Making Her His

by Lexy Timms

  “I know exactly what I’m saying! You don’t think I’ve seen the meetings here in the dark of night? Different 'associates' brought to the house, bloody from some scrape? Or have I not heard enough Sunday dinner conversations about how all the Roccos should have a Christian burial as soon as possible. And now you want me to marry one? Not happening. Not fucking happening.”

  Both men scowled at Christina’s anger outburst.

  She was good and worked up, and her mind formed a barrage of insults to hurl at them.

  A feminine voice behind her broke the atmosphere. “Enough, Christina,” her mother said with acid sternness. “You’re not going to spoil your grandfather’s birthday party with a tantrum.” Then, in a softer voice, she turned to the men. “Excuse me, Papa, Vince. Christina needs to help me in the kitchen.”

  With those graceful words spoken, she motioned for Chrissy to follow her. Grateful to end this conversation, she did. But as soon as Rose Serafina shut the door she gripped her daughter’s arm fiercely.

  “What’s your problem?” she hissed in a low and angry voice.

  Chrissy shook off the arm. “You know what it is.”

  Rose’s face softened. “Yes. Men and their schemes.” Then her face hardened. “But that gives you no reason to be disrespectful to your grandfather, or your father.”

  “But, Mama—”

  “No ‘but Mamas.’ Go fix your face. It’s all red. Then come help me in the kitchen.” Her mother moved off quickly.

  Christina’s anger hadn’t ebbed as she took the steps to her childhood bedroom and shut the world out in the confines of her former bathroom. She did a lot of that when she was younger, when she was trying to sort out what it meant to be the daughter and granddaughter of crime bosses. It was in this bathroom she decided that she was going to college, come hell or high water, despite her parents’ objections.

  She ran the water, not so much to splash on her face but to drown out the noise of the party downstairs. Soon she’d have to go back and plaster a fake smile on her face. The she'd talk to her relatives, as if her male relatives hadn’t dropped the biggest bombshell in her life.

  Her silent world, punctuated only by the rush of water from the faucet, shattered from a knock on the door.

  “Christina?”

  Fuck. Gloria.

  “Go away.”

  “Too late,” said Gloria, swinging the door open. In her hand was the key to the bathroom that Christina thought lost years ago. The little bitch must’ve been hiding it all this time.

  “Leave me alone.”

  “Oh, come on, Chrissy. You’re acting as if someone wanted to lead you to slaughter, not to a church wedding.”

  Chrissy remembered Gloria’s taunt from the previous night. “How long have you known about this?” This was a slaughter. Her own personal massacre.

  “I might’ve overheard something on Friday night when Marcus was playing cards with Papa and Grandpa.”

  “You might? You might?” Chrissy replied, her voice rising. “And you couldn’t be bothered to tell me? Your own sister?”

  “Yes. They swore me to secrecy, though I was dying to tell you. But if I did you wouldn’t have come, and then the family would blame me because I can’t keep my mouth shut.”

  “This is a nightmare.” Chrissy buried her head in her hands. “This cannot be happening.”

  “I thought you were a smart businesswoman.”

  Chrissy lifted her head. “What’re you talking about?”

  “Here you are, fussing and fighting and playing the victim, and not mapping out a game plan to get one over on them. Chrissy it’s no secret you don’t need the family, except that you love us. Now, don’t look at me like that. It's true. And you have no problems with any of us, just how Papa and Grandpa earn their money.”

  Chrissy stared at her sister. “It doesn’t matter what I think, does it?”

  “Instead of giving them a hard time and making them dig in their heels, play for time. Marcus hasn't given me a ring yet, and you know what? If he thinks he can’t get ahead with Grandpa, he might not. So, stall them. At least go meet this guy. You might even go on a few dates with him. Maybe if Marcus sees he has competition with Grandpa, he might pop the question faster.”

  Chrissy just stared at her sister and blinked. Gloria could be manipulative, but she didn’t realize until now that her sister was a master tactician. She was also surprised her sister knew Marcus’ reasons for dating her. “Are you sure you’re willing to gamble Marcus, the family?” she said slowly.

