Cut

by Bry Ann

  “Why the hell was Frances at your house, Maria? And why aren’t you working? What are you doing with your life right now?”

  Can I hit her? Is that a thing? Catfights, I mean. ‘Cause I really want to.

  Taking a deep breath, I face my best and only friend in the world, Rose Bellemore. Soon to be Rose Xander. Her fiancé, Sven Xander, put a ring on that shit. She’s a perfect human. I don’t blame him. She’s tall, slender, with white-blonde hair and crystal clear blue eyes. What makes her truly beautiful though, is her heart of gold. She’s an angel who really only wants the best for people. Plus, she has this whole damsel in distress vibe to her that guys like Sven can’t resist. Sven, on the other hand, is a puzzle I can’t work out. He’s hot as shit. Totally alpha, yet somehow has this little broken kid that peeks out once in a while with Rose. I don’t even know how to describe the pair of them. It’s something you’ve got to witness yourself.

  I mean, the dude left the mafia for her. Well, that’s on the DL. He’s supposed to be dead. No one leaves the mafia, so Lacey’s husband, the Boss, shot him… but you know what? This shit is too complicated. They can tell it better. Long story short, he’ll reveal the fact that he’s alive to the world soon enough.

  “I know what I’m doing, alright? Frances is fun. How many girls can say they’ve had a gun pulled on them during sex, twice, and lived to tell the tale?”

  Yeah, he did it again last night. I provoked it. What can I say? It was shit hot. I knew he wouldn’t actually shoot me.

  Kinda.

  Lacey’s eyes widen.

  “He pulled a gun on you?”

  Shit. Lacey. Sigh. She’s the person I wish I was. Rose’s best friend, mafia wife, and my nemesis’ client. Nemesis is maybe a little strong. You know who I’m referring to: that guy everyone so cruelly calls ‘Cut’. I don’t have a nickname for him yet.

  Anyway, Lacey is a small, yet wildly strong chick who has quite literally been to hell and back. I don’t know her whole story. To be honest, I don’t know much of it at all. All I know is that she is riddled with scars that she hides under her clothes. She’s sick at martial arts, is married to the Boss, and has a kid with him. And lastly, what I respect most, is that she has this quiet strength about her. It’s like no matter how meek she appears on the outside, no one can touch her on the inside.

  I admire that, because I’m the exact opposite. The flip of that.

  I’m tough as nails on the outside, but the inside, I don’t go near it. I know it’s all jumbled.

  “It was consensual-ish.”

  Lacey’s eyes are judging Frances so hard right now. I’d hate to be him. She’s got power being the Boss’s wife, whether or not she wants to yield it. I have a feeling she would for me, though.

  “It’s fine, Lacey.”

  “Yeah, sure,” she says softly.

  She clearly disagrees, but out of respect for me, she would never intervene.

  “Let’s pretend that it’s fine you’re fucking a capo. Why aren’t you working?” Rose cuts in.

  “Hold up. You married the Underboss, you hypocrite.”

  “After he left.”

  “Oh yeah, you waited for him to leave before you fucked him?”

  I smirk, knowing full well they fucked way before he left the mafia. I wouldn’t be surprised if shit was going down while he was still inpatient at the treatment center we worked at.

  Rose’s cheeks turn bright red.

  “Well, you’ve got a point there. But Frances is the violent one. He makes me nervous.”

  “Who doesn’t?” I tease.

  “Oh, ha ha.” Rose rolls her eyes.

  “Just be careful,” Lacey says in a quiet voice. “Frances is the violent one. He does the dirty work around here. Ruston only ever sends him.” Ruston. Her husband, the mafia Boss, disallows the use of his first name, so even Lacey goes by his last in public. “All I’m saying is be careful. Frances doesn’t form connections. And...” Lacey starts to nibble on her lower lip before dropping her gaze. “You aren’t considered close enough to us by Ruston’s men for them to respect your life. That’s all I’m saying.”

  Well, damn.

  “Oh, is that it?” I laugh. What a simple way to close out saying fucking Frances could very literally result in my murder.

