Dirty Nights: Dark Mafia Romance

by Paula Cox

  “You stupid fucks,” he snarls. “You stupid goddamn fucks. Did you really think you could get away with this? Are you really that fucking stupid? Do you know who I am? Do you have any idea who I am?”

  “A smalltime, wannabe hard man,” I say, stepping forward. My only mission is to make him point the gun at me, and not Emily. That’s all that matters now. “You’re a nobody, Patrick. A waste of breath. A piece of shit.”

  “I’m warning you,” Patrick says, eyes glassy and red. “I’m warning you, man.”

  I walk right up to him, so close that the barrel of the gun presses cold and hard against my forehead. I hear Emily let out a gasp, but that seems faraway. The only thing that’s real is the icy barrel pressed against my skin, promising death, but as long as it’s death for me and not for Emily, I can handle that.

  “Emily, get out,” I mutter through clenched teeth.

  “No,” she says. “I’m not leaving you.”

  “Get out,” I repeat. “Just get the fuck out of here. Go and be happy somewhere far away.”

  “She’s not going anywhere,” Patrick grunts. His finger strokes the trigger longingly. His lips twist into a sick grin. “I’m in charge now. Do you understand? Me. Emily’s had a nice few weeks, sure. She’s had her chance to play at being the big girl. But do you want to know the truth, you mob fuck? She’ll always be mine. Even if she did somehow get away from me, do you really think she’d stop being mine? She’s my property, dumbass. She’s my property!”

  “If you shoot me,” I say, my voice oddly calm, “you’ll go to prison.”

  “I don’t see any cameras in this place,” Patrick retorts. “What if I shoot every bastard in this place? What then, eh?”

  “Patrick.” Emily’s voice is soft, kind. Out of the corner of my eye, I see her step forward. “Patrick, you’re right,” she goes on, in that same syrupy tone. It’s obvious to me she’s acting, but it doesn’t seem so obvious to Patrick, whose eyes flicker to her with fresh emotion.

  “Yes?”

  “You’re right. Of course you’re right. You’re in charge. You’re the boss. Everybody knows that. We’re just being silly, thinking we can get around you. Ha!” The laugh is so forced I can hardly believe my eyes when Patrick’s lips twitch and real, genuine relief enters his expression. And then it hits me. Patrick has never seen Emily as a person, not really; men like him never do. He has never stopped to consider that what she shows him might not be the complete truth. He has never stopped to consider that her face and her heart might be singing different tunes.

  “You don’t hate me?” he asks in a soft voice.

  “Hate you?” Emily sounds shocked. “I could never hate you. You’re my big brother.”

  This is the moment, I think, watching his grip on the gun like a wolf watches a deer’s step, checking for a weakness, when their lives collide. Patrick has spent his life assuming that whatever Emily showed him was the truth about how she actually felt. Emily has spent her life hiding her true feelings and showing him only what he wanted to see. Maybe it made him feel damn good; now it’s going to be the fucker’s downfall.

  “Thank you,” he says, and the sincere gratitude in his voice causes sick to rise in my throat. “That’s all I wanted to—”

  His grip loosens. I jump.

  Everything happens fast, events whirring ahead at treble speed.

  I grab the barrel of the gun, trying to wrench it from his grip. His distraction lasts just long enough for me to aim it away from my face. A gunshot goes off, smashing into the wall. Everybody screams, the ignored patrons, Emily, even Patrick. But I keep my calm. I keep the barrel of the gun pointed away. He fires again, again. Plaster crumbles from the ceiling like snowflakes.

  Then he shoves me. I stumble. Grab the gun.

  Another gunshot goes off.

  Patrick lets out a grunt and falls as though boneless to the ground, clutching his leg.

  Blood seeps between his fingers.

  Emily steps forward, holding onto my arm and looking down at her brother. His eyelids flutter, but I’ve seen countless men shot and I know he’s going to live.

