Fine. If he’s got nothing better to do than watch us get wasted, he can sit there all by himself. I don’t care. About him. Or his mean boss. Or one of my favorite “fuck me” heels sliding off my foot and tumbling to the faded gold linoleum when I try to steady my feet on the brass ring circling the bottom of my seat.
I love my pretty shoes. I love my pretty best friend too. Who doesn’t seem mad any more either with her huge smile beaming back at me. All of her earlier worry long gone. Which makes me happy too. Happier than I've been all day. Happier than I've been in a long time.
Because of her.
Not him.
He only makes me sad.
I shake my dizzy head. Ignoring the blurriness sweeping through my vision. This is where I belong. With her. No worries or cares. Doing whatever the hell we want. Just like my favorite Miley Cyrus song says. Love who I want. Say what I want. Sing what I want. Which I’m going to do with her right now.
Since I know he won't miss the cash, I swipe some of Gio’s money from the counter and push off my stool. I only wobble a little, hobbling on one shoe. Forget it. I kick that stiletto off too. The balls of my feet sticking to the dingy tiles that mopping can't get clean any more after years of spilled beer, pizza crumbs, dirty boots, and sweaty bodies.
Easy to absorb the energy spiking from the growing crowd, I focus on my mission with a little more enthusiasm. Men in expensive suits just as prominent as guys in long sleeve tees and thick soled sneakers. With a few girls interspersed through the groups. Most of them in jeans like Sheena. Making me feel self-conscious from my out of place cocktail dress. Wading through the lines for the bathroom in the narrow back hall, I wrap his coat tighter around me and follow the glow of the blue, orange, and yellow stripes circling around the large black screen at the end of the corridor. A throwback to the eighties, the old jukebox must be broken. No matter how much I try to smooth the bill, the narrow slot won't accept the hundred.
“Here darlin’, let me help you.”
I can tolerate the hot whiskey breath on my cheek, but the hand caressing my ass is too much. Before I can protest, his fingers are gone and so is my balance. I tumble to the gummy floor from Tucker’s force shoving the man against the wall. Those previously relaxed inked fingers wrapped around the guy’s throat while he dangles. The man clawing at Tucker’s vice grip to gain his release as well as his oxygen.
“She's Gio Trivoli's girlfriend.”
Girlfriend.
He stops resisting Tucker's assault from the realization of his almost fatal mistake, and Tucker lets him drop. Sprawled only a foot apart, the stranger and I stare at each other as he gasps for air. His shaking hand guarding his assaulted neck while he sucks in deep breaths. Shiny brown eyes wide with shock. Almost as enormous as my own astonishment.
Because if Tucker really believes that, I am totally fucked.
Damn.
Embarrassing how fucking slow I am picking her lock. Which I can’t believe she fucking changed. Like she actually thought installing a new deadbolt could really keep me away from her.
I step inside and flip the switch, flooding the narrow living room in soft light from the bronze and glass lamp that she bought when I took her to Costa Rica. An impromptu trip to tie up loose ends with one of our best suppliers that ended up turning into the best fucking vacation of my life. Because of her.
Not much has changed. Still neat and tidy like always. All four walls lined with black shelves. Cheap plywood straining from the weight of her treasured books. I draw in a deep breath filled with her essence. Soft roses and sweet honeysuckle. Not the old lady grandma kind of perfume. But an intoxicating scent flowing with happiness and sunshine and joy.
Like a fucking stalker, I wander around her freezing apartment. That I was going to move her out of and into my place. That I was going to make her leave this dump behind and make her mine. With my ring. My name. My baby. I was going to do a lot of fucking things. Until motherfucking Savage ruined my plans for her. For us.
The tiny kitchen remains spotless as usual. Nothing on the butcher block counter top except for two slender flutes. Pissing me off more than I can fucking stand. What the fuck is she celebrating? And with whom? Better not be with that pussy ass motherfucker.
