. This war isn’t about justice or revenge. It’s about love—loving someone enough to kill for them.
My index finger slowly presses against the trigger just as a bright red figure comes into view at the tree line, hands raised in the air. “Please don’t shoot!”
Alex.
Fuck.
What the hell was she doing in the woods? I’m not in the mood for this shit. Not that I ever am in the mood for this, but especially not now. Images of Carlo, her father, flash in my head. Sometimes it’s easier to forget the man who raised my sister, and sometimes it’s harder. Like now. She crosses the field quickly and comes to stand beside me. She’s wearing a red leather jacket that’s bright enough to make her a walking fucking target.
“That jacket bright enough?” I shouldn’t be a dick to her. I’m trying not to be a dick to her.
“You think we need to worry about aerial snipers?” She smooths her long dark-brown hair down and pulls it up into a messy bun atop her head, using the hair tie on her wrist to secure it.
“Guess not.” I click the safety in place and then shove my gun into the waistband of my jeans. “Something you need?”
Alex raises her eyebrows, her eyes bob around me, and she nods her head. Shit. Trying to not act like a dick has me doing exactly that. We’re going to have to talk sometime, but does it really have to be now?
Alex turns around and heads for the tree line toward Ma and Pop’s house, but she stops a few feet away and blows out a heavy breath.
“Why does this have to be so awkward between us?” She turns around and shifts from foot to foot. “It’s almost been a year.”
“Because I fantasize about killing your father.” There. Honesty.
“I don’t blame you,” she says. Her cheeks redden and she looks away for a brief moment before meeting my eyes again. She lifts her chin and clears her throat. “I was raised to be seen and not heard. My father never asked me what I wanted for myself. He just made my choices for me, and I hated it. I can’t hate him even though I want to. So even though I love my father, because he’s still my father, I don’t blame you for wanting to kill him. I don’t know if I could blame you even if you do end up killing him.”
I guess this is the most I can ask for from her. I still don’t know how we’re going to have a relationship when I want her father dead more than anything else on this planet. How could she ever forgive me? And Michael? I doubt he could move past it either.
“I will kill him. He deserves much more than death, but even I’m not sick enough to make him watch his children be sliced to pieces.” She stands stock still at my words but doesn’t break eye contact. I force myself to be as honest as possible because regardless of how I feel about the situation, regardless of the memories she stirs, she’s still my sister. “I would never hurt you or Michael. Not just because it would hurt our mother, but because you’re my sister. Michael’s my brother. I won’t hurt either of you.”
Tears well in her eyes. Oh, for fuck’s sake. No fucking crying. They don’t fall down her cheeks, but they’re there.
“I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve any of it,” she says. “Chief would be alive, so would Tegan, and Tall, and Michael’s friends. Mindy never would have gotten hurt if it weren’t for me.”
“That’s not on you. That’s on Pop,” I say with a nod. Because it is. If Alex has been carrying around this guilt, then it’s time she drops it. My dad put the wheels in motion long before this war started.
“I like talking to you. I want to get to know you.”
“What’s the point in getting to know me when you’re just going to end up hating me eventually anyway?” This is why I don’t want to bond with her. I don’t want to let her in and to love her the way Ma does, the way Michael does. Even Ryan loves her, and I’ll be damned if Pop doesn’t love her, too. She’s squirrelly like that.
“I can’t hate you. If I can’t hate my father, then I can’t hate you either. I won’t ask you not to hurt him, and I can’t tell you how I’ll feel when he dies, because I don’t know how I’ll feel. But I can tell you this—he stole you and my mother from me. My father hurt you, and he hurt me in a different way. He hurt Michael, too, but he might be too proud to admit that just yet. Carlo Mancuso has his family, and I have mine.”
She takes a step closer and reaches out, grabbing my arm. The tears she was holding back slide down her cheeks as she stares up at me.
“I don’t like violence, and I hate to see people get hurt, but no matter who I am today, I was a principessa, a Mancuso. I understand the need for justice, and deep down, I know this war goes back further than last year and that it’s only a matter of time for my father to get what’s coming to him.”