  I kneel down and take the gun from his hand, press it against his head just as he pressed it against mine. Anger burns in me.

  “No,” Emily says, touching my shoulder. “It’s done, Jude. It’s over.”

  For a second, I think about blowing his brains out anyway. But then I remember Moira’s words, I remember Mickey telling me he didn’t need to die, and most of all I remember that, whilst Emily is overcoming her abuse, killing Patrick may not make it any easier. Maybe it’ll make it worse; maybe she’ll feel guilty. She’s stronger, different—that’s obvious—but that doesn’t mean she’s one-hundred percent new. After everything, she’s still Emily. With a sigh, I take the clip out of the gun, eject the round in the chamber, and lay the empty piece of metal on the floor next to him.

  “Let’s go,” I say, rising to my feet.

  Emily touches my face, leans in, kisses me. “I think that’s a good idea.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Emily

  I find out about Patrick’s fate through the police officer assigned to my case. She’s a kind-faced, motherly lady who explains to me in kind and clinical words that Patrick’s wounds are not fatal, but he has been detained and charged with drug dealing, assault, blackmail, and intimidation. He’s sentenced to ten years in prison and is moved to an out-of-state facility.

  “I’ll never see him again,” I mutter under my breath.

  I’m sitting in the living room, two weeks after the scene in the bakery, watching a nature documentary. Jude is picking Moira up; today is moving day.

  “I’ll never see him again,” I repeat, and a smile spreads across my face. I’ve said the same words to Jude about a million times. He doesn’t seem to be tiring of them yet. I see it when he looks at me, the respect he feels at my newfound confidence. He called me a flower the other night and we both laughed at how silly it sounded, but later I started thinking. A flower, blossoming despite the pain. Cheesy, sure, but there’s something in it.

  Boxes are piled all over the apartment containing my things, moved from my old apartment to here, and to be moved again from this apartment to Moira’s. I’m in two minds about moving in with Moira. On the one hand, it’ll give me a chance to experience what it’s like living with a friend; on the other, it means I have to leave Jude.

  I’m still not entirely sure about Jude’s life. The killing, the violence. He never brings it home to me, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know what he does when he leaves the apartment and returns covered in cuts and bruises.

  And yet, do I really want to leave him?

  I groan, unsure. I still haven’t made my mind up, not properly, even when Moira and Jude enter the apartment.

  “Okay,” Moira says, pacing to the nearest box and dispensing with the pleasantries. “Shall we get to it?”

  I nod and rise to my feet, take a box of my own and go to the door, but secretly I’m glad when Jude follows me into the hallway and takes the box from me. He places it on the floor beside us and looks long and hard into my eyes. Moira lingers close by for a few moments, and then clears her throat. “I’ll give you two some privacy,” she says, and backs down the hallway.

  His words echo in my mind, spoken when we found out Patrick’s fate: You’ll never see him again, and if by some miracle he does return, your new family will be here to protect you. You never have to be scared again, Emily.

  “I know you don’t agree with my life,” he says, smoothing his fingers through my hair. “But we’re close, damn close. I love you more than I’ve ever loved anybody, and that’s the truth. I don’t want you to move out. I have no plans of quitting, but…” He trails off, and then grins. Seeing him smile fills me with warmth. “But it’ll give you plenty of opportunities to practice your nursing, won’t it?”

  “I don’t know,” I say, but I’m getting swayed. The idea of sleeping anywhere but in Jude’s
arms doesn’t appeal to me at all. “I told Moira I’d—”

  He leans in and presses his lips against mine. The kiss is all-consuming. The warmth which was already in my chest explodes into an inferno, filling up every single part of me, reaching through my body like wildfire. I moan and he responds. And then he presses even closer, a kiss of utter devotion, a kiss which makes me feel like the only woman in the world. He grips my hair, pressing me closer to him, and when our bodies touch sparks dance over my skin.

  I lean back in his embrace, gasping and stunned.

