Those Boys Are Trouble

by Willow Winters

  “I--” She hesitantly looks at me and then back down, grabbing onto her fingers nervously. “I have a pair of earrings in my armoire.” She speaks so quietly I can hardly hear her. “I need them. Please.” She looks up at me with a pleading expression. “They’re owls,” she says as her voice cracks and she breaks down at my feet. She bends over with her hands on the floor as a wretched sob heaves through her chest. She needs me right now. This is more than just being sorry about getting caught. It’s more than being ashamed that she broke the rules, or fearing that I’m going to hurt her.

  I sit on the floor next to her and pull her shaking shoulders into my embrace.

  “I’ll make sure to get them. Anything else?” I speak softly into her hair and breathe in her sweet scent. Her small body is so warm against me. She’s leaning into me like I’m her savior, regardless of the fact that I’m about to leave her in a cell with nothing.

  After a few minutes of me gently petting her back and her hair, she pulls away slightly. She still doesn’t look me in the eyes. “I can’t remember.” She wipes her eyes and sighs. “Nothing I can think of.”

  I’m going all the way to her house for one pair of earrings. It’s nearly two hours away. Obviously they mean something to her though. I give her a curt nod that she doesn’t see, because she’s not looking at me.

  I take her chin in my hand and force her eyes on me. “You’ll be here until tomorrow night. That’s your punishment.”

  She noticeably swallows, but nods her head and manages to push out, “Yes, Anthony.” Good girl. She’s taken this well at least.

  I have to leave her. I don’t want to, but I do. “I have to go, kitten,” I tell her gently. I hate that I’m leaving her in here, but she knew the consequences. It’s important for her training that I stick to my word.

  She leans against my leg as I pet her hair. I know she doesn’t want me to leave, but I have to.

  I pat her head to let her know I’m going, and she responds by looking up at me with sad brown eyes, glossed over with tears.

  “I promise I won’t do it again,” she says, but her plea is weak. She’s resigned to her fate.

  “You earned your punishment, kitten. I’ll be back to give you dinner,” I say.

  With that I turn and leave her. She barely grips my leg, but releases me without me having to scold her.

  It fucking hurts my chest as I press the keys to leave.

  I wish she hadn’t done that shit.

  But if I was her, I would have done it, too.

  Anthony

  Rigs, Vince’s giant ass lab, is lying pathetically on the floor begging. He’s a good-looking dog. I look to Vince and say, “See, told you the kids would ruin him. He’s a biscuit-begging mutt now.”

  Vince shakes his head and my brother laughs, taking another drink of his beer. All the women are in the living room with the kids. Usually Rigs goes where the kids go, but we’re still in the dining room, and so is the food. Smart dog.

  “He was so fucking good before the kids. You could drop a steak a foot from his face and he wouldn’t move,” Vince jokes, and we all have a laugh even though he’s shaking his head.

  “God, the kids. Cockblocking and dog ruining,” Tommy says with his hands over his eyes. He’s worn the fuck out with the little ones. But he still says it with a smile.

  “Gotta love ‘em though,” Vince answers.

  “I need another beer,” Tommy says with a touch of humor.

  “Grab me one, too?” I ask him. He gives me a nod and heads out. Vince gets up from his seat to pour more Jack in his glass.

  As soon as no one’s looking, I give the dog the last meatball from my plate. He swallows it down so fucking fast there’s no way he even tasted it. I chuckle at him and watch him lift his head up higher so he can see what’s left up here. Greedy ass dog.

  Vince takes the head seat again and leans back with his glass at his lips. When he looks at me this time, there’s tension surrounding us. I know what it’s about, too. I’ve been waiting for it.

  “We gotta talk, Anthony,” he says.

  Tommy makes his way back with the beers and passes me one. I don’t want him in here for this though. I don’t want him to know about Catherine. She’s my secret. She’s mine. I wish even Vince didn’t know. It kills me that he does. Even worse is that I know he doesn’t understand.