  “It’s not a gamble. I’ve wanted nothing but Marcus. I love him, Chrissy. And he loves me in his own way. If you could help me out, I’d be very grateful.”

  Chrissy stared at her sister, not believing she was about to agree to her crazy scheme. She didn’t approve of Marcus; then again, she didn’t have to live with him. That was her sister’s cross to bear, and she wanted to shoulder it willingly. “Fine. I’ll help you out. But under one condition.”

  “Anything. What?”

  “When it comes time to get me out of this mess, you’ll help me do it.”

  Gloria clapped her hands. “Yes! Yes! Anything you need. Yes!”

  Because her sister was happy, Chrissy didn’t mention the sinking feeling in her stomach. Somehow, all of this would not work out well.

  “I found out where he’ll be. We’ll go check him out after dinner.”

  “What? Tonight?” Chrissy glanced down again at what she was wearing. She didn’t want to see this guy. She’d play their game, but there had to be a way out this. She just needed time to think.

  “Yes,” Gloria squealed in delight. “It’ll be an undercover mission. That way you’ll have advanced intel when you meet him officially.”

  “You’re nuts.” Chrissy shook her head. They were playing with fire here. Fire and her life. Dangerous combination in her opinion.

  “Come on. It’ll be fun. Besides, what else are you doing tonight?”

  Chrissy admitted to herself that she had nothing else to occupy her time, and she had tomorrow off, so she had no early commute to use as an excuse. Also, she was slightly curious about this “respectable” Rocco. “Okay. Let’s go see what this guy looks like.”

  What was she getting herself into?

  She was fucked.

  Good and fucked.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  A band played Eagle covers in the corner of the Red Bull set up with a small stage. Though it was a Sunday, a good crowd filled the bar. John Rocco tended to the endless rounds of drink orders while two waitresses hustled through the room, taking orders and delivering drinks. Saks sat at the long wood bar and nursed beers John pushed at him in regular intervals enough to ease his pissed-offedness at his father and uncle.

  It was not enough to ward off the women, though. After the third lovely, he started ignoring them.

  When a pretty blonde sat on the stool next to his and didn’t even bother to flick him a glance, it caught his attention.

  She was lean, with a nice set of perfectly sized breasts. Pretty, long blonde hair with dark roots hung over her shoulders, covering her chest slightly. Her cheekbones and forehead were set high, and her nose long yet straight, giving her a slightly Italian look. As she glanced around the bar, he glimpsed her dark eyebrows framing liquid caramel eyes. Her pink lips were full, the lower lip especially pouty.

  A flicker of lust shot thought him at the promise of that tender flesh.

  But she didn’t give him so much as a sideways glance, and he tried to stare straight ahead, but failed. Every so often he cast a glance in her direction. Those full lips and eyebrows twisted in a frown as her eyes scanned the crowd.

  He couldn’t resist.

  “Waiting for someone?” he asked.

  She glanced at him and then purposely ignored the question.

  The action only enticed him more. He shifted in his chair so he could look her in the eyes. “I haven’t seen you here before.”

  Her eyes fil
led with fierceness leveled with his. “I don’t come here,” she said acidly, indicating she wouldn’t be caught dead in the Red Bull.

  “And yet you’re here,” he said with a sly smile. He couldn’t help smiling. There was something about this woman that piqued his interest.

  She ignored him and motioned to John, but he was pulling drafts and didn’t see her. “How does a girl get a drink around here?” she muttered.

  Saks blew a short, sharp whistle and John’s head snapped toward him. Saks nodded toward the woman, and John moved toward them.

  “What’re you drinking?”

  “White wine, please.”

  Please. She actually said, ‘please.’ The incongruity of that and the white wine now confirmed Saks’ initial impression. This was not the typical female denizen of bars everywhere.

  “Oh, so you can be polite,” he murmured.

  “Excuse me?” she retorted, glancing around again.

  “Sorry,” said Saks, in a slightly mocking tone. “Didn’t mean to tick you off.”

  She lifted her chin haughtily. “I’m not perturbed in the slightest. But I can see it was a mistake to come here.” She fished through her purse and cursed under her breath. “Where’s my cash? I’m gonna kill Gloria.”

