Property of the Bad Boy

by Vanessa Waltz

  Johnny wouldn’t.

  A huge plate of spaghetti and homemade meatballs is dropped in front of me. I wait until everyone has their food and then I pick up my knife and fork and I slice the pasta noodles.

  “What-the-fuck-are-you-doing?”

  I pause midway in between cutting the noodles, startled by the heat in Jack’s voice. He gives me a look that’s filled with poison.

  “What’s your problem?”

  “Who the fuck taught you how to eat? You don’t cut pasta!”

  Jesus. From the way he sounds, it’s as if I started eating with my hands.

  He takes the knife out of my grip and sets it down. Then he takes my other hand with the fork and twists it in my fingers so that the prongs rest on the plate.

  “You spin it.”

  “But I need a spoon.”

  He shuts his eyes as though I wounded him and even Johnny gives off a bark of laughter.

  “No spoon, for fuck’s sake.”

  A hot rush of shame floods my cheeks as a few of the others chime in. I try to take it in stride, but I just feel so fucking down.

  I don’t belong here. I’m not one of them, and it’s not just because of this. The way they look at me—with sneering contemptuous faces. Only Maya talks to me, but none of them would treat the boss’s wife with disrespect. She’s married to him. Has a kid with him. Of course she’s one of them. There’s no doubt, when clearly there’s doubt with me.

  Suddenly I remember Maya’s healthy baby at her breast. A rush of longing hits me in the stomach so that even though I just ate, I feel empty.

  The jazz band picks up a slow ballad, and Maya rises from her table, whispering in Johnny’s ear. He smiles and stands up, too.

  “Beatrice and I used to sneak out dancing whenever we could,” she tells her husband, who gives me a small smile.

  Feeling the urge to get away from the table, I stand up. “Jack, are you coming?”

  He can’t say no in front of everyone without looking like an utter ass. A warm smile that I’ve never seen on Jack unexpectedly sends a flight of butterflies.

  “Of course.”

  I’m taken aback as he stands up and takes my waist, his mouth brushing my ear as though he means to kiss me. “I hate dancing.”

  Too fucking bad.

  I follow Maya and Johnny to the dance floor, where they join hands and immediately look lost in each other. Jack spins me around and takes my hand. Goose bumps sprout over my arms as the fingers at my waist pull me in closer. It’s hard not to feel utterly breathless when I’m in his arms.

  “Are you happy? We’re dancing.”

  “Yes, I am.”

  I love the smile that spreads across his face. I wish I could see it more often.

  Maya gives us a little wave and I grin back at her. When I turn back to Jack, he’s wearing a shrewd grin.

  “Doesn’t a part of you hate her for what she did?”

  “Why would I hate her?”

  “You wouldn’t be here. Everyone who died would still be alive.”

  His eyes blaze suddenly and I know he’s thinking of his brother.

  “Jack, at the end of the day, all she was trying to do was be with him.”

  He shakes his head, still smiling. “You’re a romantic. I’m not.”

  All he sees is the wave of devastation left behind.

  “I don’t know if I’d go back, even if I could.”

  “What?”

  I bite my lip viciously as a lump grows in my throat. “Jett told me I couldn’t come back. He made a threat.”

  “Wait, what? What do you mean, a threat?”

  “He said Maya was dead to him and if I wasn’t careful, I’d join her. All because I didn’t stop them from meeting up.”

  It’s so unfair.

  Pain swells in my throat and I blink rapidly as Jack’s mouth hangs open.

  “I didn’t know.”

  Then he holds me tightly so that our bodies mold together, and the warmth in my chest washes over the pain. The song ends and suddenly his fingers find my chin and he lays a soft kiss on my mouth. Heat rushes to my face as he dips me in his arms.

  Holy shit!

  I pretty much forget everything else once his wicked tongue does a dance inside my mouth. I cling to his neck as desire fans out in flames, and then he pulls me back upright, his hands making my heart flutter.

  My skin tingles when he breaks away from me, and I look at his wet lips and want more.

  “What was that?”

  “That was to cheer you up.”

  He pulls back even farther and gives me a wink that makes the tips of my toes curl.

  Jack hangs out with the guys for the rest of the night, and I slip away with Maya to the bar. Alcohol burns my tongue as three men I recognize from our table belly up.

  “Hey, I’m going to the bathroom. Want to come?”

  “No, I’ll stay here.”

