UNPROTECTED: A Dark Bad Boy Baby Romance (Hanley Family Mafia)

by Zoey Parker

  I pick it up, twirl it between my fingers.

  How about I start with: Never got your name.

  No, I should just stick to the usual: Hi. It’s never given me problems before.

  Actually, just a time and place would be best. That’s what I really want after all, right? To have her vanilla musk wrap around my skin, lose myself between her olive limbs, forget all this for another night. I want to experience her, feel her. Have her.

  I tuck the number back in my pocket.

  I’m not putting it in my phone. Not just yet.

  I tuck my phone in my back pocket. Go outside and get on my bike. Start driving to the club.

  It’s time for the nightly check-up.

  Already I don’t like how this latest fling with the red zipper dress is going. I just spent five minutes more than I should’ve wondering what to text the woman whose name I don’t even know. This isn’t a good sign. I can’t have another time like before.

  I speed up the bike, so my attention is forced to shift to the present.

  Ah, the road flying below my wheels, the city sailing by – a movie I’m in charge of, I can step into.

  It never gets old. The world on fast forward. Vehicles and people and stores– all of it sailing past in a blurred montage that somehow makes sense to me, that I can somehow piece together into a whole. The city is beautiful. My city, Toronto.

  Stopped at a light, I see Uncle Tetsu’s Japanese Cheesecake is almost empty. For the first time in months, there’s no lineup.

  I lick my lips, the creamy moisture in my mouth summoned up just by memory.

  I could do it. I could go in there, grab an Angel Hat, have a nice snack for the rest of the way.

  I glance at my phone, the light changes and I speed off.

  I only have five minutes as it is, and that’s how long it’ll take to get there. I can’t be late. It took ages to get this routine in place: the girls being ready an hour before we open so I can inspect them.

  Rebel Saints didn’t rise to be the most prestigious strip club for no reason. I mean, yeah, it’s a front for where the money really is, my other girls, but I still take pride in how I’ve run it.

  It is named after our motorcycle club, after all.

  I park my bike in front, though I walk to the edge of the building, let my hand run along the chrome exterior fondly, as the pink tilted lights cast my shadow into colorful hallucinogenic shapes.

  Even the chrome walls have been scrubbed clean of their weekly grime.

  No, I never saw any point in half-assing the club, even if it was just a front. I’ve always believed how you do anything is how you do everything. Laziness is like an infectious poison, and if I practice it here, it would only be a matter of time before it infects everything.

  Pip’s already there, giving me a bear hug.

  “They’re all ready, Boss.”

  I stride in, grinning at my almost haloed reflection in the mirrored walls.

  The white suit was a good choice. Not very practical, but look at what a striking contrast my full-white form makes to the black walls.

  The girls can’t help but regard me with awe, hold my every word as law.

  I step in the room and the music starts blasting.

  It’s Britney, and the girls are ready.

  Orange is in front tonight, and if the way she’s twining around that pole is any indication, she’s happy to see me.

  At the top, she wraps around it with both legs, dangles her head down, says, “Hey Boss.”

  My gaze slides from her flaming hair to her coral lips, to, finally her orange peel bra.

  I nod. Yes, this is good.

  I continue on. Next is Coconut, her pout all a-ready for me. Her hips are an entity in themselves, gyrating and rotating and shaking the little grass skirt into constant motion, sashaying the song itself into submission, her hips controlling the beat now, not the other way around. She runs her teal nails over her coconut top slowly, and I’m convinced.

  She’ll be a hit, I can tell.

  It wasn’t easy replacing three of the girls in a month, but I didn’t have a choice. Taryn was one overdose away from being carried out of here on a stretcher, and Nicole’s crying bouts in between shows was starting to get on my nerves. This is no place for lost little girls.

  Before I even move, on the next pole down, Strawberry is ready for me. By the time I’m there, her legs are spread, beautiful long limbs extending out in perfect olive lines, her red-chained hands gripping the pole they’re attached to as she lowers herself over the huge half-strawberry on the ground.

  I grin.

  It was Jaws’ idea. It’s brilliant.

  When I return to the first stage, the girls have switched out. Now its Cinnamon, the light dusting on her body glittering as she shimmies up that pole, her tan ass jiggling eagerly.

  Perfect.

  Next is Icing, rolling up her sock. Seeing me arrive she turns around so I get a nice view of her ass as she leans over.

  “Sorry Boss,” she coos, shoving her ass up further.

  I step onto the stage, then stop.