  Lacey meets my eyes and nods with full confidence in her words. I can’t lie. That scares me a bit. Lacey thinks through everything she says. Words matter to her. She’s highly intelligent and observant.

  I nod back.

  “Fucking him twice was a mistake. I never do that. I got… distracted. It’s over, so you guys can stop worrying. I’m moving on to bigger and better things.”

  “Thank God you listen to someone,” Rose grumbles.

  “Don’t be bitter, girlfriend.”

  I smile and squeeze her knee. She yelps and flies back.

  “Bitch,” she mutters.

  “Sellout.”

  “Slut.” She smiles up at me, making sure I know she’s kidding. That little heart of hers can’t stand the idea her joke may hurt me.

  It doesn’t. I am a slut.

  Lacey’s not paying attention to us. Her eyebrows are furrowed and she’s deep in thought.

  “You said you were distracted. Does this have anything to do with running into Cut at the bar?”

  If I had water in my mouth, I would have spit it out. “What?” I gasp.

  Rose’s head whips around, studying my reaction. Jesus, get it together, Maria.

  “What?” I repeat, in control of myself this time.

  It’s too late though. The damage is done. This. Freaking. Man.

  Lacey, thankfully, the angel that she is, continues on as if I hadn’t just reacted like the poor guy is a terrorist.

  “He mentioned seeing you today at a bar outside of town.” She frowns. “He said it’s a place he frequently hangs, meaning it’s probably pretty rough. He asked me to see if you were okay. Why would he do that?”

  “He said that?”

  My heart is pitter-pattering so hard right now. Why would he do that?

  “He grunted it at me, yeah.”

  I smile. I can actually see him doing that.

  “Your eyes just got dreamy.”

  I quickly turn around to see Rose smirking at me. I immediately jump to my feet.

  “Well, this has been fun, girls. Gotta go be important.”

  “Yeah. I’m sure being unemployed is keeping you busy.”

  I huff, facing away from her, but when I turn around, my face is all smiles. “Very busy.”

  Time to go.

  I quickly make my way out of that room, and through the house. This place is so freaking big. We always meet up at Lacey’s mafia castle because she has unspoken agoraphobic tendencies. We do it as a courtesy to her, even though both Rose and I have our own places now.

  “Maria, wait!”

  Lacey is running down the hall, nearly tripping on her oversized black sweatpants. I stop. I’m not gonna make that girl chase me. I still feel so damn guilty that I’m the reason she can’t fully trust one of her mentors.

  When she reaches me, she grabs my shoulder and uses it to make her way around my body so we are face to face.

  “Sup, girl?” I ask, raising my eyebrows slightly.

  “Are you okay? You never answered.”

  Her feet shuffle lightly on the hardwood floor.

  “I’m fine.” I force a smile. “I don’t know why he said anything. That’s weird. I literally just ran into him.”

  Yeah, ran into him while smashing my cell phone to bits.

  “It was brief,” I add.

  “He said you’d say that.”

  My neck snaps up. Again. “What?”

  “He said you wouldn’t tell me anything, but to still ask.”

  I’m flustered. I’m flustered! I don’t get like this. Jefe, you’re strong. You’re no princess.

  “Well, he’d be right,” I sing-song. “See ya!”

  I wave and h
ightail it out of there.

  “God, yes! Shit, this feels good,” I moan to the nameless, faceless guy currently driving his cock into me.

  “Fuck, baby!” He screams, pounding harder into me.

  “Don’t you even think about coming before me. I go first.”

  He glares at me, momentarily slowing, before picking up speed again. “Then hurry up.”

  I slide my hand down my body and start playing with my clit. Slow strokes at first, before picking up the pace. I start to pant, then, between my fingers and his powerful hips thrusting against me, an explosion of much-needed pleasure clouds my senses. He follows literally two seconds after me and slides off, already working on putting his clothes back on.

  The perfect man.

  “That was great,” he says dismissively.

  “Agreed. Thanks for not letting me down.”

  I wink. He turns and grins over his shoulder, letting his eyes roam over me one last time.

  “You’re one hot chick.”

  Mature. “Thanks, babe. Have a good night.”

  See yourself out.

