by Bry Ann
“Fuckin’ great. Thanks for sharing. That all?”
“You’re being sarcastic, but I have an offer for you.” I don’t respond. “Prospect for my club.”
I automatically jump on that.
“Hell no. I work alone.”
His smirk grows, and he nods. “I figured.”
“Okay, then. Thanks for coming, I guess.”
“I’m not done.”
“Then hurry. Everything hurts over here.”
He shakes his head. “Quit whatever fucking day job you do and come train our prospects. We’ll pay you double what you make, and I can promise those scars that drive you to drink yourself nearly to death won’t be an issue. Where I come from, those scars make you a mystery. Mystery scares people just enough to make you powerful. You’ll have autonomy. You’ll be your own boss, and you’ll be in a world where people don’t give a fuck. Fuck the superficial assholes.”
I should blow this guy off. I have no clue who he is, and god, what would my mom or Mandi think? But…
“You mean that? I could make a living fighting?”
He nods once.
“I’m interested,” I finally say. What the hell do I have to lose at this point?
His smile grows. “Good. What should we call you?”
I don’t even think.
“Cut.”
He walks to my bedside and holds out a hand with a card in it.
“I think I just changed your life.”
II
Maria
-FIFTEEN YEARS LATER-
8
Well, this is definitely not the direction I saw my life going in, and that’s saying a lot. But hey, I’m a go-with-the-flow kind of girl.
I spin on my heel, coming face to face with the muscular douche pulling up his pants next to me. Yeah, he’s a capo for the Italian-American mafia. So when I say my life has gone in a completely crazy direction, I wasn’t kidding. How did I get here, you ask? Well, great flipping question. Try to keep up. This gets complicated.
A friend of mine, Rose Bellemore, got in some twisted love-hate relationship with a guy in the mafia. He was admitted to the treatment center we worked at. She left without saying goodbye. I made the mistake of thinking all was well in the world. Went on with my life. Then she called and said she was shot by her father, and needed help. I have no life, so I thought, what the hell, and took off after her. I moved to the godforsaken middle of nowhere with her. I got settled there, made the best of it, fucked around a bit.
She didn’t.
She was miserable and refused to see it.
Long story short, the mafia boss found her, forced her back for his wife (her real best friend), and with nowhere left to go, I followed her. This is the short version. She has her own dang story. I don’t need to retell it.
So here I am. I knew I shouldn’t sleep with him. I knew it the second he approached me.
But since when do I listen to reason?
I cock my hip to the side.
I should get dressed, too. I should get out of my fucking lingerie. But I’m not gonna do that either.
His gaze roams over my body lazily before meeting my face again. He’s a hot guy. Lean. Muscular. Dark, dirty blond, messy hair. A perfect mix of masculine, yet groomed. Not many women want a guy too perfect. Come on. Anyway, yeah, I’m attracted to the guy. He gets me all fired up.
But shit, he’s dark.
And he gives me nothing. I need something.
I guess I got an orgasm. That counts. Yep, it definitely counts.
“Do it again?” He says with no real emotion as he buckles his pants.
“I’m flattered. You’d want to go again?”
He cocks an eyebrow at me. I smirk and walk forward, pressing my hips against his.
“You seem like a love ‘em and leave ‘em type.”
He glares at me. “I never love ‘em.”
“Oh, I know.”
That breaks his hardass shell. He smirks at me. The smirk lasts a second before he winks and turns away. Yeah, dude fucked me up last night. He’s into some kinky shit. I liked it. I really did. If I was going to meet up twice with anyone, he definitely fits the bill. The problem is, I only really met up with him to prove a point. A certain guy got me out of sleeping with Frances when he first approached me. I was frazzled. I’ll be honest, that doesn’t happen often. He’s a capo in the fucking mafia. Despite what everyone thinks, I do have a head on my shoulders. I really didn’t plan on sleeping with anyone in the mafia. Too complicated.