Proof of my suspicion sits on the bottom shelf of her refrigerator. A tall green bottle nestles between a bowl heaped with chocolate covered strawberries and a blue checked platter of almonds, olives, and thinly sliced Gouda cheese. Son of a fucking bitch.
I fucking know exactly what she intended. An indoor picnic in front of the huge stone fireplace filling the corner of her bedroom. Just like I use to enjoy with her when I'd end up here after a long, shitty day. When all it took to instantly eliminate my bad mood was her sweet smile and the gentle touch of her fingers brushing my cheek. Welcoming me into her humble home. Into her enormous heart. Giving me everything she has. Sharing with me all that she is.
Fuck that bastard. He cannot have her. He will not have her. Not her generosity. Not her body. Not her love.
I jerk open the back door and hurl the chilled champagne to the concrete below. The clang of the thick glass bangs against the metal steps as the bottle tumbles down, echoing in the empty breezeway. Relishing the shards ricocheting off the ancient silver patio furniture circling the small fire pit where we relaxed during cool spring evenings. Nights I thought would never end. Contentment that I never thought I would have to give up.
Fury pulses in my veins as I stride to the bedroom. Ready to destroy any candles she has set out for that asshole too. The words curling across the mirror in her delicate handwriting destroy me instead.
The OPPOSITE of boring!!!!
Run the KT marathon √
Go skydiving √
Ride a mechanical bull √
Accept the job √
Say yes to Leighton
Book tickets for Mardi Gras √
Fuck me. She's lived a fucking lifetime in the six months we've been apart. And I've missed every god damn fucking minute of it. Missed every god damn fucking minute with her.
The only goal unchecked on her list is the one that infuriates me the most. I don’t know what the fuck she’s thinking about agreeing to, but I sure as hell won’t let that happen. This may be my fucking fault. I may have driven her to considering a request from him. But I'll make damn sure I'm not the reason she finally says yes.
My buzzing phone interrupts my more-than-deserved self-diatribe, and I yank the cell out of my pocket. Tucker's update fills the top half of the screen.
Heading to her place. Be there in twenty.
Good.
A sharp creak shrieks under the mattress from me sinking down to wait. The squeak always making her giggle before I fucked her deep and hard the way she loves. Just like I was going to do that night after I proposed to her. And never got the fucking chance to do either one.
My gaze automatically drifts to the thin streak darkening the natural hardwood. So slight you wouldn't notice the stain unless you knew about it. But, I know. Because we put it there. From the first night I took her.
Evidence of her innocence seeping through the blankets we were sprawled across. Her gorgeous body so fucking beautiful with shadows from the golden flames dancing over her flawless skin. Almost as amazing as the trust in her eyes every moment I was inside her. Never hesitating, physically or emotionally, to let me in.
Now I’m finally here again. Alone, and for the first time ever, insecure. So fucking unsure of myself. Uncertain if I can get back what we had before.
She leans forward, a sultry laugh filling the electric air between us. Her palms playfully resting on my thighs. Mere inches from my greedy cock. Her dress drooping from her silky skin, giving me an unintentional peek at her chaste pink bra, overflowing with gorgeous tits I can already taste. Salivating from the thought of her luscious nipples filling my mouth.
Reminding me once again what a fucking lucky bastard I am. She’s so fucking beautiful. Smart. Driven. A
nd still hard to believe untouched by any man except me. Which is hotter than hell. I’d have given up my fortune to be the man to steal her virginity. Yet I never had to seduce her. She gave her body to me without hesitation. Just like her heart.
“I was so nervous, but it seemed to go really well. We talked for almost two hours. He said that I could work part-time around my classes now and then when I graduate, I would be full time.”
Pride pounds in my chest from her success. Landing her dream job. That I didn’t even have to threaten anyone to get for her. “Congratulations, Books. I knew you could do it.”
A sweet blush brightens her flushed face, and she ducks under my gaze. Always so damn modest when I compliment her. Like the demure lady she was raised to be.
“Thank you.”
