Suck

by Nikki Belaire

  Suck: A Naughty Novella (The Suck, Bang & Blow Series)

  Copyright © 2020 Nikki Belaire

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Title Page

  Copyright

  About This Book

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Epilogue

  Other Books

  About the Author

  Reece Diavolo. They call him The Devil behind his back, and when the vicious mob boss sees the bride at his cousin’s wedding he decides there won’t be a marriage after all that day…because now she belongs to him.

  Macy Shaw. They call her The Mouse to her face, and when the goodest of good girls learns her blackmailing fiancé has disappeared she’s relieved…until she realizes her savior is even more dangerous than the groom.

  Author’s note: Suck is short, sweet, and dirty, filled with all the best parts of a romance for a fun two-hour read. No triggers or cliffhangers and a guaranteed happily ever after.

  I lean closer to the mirror and pinch my cheeks. Trying to entice at least a little bit of color into my pale complexion. Mimicking the heroine in one of my favorite old movies. She was trying to impress the man she loves, despite claiming she didn’t care about him. While I try to convince a man I don’t love, that I actually care about him.

  Failure. On both counts. Nothing can help my empty heart or my dull skin. I should be glowing. Flushed pink with joy and anticipation. Instead, I’m sallow and miserable with disillusionment. A liar to him, to myself, and everyone waiting for me.

  A fraud and an embarrassment emotionally and physically. I turn away from my reflection. Unable to stand staring at myself any longer. My make-up’s too harsh, my hair’s too big, and my dress is way too poufy. Only my mother thought I could actually pull off this enormous skirt and extended train. She was wrong. Again. Instead of a princess, I look like a little girl playing dress up, and everything’s too everything.

  We both should’ve known better. When I’m really a ‘swipe on some lip gloss, twist my hair in a messy bun, and slip into running shorts to be ready to go’ kind of girl. Or a colorful sundress if I’m really dressing up. But the extravagant ball gown, the ornate church, the huge bridal party—all of the exorbitance—are for her.

  To make her happy and to keep my father safe.

  I take a deep breath. Nothing I can do about the deception now. I’m out of time as well as options. Especially with the thunderous knock from the hallway. The heavy wooden door swings open before I can answer. The epitome of my entire pitiful life.

  It doesn’t matter what I want.

  I do what’s expected. Macy The Mouse always keeps quiet and stays out of trouble.

  So instead of crying, I smile at my parents because that’s what you do when their dreams are coming true while yours are fading farther and farther away until they don’t exist anymore.

  “You look beautiful, darling.”

  An air kiss from mom. She wouldn’t want to smear the foundation slathered on my skin like putty. She gushes and then fans her face to keep from tearing up. To prevent her own mascara from running. Because of course with her, it’s all about appearances.

  Dad’s more subtle. Guilt tempers his emotion but not his hug. Unafraid to crush my veil or crease the silk fabric with his monstrous embrace. Until Mom starts fussing at him and then spends the next two minutes smoothing down wrinkles that won’t smooth. Remorse that won’t ebb. Disappointment that won’t subside.

  He hates this charade almost as much as I do, which makes me feel a little better. At least he cares about my feelings even if he doesn’t do anything to protect them. Or me. After promising me to a “good family” that really isn’t good at all. Sentencing me to a life I hate. Punishing me to a prison I don’t deserve.

  Fear will do that to you. Well that and booze. Lots and lots of expensive whiskey. Always my father’s weakness. Oh that and the horses. Lots and lots of bets that didn’t pan out. So I’m his payment plus interest. Antonio forgiving all of his debts with one indestructible agreement. An enthusiastic handshake, a jovial pat on the back, and a marriage to his virgin daughter, thank you very much. Yay, lucky me to be marrying such a clever man, smart enough to outwit a drunk gambler terrified beyond reason who’s willing to sacrifice his only child to save himself.

  Now tears do really prick my eyes. I guess I’m allowed to feel sorry for myself. For the next ninety seconds anyway as announced by the woman in a teal suit and silver headset. The one lady even bossier than my own mother. She plasters on a fake smile and motions for us to start walking.

  “All right Macy and Mr. and Mrs. Shaw. Let’s make our way to the narthex. We need to make sure we’re in perfect position before the doors open. This is the moment everyone is waiting for. Revealing the bride to her audience is the most important part of the entire day.”

  Of course it is. Not the sacred vows or the genuine love or the permanent joining of lives and families. Just the façade. Only the farce. Perfect for this fiasco.

  “Your entrance is what everyone will always remember.”

  Such haunting words for our death march with me playing the role of dead man—or I guess more accurately dead woman—walking. I can’t even wallow for a moment. My mom shakes her head at me, nagging under her breath. Admonishing me for my distraught expression. Encouraging me to smile. Look happy. Enjoy my special day. The scary part is I think she actually means it. According to her, I’m marrying a rich, powerful man who will always keep me safe, and damn it, I should be ecstatic.

  However, the reflection in my Dad’s gaze confirms he knows the truth. Feels as miserable as I do. Wishes he hadn’t messed up. Wants to break his promise uttered in drunken terror.

