Tied Down

by Vanessa Waltz

  She moans into my hand as her body jerks with every hammer of my hips. Her cunt is perfectly wet and tight. It grips my dick as though it doesn’t want me to pull out.

  I pound her hard, keeping myself there for a moment as her eyes glaze over. Then I move my hand so that my fingers play with her lower lip.

  “Johnny.”

  Fuck. The way she says my name.

  My heartbeat pounds through my dick so hard that I’m sure she can feel it. It’s a constant ache, and I’m slowly losing myself. It’s such a relief to just let everything go. The only thing I want to concentrate on is getting my cum inside my woman. Yes, there’s no question about that now. She belongs to me. She’ll complain and fight, but she’ll come to me. Her father won’t give her a choice.

  I can’t take the sound of her groans, which we aren’t bothering trying to keep quiet anymore. My hands find her tits and grope them. I drag my tongue over them. She twists my hair and pulls so fucking hard that I wince.

  “Harder!”

  Then I bury my face in her tits, my legs straining as I thrust once. I’m shoved over the edge, and so is she, judging by the way she rips out my hair.

  “Oh my God.”

  I feel her pussy clenching around my dick as I come inside her. The hot jets burst into her as euphoria fogs my brain. I breathe hard against her skin and kiss her over and over. Her chest keeps shuddering with huge gasps as her muscles spasm around me.

  “Why the fuck did we do this?”

  I get the feeling that she’s not just referring to me nailing her in a doctor’s office. I raise my head, grinning at her.

  “You came to me. You wanted me? Well, now you have me.”

  “This doesn’t change anything.”

  She struggles to sit upright and I wrap an arm around her back, her face growing pink as I stare at her.

  “What do you mean, it doesn’t change anything?”

  She sets her lips into a firm line. “I haven’t decided what to do yet, but I’m definitely not going to marry you.”

  “I think you’ll change your tune once you realize how badly your dad will react to this.”

  “I don’t care. I’m not ready to get married. I’m only twenty-two.”

  I grind my teeth as she sets her jaw stubbornly. “This isn’t about whether you’re ready, or love, or any of that shit.”

  She bends over and snatches her clothes from the ground. “I’m glad to see that my feelings matter so much to you.”

  You’re right, they don’t matter.

  “Our feelings rank pretty low on my priority list. You really want to start a fucking war because of your pride?”

  That holds her gaze for a few moments. “I’m not going to say anything to my dad, and neither will you.”

  “Yeah, how long do you think you’re going to be able to hide this? You need doctor visits—”

  “Stop it,” she says through her teeth.

  “Ultrasounds, prenatal care, all that shit. I’m going to be there with you.”

  Maya shoves her legs into her jeans, muttering to herself. I slide myself back in my slacks and zip them up.

  “I’ll call you and let you know whatever I decide.”

  Maya grabs her purse, and I take her forearm before she can straighten up.

  “When am I going to see you again?”

  Christ, I hate not being in control.

  Maya shrugs and licks her lips. “I don’t know.”

  A beautiful flush spreads over her chest as I reel her in and wrap my arms around her waist. She touches the damp skin of my neck, both of us smelling like sex. Then she raises her head and gently kisses my lips. Her mouth is soft, and it makes my skin tingle. A mere ten, fifteen minutes since I came inside her, and I want her again.

  “Don’t make me come after you.”

  My patent-leather shoes crunch the dead grass over the silent graveyard. It’s Sunday. Family day. I’m supposed to be at my ma’s, but instead I’m drinking a bottle of bourbon like a fucking drunk degenerate as I think about my old man.

  The knowledge that I’m going to be a father really fucks with my head. I’m cautiously optimistic. The sane part of me is screaming to the sky. WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING? YOU’RE GOING TO RUIN YOUR LIFE!

  Just like my dad, eh?

  I come across his grave. It’s a flat piece of stone, and I spit out a stream of alcohol. It splatters on the date.

  He died just before I became boss. My old man was a captain.

  I worshipped him.

