by Holt, Leah
What she didn't realize, or refused to realize, is how that only drives me harder. I'm not one to give up or walk away.
If she can't make up her mind, I'll do it for her.
Leaning against the wood bar, I listened to the muffled voices seep from behind the fractured surface of the door. I could hear the tones, the rise and fall of pitch, but nothing more.
Sliding onto a stool, its once bright red facade, now cracked and stained, cotton wisps reached out from beneath the broken surface.
I hoped that after this meeting was done, I would finally get what I wanted.
Cadence.
She had teased me enough. Her cunt was going to be mine, no more fucking games.
Setting my elbows down, my fingers braided each other impatiently. What are they talking about in there? You might think I was here to see the damn president.
Clicking my tongue, I was ready to do this, and go home. I'd been up for almost twenty-four hours. Exhaustion was trying to wriggle its way into my bones. I had shaken it off for some time now, it wouldn't be long before I just collapsed, unable to fight it anymore.
A creek of the hinges drew my attention up. The door parted slowly, and Cadence emerged. “He's ready for you now.” Her eyes darted around my face, never meeting them full on.
“Okay,” I said, the single word drew out over my tongue. The whole situation began to reek of decaying garbage, it was quite the production to just say 'thank you.'
Her hand came up and wiped her cheek, nose scrunched with a sniffle. Had she been crying? What the fuck is going on here? Was she screwing with me?
She had said she'd be fucked if I didn't come back with her.
But I couldn't understand why?
What the hell was the big deal? Things just weren't making sense, nothing fit together.
A father who wants to commend the man who protected his daughter, would have met them at the door. A hand, strong and firm, would've been ready to give praise.
Instead, the pit forming in my stomach said this was something else.
Blocking the path to the door, she stood with her lips moving as if she wanted to speak, but couldn't find her voice.
“Are you going to let me by?” A light chuckle escaped as I watched her hands rub together nervously.
“Quinn, be polite, don't get smart with him.” Confusion fell across my face, my eyes went crooked, mouth stout. Her hands came up in defense. “It's just that my dad... he's.. he's a respected man. Old fashioned in a way. And people who get mouthy with him, well, it usually doesn't go over well.”
“Thanks for the warning, doll. I'm sure I've got this.” Nodding my head, I pinched the fabric covering my shoulders.
“Look, I know my dad, and I know your type-”
Cutting her off I said, “My type?” Arching one brow.
“Yes, your type. Cocky, head strong, a smart ass.” Her lip quivered, hand caressing the back of her neck.
I brought my hand up to halt the barrage. “Alright, alright. I get your point.”
“No matter what he says to you, I'm just asking that you be nice is all.” Her finger pushed against her bottom lip, chewing on the skin. “Forget it,” she spat quickly, moving to the side. “Forget I said anything, just go talk to him.” She rubbed her forehead, looking towards me under hooded lids.
Gliding my fingers over her hair, she jumped back, glancing at the door. “Don't worry. Your father is going to love me.”
Turning away from her I gripped the cold glass knob. It was flashy, different cut angles glistened with the dull lighting.
Electric nerves sparked from head to toe, a rush of uncertainty and discomfort sat heavy like lead in my gut.
I didn't remember ever feeling so uneasy about meeting a girl's father. Especially since this one actually wanted to meet me.
'Clank, clank.' My knuckles burned against the wood.
“Come in.” A deep voice, barely a whisper above the music, called out.
Opening the door, I stepped inside. The scent of cheap cigars hung in the air. A small lamp, hardly emitting enough light to give a full spectrum to the room rested on the desk.
“Close the door, please.” The man, I assumed was Cadence's father, pulled a long, drawn out inhale on his cigar. A roll of smoke lit up as it cascaded by the lamp. The ghostly wave flowed out, swirling across the single chair set before his desk.
“Hello, I'm Quinn.” Stepping forward, I held my hand out. “Be polite.” Her guidance sitting like molasses in the back of my skull.