  But he can’t. Neither of us can.

  I know he’s devastated. He’s a weak, selfish man who ruined my life through his own flaws. Yet despite his faults I know he loves me. So I take a deep breath and smile for him. Put on my best mask of agreeability and submissiveness. Because he’s still my Dad, and I still love him even though he failed me.

  My acceptance makes his shoulders soften, and he side hugs me as best he can while we parade to my doom. Leading me to my sacrifice. Guaranteeing the ending of me as a focused woman with her entire life ahead of her and the beginning of miserable housewife with zero options except to be owned by a cruel man with dubious intentions.

  I’ve accepted my fate so he can too. I let everyone else control my happiness and mind as well as my body. Standing how the planner arranges me. My bouquet resting just below my belly button. My knees slightly bent so I don’t get light headed. My lips curled up in an excited smile because I’m getting ready to finally see my beloved fiancé. A genuine laugh bursts out of me from that assertion and relief releases the anxiety lining her face. She thinks I’m giddy and going to be a good girl, cooperating with her for the rest of the ceremony.

  Fear buzzes in my head. I do
have to be good from now on because if I do anything to mess this up they’ll kill my father. I can barely live with him, but I know I won’t be able to survive living without him either. Especially if it’s my mistake that causes his death.

  Ten girls in iridescent periwinkle dresses line up in a shimmery row. Some I know, some I don’t. One I love. My best friend Savannah gets to wait closest to me as the matron of honor. She knows the truth and doesn’t make me feel weak or stupid or naïve for not being able to figure out how to get out of this mess. Supporting me as I suffer through my father’s error.

  Instead, she just offers a quick hug, a firm nod, and an encouraging grin. Both of us grateful that Antonio hasn’t tried to keep us from seeing each other. Anxiety swirls in my stomach. Not yet anyway.

  “You’ve got this. Don’t–”

  The planner interrupts Savannah’s whisper to me. Shushing us as the doors suddenly fly open. Not on her order, but open nonetheless. A swell of organ music shrieks through the cathedral, and after a confused pause, she taps the first bridesmaid on the shoulder encouraging her to start the procession. Time to go whether we’re ready or not. Whether I’m ready or not.

  I read on one of those silly websites, for girls who are actually eager to get married, that keeping your gaze locked on your soon-to-be husband will calm your jitters as you walk down the aisle. Luckily, I can’t see Antonio from where I stand. For the best. Probably not very romantic to vomit in your mouth on your wedding day.

  Rather than search for him, I keep my eyes glued to the enormous bundle of white roses clenched in my shaking hands. Curling in my quivering lip as reality sets in. Ignoring the turmoil aching in my chest as my funeral begins.

  I squirm in my seat like a damn four-year-old.

  Except that I’m not a four-year-old. I’m a grown man, and I’m hot and I’m bored and I want the fuck out of here. But the trembling hand weakly tugging the sleeve of my sleek black tuxedo keeps me in place. Just like when I really was a little kid. I rarely told her no back then, and I definitely can’t tell her no now.

  Especially since she’s one of the few people in my life who genuinely cares about me. Really loves me. Not out of fear or greed or loyalty. Just because I’m me.

  She also loves her sister too. Who in turn loves Antonio, her fuck up for a grandson. So that’s why I’m here. Sliding my ass back onto the hard, narrow bench. I let out a long, tedious, obnoxious sigh to remind her of the sacrifice I make for her. The only person I make sacrifices for.

  She nods and smiles proudly, forcing me to check my impatience as well as my watch. Damn ceremony was supposed to start ten minutes ago. I’m giving this circus two more minutes, and then I’m gone. Whether grandmother likes it or not. I’ll buy her another damn dog for her growing menagerie of rescues if I have to so I can make it up to her.

  I’m not the only one who’s impatient. Antonio flexes in his rented oxfords on the altar. Mimicking his row of groomsmen anxiously scanning the vestibule searching for the bride. The woman’s probably realized my cousin’s a fucking moron and took off. Which no one would blame her, including me.

  Rumors of his penchant for underage girls have been floating through our family and the city for years. The embarrassment increasing while their ages were decreasing. Lower and lower until I finally beat his ass—well had my guys do it—when I heard he was sniffing around a thirteen-year-old. Vicious enough to cause him to lay low for a while, with a warning that the next time he fucked up would also be the last time, I hadn’t heard anymore about him for months.

  Until the invitation showed up, and Mims dragged me here as her escort. Obligation and honor always rule. I’m the boss and have to represent the family, despite how shameful some of our members may be. At least this girl is of legal age, if not an idiot, for even agreeing to marry this disgusting piece of shit.

  The whispers swell louder while the music fades. The organist glancing over her shoulder too. Nodding to the harpist. Everyone wondering where the fuck the bride is. Not me. Not anymore. I’m out.

  Except I make the absolute stupidest mistake possible when I abruptly rise from my pew. All of the other congregants follow suit, assuming the bride is finally going to show, and like fucking magic the doors open and she stands there. Fading daylight glows behind her, and I swear she looks like a damn angel shining from the golden rays shimmering against the sparkles on her dress and veil.

