Twisted Love: A Bad Boy Romance

by Lily Knight

  “Well what do you think?” asked Primo. “Is it time to make our move?”

  I nodded.

  “It's time.”

  “How much did that old bastard end up owing us?”

  I thought about it for a while.

  “Eighty-seven, or was it eighty-eight?”

  Primo whistled slowly through his teeth.

  “Eighty-eight thousand dollars. We were far too generous with him. We should have known he wouldn't, and couldn't pay us pack.”

  “It doesn't matter,” I said. “All the profits from the diner are ours now.”

  “The diner profits are worthless to us,” muttered Primo. “And even if we took over the whole place, cleaned it up and sold it, we'd still get less than half of what that prick owed us.”

  “Well you are forgetting the other half of what he promised us.”

  Primo shook his head.

  “What he promised you, Benito. The woman is of no use to me. I mean sure, she's smokin' hot, and she'd be a fun plaything for a while, but is she really worth forty thousand freakin' dollars?”

  “She's worth a thousand times that to me,” I said. “Ten thousand times that much.”

  Primo looked at me with an expression that was half amusement, half incredulousness.

  “You're serious? You're really serious? You, Benito Sciotti, this one girl is worth that much to you? You, the guy who can have three different women in a night and be bored of all of them by the time the morning comes around? Is this the same Benito I know the Benito I grew up with? Because you sure don't sound like him, you don't sound like him at all.”

  “There's something about her,” I countered, “something about her that . . . that fascinates me. I can't pin it down, I can't define it – but it's there, and it goes way beyond the way she looks.”

  “Well you've always had a thing for blonds with blue eyes,” he said, rolling his eyes. “But something tells me that this goes way beyond just a 'thing', huh?”

  “It's far more than that, Primo, and you know it. Our soldiers have been watching her for months, and making detailed reports to me. And she's more, she's so much more than your average broad. Like I said, I can't stop thinking about her, I just can't get her off my mind.”

  “And it was enough for you to allow that prick Sal to use her as collateral for what he owes us? I really don't think that that was the smartest deal you ever made, brother. Forgive me, but to be honest, I think it was a huge mistake. We should have cut off his credit when it reached the value of his shitty diner's profits. Including the step-daughter as part of the collateral, that was just unwise business practice.”

  “It doesn't matter, Primo. She's mine now – she'll be all mine.”

  “You're forgetting a little something, Benito,” he said with a wry smile.

  “Oh yeah, and what's that?” I asked.

  “She didn't agree to be part of this deal. She doesn't even know about the damn deal. How do you think she's gonna react when she finds out her step-father used her as collateral to secure cash loans from us? Do you think she's just gonna fall into your arms?”

  He paused to chuckle.

  “Seriously Benito, is that how you think this thing is gonna go down? Of everything we've learned about her over the past few months, one of the major facets of her personality is that she's feisty, real feisty, and she don't take crap from nobody. Good luck telling her about the deal that her step-father made, and the fact that she belongs to you now. We'll see how that goes.”

  I opened a drawer in my desk and pulled out the contract we had drawn up with Sal.

  “Look there – there's the bastard's signature. And it says right here that he's signing her over to us if he can't pay his debts. Well, he's dead, and he can't pay his debt to us, so now we have the diner's profits, and we have her.”

  “Well like I said, good luck explaining all of this to her,” he muttered. “She ain't gonna take it lying down, I guarantee you that.”

  “We'll see about that, Primo,” I replied.

  “Yeah,” he said, getting up from his chair, “we'll see alright. Good luck with that tomorrow, little brother – you're going to need it!”

  He shook his head and chuckled as he left me alone in the office, and closed the door softly behind him.

  Now I was alone, and although the hour was late, I was feeling wide awake and wired. Thoughts of Bethany consumed me, and the hours that stood between this point in time and meeting her in the flesh seemed like an eternity. I wanted her now, I wanted her right here, right now – but that was, for the moment, an impossibility.