  Hold on, Gabe. No touching the dancers. That’s my rule, and for good reason. No way am I getting involved with one of them again. Not after what happened last time.

  “Get your shit together, Icing,” I call.

  She pouts, disappointed that I didn’t come over to discipline her in person.

  I turn around, stride away to the back, to my office. I’ve just thought of something to take my mind off things.

  Inside, enclosed by hardwood walls, supported by a maroon leather recliner, I feel more in control already.

  I’m not going to be controlled by my urges, like some animal. No, not anymore. I’m past that now.

  Icing will just have to suck some other guy’s dick to get away with being late.

  I take out my phone and the little piece of paper and put them on the desk in front of me.

  If I really want to get this over with, I’ll call her, not text. That way there won’t be any waiting. Just me, telling her what I want, her agreeing. That’s the way to do it: short, sweet and simple.

  I lift my phone, then put it back down.

  She never even told me her name. I don’t even know if this is her phone number.

  I lift my phone.

  What does it even matter? Why do I even care? What about Hannah?

  I get up, shove the phone and paper back in my pocket.

  This is a distraction. I shouldn’t be starting anything, not now that Hannah is missing. I don't have time.

  When I stride back out, Icing’s finally ready. Her stockings rolled up to her thighs, the tips of her nipples erect through her tube top, her gaze doesn’t shift from me as she strides up to the pole, wraps her arms around it, then her legs, then fuses with the cool metal.

  My hand dips in my pocket, crumples up the paper.

  Why would she not tell me her name?

  Chapter 8

  Toni

  As soon as my tea is done, I get Jane’s leash and put my coat back on.

  What I have to do now is clear.

  I flip up my hood and put on my big sunglasses.

  The drive to the office doesn’t take long. My father has never been a patient man, so the office is all of five minutes away. Parking is leaving my nice red Porsche with a nice dignified young man whom we pay, who I think actually waits there the whole day until the odd time one of our six or so employees roll up and need their car parked.

  As I walk up to the familiar black building, I glance at my reflection in the two-sided glass.

  It’s always seemed fitting how we can see out the walls and no one can see in. The only thing is that you forget that you can be on the other side of that. I wonder how many other things are like that. Like our feud with the Rebel Saints. How we think we are one step ahead of them, yet the opposite is actually true.

  Inside, the kindly Nelson Mandela-like desk man nods at me as I pass. I’m just in time to
catch the elevator and, as the doors close, I study his diminishing face.

  Has he known all this time?

  I inhale, then exhale.

  No, there’s no way. The poor old man he wouldn’t be able to smile at me like that if he knew.

  The elevator stops on my floor – the penthouse – and I stride out with my head held high.

  Well, what we do won’t have to be kept a secret much longer. Not when I’m done with it.

  At the front desk, Lila gives me a wan smile that’s about as convincing as her newly blonde hair.

  I give her a curt nod back before I stride past the front desk, down the hallway into Clarence’s office.

  He’s on his phone, chatting away.

  “Yes, yes, excellent…”

  I stare at the perfectly-coiffed back of his head, thinking of the last time we spoke. The last time I found out everything.

  He had known too, the sick bastard. Known full well that I had no idea.

  It was clear in the smile playing on his face as he said it, “I can’t get in touch with Carlos, but you’ll tell him the latest shipment of girls came in, won’t you?”

  And, as my mouth formed a shocked “o,” his follow-up question was just digging the knife in deeper, “Oh, damn, you did know, didn’t you?”

  I had walked out of the office without a word, my mind swirling already.

  Now, Clarence is facing the window, but after a minute he swivels his chair around.

  “You got it,” he continues, his gaze on me, “Sorry, but I’ve got to go. Pressing business.”

  He hangs up the phone and gives me a pearly white grin.

  “Toni. Wondering when I’d get to see you next.”

  His gaze flicks to Jane.

  “Aw, and you brought Jan too.”

  His gaze flicks to my lips.

  “It’s Jane,” I say, looking away, “Is everyone here? I want to call a meeting.”

  Clarence tilts his head at me, a smirk playing on his lips like I’ve said something funny.

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yes,” I say, “I have something important to discuss with everyone.”

  “Well,” Clarence says, getting up and closing the door behind me, “I wouldn’t say that everyone-everyone is here.”

  As he sits back down in his seat, he runs a hand through his hair.

  I step back.

  “Ok, then I’d like to talk with whomever is here then. If it’s just you, then so be it.”

  Another one of Clarence’s pearly white grins.

  “Flattering but it isn’t just me.”