  It still burns, even after all these years. I died that night. I made him kneel and put my gun against his head. He didn’t beg. He knew what he had done, what would have happened to me. His fucking son.

  I shot him. I watched his brains splatter the pavement and immediately felt unsatisfied. He went so quickly, and I didn’t feel anything. Just rage. Then I pretended to grieve with my ma, even when everyone in the family knew what I had done.

  When your own father puts a hit out on you because you’re getting too big, you lose faith in humanity. He was my hero and he betrayed me for the scared, weak old men who couldn’t handle the fact that a young made guy was a rising star. Bringing in millions of dollars a week. Attracting media attention. I was smart. Most guys are good earners. I was the best.

  Take it from me: being the best makes you a target. Not just from men—women, too. They want a piece of you.

  The wind howls a bitter sound in my ears as my eyes burn, staring at that fucking plaque.

  I wish he was alive so I could kill him again.

  Then I upend the bottle of bourbon and let it splash all over the grave. It spills over the grass and soaks into the dead blades.

  “See you later, Papa.”

  Fuck him.

  I walk back to my car, where Chris waits outside. “Let’s go to Tony’s house.”

  Then I enter the car without another word and Chris drives off. My stomach bubbles angrily. I’m going to be a father. I just know Maya won’t have it in her to get rid of it.

  As much as I hate to admit it, I need to talk to someone. He won’t be happy to see me. I let Tony Vidal leave the family to save face. It’s a long story, but he knows exactly what I’m going through.

  And I’m a little bit drunk.

  We stop in front of Tony’s house in the suburbs of Terrebonne half an hour later. I get out and tell Chris to wait in the car, and then I walk up the neatly trimmed lawn. My fist hammers on the door, and in a few seconds I hear a feminine voice. “Coming!”

  Shit. His wife. She hates my fucking guts.

  A slight woman wearing a summer dress yanks open the door, her face falling into disgust when she recognizes me.

  “You’re not welcome here.”

  Fuck.

  “Elena, I just want to talk to Tony.”

  “He left the family.”

  “This has nothing to do with the family. I just want to talk to him, I swear.”

  Suddenly a baby’s squalling voice echoes in the house, and Elena looks over her shoulder toward the noise. A tall hulk of a man walks into the hallway, carrying the baby in his huge arms.

  Surprise registers in his voice. “Johnny.”

  “Hey, Tony. Do you mind if I come in?”

  He frowns but nods in approval, earning him a glare from his wife. I step inside and give Elena a jerk of my head as I walk toward Tony. The baby waves its fat fists in the air and gurgles at its father, who smiles.

  “Amy, say, ‘Hi!’”

  She gives me a toothless smile and I can’t help but return it.

  “She’s beautiful.”

  “Thanks.”

  Elena walks up to her husband and takes Amy from his arms, glaring at me as she walks upstairs.

  Sigh.

  Tony gives me an apologetic smile. Whatever. I can’t fault her for hating me. He jerks his head and I follow him into his office. The moment the door closes, he rounds on me.

  “So what is this, John? Why are you here?”
r />   Can’t he just look at me without the fucking judgment in his eyes?

  “I fucked up pretty bad.”

  Tony tenses as I sink into his leather couch. He sits across from me and licks his lips.

  “What happened?”

  A painful grin stretches across my face. “I knocked up a girl.”

  “Oh.” He smiles at me. “That’s it?”

  “I knocked up the daughter of the president of Les Diables.”

  My words hang in the air for a second and Tony’s mouth stretches into a smile, as if he expects me to burst out, “Kidding!”

  “You’re serious?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Holy fuck—”

  “Yeah.”

  “That’s really bad.”

  I give him a pointed look.

  “And you gave me so much shit for knocking up a made guy’s girl. Remember?”

  My face heats up at his grin. “Completely different circumstances. I didn’t know who she was at first.”

  His deep laughs rebound loudly in the small room. “At first?”

  “I was thinking with my dick.”

  A huge hand covers his mouth as he tries to stifle his laughter.