  “Hey, bro, could you give us a minute?” I ask Tommy as I pop the cap off my beer. He looks between me and Vince with a touch of confusion, but nods his head with a bit of a frown.

  “Everything good?” he asks. He’s always worrying about me. He always has.

  Vince and I both nod as I answer, “Yeah, I just need a minute.”

  “Suit yourselves,” he says, grabbing a bun off the table. He whistles at Rigs and the dog bounds off after him, wagging his tail.

  “You need to take care of her,” Vince says the second Tommy’s out of earshot.

  “See the thing is, I am taking care of her, Vince. We had a deal.” I put my beer down and lock eyes with him. “I paid, and she’s mine.”

  “They seem to think otherwise.” He says the words as though them backing out is acceptable.

  “That’s their fault. They made an assumption. They were wrong.”

  “They give us almost thirty percent of the income from the hits, Anthony. Your income. You really wanna piss them off?” he asks.

  “I couldn’t give two fucks about them, to be honest.” I say it with a hint of menace in my voice. I take another drink, trying to calm myself down.

  Vince looks at me with hesitation. “What’s gotten into you? You aren’t usually like this.”

  “Like what? Stubborn? Opinionated?” I ask. I know I’m pushing my boundaries. But I don’t care. I’m always on the outside with them. I have been for most of my life. I never ask for anything. This is the first and only request I've ever made.

  “Look, I know you have your issues and all.” He talks in a hushed tone, and I fucking hate it. I hate how the entire family feels sympathy for me because of that shit with my mother. They talk about it behind my back. I know they do. But they fucking fear me, too. I’d rather have the fear than the sympathy any fucking day.

  “My issues?” I ask, putting the beer down on the table and staring back at Vince like he’s going to have to spell it out.

  I look back at him, and suddenly he’s not the Don. He’s one of the boys huddled around the broken, bloodied dumb fuck we were supposed to teach a lesson.

  They all stare back at me. I can feel their eyes on me as I breathe heavily and try to calm myself. My shaking fists are dripping with his blood. He had it coming to him. They all know I’m fucked up. He should’ve known better than to push me.

  “You alright, Anthony?” Tommy lays an unsteady hand on my shoulder. I look up at him and past him to see the other guys. They look nervous as fuck. Like they could be next. I’m not a savage. I can contain this. I do contain it. Every fucking day.

  “Good job, Anthony.” Vince says as he looks between the dead fuck and me. “Pops is gonna be proud.” He says the words, but there’s more to it than that. I don’t know if it’s jealousy, or if he hates that he fears me.

  That day I decided not to give a fuck about any of them. All of them except for Tommy. Tommy’s all I have.

  That was the day they started giving me a little more space than normal. I had to push my humor onto them to loosen them up. But it wasn’t quite the same. Not with us doing jobs together. Thank fuck for Uncle Dante. He gave me the hits and the other shit I could do on my own. It was a release for me, but more than that, it saved me from being the social pariah. I always knew they felt that way about me. But having Vince say the words...fuck, it hurts to know it’s true.

  “You know what I mean, Anthony.” He straightens his back and meets my gaze head on. I have to hand it to him, he deserves to be boss. But I can fucking smell his fear from here.

  “I bought her, and now she’s mine. That’s what happened. E
nd of story,” I say flatly.

  “It’s not the end. You also agreed to one month, and that’s what they were told,” he says.

  “I didn’t--” I start to answer, but he cuts me off.

  “You did.” He says the words with finality. I never should’ve said it was his call. It pisses me off. I shouldn’t have trusted him. It wasn’t his decision to make.

  “I have work to do, and I need to get home to check on her before bed.”

  “Check on her?” he grunts a humorless laugh and it takes everything in me not to plant a fist on his jaw. I can hear Aunt Linda in the kitchen and the kids playing not twenty feet from us. I clench my fists at my side, but hold back. I finish the beer and grab my keys off the table.

  Checking on her is my job. This isn’t about getting laid, it’s not about fucking her or using her, or demeaning her. That’s not what I want. This is more than that. It’s deeper than Vince could possibly know. It’s about having someone need me. And she does, whether Vince likes it or not.