  “That was…” I breathe.

  “Yeah?” he says, a hot, cocky smile on his lips.

  “That was a Judas Kiss, that’s what that was.”

  His grin gets wider.

  “So you’ll stay?” he asks.

  “I love you,” I reply, running my hands over his rock-hard shoulder muscles. “Of course I’ll stay.”

  “Looks like I’m going to have to find somebody else to split rent with,” Moira remarks with a smile, appearing at the end of the hallway.

  “Moira, I—”

  She holds her hands up, smiling just as widely as me and Jude. “Be in love, be happy.” With that, she leaves.

  “What do you think?” I ask, looking into my man’s eyes. “Do we have a chance?”

  “More than a chance,” he says. He kisses me on the forehead. My body responds like the eruption of a volcano.

  Suddenly, lust takes us both.

  He lifts me off my feet, holding me bridal-style like he did all those weeks ago, and carries me into the apartment, kicking the door closed behind him.

  “Did you really think you were going to get away that easily?” he says, lust thick in his voice.

  Just that, his voice rising in heat, is enough to provoke a mad response in my body. I feel my lips get tingly, my clit begging to be stroked, and that deep, tender place inside of me is pulsing in desire. He’s so strong, I think, as he strides across the apartment and into the bedroom. Oh, he’s so goddamn strong. Now that I’m back in the apartment, I find it strange that I ever even thought about leaving. The heat between us is too great, the passion too strong, the sparking electricity like a magnetic force. He doesn’t place me on the bed; he throws me. I bounce up and down, letting out a little scream, but it’s a scream of delight, anticipation. It’s all over now. Patrick is gone. Barry is gone. I have a new family. I am safe. And Jude is my man!

  “I’ll never get used to how fucking sexy you are, Emily,” he moans. “Never. Goddamn. You’re a real fucking—”

  I climb onto my knees and bring my forefinger to his lips, hushing him. He looks deep into my eyes. In those eyes I see an eagle, a wolf, and a dozen other dangerous animals. I know he’ll be cut and bruised most nights when he comes home, I know it will be up to me to heal him, I know it’ll never be simple or easy. But I don’t care about that right now. We’re happy. I’m happy! I stroke my finger along his lips, savoring the sensation. His cock is so hard it presses like a gearstick against his pants.

  “Enough talk,” I say. Then I do something I never would’ve done before all this madness started. I reach down and grab his cock. I grab it hard, at the shaft, and then smooth my hand along his massive length until I reach the tip, and then I go back down, and up, and down, until his mouth is twisted in lust.

  “If you say so,” he whispers, his breath tingling along my forehead as he leans down and cups my breasts.

  He cups one in each hand and it’s like there’s some unseen force running down the length of his arm, buzzing on his fingertips. My nipples go hard, harder than hard. I’ve heard the phrase they could cut ice before but I never knew what it meant until now. I let out a gasp and it’s like that’s a trigger. Jude grabs my shirt and yanks it over my head, reaches around and unclips my bra with one quick movement. My breasts spill free and for a moment Jude just watches them. Then he wraps one arm around my torso, squashing my breasts against my chest, and lifts me off my feet. He tears at my pants, my underwear, and drops me back onto the bed.

  His eyes are wide and filled with lust just begging to be released. I feel sexy and playful, like I never thought I could feel, carefree. Without even thinking about it, I crawl on my hands and knees to the opposite end of the bed, teasing him. I arch my back and push out my ass, spreading my pussy, letting him see what’s his. His, I remind myself. Yes, I’m his and he’s mine. That tall, tattooed, dangerous man is mine!

  “You’re driving me crazy,” he moans. “You’re going to make me mad.”

  “Good,” I reply, and my voice is somebody else’s. Like when Patrick beat me, a detached part of my mind whispers. And it’s right. It is like that. But only insofar as then I became someone else and now I become someone else, too. But now, it’s my choice. I choose to become this playful nymph; I’m not forced into it.

