Pay Up Buttercup

by Olivia T. Turner

  Pay Up Buttercup

  Olivia T. Turner

  Contents

  Copyright

  About

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Epilogue

  More OTT

  Bonus Chapter: The Virgin Auction

  Pay Up Buttercup

  By Olivia T. Turner

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  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including emailing, photocopying, printing, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.

  Please respect the author’s hard work and purchase a copy. Thanks!

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Contains explicit love scenes and adult language.

  18+

  Copyright© 2017 by Olivia T. Turner

  I don’t want his money. I want his daughter.

  My dad is in big trouble.

  He owes money to the most powerful man on the East Coast, and he can’t pay.

  When I approach Mr. Connolly and try to take over the loan, he has a different idea.

  He’s willing to wipe off the debt if I submit to him.

  I have to do what he commands, when he commands it.

  I think this Over The Top alpha male is a little obsessed with me.

  Good thing I love every second of it…

  You down with OTT? This is an Olivia T. Turner book, which means it features a possessive and totally obsessed Over The Top male who isn’t afraid to take what he wants! If you like your book boyfriends sweet and cuddly than shut the computer off and walk away. If you like your heroes, rough, dirty and possessive to the extreme, come on in and have some fun…

  This book is for my female readers and all of the men who’ve been obsessed with them.

  1

  Bree

  “You’re lying.”

  My father just sighs. He looks so worn out. Tired. When did he start showing his age like this?

  It’s like all of the years caught up to him in one week. I could be going crazy but I don’t think that he had this many gray hairs last week.

  “Just go clean table six,” he says, looking at me with bloodshot eyes. “Please, Bree.”

  “Dad,” I say, tossing the rag onto the stainless steel counter of the waitress station. “What happened?”

  His eyes drop to the tiled floor. “Nothing.”

  The cast on his arm is telling a different story.

  “Are you in some kind of trouble?”

  He runs a hand through his no longer brown hair and takes a deep breath, holding it in as he closes his eyes in frustration. “Can you just clean the table, please?” he asks, looking like he’s about to crumble from stress.

  I open my mouth to reply but then think twice about it. He looks like he’s under a ton of pressure and he doesn’t need me adding to it. “Sure, Dad,” I say, taking the damp rag. “Why don’t you go take a walk outside? Try to relax a little bit.”

  He gives me a tight smile. “Good idea. It’s not like there’s much going on in here.” He looks past me to the almost empty dining room and sighs.

  I’m worried about him. My father has poured everything into this restaurant for the two of us but lately, nothing has worked and the people just aren’t coming.

  I walk through the maze of empty tables to the one dirty table by the fireplace. It was a nice couple. They only shared a couple of appetizers. Two drinks. Not nearly enough to pay this week’s bills.

  It’s Friday night and this place should be bumping but instead there’s only crickets. Literally, crickets. They come in through the side door.

  I glance back over my shoulder at my father as he walks past the cooks who are hanging around, either chatting to each other or on their phones. Each one is getting paid by the hour. And with no money coming in, it’s money coming out of my father’s life savings, money coming from Visa, and worst of all, money adding to his debt to Cormac Connolly.

  Mr. Connolly is the head of the Irish mafia in the area. The man who you don’t make eye contact with. The man who you cross the street when you see him coming in the opposite direction. The man who can take your life.

  My father never told me the truth of where he got the money to open this restaurant but I have a few guesses. One in particular.

  You see my father grew up with these people. His parents were poor Irish immigrants and my dad grew up in a neighborhood of poor Irish immigrants. So when he needed to borrow money to open up a restaurant he didn’t go to a bank. He did what people who grew up where he grew up did, he borrowed it from Cormac Connolly.

  And I’m sure that’s how he got his broken arm.

  The restaurant hasn’t been busy. I’ve been here and seen it with my own two eyes. I can’t imagine how my father is paying the bills. Simply, he’s not.

  I pick up the empty glasses on the dirty table and push the chair back in when I’m done. A cricket jumps out from behind the chair leg and chirps, mocking me. They know I won’t kill them. I don’t have the heart to.

  “Come on,” I say, pushing it gently with my foot toward the side door. “You have to order something if you want to stay. Lord knows we need the business.”

  The cricket is a stubborn one but I do my best Wayne Gretzky with my foot and guide him toward the side door.

  “And stay out,” I say to him as I open the door and push him out. “And tell your friends.”

  He leaps out of the restaurant and I smile when he disappears into the long grass. I’ll probably see him again tomorrow.

  A big heavy hand grabs the door from me and rips it open, nearly taking me with it.

  “Oops,” I say, as I try to steady the glasses in my hand that almost fell. “That was a close one, I almost-”

  The words vanish from my throat when I look up with a dropped jaw. Two of the largest men that I’ve ever seen walk through the door like they own the place.

  And according to the shamrock tattoos on their neck, they do.