But when Frances approached me a while back, I stuttered. Stuttered. Me. I had a lot going on, and he threw me off-guard. It was a rough time, okay? Ugh!
That wasn’t even the worst part. He intervened. The one man in the world who makes me all riled up and nervous. I couldn’t even pretend I was in control of the situation. I wasn’t. Frances had been freaking me out, and I had to thank the one man in the world I wanted to avoid for his help. I would have rather chugged six gallons of that liquid laxative you have to drink before a colonoscopy than do that.
“Tomorrow,” Frances states.
“Don’t you have stuff to do, babe?”
“Yep, and I’ll be here after.”
I glance at his tousled, dark blond hair. God, he’s hot.
“I think I’m gonna hit someone else up tomorrow. Maybe another time.”
Bang. I’m slammed against a wall before I can blink. My heart starts to hammer. I don’t show my fear, because I’m not scared. I’m not. I’m rattled.
“Babe,” I run my hand through his messy hair. “Get pussy elsewhere.”
He smirks and shakes his head.
“Is there someone in particular you had in mind, Maria?”
I shrug, ignoring him. His ego’s hurt. I’ve slept with enough guys at this point to recognize it when I see it.
“I can bring a certain scarred fellow up here. I’m sure he’d whip you into shape.”
My spine stiffens. Handle this, Maria.
“Lacey’s martial arts coach? Sure, maybe. I’m sure he’d know what to do. He could probably make up for what you lacked.”
There’s a growl and then the unmistakable barrel of a gun being placed against my spine.
“I lack nothing, but you’re replaceable.”
“Good, then replace me tomorrow.”
“In case you’re too stupid to realize, this is a gun I have pushed up against your lumbar spine.”
“In case you’re too dense to notice, this is me not caring.”
The gun flies off me and I’m shoved into the mattress. I suppress my grunt, that’s not sexy, and subtly fix my bra.
I turn and spin on the bed, gracefully crossing one foot over the other, as if I wasn’t just shoved with a gun to my back.
“I’ll meet with you tomorrow.”
Frances eyebrows raise. “What?”
“Yeah, I changed my mind. I’ll meet with you tomorrow. Now get out.”
I walk into the closet to change, leaving him to see his own damn self out. He’ll leave. Mafia or not. He doesn’t seem like the kind of guy to be caught off-guard often. I know I just did, so bye bye. I’ll deal with him later.
I drop my head onto my closet wall before pulling myself together. I need to get a job. I need to work. I got this apartment before even pulling in an income. What am I doing? My dad would be pissed.
I’m not gonna job hunt today, though. I’m in a funk and I don’t know why. Only one way to get through it. I’m gonna go roam around the city. Get to know where the hell I’m living. Maybe visit a bar or two.
I throw on a black camisole with ripped black shorts and flip-flops. I’m not in the mood to get ready much more than that. I’m hungover, got my brains fucked out of me, been held at gunpoint… I’m not putting on a fucking dress. I keep my hair down. It’s thick and long enough to pull off without much work.
Ten minutes later, I’m beautified and ready to go. I leave my closet. Yep, Frances is gone. I’ll see him toni
ght. Just as I thought: mafia or not, men are men.
I will admit the gun thing was new. I’ve been roughed up a bit in my time. Never at gunpoint, though.
I shake my head and make my way outside, ignoring the way my insides are shaking slightly. My dad taught me how to handle shit.
I’m going shopping, and my shitty start to the day isn’t ruining it.
Ten shopping bags later, bought with money I don’t have, I stop at a local bar outside of town. I don’t know where I am or what I’m doing. It looks sketchy, but I’m tired. I’m lonely. I want a drink. And that’s that.
I throw my bags in my car and lock the door. There are bags under my eyes. I can literally feel them there. Despite my slightly haggard appearance, I walk in with confidence. A lot of the time, it’s how you carry yourself more than how you actually look. I’m willing to bet my left arm I could seduce a man in my pajamas with body language and confidence.