  Sweet.

  Innocent.

  And so breathtakingly beautiful.

  Fuck. Me.

  Now the rustling between the rows is positive. Gasps and smiles from her sheer beauty. Overwhelmed only by the huge white gown she wears. Too big and poufy for her delicate frame. But really all I can see is her elegant face. Drawn and despondent as everyone else’s energy pulses around her. The lack of joy in her expression confuses the hell out of me, yet tells me enough of what I need to know.

  She’s not marrying him.

  Not today.

  Not ever.

  You can almost feel the fucking relief in the notes as the pianist whips up a frenzied version of the expected Pachelbel Cannon and—fuck, I don’t even remember her name from the announcement—watches as her bridesmaids slowly march down the aisle. One by one, each of them meeting a groomsman at the halfway point. Linking arms and strolling together to the altar. Some of them smiling, some of them sullen. All of them slow as hell.

  I don’t mind. Not at all. Because the ridiculously long parade gives me plenty of time to rescue her from her misery. I yank out my phone and stare at her gorgeous face until I’m forced to turn my attention to the screen. Thumbing to Ryker and tapping a clear and concise message.

  End Antonio now.

  I glance down to the end of the pew at him. Awaiting his usual quick response to my order. Expecting him to react to my demand by jumping up and shooting my cousin after he glances at his cell. Instead, his head whips up from reading my message and swivels toward mine. His are you fucking serious expression bores into me.

  He’s known me my entire life and should know I’m always serious. But I guess in this situation—with this mandate—I can see why he would want to double check.

  I type and I wait.

  Get him out of here and then tell the priest he got cold feet and took off.

  The fourth girl passes by before he finally shakes his head, uttering a soundless swear, and slowly steps over the kneeler. With almost everyone else’s attention on the procession, he strides quietly yet purposefully towards the increasingly smaller line of men and gestures for Antonio to follow him. My cousin gives him the same doubtful expression Ryker gave me until my most trusted guard points in my direction and the moron realizes he has no choice. Dread lines his stupid face while he hustles past Ryker, and they head to the side door, quickly disappearing. Ryker for a few minutes. Antonio forever.

  Good. Glad that’s done. Now I can sit back and enjoy the rest of the show. A few more pretty girls close out the promenade. Yet none of them are as exquisite as mine though. Finally, it’s her turn to proceed.

  She swallows hard in her willowy throat when the lady, I assume to be some kind of wedding planner, nudges her. Seconds pass, and I really think she isn’t going to move. Until her father leans close and whispers in her ear. Enormous blue eyes fall shut as she nods. Seeming to accept some fate imposed upon her. That makes me grin like a smug bastard. Giddy that I’ve saved her, and she won’t have to spend even another minute ever again with that cocksucker.

  Finally, she walks. Plenty of room in the wide aisle for her parents to accompany her on each side. I knew she was beautiful from one hundred feet away but god damn is she stunning. Closer and closer until they pause. Confusion lining all three of their faces that Antonio doesn’t meet them in the middle as I assume they expect.

  The music plays on. Boisterous and cheerful until it’s not. Puzzled whispers mingle with the chords while necks strain and heads scan the front. This time searching for the missing groom. Unaware he’s go
ne and never coming back.

  This part makes me feel kind of guilty. She’s worried. Uncertainty flooding her flushed cheeks. Which I am genuinely sorry for. Kind of. Well not really. But I will make it up to her. I swear to god I will.

  Ryker slips in from the back and beelines straight for Father John. The old man’s brown eyes grow wide from the update he receives in his ear. A furious nod and hard pat on Ryker’s back before the minister strides to the bride. Deep wrinkles full of sympathy and remorse line the old man’s face. Earnest words hidden by the buzz around us. That cause her mother to burst into tears and press her pink handkerchief to her mouth. Her father to curse and lift his eyes to the angels painted on the rotunda. My girl to look around at all the faces staring in ardent curiosity back at her.

  Maybe in seminary school they teach what do to in these sensitive situations as the pastor seems unruffled. Taking charge and taking over. He gives her a confident smile as his hand glides to his side and under his cloak, adjusting the small black box at his waist. An amplified breath wafts through the stunned silence as his microphone comes to life.

  “Good evening family and friends. We appreciate everyone gathering here tonight in support of these two young people. We ask that you continue to support Antonio and Macy as we deviate from our plans and postpone the ceremony.”

  His palm abruptly raises to cease the murmurs and mumbles. Thin strands of white hair fluttering from him nodding profusely. Conveying that he understands the surprise. “Everything of course will be figured out in due course, but in the meantime we invite all of you to go ahead and make your way to the reception area at this time.”

  Mims inhales just as sharply and turns to me. I shrug. Safer than saying a word and to keep from laughing. She huddles with her sister, speculating in low tones, while Antonio’s parents rush to the cleric for further explanation. Clarification. Rationalization. Anything to understand why their stupid son bolted.