  Bang. Bang. Bang.

  The guy isn’t even finished throwing his shirt on when the banging on my front door starts. My door’s shaking on its hinges from the force of the blows. The guy currently half-dressed in my living room stares at me with raised eyebrows.

  “Hold your flipping horses. I’m coming!”

  I stomp over and throw the door open in nothing but a loose satin robe.

  “What?”

  I immediately regret my snippy tone when I see Frances standing there with an extremely dark look on his face. Shit!

  “Uh, Frances, what can I do you for?”

  He storms inside, shoving me out of the way. He doesn’t do it lightly, either. I fall back onto my butt and scowl up at him. No one shoves me!

  I stumble onto my feet to see Frances holding this poor guy by his neck with a gun to his head. The dude gave me an orgasm, at least half of it; he deserves for me to play hero.

  “Yo, Frances!” I grab his solid forearm. “Chill the fuck out. What are you doing in my apartment?”

  He doesn’t move the gun. Now I’m starting to actually panic as Lacey’s words replay in my head.

  “Don’t shoot him!” I blurt out suddenly.

  That seems to slow down his storm of rage. Frances lets the gun fall slightly down and he turns to me.

  “You scared?”

  “A little. Yup.”

  “So let me get this straight,” he shoves the poor guy to the floor. I watch as he scrambles out of my apartment, half dressed, shooting me a crazed look. “You’re not scared when I point a gun at you, but you get freaked when I point a gun at some punk.”

  “Egh, blood all over my apartment. That’s a no go.”

  He smirks. “You bleed, too.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t be alive to see it. Kill the kid and I would be.”

  “I’m open to a replacement then.”

  He turns the gun on me. Directly. Between. My. Eyes. The kill shot.

  “Uh, if I’m gonna die, can I know why?”

  “Who says there has to be a reason?” He questions with joy, like he’s getting off on this shit. Okay, Lacey was right. I surrender, God. I’ll never do this again. I really don’t want to die because I’m an idiot. My dad would kill me.

  “I mean, you stormed into my apartment pretty pissed off there, capo.”

  “I didn’t say I was done with you.”

  I scowl at him. “Then make a fucking appointment. I’m not yours.”

  He throws the gun and wraps his fingers around my neck. “If I’m fucking you, you are.”

  “I’m nobody’s!” I see red. “Choke me to death, Frances, I don’t give a shit! I don’t follow sex rules. I wouldn’t have fucked you if I knew you were gonna be a pussy about it.”

  He shoves me to the ground and walks beside me, so he’s hovering over me in his red and black Armani suit. We both stare at each other for a moment before a searing hot pain spreads throughout my hand and wrist.

  “Awww, shit!”

  I look down to where I heard the crunch of Frances’s dress shoes smashing into my lower wrist.

  I whimper for a moment before gaining control of myself. I try to take deep breaths. It’s broken. It is definitely broken. This hurts a shit ton, but it’s not the first time I’ve broken something. It’s not even the first time I’ve broken something at somebody else’s hand. It probably won’t be the last.

  “I’ll be back tomorrow. Don’t let me find you with anyone else ‘til I’m done with you.”

  “Like hell…”

  I’m cut off by the sound of the door slamming. He’s gone.

  As soon as I’m sure he’s far from my front door, I let myself cry. This really, really fucking hurts. I get myself up and check out my wrist. It’s bruised, swollen and deformed.

  He most definitely just broke my fucking hand.

  What have I gotten myself into?

  I never make these kinds of mistakes. I’m the slut who knows what she’s doing. What is going on with me?

  Now the physical pain is making my emotions go haywire. Tears are streaming faster than I can stop them. Occasionally, a little hiccup slips out. I cradle my hand against my chest.

  Screw the ice. I’m going to the hospital. I’d go to urgent care, but it’s too far. The hospital is probably a twenty minute walk or so. I should call someone. It’s dark, but how do I explain what happened?

  I’d rather be mugged than endure that humiliation. I’m not even kidding. I’m a soldier’s daughter. This is not a state I let people see me in. Bottom line.