“I'm aware of who you are, Quinn. I'm Louis.” His massive hand gripped firmly, a bear size paw wrapped around my fingers, it was comparable in size to mine. “Sit,” he said, leaning back, forefingers straightened, pressing against his mouth.
Lowering to the chair, I could barely squeeze in. The seat looked old, made during an era when men my size hardly existed. The arms clenched around my hips, causing me to angle one side just to hit the cushion. Comfort was nonexistent, my ass was sore as shit after a few seconds.
Despite the music, an eerie silence paraded through the room. He sat, staring into me. “Do you know why you're here?” His hands fell towards the desk, chest following to hover right above the detailed mahogany.
“Cadence told me you wanted to see me and thank me for last night.” Squinting my lids, my forehead raised to my hair line.
What kind of question is that?
“Yes, Cadence, and the debacle in my bar.” He lifted his cigar from the tray that cradled it. “But, to thank you, no.” He dragged the long ash head across the edge, a sinister grin spilling from his face as it crumbled into dust.
What the fuck? Had she lied to me? Filled me with a bullshit story, but for what?
My body tensed, I felt trapped, uncertain of what his intentions were. “Then what the hell am I here for?”
She wanted me to mind myself, be nice and not mouth off to her dad. But, these types of games don't sit well with me.
Will I play nice to get what I want? Absolutely.
Will I chase a wet pussy? Absolutely.
Will I stand by and be mind fucked? Not a chance in hell.
Opening a small oak box on the desk, her father turned it towards me. “Cigar?” he asked. His yellow teeth were a shade of orange under the light.
Shaking my head no, I gripped the arms of the chair. The wood was so brittle, I could feel it splintering beneath my palms. “You didn't answer me. I asked you why I was here?” My brows narrowed, eyes glaring down.
Pulling a cigar from the box he ran it under his nose, inhaling heavily. “These are expensive. You know how much a single one costs, Quinn?” His fingers twirled around the securely wrapped casing.
Was this what she meant by 'be polite?' Sit here and listen to this man babble nonsense, ask me questions about things that don't have any relevance?
Should I just be nodding in agreement at his pathetic attempts to pull me into conversation?
There was only so much patience I'd be able to muster up, I couldn't see myself sitting there listening to him talk circles around shit I didn't care about.
“Get to the point.” My arm lifted, a single finger spinning for him to move on.
“The man you had it out with, do you know who he is?” Louis slid the cigar back into the box. Pushing it out of the way, his hands folded together.
“A dick named Nico, who was treating your daughter like shit.” Shifting in my chair to the other side, a cracking sound spread through the seat. I half expected it to give way, splitting in two, landing me on my ass.
“That dick... makes me a lot of money. Probably more money than you've ever laid eyes on.” His hands squeezed together tighter, thumbs sliding side by side. His lips barely moved as he spoke.
I don't really give two flying fucks about who or what Nico was to him. He didn't meant shit to me. All I saw was a scared little prick, using his size to threaten a woman.
“So, are you saying that you don't care that he talked to y
our daughter like she was a fucking maid, like she was supposed to jump when he spoke?” The words rode my tongue, forced out through gritted teeth. “Because I just met your daughter, and I wasn't going to let him do that.”
Rage started to wrap around my muscles, its grip filtering through each thread. I couldn't believe his passiveness over one of his own treating his daughter that way.
How could he just dismiss it?
Money or not, it doesn't make it right. Was his bank roll more important than his own blood?
“Quinn, that man works for me. Nico has an obligation he can't fulfill now because of you. So I need to know how you're going to fix that?” He sat, motionless. No concern or care in his face. Lifeless eyes slithered around his head, waiting for an answer.
He really didn't care about his daughter. He could have shown some compassion, asked me what was said, talked about reprimanding his employee.
Did he?
No.