Her attention drifts to the two girls in the booth next to us. Kissing, stroking, and whispering with each other. Putting on more of a performance than the ladies suspended above the dance floor in their cages. Exhibitionists eager to shock everyone with their wanton display. Maybe even entice them enough to join in.
Chryseis smiles and winks at me. So fucking adorable. “You’re missing out on quite the show over there. I can change seats with you if you want.”
Instead, I caress the smooth line of her slender shoulder, brushing my lips down her delicate throat. Savoring the slight shiver under my tongue. Ready to get her out of my club and into my bed. “Nah Books. The only show I want to see is yours.”
Cherry circles dot her cheeks again, but before she can respond, Tucker steps from the shadows. The pulsing lights, flickering in tandem with the thumping beat vibrating through the cavernous space, amplifies the rage lining his face. A death grip on his phone as he pounds against the screen. Damn it. No words necessary with the fury clenching his body. The hunch we had earlier must be correct.
All the excitement as well as the color drains from Chryseis’ face. She infers the implication from the tension radiating between us, and stands up. Slipping from her seat without even remembering to kiss my cheek in her apprehension. Eager to escape, lest she hears the upsetting details he reports. Which is unnecessary because I would never expose her to the realities of my ruthless world anyway.
“I’m going to go to the ladies room…”
I nod for Sharp and Paxton to accompany her. No one would dare fuck with her here. Everyone well aware the death sentence that even speaking to her would invoke. But I’m not willing to take any chances. Especially with the update I suspect Tucker’s about to give me.
As soon as she hits the bottom step of the white marble staircase leading down from the balcony, he tosses the cell onto the table. Narrowly missing her ginger ale in his frustration. “Savage attacked Randich. It was a fucking massacre.”
Closer and closer this damn bastard gets to my territory. My fucking city. Cutting an enormous swath of viciousness harsher than anyone has attempted in a very long time. I knew he was gunning for Randich, but being correct garners no satisfaction. “It’s not our fault that cock sucker wouldn’t listen. Stupid motherfucker was too damn arrogant. Savage didn’t get his name from fucking hosting cocktail parties.”
“Fuck!”
Tucker pops the huge knuckles on his right hand before moving to the clenched fingers on his left. More furious than I’ve ever seen him. My stomach turns from what he hasn’t relayed yet. Well aware that I don’t want to fucking know. But I have no choice. “What?”
“They got to his wife.”
Motherfuckers. Both of them. Savage for attacking her, and Randich for allowing him to get close enough to touch her in the first place.
“Tortured, raped, and killed her with him watching the entire time.” His head shakes as his lip curls in more disgust. “Then they got his daughter.”
He barely whispers, but I can still hear the almost unspeakable words amidst the deafening music. Still feel the fury raging in his tone. God fucking damn sadistic bastard. She’s only fucking twelve years old. A child.
“He’s coming for you Gio. He wants this..." His arms spread wide, conveying the power and the wealth my status as king of the night represents. "...and he’s not going to stop until he starts a damn war.”
Fuck that. Adrenaline burns through me. My body already buzzing from the anticipation of taking this motherfucker out. “Then we’ll give him one. Tonight.”
The perfect time to attack. He’ll still be celebrating his triumph. Defenses low thinking everyone’s running scared. Except for me. I don’t fucking run. And, I’m never fucking scared.
“What about Chryseis?”
God fucking damn it. Except about her. My confidence instantly dissipates.
"When Ramon hacked their server he found the files Savage has on her. He's got photos of the two of you together, her class schedule, lists of her co-workers and professors, Sheena’s address..."
Stupid. I'm so god damn unbelievably fucking stupid. To think I could have her without exposing her to any danger. Love her without any threats against her. I knew better. I knew fucking better. And being the greedy fucking bastard I am, I still took her anyway.
"There was also a download from the DMV with her doctoral advisor’s vehicle information.” Incredulity drips from his tone, mimicking the suspicion rocketing through me. "It was dated two days before Dr. Coy got ran off the road."
Son of a bitch. “It wasn’t an accident.”