  “John takes credit cards, too,” Saks said snarkily. The sharp tone of his own voice surprised him, and he took a sip of his beer to cover his discomfort. Why was this woman getting under his skin?

  She scoffed. “Like I’d run my credit cards in this scummy bar.”

  “Really? You’re the one here, sitting at the bar, asking for a drink. Or do you assume men simply buy you drinks so you don’t have to pay?” He grinned cockily. “We have those kinds of girls here, too, you know. You’re no different.”

  She blinked in surprise. “That’s not what I meant. I didn’t expect...” she trailed off and tilted her head slightly. Saks tried not to follow the waves of her hair as it fell. “Do you own this place?”

  “No. The bartender’s brother does. I hang out here.”

  “Well, that’s obvious.”

  “Is it?” Man, this woman was impossible.

  John brought her the glass of white wine, and the woman reluctantly pulled a card from her purse.

  “Don’t bother,” said Saks. “Wouldn’t want to put your plastic at risk. John, put it on my tab.”

  John arched his eyebrows with a glance toward the blonde. “You look familiar,” he said. “Do I know you?”

  “I don’t think so,” said the woman. “I’ve never been here.”

  “She’s a newcomer,” offered Saks with a grin, “and she doesn’t think much of the Red Bull.”

  “Maybe you can change her mind, Saks.” Another patron called John, and with a nod to Saks he hustled toward his next customer.

  “Saks?” the blonde said. “What kind of name is that?”

  “It’s a club name.”

  “A club name?” she said incredulously.

  “Yeah, Hades’ Spawn.”

  “Motorcycle club? Really?” She glanced over at him, her eyebrows raised as if she didn't believe him. “And how’d you come by that name?”

  Saks couldn’t resist a smile. “Because I dress so well.”

  The woman’s eyes traveled from his black motorcycle boots to his skintight dark jeans, then to a thick chain from a belt loop tucked into his front pocket. Finally, those dark orbs lighted on his thin black t-shirt, and she laughed. Any other time he might get offended. But her laugh was different. It was a clear, high sound that reminded Saks of the tinkling of a spring in the woods, and instantly she enchanted him. “Yeah, I can see that," she said wryly.

  “This,” he said, spreading his hands, “is not my usual attire.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure you dress in Armani suits.”

  “Well, if I did, my name would be Armani, not Saks.” He knew she was wearing a high-end retail dress but didn’t mention it.

  She laughed again and then sighed. “I should probably go.”

  Instinctively, he touched her arm lightly with the tips of two fingers, and was hit with a shot of electricity.

  She noticed it, too, and looked at him with surprise.

  “Don’t go.”

  “Gee,” she said, glancing at his fingers on her arm. “You’re a shocking person.”

  Saks pulled his fingers away. “Me? Maybe it’s you?”

  “I don’t think so. I’m unexciting.” Then, incredibly, she picked up her wine and knocked it back in one gulp. “See,” she said with a shrug of her shoulders. “Very boring.” She stood. “Thanks for the drink. See you around.” She glanced around the bar one more time before heading out.

  Saks picked up his beer and took the last swig. She wasn’t interested, which oddly disappointed him. She was obviously a classy woman, and her type didn’t go for a biker/motorcycle mechanic, not unless she had a kink for slumming. And he’d had women like that. They didn’t last either. Once they satisfied their itch for a biker they went back to their white bread lives.

  He pushed his empty beer mug away and shrugged into his jacket. He inhaled deeply as he walked out into the night air. Saks parked his bike toward the back of the building, and as he walked to it he heard laughter. He looked up to see a flash of blonde hair and a group of men surrounding her.

  “...You don’t want to mess with me,” he heard the woman growl.

  “You, chica?” The men laughed uproariously.

  “Come here, mamacita. You might like to mess with me.”

  Saks recognized the voice, and it raised the hackles on his neck. Damn Pez. Fucking Rojos. Saks still had a score to settle with those guys, and he didn’t mind doing it right now. He pressed a speed dial button on his phone that sent a specific message to his cousin in the bar. Then he strode purposely to the white Cadillac, where the woman stood with her hands clenched. “What the hell you doing here, Pez? You’ve been banned from the Red Bull.”