  “I mean it, Anthony,” he says to my back.

  I don’t answer him. I still have time with her. It may be best that I don’t get too attached though. I close my eyes as I open the door and step out into the night.

  The cold air whips against my skin. She’s in a cell for trying to get away from me, for fuck’s sake. I shake my head and feel torn. I thought this would be perfect, but it’s not.

  I’m just damaged goods. That’s all I am.

  Perfection doesn’t exist. Neither do fantasies.

  Catherine

  I wake to the faint hum of the lights being turned on in the cell. I’m so fucking cold. The only thing he gave me besides the chair was my chenille throw. At least it was freshly washed. Not like that matters now though, since I've got it bunched up underneath me as a makeshift mattress. It fucking sucks.

  The lock clicks and the doorknob turns. I quickly get into position. I’m mindful of keeping my hands exactly how he likes them.

  My heart flutters in my chest. Last night he didn’t stay. He left me with dinner and watched me eat it in silence. An air of disappointment and distrust surrounded him. I don’t understand why he’s angrier with me now than he was when he put me in here. I feel like I’m failing, and I don’t know what I’m missing. I wish I could go back in time. If I could, I would.

  He walks in front of me and stops. I look up at him, hopeful that today he’s in a better mood.

  “Good morning, kitten,” he says simply.

  “Good morning, Anthony,” I respond.

  He puts a bowl down on the floor. It’s oatmeal with strawberries and cream. It’s my favorite. I had a shit-ton of it at my house and I find myself wondering if he went back there. I want to know if he was able to find the earrings, but I don’t ask. I stay in my position and look at the bowl and then back at him. He didn’t feed me dinner last night like he did before, and I didn’t think much of it. But this morning reminds me of the first time we met, of him feeding me.

  He shakes his head no and walks to the chair to sit down. “You don’t get my touch in here, kitten. That’s part of your punishment.”

  My heart sinks as I pick up the bowl and watch him cross his arms. I feel fucking sick. He’s so fucking angry with me, and I don’t know that I’ll ever be able to take it back. I had to try though, didn’t I? No, I chose to.

  “I got your earrings. You won’t get them until you’re back in your room.” His voice has a hard edge.

  “Thank you.” My voice cracks, and I have to take a deep breath to steady myself.

  “What do they mean to you, kitten?” The use of my pet name brightens my spirit and my chest fills with hope. It’s not lost on me that if he decides not to forgive me, he could kill me. He will kill me. It’s not just that though. I hurt him. I disappointed him. That shouldn’t affect me like this, but it does.

  I jump at the opportunity to answer. And at the chance to do something and to talk to someone after spending hours alone and barely sleeping in this room. “They were my mother’s.” I wipe the sleep from my eyes and clear my throat of the knot growing there.

  “I’m sorry for your loss.” His words are short and simple, but I can hear the faint compassion in his voice.

  “Cancer,” I answer as I stir the oatmeal. I’m hungry, but it’s not nearly as appetizing as it was before. I don’t talk much about her. I don’t like remembering.

  “I know,” he says, not moving from his position. A small, sad smile forms on my face. Of course he knows.

  “Do you want to play the game, kitten?” he asks.

  “Yes,” I immediately answer, and I don’t even care that I sound desperate. I fucking hate that game, but I want him to stay.

  “How does a girl like you wind up with a man like Lorenzo?” I hate his question. I don’t want to talk about him or think about him. I have to work hard not to show how upset it makes me.

  “I just needed something different. He distracted me, I guess.” He did. I nod my head thinking about how I went from crying all day and struggling to pack up my mother’s things, to getting drunk and doing things I never thought I would.

  “So you went for the bad boy.” He says the words like he’s disgusted by them, which is fucking ironic.