  Someone else would have to do – another female body that I could use as a substitute for Bethany's, until I had her in my arms.

  Well, luckily for me, my fitness club was a twenty-four-hour establishment, and there was no shortage of willing and nubile female bodies for me to enjoy. One particularly eager and flexible young woman came immediately to mind. I reached over to the office phone and intercom on my desk, and I made an announcement through the speakers in the yoga area.

  “Could Trainer Janet Smith please report to the manager's office immediately. I repeat, could Janet smith report to the manager's office immediately.”

  I put the phone back down and leaned back in my chair. Despite the fact that a beautiful young woman was coming up to my office right now to pleasure me, all I could think about was Bethany. The hours before I would finally be able to see her seemed as if they would feel like years . . .

  CHAPTER 2

  Bethany

  “Lovely morning out there, isn't it Bethany?” commented Fred with a smile, the light of the early morning sun sparkling in his thick-lidded green eyes, set in a craggy, wrinkle-strewn face, crowned by a head of wispy gray hair.

  “It is,” I said. “And it's lovely to hear the birds singing too.”

  He nodded as he carried in another box of freshly-baked donuts.

  “Aye, reminds me of my childhood in Ireland, it does.”

  While he had lived in America for many decades now, Fred's accent still carried the hint of an Irish brogue.

  “Don't you miss it?” I asked. “I mean, being here in downtown Detroit is about as different a place as I could imagine form rural Ireland. Gosh, it must be absolutely gorgeous there!”

  “Oh, it's pretty alright. So much greenery everywhere; it's not called the Emerald Isle for nothing you know! And all the old architecture, the castles and the villages. Oh, and the pubs, I do miss those, I won't lie! But while it is, I suppose home in a sense, you know what they say about home.”

  “What do they say about home, Fred?” I asked with a smile.

  “Ah, you should smile more often Miss Bethany,” he said. “It does suit your pretty face well. I know that things must have been hard for you over the past month, since Sal passed, bless his soul, but you do have one of the loveliest smiles I've ever seen, if I don't say so myself.”

  “Thank you, Fred,” I said. “But you didn't answer my question. What do they say about home, then.”

  He chuckled warmly.

  “Why Miss Bethany, they say that home is where the heart is! Have you never heard that before? Surely you must have.”

  “I have, I have,” I said with a friendly laugh.

  “Well my Annie is here in Detroit, so that's where my home is, and as much as I might miss Ireland sometimes, if I moved back there without my Annie, I know I'd miss her a whole lot more than I do the Emerald Isle. Besides, Detroit ain't a bad place to live, is it? You've been here your whole life, and I don't see you packing your bags to run elsewhere.”

  “No, no, it's home for me alright,” I said. “Detroit born and raised, and I don't really have any desire to live anywhere else. I'd like to travel, and see different parts of the world, of course, but home is . . . here. Yes, home is here.”

  “You really should travel, if you get the opportunity to,” he said. “My Annie and I, we backpacked around Europe when we were much younger. It really was one of t
he best experiences of my life, and I'd do it again in a heartbeat, old as I am now!”

  I sighed wistfully.

  “I'm afraid that ship has sailed for me, Fred. Maybe when mom was still alive and helping Sal out to run the diner, when profits were better and they had more staff, I would have been able to get away for a while to travel. But you know how it is now, how it is here. Things haven't exactly been booming here over the last couple of years, especially since mom passed away ten years ago. And now with Sal gone too, I have to run everything on my own, and it's not like I'm making enough in the way of profits to hire a manager or extra staff right now.”

  He nodded sadly.

  “Aye, aye, it's true Miss Bethany. I've been making deliveries here for nigh on twenty years now, since you were just a little girl, and I've seen the changes. All I can say is that with you at the helm now, instead of poor old Sal, perhaps you'll be able to turn things around, right? You've got your mother's businesses sensibilities, and her diligence and commitment. I can see that plainly enough. You'll do well here, with a bit of effort and good old elbow grease. Don't be discouraged by the state old Sal let things sink into. You can get this place going again, going like it used to when your ma was still with us.”