  He does a full rotation in his chair. When he stops, his body is facing me and his gaze is back on my lips.

  “Though it could be. What’s this about?”

  “I’m going to discuss it with everyone to save time.”

  Clarence rises, glides over to me, and, resting a hand on my back, says in a low voice, “Hey, is something the matter?”

  Jane starts growling. Clearly her feelings toward Clarence are the same as mine.

  I inhale, then exhale.

  The words, “I’m only putting up with this because you're my dad’s favorite lieutenant,” are halfway up my throat before I swallow them down.

  I stride to the door, open it.

  “Have everyone meet in the boardroom in 10 minutes,” I say, leaving without another look.

  As I head to the bright airy room at the end of the hallway, the boardroom, my thoughts beat inside my head angrily. I dismiss them.

  But flopping into the black suede seat at the head of the table only sets them free.

  I shouldn’t have had Clarence be the one to get the others. But I still don’t feel comfortable around my dad’s other lieutenants. Everything I say I can feel Anthony and Roger half-listening, like Clarence only worse – without the veneer of pretend. They know I have no idea what I’m doing.

  Jane is beside my chair, and I lean down to pet her.

  Ugh, I can’t stand Clarence. Whenever I’m around him I get the unmistakable sense that there’s something not right about him.

  I get out my phone, but it’s as empty as ever. Still no text from the man last night, nothing.

  We never even told each other our names, and I’m actually expecting him to want to see me again?

  So we both like “War and Peace” and had crazy kinky sex, big deal. I saw his muscles, felt the pull of his cocky aggression. He probably has a lineup as long as this building of girls he does that with.

  I shove my phone in my back pocket.

  I won’t check it until tonight, otherwise I’m going to drive myself crazy.

  Here I am running an empire and yet waiting for some guy to call me like I’m a high school girl. Pathetic.

  I’m almost happy to see Clarence coming through the door, followed by Anthony and Roger.

  My momentary relief is rapidly quashed: Anthony’s face is a turgid puddle of sweat, while Roger’s bulgy gaze is flicking all over the room suspiciously.

  They take their seats at the far end of the table, and I take a deep breath.

  Here goes nothing.

  I stand up.

  “As you know, my father has put me in charge.”

  They all nod, their puzzled faces reflecting my own thoughts: Why the hell would I say that? I’ve been in charge for over a month now, have talked to them several times. It’s like undermining my own leadership.

  Just breathe Toni.

  I inhale, then exhale.

  “For years, we’ve been involved in trafficking and we’ve gotten damn good at it. We’ve even started to cut into the Rebel Saints’ shipments. Business is good.”

  They all nod. Great. Just what am I trying to convince these guys of anyway?

  “Yes, business is good, for now. But lately we’ve been getting reckless. Stealing the Rebel Saints’ shipment was profitable, but risky. I think it’s safe to say they’re going to plan some kind of retaliation. It’s only a matter of time.”

  More half-listening nods.

  I don’t blame them. I’m stating the obvious.

  “So, I think we should step up security. Hire a few more guys to guard the Factory. And…”

  I pause. They’re all half-listening, but that’s just because they haven’t heard what I’m about to say next.

  “And look into alternative options of revenue.”

  Sure enough, all three sit up in their seats like I’ve just shot them with 1000 watts of electricity.

  I nod, a feeling of relief washing over me.

  There, I said it. What I’ve wanted to ever since I found out just what we’ve been doing so well at.

  “Why improve on what we already have?”

  Clarence’s tone is easy, even his face looks only mildly amused. On the other hand, Anthony’s mustache is inverted in rage, while Roger’s eyes look all but ready to beam out of his head.

  I keep my gaze on Clarence.

  “Because it’s dangerous. And it’s wrong.”

  I fall silent, surprised at the strident tone that was my own.

  Clarence is unmoved, starts spinning his golden C-monogrammed pen.

  “You seemed fine with it when your family Disney World vacations and Cancun getaways were funded with it.”

  “I didn’t know then,” I say, “And now that’s not the point anyway.”

  “It’s what we’re good at. What we’ve mastered,” Anthony protests, standing up himself.

  The brown bristles of his mustache are quivering, and sweat is beading on his forehead.

  “I know,” I say, “But we can get good at something else, master something else.”

  “Do you know how long it has taken us to build up the business to what it is today? How much it took?” Roger demands, standing up too, his own bulging eyes answering the question.

  I sit down, spread my arms.

  “I’m not saying we change everything tomorrow. All I’m saying is that we should start looking into alternative means of generati
ng income.”