  Laugh it up, prick.

  “It’s not really that funny.”

  “No, it’s just very déjà vu for me.”

  I sigh loudly.

  “Well, what’s done is done. The question is, how are you going to handle it?”

  My fingers tap the leather on the arm of the sofa. “I don’t know.”

  Normally in these situations, with a hostile person like Carlos, I’d just kill him. Get rid of him. But I can’t just fucking kill the president of Les Diables without someone noticing. Without war.

  “Do you think getting engaged would cool him off?”

  Tony grimaces. “I don’t know, John. You should talk to Sal.”

  “Sal hasn’t been through this.”

  “He’s your consigliere. Everyone is going to find out anyway.”

  “She wanted to get an abortion. I think I talked her out of it.”

  “What? Why would you do that?”

  I look up from the sofa, incredulous. “You have a daughter.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “I want this kid.”

  I want what you have.

  “Well, then you don’t need to explain yourself. You’re the boss. You do whatever the fuck you want.”

  True, but there are limits. Like don’t-fuck-my-daughter limits. And I just fucking bulldozed over that one.

  “Do you like the girl?”

  I look at him. “I barely know anything about her.” Other than she’s a great lay and I can’t get enough of her body. I think about harnessing that wild, proud girl. Putting a ring on her finger. Getting to fuck her whenever I want. Doesn’t sound so bad. It’s the other shit that I’m worried about. Her father’s reaction to knocking up his precious daughter.

  “I’ll probably have to meet him with her. Explain what happened.”

  “Do it on neutral ground. He’ll blow your fucking head off in that fortress.”

  “I’m not an idiot.”

  Meeting Carlos doesn’t scare me, but I’m vaguely worried for Maya. I’m not sure how free Carlos is with his hands, and she’s carrying my kid. Every cell inside me wants to drive up to Sorel-Tracy right now and take her to my apartment, where I know she’ll be safe. I don’t know much about her, but the thought of her being in pain because of me makes me fucking sick. I need to protect her.

  Tony gives a beady look. “Things might go south with Les Diables.”

  And if they do, I might have to kill Maya’s father.

  Chapter Six

  Maya

  Lined-up cigarettes burn like candles as I hold the flame to them, lighting up the whole row. The white paper wrinkles, turning a smoky, dark color as the small fire licks the head.

  At first I thought I’d have a cigarette. It’s been years since I kicked the habit, but something about an unwanted pregnancy with a Mafia don made me want to inhale a lungful of cancerous smoke. I held it up to my lips and thought about the tiny life growing inside me that I just couldn’t make a decision about. I couldn’t draw a single breath of that shit because of one thought running through my head.

  It’ll hurt the baby.

  The baby. Not the soon-to-be-aborted fetus. Baby.

  I look across the neatly trimmed lawn of Parc Mont Royal, staring at the cigarettes quietly burning on the blades of grass.

  The best, sanest course of action would be to get a goddamn abortion. Get rid of it before Dad finds out about it and raises hell, but I just can’t bring myself to do it. There’s no rhyme or reason behind it. I just can’t.

  What the fuck do I do now? Marry that crazy asshole?

  Hell no. You can take care of this yourself without him.

  Across the field, a man wearing a leather cut makes a beeline toward me, his steel-toed boots obliterating the grass. He treks right through happy couples sitting down, having picnics, his heated eyes trained on me.

  Here we fucking go.

  There’s no point in running.

  I stand up and extinguish the cigarettes with my shoes, picking my purse off the ground. Heaviness settles in my chest as I recognize Chuck through that dirty blonde beard and his shoulder-length hair. That pigeon tattoo on his shoulder is a dead giveaway, but I’m glad it’s just him.

  “How did you find me?”

  Chuck stops a foot away from me, crossing his arms.

  “I know all your haunts. Let’s go, little girl.”

  Little girl? A ripple of anger runs through me.

  “Dad must be pretty pissed,” I add casually as we walk toward his bike.

  I watch his face carefully, but it’s hard to notice anything behind that wild beard. He doesn’t say a word and a chill runs down my spine.