“That's not my problem.” Turning my jaw out to the side, my hands squeezed, I was ready to pull the arms clear off the chair.
Who the hell does this guy think he is? I'm not going to fix anything for him. He doesn't even care that the fuck face was screaming at his daughter, making a scene in his bar. He didn't want to thank me, he thinks I caused this. That I was the issue in play.
Lifting his finger, he pointed towards me. “That's where you're wrong. I'm not going to lose a shit load of money, Quinn. Because you wanted to be a hero, hoping to get in my daughter's pants.” He pushed back from his seat, stepping around to the front of his desk. “You were able to take out my top fighter. That's not an easy task.” He brought his finger up to his mouth, digging deep into his teeth, flicking the debris to the floor.
“Fighter? Fighter for what?” Confused, my brows angled up. That word sent chills down my spine. I hated to hear anyone say 'fighter.'
“I saw what you did to him. I know what you're capable of. Nico, he's never lost one fight, and you rendered him helpless. I want you to work for me, take his place-”
“No. I can't do that. You're going to need to find someone else.” The veins in my neck bulged, shaking as my head swayed.
“You didn't let me finish.” His index finger wagged side to side. “I pay well. You'll never have to worry about keeping your head above water.”
My lip snarled up. “No. We're done here.” Pressing up, my legs were heavy. I wanted to kick him, kick his offer clear down his throat.
Louis held a hand up. “I don't need an answer now. Think about it.” Turning towards his desk, he scribbled on a small note pad. “There's a match tomorrow night. Come and watch, feel it out. I could make it worth your while.” Slipping the paper into my hand, he tipped his head. “You can see yourself out.”
I stood silently, crumpling the paper and shoving it into my back pocket. A sickening feeling flooded my gut. This had been a trap, a gimmick to keep his pockets full.
I'm not going to fight for this prick. I can't.
I gave that up a long time ago.
Fighting flowed through my veins as hot as the blood that kept me alive, but stepping back into a ring...
I promised never again.
Did Cadence know what he was going to ask? Is that why she was so nervous?
Her words from the diner spilled into my head, she's 'fucked' if I don't go with her. They replayed over and over, clawing at my brain.
Had he threatened her?
His emotionless response to how Cadence was treated, told me he didn't give a flying fuck about his daughter. All he cared about was how I was going to fix it, and what I could to do for him.
The idea coated my eyes in red, my fists balled by my sides. Opening the door, I stepped back into the bar, glancing around, expecting to see Cadence.
Shifting my eyes, I looked behind the bar, towards the back wall, the room was vacant.
Taking a deep breath, her scent had been masked by the smell of old alcohol. Shadows filled the empty spaces, violins continued to play.
Cadence was gone.
And I was left alone with this decision.
Alone with my past.
Chapter Five
Cadence
Slamming the door behind me, I threw myself down hard onto the cheap mattress, the creaking of springs echoed off the walls.
My father had sent me away, demanded I go home. He wanted me to leave so he could take care of business.
Burying my face in the pillow, a gut hurtling scream exploded into the cool satin. Twisting my face to the side, I brushed the hair from my eyes. Quinn's unknowing face loomed in my mind.
How could I lead him there? What the hell is wrong with me?
Exactly what my dad was going to say or offer, I wasn't sure of. Either way, I knew it would only benefit him.
Flipping to my back, I stared up at the yellow, tinted ceiling, small stains of orange spotted against the cracking plaster where water had collected and seeped in.
I wanted to run from this place, take off and start over. But I knew I couldn't leave my father. As much as he didn't want to admit it, he needed me.
I know he needs me, that's why I'm here.
Or this whole mess of my life has been worth nothing.
My mother had died when I was born. From what my dad had told me, she was a great woman. She was caring and compassionate, but a fireball nonetheless. She didn't put up with shit, and if she didn't like something, you knew it.
I've always had the feeling that my father blamed me for her death. Like I purposely took her from him, and he was going to punish me forever for taking the love of his life away.