“Tequila with lime,” I call over to the bartender. He looks over me once with a nod, before walking off.
When he hands it back to me, he grins and says, “On the house.”
“Thanks, sexy,” I call back.
Looks like this day is turning around. Still, I can’t get that drink down my throat fast enough. I’m halfway through when…
Ring. Ring. Ring.
I frown, sigh, and pull my cell out, slamming it to my ear. Not right now. I’m tired and grumpy.
“Maria speaking,” I sing-song into the phone.
“Ms. Vasquez, this is…”
“Karen,” I interrupt, ditching my drink to step outside. “How is he?”
She sighs. “Hun, he’s been asking for you.”
I perk up. “Really, he has?”
My dad has dementia. He raised me. He’s all I have in this world, and is the only person I am truly loyal to. He has my love, something no else can safely say they have. Not that that’s something to strive for.
“Well, put the old guy on.”
“Honey, he’s…”
“No. Don’t,” I interrupt, swallowing the lump in my throat. “Don’t ruin this. He asked for me. Don’t ruin it, please.”
She sighs, but concedes. The phone rings a few times while it transfers over to his line.
“Dad? You there?”
“Hola, jefe. How’s my girl doing?”
Damn it, don’t cry, Maria. It’s been so long since he’s remembered me. His disease is getting worse by the day.
“Great, Dad. You know me. You don’t call me boss for nothing.”
He laughs. It’s deep and full, and just like I remember it. I’m gonna cry. Don’t, don’t, don’t. I’m so glad I never finished that drink. I need every ounce of my memory so I can store this conversation away forever.
“Toughest chick I know. That’s probably my fault.”
“Fault? Papa,” I scold.
“I was too tough on you.”
His voice is sad, distant.
“No, you were perfect. I like being a boss. Don’t you dare have regrets about how you raised me.”
“No regrets, jefe. Just, you needed more love. You needed your mom.”
I bite my lower lip.
“I don’t need someone I never met, Dad. Especially someone who left and didn’t want to be there.”
“Well, that’s just my side of the story, jefe.”
I laugh. “I am your daughter.”
He laughs again, and it goes straight to my heart.
“I’m sorry, who’s speaking?”
My heart stops.
“Dad,” I choke. “It’s me. Jefe. Maria, remember?”
Please remember me. Please.
“I’m sorry, you must have the wrong number.”
No, please. Don’t do this. “Damn it, Dad! It’s me, remember?! You’re a soldier, goddamnit. Remember me!”
“I’m gonna hang up now,” he says in his most stern ex-military voice. “Please don’t call this number again.”
“NO! DAD!”
I throw my phone, waiting a moment, trying to get control of myself, trying to reign in my anger. And failing. Epically failing. I lift my foot and let the sole of my shoe crash on to my discarded cell phone. I stomp on it over and over again. It’d be better off if he never remembered me again. Then it wouldn’t hurt so much. Then I’d know what to expect! Why tempt me with something, just to pull it away a moment later?
I lift my foot again to smash the source of my pain when a large hand reaches down and grabs the shambles of what was my cell phone.
“Should I let you keep smashing it? Because you’re putting on quite a show.”
My skin prickles and my eyes widen. I know that voice. I know that voice. I slowly lift my head and come face to face with at least six feet five inches of pure male. Dark black hair, piercing blue eyes, bulging muscles, rough, tan skin, and a body littered with deep, angry red scars.
The guy coaching Rose’s best friend, Lacey, in martial arts.
“It could use a few more hits.”
I clear my throat, finally pulling myself together enough to look him straight in the eyes. His beautiful, freakishly blue eyes, which are so at odds with everything else about him, bore into me.
“Wanna talk about it?”
My neck snaps up. “What?”
“Talk about it. Is that something you want to do?”
“Name’s Maria, and no. My phone was acting up, so I decided to smash it to bits.”
“Do you usually call your phone your dad?”