  “Ah, pendajo,” said the wiry Hispanic. “I’m not looking to go in. I’m looking for your boy, Luke.”

  “Not here, asshole. Get on your bikes and ride.”

  “Or what?” growled Pez.

  “Or I’ll make you a red blot on the ground.”

  Pez and the other Rojos laughed. “Against me and my homies? I don’t think so.”

  “What? Not man enough to take me yourself?” taunted Saks.

  Pez’s eyes grew hard as Saks took off his jacket and handed it the pretty blonde from the bar, who stood, mouth hanging open. “Hold that, darlin’. I don’t want to get this idiot’s blood on my coat.”

  The Rojos leader laughed coldly. “Who says it’ll be my blood?”

  “My blood, your blood,” said Saks with a shrug. “Doesn’t matter. I’m just keeping you here until the police arrive... which should be,” he said, looking at watch, “about now.”

  In the distance, the screech of police sirens sliced through the night.

  The Rojos muttered and Pez apparently thought better of escalating the situation. He waved to his men to get on their bikes. “Just having fun, carbon; but, hey, I guess you don’t have no sense of humor. Later, holmes,” he said to Saks.

  Saks watched Rojos get on their bikes and rumbled away. “Are you okay?” he said to the blonde.

  “Yeah... sure.” In the halogen parking lot lamps, her face looked drained of color.

  “Bring her in, Saks,” said John, walking from by the bar. He stood there with a sawed-off shotgun in his hand.

  “You can put the gun away, John. Everything’s handled.”

  “Yeah, I see that.”

  “Really, you’ll take an eye out with that thing.” He waved his hand in the air. “Sirens are gonna to be here in a moment.” He nodded knowingly, not wanting John to get in any sort of trouble with the cops.

  John snorted. “You’re welcome. Bring her in and get her a drink.”

  “No, I’m fine,” she insisted.

  “Come on,” said Saks, putting a protective around
her. “You’re shivering and it’s not cold out. You’re in shock. Come in. I’ll buy you another drink, then you can go. Just let the shock wear off a moment.”

  She was reluctant, but Saks gently guided her back into the bar. By the time they entered John was back behind the bar, looking as if nothing had happened. Saks took her to a booth and immediately a waitress brought a bottle of white wine, along with a Jack and Coke for Saks.

  “I shouldn’t be doing this,” the woman murmured as Saks poured her a glass.

  “You should. John just sent out a bottle of his 2008 Littorai Thieriot Vineyard Chardonnay. Apparently, he feels badly about your dustup with the Rojos.”

  She shivered again, and Saks resisted the urge to move to her side of the booth and hold her. Instead, he stood and put his jacket around her shoulders.

  “It’s a nice wine,” she said after taking a sip.

  “It’s a very nice wine. Retails at over a hundred bucks a pop, if you can find it. Collectors snap it up.”

  “You? You know wines?”

  “I had my phase.”

  “And?” she said, pointedly glancing at his Jack and Coke.

  “I outgrew it. Somehow, talking fine wines doesn’t go over well at the clubhouse.”

  She giggled, and her laughter warmed his heart.

  “Hey, he said gently, “if I’m going to ply you with drink, I should at least know your name.”

  “I thought John bought this.”

  “Figure of speech. But you have to admit I indirectly helped you obtain this fine vintage.”

  “That’s true. You came to my rescue.” She stuck her hand out over the tabletop. “My name’s Chrissy.”

  Saks shook her hand and held it a second longer than he should. She pulled it away and Saks felt the loss immediately. “Chrissy? That’s all I’m going to get?”

  “All I got was a club name,” she said, wrinkling her nose in distaste. “Saks.”

  “Anthony Parks.”

  “And do people call you Tony?”

  “Only under pain of death.”

  “And where are you from, Anthony?”

  “Near here. I live and work in Westfield.”

  “Oh,” she said, pursing her lips. Her expression was unreadable.