“I don’t want to
hurt you,” I find myself saying. My chest aches and my jaw is tight. I reject the emotions that make me weak and force myself to think about anything but how good it feels to get this gift from her. “Every year on your birthday, we have a party. It used to be just me and Ma, and then when Pop and Ryan came around, they’d join in. It was always just something we did. Ma never wanted to forget either of you, and she made sure I never could. I don’t want to hurt you, but I have to make this better for her.”
“Will killing my father really make this better for her? Is that really going to help?” It’s not judgment in her tone, I don’t think. It’s a young woman finally understanding why a man she loves has to die.
“Ma’s never killed anyone. She came damn close once when I was a kid, but she stopped just before finishing the guy off. Motherfucker deserved to die, but she left him paralyzed. What that man did was far less brutal than what Carlo did to her. You might not understand the need for his death, but I do. I know a side of Ruby that I hope you never meet.”
“What did the man do?” Her words come out so damn quiet that part of me wants to fucking hug her. Hugging usually makes women feel better. At least it does with Ma.
“Not important, but he deserved worse than he got. Everything that I am is because of our mother. I don’t want her to go back to that dark place she was in before Pop came into our lives. I won’t let her suffer any more. If taking out Carlo Mancuso gives her even an ounce of peace, then that’s what I’ll do.”
“There’s so much I don’t know about your lives before I got here. I feel like I barely know you, and yet I feel like I know you all so well.”
“You know us because you’re one of us. You can’t bring yourself to want Carlo dead, so that’s why I’m here. I’ll take care of what you don’t want to do.”
“You’re more open than I expected,” she says.
I let out a heavy sigh and swallow the lump in my throat. I’m more open than I expected, too. Fuck. When I don’t say anything for a long while, she lifts her hand from my arm to the side of my face and softly brushes the scar her father put there. I flinch at the contact. It doesn’t hurt, but I don’t like people touching it. I’m selfish like that. This pain, this memory, is all mine, and I refuse to share it with anyone else.
“Anyone would be considered open compared to Ryan.”
She laughs lightly, but her amusement doesn’t reach her eyes. She drops her hand and folds her arms across her chest.
“Now that we’re over the awkward sibling bonding thing, can we talk about letting me see Michael?”
“No. I’m not getting into a fucking fight with my brother over that shit.” I will, but I don’t want her thinking she can play me like she plays Ryan.
“Then can we talk about Mindy?” Her eyes are shining now in a mischievous manner as she says Mindy’s name.
“Call her if you want to talk to her,” I say. She won’t, and Mindy won’t have anything to say to her, not really, anyway. I have her under orders to not talk to anyone about what I have her doing. People won’t understand.
Alex’s knowing smile is all I need as she tries to look innocent. “I heard you’re interested in her. She’s pretty.”
“That asshole of yours has a big fucking mouth,” I say and head for Ma and Pop’s house. Alex trails behind at a slow pace. I move quickly to put distance between us and try to block out her quiet snickering. I knew I never should have told Ryan a fucking thing about Mindy.
“Thank you for this,” she says from behind me. I stop walking. She catches up quickly and stands beside me, just yards from the house.
“Didn’t give you nothing.”
“You know, Ryan is a pain in the ass.”
I can’t stop the laugh that escapes me. She knew this before they hooked up, so I’m not sure why she’s bringing it up now.
“But he’s loyal to the people he loves. He says you guys learned that from Mom and Jim. He’s told me stories about when you were kids. I know how much he loves and respects you. It makes me jealous—the relationship you two have. I’ve spent the last year just wanting to get to know you, wanting that kind of loyalty from you. Ryan doesn’t respect much, so the fact that he respects you means a lot. So thank you for giving me that.”
She walks into the house without another word, and thank fuck for it, too. I’ve done enough of that sharing my feelings shit. The last thing I want to do is stand here and tell her the truth. I’ve always loved her. She’s my sister. I guess I’ve always loved Michael, too, but it’s different with my brother. Where Alex walks around with this desire to be accepted and needed, Michael carries a detached confidence with him that’s a little too similar to his father. No doubt it’s how he was able to beat the crap out of her when he thought he was saving her. He just did the job he felt he had to do and didn’t stop to think about it. He’s a real company man in that way.