  Still crying, I use my free hand to throw a trench coat and flip flops on. It’s all I can put on with my injury so fresh.

  Another loud hiccup-sob.

  Hold it in, Maria.

  I close the door behind me, but don’t bother locking it. I know there’s mascara all over my face, I’m cradling my throbbing hand like it’s a baby, and I’m silently crying, but I don’t care. The worst I’ll get is strange looks. Right now, the pain is bad enough for me not to care.

  I shuffle down the stairs onto the empty street. It’s dark and late. I’ve just been fucked, threatened with a gun to my head, and now my hand’s broken. This is the worst night ever. I try to channel my dad’s voice to keep from breaking down, because I sure as hell know he wouldn’t allow it.

  That doesn’t help. It just makes me think of the fact that he doesn’t remember me. I need to work. Go help people. Get my mind off me and my dad.

  Dad.

  Ow, my hand.

  Now I start to cry. Full cry. Only fifteen minutes to go. My eyes sting from the mascara running down my face. My hand is killing me. I’m hurting between my legs from being fucked so much lately. More than I usually partake in, despite what people think. My heart hurts the most, though, and that’s the worst pain. That’s why I avoid it.

  “Maria?”

  I sniffle and spin around. My heart flies up to my throat. There’s a large figure in the shadows. Please, dear God, no more tonight.

  “Just leave me alone or get it over with,” I whisper brokenly. “I’m so done today.”

  I move to turn away, leaving him to it. I don’t want to see his face. I’m secretly hoping he’ll just let me get myself to the hospital, but not naive enough to think that’s actually going to happen.

  “Maria, it’s Cut.”

  I nearly collapse. I want to run into his arms and force him to carry me to the damn county hospital, but I can’t. Because of my damn pride. Because it’s him.

  So I do the only thing I can to avoid this. To avoid making this all worse.

  I continue hobbling along.

  “Woah, whoa, whoa…” He gently grabs my shoulder. Actually surprisingly gentle for such a big guy.

  I’m face to face with him now, but it’s too dark to see anything other than his outline. But I recognize it now that I know I’m not about to be beaten,
raped, or murdered. I’ve never struggled more with my urge to cry. If I talk, I’ll lose it. So yeah, I’ll just not talk.

  “What happened to you?” His voice is hard.

  “N-n-nothing. I have somewhere to be.”

  I turn around, but he’s faster. He’s circled me and has the shoulder of my uninjured hand in his firm grip. I tilt my body to the left to protect my hand from further pain.

  “Let me go.”

  Even my voice is weak. Ugh.

  “What happened, Maria?”

  “I broke my hand. You happy?”

  My voice cracks on those last words, which pisses me off. Combined with my overwhelming sadness, I’m gonna fall apart on this guy.

  “And I can’t even see you. It’s dark. It’s so dark. And it’s creepy, you know? It’s really creepy.”

  Keep rambling and I won’t cry.

  “You’re this big figure in the shadows. It makes me feel so small. I only have a trench coat on and the hospital is fifteen minutes away, when I really just need an urgent care. And—”

  “I have a car.”

  “And I’m cold. I’m really cold. Wait, what?”

  “I have a car. Let me drive you,” he says as softly as I think his voice goes.

  I shouldn’t. I’m stronger than this. I can make it.

  “Don’t you have plans?”

  “I can cancel.”

  His gruff voice washes over me. I’m vibrating with the need to be helped, but I… can’t. What if I get used to it? Nope. No, thank you.

  “Don’t bother on my account, big guy.”

  “Maria, your hand’s broken.”

  This is scary. It’s dark. I can’t see him.

  “I need to get out of the dark.”

  I try to step around him, but it’s useless. He just follows.

  “You scared?”

  “I’m not scared of the dark!”

  “The unknown, then.”

  The pain in my hand is multiplying. I feel nauseous and my head is swimming.

  “Please, let me go.”

  “Fine, I’ll walk you.”

  He sounds frustrated, but he’s containing it. I don’t know what part of this dark alley discussion made me emotional, but I start to cry again. Real tears. I pull back so he doesn’t hear me, but he’s like a freaking predator. He doesn’t miss anything.