  I don’t know their names but I know who they are. I also know to stay away from them.

  They are Mr. Connolly’s two best enforcers. The two that he trusts the most. The two deadliest in his criminal organization.

  My heart races as they barrel past me into the dining room. They’re so big that I feel a gust of wind as they walk by, like a train blowing past me.

  “Would you two like a table?” I ask. My voice is small. Weak. Timid.

  There’s an empty feeling in the pit of my stomach as I realize that they’re here for my father and not for the nearly expired chicken wings or soggy salads.

  “Where’s Arthur?” the larger one with the long red beard asks.

  My voice is gone. My mouth is so dry as the soggy salad that I ate earlier threatens to come back up.

  “Office,” the other one grunts. He’s got a scar on his cheek and violent eyes that make me want to run out the door.

  “Wait,” I say, finally finding my voice as they walk towards the kitchen. “My father is gone for the weekend. He’ll be back on Monday.”

  They just ignore me as they step into the back. I follow them as my mind races, wondering what to do.

  The cooks all scatter like the cockroaches hiding under the gri
ll when they see the two goons coming. They grab their phones and sprint out the back door, leaving my father to face these two thugs all by himself.

  I swallow hard as I steel my nerves. Not all by himself. He’s got me.

  But what can I do against two mountains?

  They walk straight up to the door of my father’s office and walk right in.

  “Bree,” he says with exasperation in his voice. “I told you that I-”

  His mouth drops when he sees who it is.

  “Brock. Lynch,” he says, looking up in surprise. “What are you doing here?”

  Brock is the one with the long red beard. He doesn’t like that question. “What are we doing here?” he asks as he walks up to my dad. “We own the fucking place.”

  My father gets up from his chair as the goon comes closer. He looks so small compared to the two of them. He doesn’t stand a chance.

  Brock sits down on his chair and puts his feet on the desk, knocking over a coffee that spills on some invoices. He never takes his hard eyes off of my trembling father.

  “I, uh, I thought Mr. Connolly said the payment was due on Monday.” I’ve never heard such fear in my father’s voice. It makes my muscles quiver.

  “He changed his mind,” Brock says, leaning back in the chair.

  Lynch is just standing there like a statue with his huge arms crossed over his massive chest. He’s eying my father like an alpha lion watching a helpless mouse.

  “Tell me you have it,” Brock says, stroking his long red beard. “Please tell me that, Arthur. I don’t want to have to break your other arm. Or the arm of your pretty daughter.”

  My heart stops when I hear that. I’m in the hallway and I could easily run away. I could run out the door and be on a bus away from here before they even know that I’m gone but I can’t leave my father with these two thugs. If I can help, I will.

  “Please leave Bree out of this,” he begs, looking terrified now. “She’s such a good girl and she has nothing to do with this. She didn’t ask for this.”

  “She asked for this when she went ahead and had a broke loser for a father,” Brock says, grinning.

  “Please.” My father’s chin is trembling.

  Brock chuckles as he gets up. “Luckily for her, the boss said only to rough you up. But I’m guessing that if you don’t give us next week’s payment, that will change.”

  My stomach drops as I listen. I didn’t realize things were that bad. What has my dad gotten us into?

  “You have the money?” Brock asks, closing in on my father. He towers over him like an executioner.

  My dad’s face goes as white as the still unpainted walls of his office. He rushes to the desk and grabs a paper off it. “Look,” he says, panicking. “This is an invoice for ten crates of tomatoes.” The invoice is shaking in his hands as he looks up at them with desperate eyes. “Three of the crates were rotten. I’m getting a refund tomorrow and as soon as I do, I’ll run over to Mr. Connolly’s office and pay him the money.”

  “With tomatoes?” Brock asks, chuckling. “You want to pay the head of the Irish mafia with tomatoes?”

  “No,” my dad says, shaking his head violently. “With the refund. Cash. Real money.”

  Brock turns to Lynch with a grin. “What do you think, Lynch? Do you think that Mr. Connolly would like to be paid a day late, with rotten tomatoes?”

  Lynch just shakes his huge head.

  “It’s real money!” my dad shrieks as Brock steps forward.

  Without thinking, I race to the kitchen and grab the biggest butcher’s knife that I can find. They’re not going to lay a finger on my father if I can help it.

  I sprint back, squeezing the handle so hard that my knuckles burn. When I return, Lynch is holding my screaming father down on the table as Brock extends his good arm.

  I know what’s going to happen next so I burst into the room, slashing the knife through the air like a little redheaded pirate. “Let him go!” I scream.

  The two goons turn to me with smirks on their faces.

  “Is she your bodyguard?” Brock asks with a chuckle.

  “Bree!” my dad screams. “Get out of here!” He looks even more terrified now than when the enforcers grabbed him.