I freeze. I’m momentarily rooted to the ground with my world spinning around me.
No weakness, jefe. My dad’s old words flash in my mind.
“Not unless I haven’t gotten my kink fix in a while.”
He doesn’t react. Not in the slightest. Hmm, most men would have. I would have gotten the upper hand with that with any normal man. He’s not a normal man.
“What are you doing out here?” He rumbles, clearly displeased.
“I needed a drink.”
“I see that.” His tone is flat. “Have the last three months not been enough for you?”
Three months ago, when I was living with Rose and her best friend, Lacey, I was held against my will by a rival mafia group as leverage against the man in front of me. Cut is what they call him, but I refuse. He’ll go by a nickname of my choosing until he tells me his real name. Bottom line. He can’t force me to call him that cruel nickname.
Yeah, so anyway, Cut went with the plan to help free me. Unfortunately, in his mission to save me, he lost the trust of his dear client, Lacey. Lacey needs him more than I needed to be saved that day. She’s got scars to rival his, and I can’t even pretend to understand how much they must help each other.
“It was plenty,” I say softly.
His eyebrows furrow. “You still feel weak for that?”
Yes. “Nope.”
“It wasn’t your fault.”
“I said it didn’t bother me, dude.”
“Don’t call me dude.”
“Then what do I call you?”
“My name.”
“I don’t know it.”
He rolls his eyes. “Cut, nice to meet you.”
He extends his hand sarcastically. My mouth falls open. He’s never made a move to touch me before. Not ever. Not in any way. I reach my hand out and slide it through his. I can’t let him know I’m flustered. That would mean he won.
His hand is calloused and rough. He honestly puts a whole new meaning to that description. Touching his hand is like touching sandpaper. Touching something completely capable and masculine. My hand is completely swallowed by his. I try to breathe through the discomfort. I’m disquieted. I can safely say that. I don’t like how I feel right now.
I jerk my hand out and wipe it on my pants slightly frantically. His eyes zero in on the motion. I would have missed it if I were able to get my eyes off him like a normal person, but as it is, I don’t. His shoulders fall slightly and his mask falters for a moment.
I hurt him. Shoot, he probably thinks I’m wiping my hand because of him.
“Thank you for saving me,” I blurt out in an effort to explain myself. It’s not you, it’s me.
He cocks his head to the side and furrows his eyebrows.
“Course. You need a ride?” His voice is guarded.
“I have a car.”
My voice is squeaky. Squeaky? What. The…
“I’ll walk you. Come.”
Being the strong, cynical, independent woman I am, I refuse.
“No, I’m gonna stay here and keep drinking.”
“I didn’t ask.”
“Well, I don’t take orders, so that’s too damn bad.”
“Woman.”
“Man.”
“Maria. Let me walk you to your car.”
I pause. He said my name. He asked. That’s asking, right? He has me all confused. I have these situations figured out! How does he slip past all my rules?
“Whatever, if it will make you feel better.”
“It’s just how it is.”
What does that mean? I don’t ask. I follow, making sure to stay two steps ahead of him the whole way to my car. He’s big and surprisingly fast, so I’m actually out of breath when I reach my car again.
“Well, thanks, I guess,” I tell him, trying to hide how out of breath I am. His gaze is on my upper chest. Not my breasts, which are so clearly on display. Nope, my upper chest. Monitoring my lungs with a frown.
I can’t deal with this man. Get him away from me. Far away.
I open my car door to jump in and speed away, when his voice stops me.
“I’m sorry about your dad.”
He grabs my arm from behind and spins me around, plopping the broken phone into my now open palm. Without another word he walks off, leaving me there to stare at him walking away.
I don’t stare. I don’t linger. I don’t watch men leave me. I let them go or I leave them.
But he knows that.
When he reaches the corner he turns back once, and our eyes lock.
I’m not supposed to be looking at him. I’m supposed to be leaving.
But then again, he was never supposed to look back, either.
9