  “He’s not happy. Just like he’s not happy whenever you run off.”

  Yeah, I’m just doing this to piss off my old man.

  “I’m not trying to run off. I’m trying to live my life.”

  “You’re putting yourself in danger every time you take off by yourself.”

  In danger? What fucking danger? From the hot guys who want to get their dicks wet?

  I climb behind Chuck on his bike and wrap my arms around him, gritting my teeth when the engine roars into life.

  What should I say when I get back?

  Dad’s going to want a reason why I left the fortress and returned much later than I said I would. Again.

  Oh, sorry, Dad. I just had to meet with the guy who knocked me up, who happens to be the bane of your existence.

  My arms dig into Chuck’s abdomen as he bikes out of the city. My hair whips around my head as we drive on the freeway and finally take the exit twenty minutes later. Then I lean forward as he rides up the winding path to the fortress, my heart slamming against his back as the huge gates roll into view. They creak open automatically and Chuck drives into the compound, kicking up dust.

  There’s a small gathering of people hanging outside the clubhouse when Chuck parks his bike and I slide off the seat. They look away when I glare daggers at anyone staring at me. I’m sure they think that I’m some kind of nuisance. A waste of their resources. The bitchy daughter who’s always going off by herself to do God knows what without an escort.

  I walk straight into the clubhouse, ignoring those who wave to me as I seek out my bedroom. The noise almost cuts out when I slam the door shut and rake my hands through my hair, glancing at my meager possessions.

  This is what my life has become. Small bits of freedom. A breather here and there before being dragged back to this place that I hate. The drugs. The alcohol. The strippers. A ball of hot shame grows inside me at the thought of actually raising my baby in this place. God, the baby.

  Johnny was wrong. This is a disaster.

  Loud footsteps crash down the corridor and my insides tense as I recognize the sound of those
heavy boots. I sit up straight. Jesus, it sounds as though there’s an elephant thundering down the hallway. The door smashes open and I don’t even blink.

  Mom crashes through the door with Dad, whose face is purpled with rage.

  What now?

  “STUPID FUCKING CUNT!”

  “Carlos, stop!”

  I stand to my feet, electrified. He throws Mom from his arm, and she makes a painful whimper as her head hits the wall. It’s not as though I haven’t seen him do it dozens of times before, but somehow it feels worse because she’s defending me.

  “Don’t touch her, you fucking bastard!”

  He whirls on me, spittle flying from his mouth. “I KNOW WHERE YOU WERE!”

  I cross my arms as a thrill runs through me. “What?”

  “Why the fuck were you at Le Zinc?”

  So they saw me at the restaurant. Shit.

  I put on a bored voice. “Some people like to eat out, Dad.”

  He snarls in my face, jabbing my chest with his finger. “Don’t you fucking lie to me.”

  “I was having lunch. With a friend.”

  “A friend.”

  He spits it out as if I uttered a disgusting swearword.

  “You fucking stupid bitch.”

  “You said that already.”

  “You’re meeting Johnny Cravotta behind my back to hurt the MC.”

  I slap his hand away from my face. “No, I’m not!”

  “Are you going to stand there and lie to me?”

  “I’m not—!”

  “What the fuck did you tell that greaseball?”

  Okay, this is a lot worse than I thought it was.

  He lunges at me before I can dodge, and his thick hands wrap around my throat, squeezing hard. I scratch at his fingers as I gulp for breath, fighting back for all I’m worth. He pins me down. My head grinds against the dirty floor and my mother’s screams ring in my ear as blackness pricks at the edge of my vision.

  “TELL ME!”

  “Stop! Fucking stop it!”

  “Get off me!”

  “She can’t breathe!”

  The screams become a distant roar. I can’t see—I can’t hear. My lungs burn. Fuck, it hurts. I claw at my father’s face and the pressure on my throat relieves.

  I roll to my side as oxygen punches my brain and all my senses return. My chest heaves great breaths as Dad crouches over me.