I’ve been standing outside the house for so long that Pop strides out the front door with PJ on his heels.
“Heard part of that conversation,” he says.
“Nosy fuck.”
“Eh, your mom’s rubbed off on me. Got to have her nose in everything.”
I don’t say anything because I’m pretty much talked out. Too much talking and feelings. I don’t like it. I want to go back to my safe place. Somebody needs to be late on payment or give me lip so I can release some frustration.
“Glad I got you alone. We need to talk.”
“Least favorite words, Pop. The kid just talked my fucking ear off.” I scowl, but it doesn’t pass muster.
“You like her. She’s difficult not to like. Even with the crying shit.” Pop and Alex have a weird father-daughter bond going on. Sometimes he says offensive shit just to see her spin her wheels and try to figure out how to respond. I admit, it’s funny as fuck to see her figure out how to mouth off to our patched president.
“Better be club-related. I’m too sober for any more talks about feelings.”
“It is.” He points to the bench by the front door. We sit down awkwardly, our big bodies filling up the space. “Been a hard year. I’m tired.”
“Yeah.” There’s nothing else for me to say. We’re all tired, and we’ve all suffered in different ways.
“I’ve been thinking about where I went wrong, what I did to get this all fucked up.”
“Sometimes shit just goes sideways, Pop, and it’s nobody’s fault.”
He runs his fingers through his graying hair and tucks the long strands behind his ears.
“Fucked up more than I think if you’re lying to me.”
He knows I’m lying. Of course he knows I’m lying—he’s my dad. Now I’m the one nervously tucking my hair behind my ears and delaying the speech I know he deserves. Jim Stone is more than my father—he’s my patched president. Questioning his leadership is a big fucking deal. It’s like spitting on the patch and should only be done when absolutely necessary.
“Out with it, boy.”
“We’ve been too complacent. We’re like sitting ducks out here. It’s almost been a year. We should have done something by now. As a husband, you want to give your wife what she needs by protecting her kids. As a father, you want to give your kids some peace. But by putting in that marker, we started a fucking war with the Italian mafia. Every man at the table looks at the gavel for direction. Instead of playing offense, we’ve been playing defense, and it’s getting us killed.”
He nods his head slowly, thoughtfully, as he lets it sink in.
“Wanted to tell you before I talk to your brother. Just had to make sure I’m doing the right thing first.”
My entire body tenses as I wait for him to finish. In a way, I don’t think I need him to say it. I already know where he’s going with this little talk we’re having, and it makes me feel sick to my stomach. Men patch in and they don’t patch out. In most charters, presidents hang on to the gavel until they can’t ride anymore. Our charter does a lot of physically exhausting work, and it’s important
that our men are able to handle that work. Pop’s nowhere near being unable to take care of his end, but it’s not the day-to-day that’s bringing him down. Shit. I’m not ready for this.
“You don’t have to say it.” If he doesn’t say it, then maybe I can pretend for just a little longer that this isn’t really happening.
“Got to. Otherwise I’ll probably change my mind.”
Fuck. Don’t say it, Pop. Don’t say it. I fight the urge to cover my ears and rock back and forth with my eyes closed like I did when I was a little boy and he would get to screaming at Ryan or vice versa. I hated the noise back then—still do, actually. But back then I didn’t know what kind of man Pop was. My experience with Ma’s men up to that point hadn’t ever been good. I didn’t know men could be good until this pushy fucker came along and forced himself into our lives. He changed me, us, for the better.
Fuck. Now I’m having mushy feelings I’m not comfortable with.
I hate feelings.
“You don’t have to.”
Please, don’t.
Fuck.
“I have to step down, son. It’s time.” His voice is gravelly, and it skips as he pushes the words out. “You were right. I’ve held back because this shit is personal for me. I’ve acted like a husband and a father when I should have been acting like a president.”
“I get it. I just don’t like it. I don’t want Wyatt to be president just yet.”
Pop breaks out into a grin and shoves his shoulder into mine.
“You’re whining. It makes you sound like your brother,” he says.
Oh, fuck that.
Fuck that.
“On second thought, go ahead and retire, you senile bastard,” I say in the same grouchy tone that had him telling me I sound like Ryan.