  “It works in the books,” I barely get the words out. It’s what I really wanted. I wanted to find love. Even if he didn’t love me back at first, I was hopeful that I’d eventually find my own happily ever after. I thought I'd found a hard man who’d melt for me in time. Instead I found an abusive fuckface. 'Cause let’s be real, that’s what life gives you when you go out looking for Mr. Wrong.

  “Your turn, kitten. One question.” He leans forward in his seat like he’s ready to leave, and I hate it.

  I ask the one thing that’s been on my mind for hours. One thought that sickens me. I wish he’d just hit me and make that my punishment. I’d let him beat me if it meant this would be over with.

  “I’m surprised you haven’t hit me,” I say. He makes no move to answer me, and there's no change in the expression on his face. He's silent for a moment.

  “I don’t want to hit you,” he finally answers. And I believe him.

  “Why?” I just don’t understand. Lorenzo thrived by showing me how strong he was. He fucking loved dominating me physically. I keep expecting the dams to break and for Anthony to let loose on me. I expect to be physically punished for my infractions. I'd thought he was restraining himself before, but now that I look back on it, I don’t think he was.

  “I’ll never hit you. My father used to hit my mother, and it made her do bad things. I don’t want that for you or anyone else.”

  “I’m so sorry.” My heart twists with agony. That’s a horrible thing to grow up with. I can’t even imagine. My own father passed away when I was younger in a car crash. I hardly remember him. I can’t imagine growing up in a house with abuse. My eyes search his, but he gives nothing away. “Bad things?” I ask tentatively.

  “She beat me instead since she couldn’t hit my father back.” My mouth falls open with a gasp as he continues. “I was young, but I remember.” His voice is flat and devoid of emotion. My heart is fucking destroyed by his words.

  “I’m so sorry.” I shake my head, as though I can deny the truth.

  “She’s dead now.” My throat closes and dries. His life just gets sadder and sadder. I want to scoot closer to him, but it’s obvious he doesn’t want that. He doesn’t want sympathy. I don’t even think he’d accept compassion.

  “Did your father...?” I don’t finish, but I don’t have to. He nods his head once with his eyes locked on mine.

  “He killed her when he saw what she’s done; snapped her neck in front of me. He thought he was doing the right thing.”

  My mouth hangs open in shock.

  “I don’t even know if he ever hit her or if he didn’t love her. I know next to nothing about what their relationship was like, apart from what my mother told me. We never talked about it. She
beat me and he killed her for it. That’s all I know.” He gives me a sad smirk. “There’s a lot of, ‘let’s not talk about it’ that happens in the familia.”

  “I’m so sorry.” I repeat my words; I don’t know what else to say. I feel pathetic that I have nothing to offer him. Tears threaten to fall. I feel nothing but empathy for him and the pain he must’ve felt. Both our mothers are dead, but mine never hurt me. I never once questioned if mine loved me.

  “Don’t be. My brother’s always been there. And in a lot of ways so has my father.” His hard expressions soften somewhat. “I have to go, kitten,” he says.

  “No, please,” I say. The bowl falls from my lap to the ground as I crawl closer to him.

  “Are you telling me no? Are you the one giving orders now?” My shoulders hunch in as I lower myself to the ground. Tears slip down my cheeks. Some for me, but most are for him. I want to hold him and soothe the broken part of him I know exists. But I also need to be touched. I can’t stay here like this.

  “Please, Anthony. I want to earn your touch.” I say the words with the desperation I feel.

  His eyes widen with surprise and the darkness that’s plagued him since last night seems to lift slightly.

  “What are you thinking, kitten?” he asks.

  “Whatever you want. I’m yours.” I’ve never said truer words.

  “Lie on your back and spread your legs for me.” He gives his command and I obey. I refuse to think of this as anything but meeting my own needs. I need to feel something other than this emptiness.

  “Good kitten,” he says and rises from his chair. “I’ll come back tonight once your punishment is over.”

  With that, he leaves me.

  Alone and pathetically bared to a man who won’t touch me, I curl up on my side and cry. I don’t know how long, but it doesn’t matter. It’s not long enough to fill the emptiness inside of me.