  I hold the knife out, trying to look confident and dangerous but feeling the opposite on the inside. I can’t even kill a cricket, so why am I threatening to kill two humans?

  My standoff doesn’t last long.

  Lynch lunges at me impossibly fast and grabs my wrist with an iron grip. I drop the knife and scream as he squeezes it, feeling like every bone in my wrist is snapping.

  “Leave her!” my dad screams, desperately trying to get up but it’s pointless with the mountain of a man, Brock holding him down like that.

  “Teach her a lesson,” Brock says, grinning as he watches me.

  I don’t even see the punch coming.

  One second, I’m being held up by Lynch’s powerful grip and the next second, I’m slumped on the floor with my left eye burning, my head pounding, and my knees weak like they’re made of Jello-O.

  I can barely see with the water and stars in my eyes, making my vision hazy. I can hardly hear either, with the constant thump thump thump in my ears.

  But somehow, the loud crack and my father’s cringing scream rips through my haze.

  I try to shake my head clear as the two monsters release my father and walk out, laughing. “We’ll see you tomorrow,” they say as they leave. “And you better have more than just rotten tomatoes.”

  My father rolls off the desk and slumps to the floor, clutching his good arm, which is now his second broken arm.

  We crawl toward each other and meet somewhere in the middle, until we’re clutching one another and crying helplessly.

  It’s not a good feeling.

  My father has always been such a proud man and what really hurts is to see him so broken and demasculinized. That hurts more than my throbbing eye.

  This won’t end until my father is dead.

  The restaurant is not getting busier. The money is going out more than it’s coming in.

  My father has carried us so long, ever since my mother died eight years ago when I was ten. Maybe it’s time for me to step up and help out.

  Maybe I can take care of his debt so that he can enjoy his golden years on a golf course in peace.

  I have to try.

  When we finally get up, close the restaurant, and get in the car to head to the hospital, I’ve made up my mind.

  I’m going to go see Cormac Connolly tomorrow.

  And settle this debt for good.

  2

  Cormac

  “But I’m the best earner in six counties!” the little bitch screams as Brock pins his arms behind his back.

  I’m sick of this guy. What kind of piece of shit sells drugs to kids?

  Sammy screams as Brock tightens his grip.

  This piece of shit.

  “By selling to kids,” I say as I walk out from behind my desk with my eyes locked on him. “Only the lowest of the low sell product to children. You sell for me. That means you’re making me sell product to children. Am I the lowest of the low?”

  Sammy shakes his greasy head in a panic. “No. Definitely not.”

  I reach into his jeans and pull out a wad of cash. There’s at least three grand in here. I toss it on my desk and it explodes into a mess of hundred dollar bills.

  “Relax,” I say when I see his legs shaking. “I’m not going to kill you. I should but I’m not. You’re still my best earner even if it because you’re a piece of shit.”

  Sammy’s eyes drop to my shiny shoes. He’s terrified of me. As he should be.

  I wouldn’t think twice about ending his pathetic life.

  I reach into my pocket and pull out my switchblade. Sammy’s eyes go wide when he hears the click of the blade popping up.

  He shivers as I place the tip under his chin and guide his head up until he’s looking at me. “Sell to one more ch
ild and see what happens.”

  He can’t move his head with my knife pinning him in place but the intention is clear in his petrified eyes. He won’t disobey me.

  Nobody does.

  Or, nobody alive does.

  “I won’t,” he says, staring into my eyes. “I promise.”

  I don’t need his promises. I need his fear. And I have it.

  “Let him go, Brock,” I say, as I close the blade and stuff the knife back into my pocket.

  Sammy takes a breath of relief as the brute releases him.

  “Thank you, sir,” he says, clasping his hands together in front of him as he grovels. I fucking hate grovelers. “I won’t let you down.”

  I glance at Lynch and he nods, moving fast as he grabs the greasy mutt. Brock opens the door of my office and Lynch literally throws him into the hallway.

  Brock and Lynch are my two best men. All brute and no brains. They do what I say and are loyal as can be. They get people to pay up, they watch my back, and after me, they’re the two most important people in my organization.

  “Watch him,” I say after Brock closes the door. “If you hear that he’s back at the playgrounds, you bring him to me.” I want to be the one who snuffs him out.

  A few minutes later, there’s a knock on the door. It’s so soft and timid that I barely hear it.

  Brock opens the door a crack and starts laughing when he sees who is there. I tilt my head to the side, curious and trying to get a look but I can’t see with Brock in the way.

  “Who is it?” I ask.

  Brock looks over his shoulder with a grin on his face. “Just a little mouse,” he says with a smile. “Want me to crush her?”

  He’s got my curiosity peaked. “Move.”

  He does as I command and reveals the most beautiful sight that I’ve ever seen as he steps to the side.

  It hits me like a train slamming into my core. A force grips my soul and threatens to end me unless I make her mine.