  I nodded.

  “I really hope I can,” I said.

  “Chin up girl,” he replied with a smile. “You'll be able to handle it. No, not only will you be able to handle it, you'll be able to make this place thrive. You will, I'm telling ya!”

  I couldn't help but smile when presented with Fred's almost tireless optimism. I only hoped that what he was saying had a chance of coming true. Still, he was at least part right – I had my mother's grit and determination, and I was a hard worker as well, and since my step-father passed away a month ago, leaving me the diner, I had been making all sorts of plans to revamp and revitalize the place, after I had been taken to the point of near ruin by my irresponsible step-father.

  “Thanks for giving me encouragement and hope, Fred,” I said. “I really do appreciate it.”

  “No need to thank me, girl, I'm just pointing out the truth. You're a hard worker, and you're smart too, and you have vision – and those three things will enable you to make a success out of this place.”

  “I hope so.”

  “Don't hope – do it. You can, and you will. I sincerely believe that.”

  He looked at his watch.

  “Oh, look at us, jabbering on like this! I'll be late for my next delivery, I will! You take care now Miss Bethany, and I'll see you tomorrow morning at the same time for another delivery of piping hot donuts.”

  “Thanks Fred,” I said. “I'll see you tomorrow.”

  I let him out the back door and then locked it up, and took the donuts over to the warming drawer with its glass front, where they would be on display for the customers, and started unpacking the donuts and setting them out for display.

  As I did this, I started doing calculations in my head, figuring out just how much of everything I needed to start selling in order to be able to start recouping some of the losses we had incurred during Sal's period of ownership.

  As I ran over the facts and figures in my head, I couldn't help but feel angry. We had been doing so well when my mother had been running the place. I had been seventeen, just starting my final year of senior high, and planning on going to college in California when my mother had passed unexpectedly. Ownership of the diner had passed on to Sal, to whom she had only been married for three years. She had left almost everything to him – including power of attorney over my college funds.

  Sal had taken out the money meant to use to pay for my education, and had supposedly used it for 'upgrades' to the diner. The upgrades had been little more than a bit of new paint here and there, a new sign and an extra waitress or two. He had promised that with these upgrades we would make a lot more money, and that after a year or two we'd be making so much profit that I'd be able to go to an even better college.

  Needless to say, none of that had ever materialized, and I had been left helping him, and watching the business crumble away month after month, year after year, while hemorrhaging cash at a rate that seemed almost beyond belief.

  I knew that Sal had problems, and some sort of secret addiction – or addictions – but he had always flat out denied this, and had made all sorts of outlandish claims about where all the money was going.

  It had taken him dying for me to find out that all my college funds had been squandered, and that my inheritance had been plundered too. All he had left me was the title deed to the diner, which was only barely breaking even. In fact, if he hadn't passed away, we would have been running at a loss by now; that's how bad things had gotten.

  I could have been angry, I could have been bitter, but what would that have achieved? Nothing. What was done was done, and all I could do was try to turn things around and see if I could turn this back into the bustling, profitable business it had once been.

  I looked up at the clock on the wall and saw that it was a quarter to eight. Fifteen more minutes, and then it would be time to start yet another long day of serving customers. Manny, my cook, hadn't arrived yet, which was unusual. He was almost always here at least thirty minutes before opening time, and on the rare occasions on which he was ill he would phone well in advance to let me know.

  Just as I finished placing the final donut on the display rack, there was a knock on the back door. Ah, that would be Manny. I wondered what had made him late today, and I walked over to the door to open it for him. I hoped that the first customers wouldn't be mad that their morning coffee would be a couple of minutes late; Manny usually had it brewing by this time.

  I turned the key in the lock and opened the heavy wooden door, frowning as I prepared to grill Manny over being late.