The truth was pretty simple, he was a monster and I knew nothing was my fault. Unfortunately, he was all I had, the only family I ever knew.
And despite his flaws, he was my father. There was a piece of me that always hoped he would change, that he would see me not as his enemy, but as a second life of the woman he had lost.
Reaching under the edge of my bed, I pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. Holding it to my chest, I carefully unfolded the sides. A single tear ran down my cheek, looking at the image of my mother. The only picture I had to remember the one person who truly loved me.
Her hair was curled tight, pulled back by a simple clip, small earrings shaped like calla lilies adorned her lobes. The sun kissed skin now faded from years of molding the picture to form in my hand. Her eyes the same bright blue of mine, seemed to twinkle at me from behind the flat surface.
Even though I didn't know her or remember her scent, her touch, I could feel the love she fused into my soul.
That was what gave me, strength and power, the ability to rise every day and hold my head up high.
When I hit my teens, we were in a rough spot financially, my dad was desperate. He took things to a whole other level. He started dealing drugs and getting involved with really nasty characters.
One night, he had received an offer, a price for me, for my services. He debated it, thought about it long and hard. That was the only time I saw a glimpse of him as an actual father, a living breathing man who truly had blood running through his veins.
He hadn't just acted on impulse, he thought about it.
That gave me hope, hope that his former self, the man who had swooned my mother, was still alive inside.
I wasn't having that though, I wasn't going to be his whore for hire, and I didn't hold that back. It had been the first and only time I really lashed out. Most of the time I would bite my tongue, keep my thoughts to myself, but not with that.
No fucking way. That's where I drew the line.
Luckily, it didn't end up happening. A fight ensued between two guys over me, it spilled into the streets and a crowd emerged.
He jumped at the opportunity, started charging the group standing by watching.
And there it was, his new endeavor was born.
Recently, my feelings had started to take over, eating me up from the inside. I hated what my father was, how he tr
eated me. It didn't matter how much I did to please him, it was never good enough.
Meeting Quinn, the way he looked at me, his reaction at the bar and the diner, gave me a sense of being more, deserving more.
I had a horrible feeling, the bitter taste of bile coated my tongue. Bringing Quinn to my dad, placing him in the hands of a monster, it made me want to vomit.
He had helped me, and that single action drew me to him. The desire to let him slide his throbbing cock deep inside my pussy had almost come to fruition.
I was seconds away from letting him fuck me right there in that bathroom. Had it not been for the power my father possessed over me, the fear he had burrowed into my veins since birth, Quinn would've stuffed me up to his balls.
And I wanted that... really wanted that.
Slipping the picture back under the mattress, my hands fell to my breasts. My nipples erect beneath my shirt, stiffening as I gently ran my fingertips across them.
The thought of him, his touch, it made my pussy drip. Even now, the idea of how close I had been to letting him shove his cock deep inside, made my thighs slippery.
Sliding out of my jeans, I laid in bed, tracing the wetness up my bare flesh. Had he pressed me any more, I would've cracked. I thought about the firm, rock solid feel of his dick beneath his pants, the shape it took on as it lifted to press against me.
My fingers edged around the trim of my panties, pulling them to the side, a single finger danced across my swelling clit. My body shuddered with each stroke, closing my eyes, my finger transformed to his.
Biting my lip to muffle the gasps, my hips pressed into my palm. Rocking forcefully, I buried myself deeper. Picturing his eyes, his intense stare when I opened the door to find him there.
I could feel his muscles as I reached over his chest, and a moan escaped through my lips. My swollen clit spilled around my fingers. My mouth bit down harder, restraining the bursts of air trying to make their way out into the open.
Pressing my eyes tighter, squeezing the lids shut, his shadowed kisses ran over my neck. Inserting two fingers, my pussy gripped around them. I tried to envision his girth, what it would feel like as it sank in deeper, teasing my cunt.