I know the answer before he shakes his head. Savage fucking loves torturing his targets before he actually attacks. Sneaking closer and closer, hurting those closest to you one-by-one until you realize he's after you. Too many assaults to be a coincidence. Fucking psycho serial killer mentality. Despite practically ruling the world, I don't have the manpower to protect them all and bring down Savage at the same time.
“Do you want me to put her in a safe house until this is over?”
Not sure if there really is such a thing with a beast like Savage. He won’t quit until he’s dead. Hopefully, that will be soon. But what if it’s not? Rare self-doubt coils through me. If I fail, he’ll still come after her. She’ll be the gorgeous reward for his victory. The ultimate prize to celebrate his success. If I succeed, I'll still have to hide her away to keep her safe.
Fuck me for being a dumbass. She won’t ever be free. Won’t start her new job. Or buy the little house she’s been pinning shit about on that idea website she likes. Or travel to all the cities on her list.
Because of me.
Because of this vicious life I so selfishly drug her into.
“Let me see the photo.”
Tucker blows out a deep breath. Not that I don’t fucking believe him. But I have to see the sickening proof. Force myself to face the brutality. Make myself accept the harsh reality. Because this could be Chryseis. This could be my Books. Raped. Beaten. Dead.
He holds up the cell, and I gag at the image. My gut rolling from the depravity.
Although I can't see Randich's face from the angle of the shot, with the absence of the back of his skull I can pretty much imagine the damage to the front of his body. Wrists sliced to the bone from the wire restraints binding him to the metal pole. Rivers of crimson pooling from his hands and feet, trailing toward the bodies sprawled on the drenched concrete. Almost unrecognizable from the swelling. Impossible to tell the difference between the mother and the daughter. But, the abuse inflicted between their legs is more than fucking clear. Sick fucking psycho.
I stare at the image until my eyes water. Burning the details into my brain so I can recall the savagery anytime I’m weak. Branding the horror into my psyche to remember anytime my resolve begins to wane.
Fucking ironic how I always swore I would never be in this weak ass position. Young and dumb, beating and killing my way to the top, because I wanted more. I wanted all of it. Tired of being poor and hungry and weak. I could fucking taste the power and wealth just as surely as I could the champagne and lobster we stuffed ourselves with once I thought I owned the fucking world.
Never wishing more that the glass was a bottle, I swallow down the last of my drink and gesture toward the spectacle next to us. Wincing from the blond in the purple halter shoving her tongue down the redhead's throat while her small hand caresses the white cotton stretched taut across her huge, fake tits. "Invite them to join me in my office."
"Gio?"
For the first time ever Tucker hesitates. Never before defying my order. Until now. Well aware how fucked up crazy I am over Chryseis. Also, cognizant of the fact that there are two things I never do to women. Hit them or cheat them. I still refuse to do either one, but she won't believe that after tonight. "The only way she can be happy is to let her go."
He nods. Slow and contrite. His remorse almost as devastating as mine. Beyond fucking grateful he doesn’t argue because I'm not sure if I could convince him when I’m barely able to convince myself. Just grabs his phone and strides off while I motion to Zach for another drink. The heat of the now stifling bar no match for the torment already blazing in my stomach.
Both girls giggle but hop up quickly from Tucker's request. One on each side, snuggling against him as he guides them through the hall, supporting them as they stumble down the back stairs before disappearing from sight.
Just like I fucking want to. Grab Books and haul ass out of here. Take her home and fuck her until I can't remember what I was worried about. I force myself to stand up too. Neither of us lucky enough to earn that luxury.
Ignoring everyone else vying for my attention, I stride to my most trusted bartender as he lifts up my freshly poured whiskey. Good employee but I know he's a dirty motherfucker and won't refuse my request. Not from fear, which he probably is a little scared, because hell, it is me. But because he's the biggest man whore I know. Catching him more than once fucking the dancers in the store room after hours. Didn’t give a damn who saw him.
Under the Influence: A Second Chance Mafia Romance Page 4