  Instead of seeing his familiar round, cheerful face with its deep ebony skin though, I was greeted the sight of two other faces, also African American, like Manny, both glaring menacingly. Something seemed wrong, and I felt a tingle of nerves stirring in the pit of my belly. The men looked like gangsters; they were wearing saggy jeans, gold jewelry, Timberland boots and tank tops, which revealed muscly arms and necks covered with tattoos. And, most terrifying, they each had pistols tucked into their belts.

  “Yes?” I asked nervously. “Can I help you?”

  They didn't speak. The closest one, a tall, muscular young man who seemed to be about my age – twenty-seven – simply punched me in the stomach. The force of the blow had me doubled over in pain, and I gasped with shock as I staggered back, and then both of them forced their way inside and slammed the door shut behind them.

  My first thought was that this was an armed robbery, and I turned to run over to the cash register, where I had a nine-millimeter pistol hidden in a drawer. This diner was the only thing I had now, and I was prepared to defend it with my life.

  I didn't get that chance though, as I turned to run, the man kicked my legs out from under me, sending me crashing to the ground. He then pulled out his pistol from his belt and pointed it at me as I lay groaning in pain and trembling with fright.

  “Don't try nothin' stupid, bitch,” he growled, revealing a mouth full of gold teeth. “You stay right there.”

  “I don't have anything worth taking,” I managed to groan. “You're robbing the wrong place.”

  “Oh no, we're in the right place alright. Canfield Grille. This is Canfield Grille, isn't it?”

  Before I could answer, the other one spoke, speaking in a raspy, growly voice.

  “Sure is Tyrese, at least that's what the sign out front said. Canfield Grille. Yeah, this is it alright, and this right here is the bitch that owns it.”

  “Yeah,” said the one who seemed to be called Tyrese, “this is the bitch I want, this is the bitch I want alright, leering at me in a way that made me both disgusted and utterly terrified.

  “Who . . . who are you? What do . . . what do you want?” I managed to stammer.

  “Oh Bethany, B
ethany Bethany Bethany,” murmured Tyrese as he squatted down over me, still pointing his pistol at me. “You don't know anything, do you? Your pretty lil' head is full a' ignorance, ain't it?”

  “You . . . you know my name?”

  Tyrese chuckled darkly.

  “I know a lot about you, girl. Oh, yes I do. Yes, I do – but you don't know jack shit about me, do you? You don't know shit about who I is, who we is, ain't that right?”

  I shook my head slowly, my limbs trembling violently with fear and my eyes wide with terror.

  “Please, whoever you are, just don't . . . don't hurt me, please, please don't hurt me,” I managed to utter.

  “We won't . . . if you do what we say.”

  “Yeah,” echoed the other one. “Your pretty little white girl ass is safe for now . . . if you do what we say.”

  A whole glut of emotions was rushing through me at this moment; fear, terror, confusion, panic . . . and anger. Oh yes, anger too. Who the hell did these guys think they were, coming in here and roughing me up and threatening me! As if I hadn't put up with enough crap over the last few months and years, and now this!

  “What do you want? What is this about?” I demanded, feeling an unexpected surge of confidence coming through.

  “We come here to get what's owed, Bethany,” growled Tyrese.

  “What's owed? What the hell are you talking about? I don't owe you anything! I've never even seen you before in my life!”

  He suddenly lunged for my throat with his free hand and grasped it tight between his fingers, squeezing my throat so hard that I couldn't breathe. A fresh wave of terror ripped through me, all but extinguishing the little flame of anger and confidence that had just been ignited.

  “Don't get cocky wid' us, bitch,” he snarled, his dark eyes full of cold menace. “Know yo' place. I'mma say that again: know yo' place, bitch.”

  “I'm . . . I'm sorry,” I managed to stammer. “But please . . . I don't . . . I don't know . . . what this is about . . .”

  “Myself and my associate here are representatives of your friendly local protection agency,” he sneered. “We known as CM – that's Coup Militant. A name that strikes fear into the hearts a' the weak. Ya hear, bitch? CM – that's where it's at. Now you know who we is. My name is Tyrese, and that over there is my good friend LaJon. And we're here to collect what you owe us.”