  “Is this what you want to see, baby?”

  I reach between my legs and stroke my clit, rubbing it softly, all the while staring into his face. Jude reaches down and rubs his cock, his eyes fixated on me like I’m the only thing in the entire world he wants to be looking at. It feels good to be looked at like that by your man, good in a way I never thought I’d be familiar with. One-hundred percent attention; if an earthquake were to hit New York right now, Jude wouldn’t even notice. He rubs his cock awhile longer and I rub my clit, clawing fingertips of pleasure moving through my body with immense warmth.

  I rub, rub, rub, and soon I feel an orgasm tingling against my clit. I begin to moan without even meaning to, just open my mouth and let my pleasure roll off my tongue like a song. I twitch my hips, and the sensations grow stronger, massive pressure in my pussy as though at any moment it could implode and send me tumbling off the bed. More than the physical pleasure of my fingers, it’s Jude’s eyes that spur me on. He wants me so fucking bad, I think. So, so, so bad! When he begins to strip, I’m lost, utterly, completely lost. My fingers move quicker like they have a mind of their own. That deep place in my pussy—that sweet, itching place—screams out for his cock. Jude strips, revealing his muscled, scarred body, his cock which is so big that every time I see it I’m sure I won’t be able to take it.

  “Come for me, Emily.” His voice is solid, a hitman’s voice. “Come.”

  I rub, and then my pussy does implode. I collapse onto the bed, my arm pressed firmly against my belly and the mattress, my fingers going crazy on my clit, my entire body pulsing. I twitch my hips as I feel the orgasm spread from my pussy deep into my belly, all the way to my breasts. I twitch again and the orgasm lashes inside of me, whip-like. The heat consumes me and I hover atop the euphoria for what feels like a long, long time. When I feel it coming to an end, I press my fingertips hard against my clit, compressing it against my pussy, and another boiling wave rolls over me, my body jerking around the bed. My legs tremble and my fingers are shaking so much now I don’t even have to rub; they do the rubbing themselves. More, more, more, until it’s in my head, making me foggy, causing me to clamp my eyes closed. I scream loud, filling the room, thinking: Fuck, fuck, fuck, he’s watching me, I’m making him hard, his cock is covered in pre-come and he wants me more than he’s ever wanted another woman. He’s desperate for me. I’m making him so goddamn hard! The orgasm covers me like a heated blanket, I twitch, wince, flinch, and press down on my clit like it’s a red burning button in an effort to make it last longer. One last wind—and there’s a little creature inside of me, under my skin, touching here and there and finally plunging deep within my pussy and gripping its hands around my sweet spot so hard I’m sure it’ll burst.

  When the orgasm passes, I open my eyes and look up. Jude is standing over me, cock near my face. His body is covered in a fine layer of sweat and his chest rises and falls like a bellows.

  “You are fucking incredible.” He lets out a long shaky sigh. “Fucking. Incredible.”

  “Do you want it?” I moan, climbing onto my knees and bringing my mouth near his cock. “Do you want it, baby?”

 
Is this me? Is this really quiet, submissive Emily? He’s woken up something inside of me. That’s for sure. Woken it up and now here I am, transformed.

  He doesn’t reply with words, just reaches down and softly takes the back of my head. He pushes my mouth toward the tip of his cock. I open my mouth wide, but still, he fills me entirely. I press my mouth down as far as I can, gagging and choking, until my nose is pressed against his abs. I press even harder, his groans of abandon pushing me on. I grab his waist, corded with thick well-honed muscle, and use it as a lever to pull myself even closer. Closer, closer, and now his cock is tickling the back of my throat. My pussy is an angry mistress now, demanding to know why she isn’t getting more attention; one orgasm isn’t enough for her.

  I need his cock. Don’t just want it, but need it; that’s how it feels. My pussy is so wet I can feel it against the sheets.