  Maya nods and walks off to the bathroom as I sit there, alone. The noise barely filters through my head, but then I catch two words that snap my attention.

  “Fuck them. Sal was right, allying with those bastards was a mistake.”

  “We should have sent a message to the other crews.”

  A low, somber voice speaks up. “We did, remember?”

  “One fucking dead biker isn’t enough—”

  “Yeah, well, if John hadn’t fucked the president’s daughter—”

  “What do you think about Jack marrying that club whore?”

  My heart pounds against my chest, and I turn in my seat, hoping like hell that they won’t see my face.

  “I would smack that cunt around and put her in her place.”

  “It’s a fucking embarrassment, one of our guys marrying a club whore.”

  I can’t take it anymore. My throat is thick with tears as I get off the stool and practically run toward the bathroom.

  And I collide with a man’s chest.

  “Whoa!”

  “I’m sorry,” I say to his feet, stepping around him.

  The feet step in front of me again. Then I want to charge past, because I just want to get to the bathroom and lose it. Someone grabs my arms.

  “Hey, what’s the matter?”

  I tremble at the sound of his voice and look up into Jack’s softened face.

  “I want to leave. Now.”

  His hands cradle my face and warmth blazes through his fingers, soothing my head. “What happened?”

  “Something I ate. I don’t feel good.”

  His hands fall from my face. “Well, that’s complete bullshit, but I’ll take any excuse to get the fuck out of here.”

  He takes my hand and I nearly drag my heels on the way back to the table.

  Club whore.

  Cunt.

  I’m still shaking when we walk out of that place. Jack gives me peculiar looks as we drive back to the city.

  “Are you going to tell me what’s made you so upset, or what?”

  I bite my knuckle hard as he shakes his head and continues driving.

  It’s not until we’re safely shut inside his apartment that I steel myself to say something. He hangs his coat and thrusts it in the closet, and then he turns around, finding me staring at him.

  So much of what I heard from those guys sounded like it could’ve come from Jack’s mouth.

  “Do you hate me?”

  He runs a hand through his hair, pained. Blood rushes to my face when he stops inches from my body. His eyes are like dark jewels, glowing hot. He reaches out and touches the bare skin right above the swell of my breast, where my heart beats like crazy. I smell the notes wafting from his skin—all masculine and aquatic. Every sound is magnified as he curls his hand around my neck, and I lift my head. His lips are there to meet mine, and his hips jut into me. He kisses me with that same devouring hunger that captured me the first time we met.

  I want him. He’s my husband. Call me a stupid romantic, but that means something to me.

  What
the fuck can I do to help myself?

  The answer sits in my head. It’s right there, but it sounds so insane that I’m afraid to look into Jack’s puzzled eyes and tell him what I want from him.

  If you don’t ask him, you’ll never know.

  I force myself to pull back, and his breath warms my lips. I open my mouth.

  “I want a baby.”

  Jesus Christ.

  My face is scorching hot, as though there’s a wall of fire in front of me.

  “Excuse me?”

  “I want us to have a kid.”

  “What the fuck?” he says, between a laugh and a legitimate question.

  “I know it sounds crazy—”

  “—Yeah,” he says, eyes widening. “It does.”

  I grab his shirt, twisting it in my hands. “I need this, Jack.”

  He backs away from me, his eyebrows somewhere in his hair. “You’re serious? You want a kid with me?”

  “Yeah, I do.”

  He turns away from me, deep dimples carving into his mouth. “Why?”

  That’s a good fucking question.

  I take a step forward, hands clenched at my sides. “I know this: I’ll never be accepted by the family until I’m pregnant with your kid.”

  “Jesus Christ!” Jack turns his back on me.

  My cheeks burn, this time with rage. I’m furious that he won’t take me seriously. I lunge for his arm and force him to turn around. He looks surprised by the desperation on my face.

  “It’s your cousin, isn’t it? You’re jealous that she has a baby, and now you want one.”

  Look, I won’t deny that there was a sting of jealousy when I saw how happy they were together, and that sweet baby. I want that, too. This isn’t about chasing my dreams—I’m convinced the only way I’ll be accepted is if I have children with him.

  “Well, yeah, but—no! That’s not it!”

  He avoids my gaze, shaking his head. “Forget it, Beatrice.”

  I grab his shoulders and give them a little shake. “What happens to me if something happens to you?”

  The question turns in his head and he wrinkles his nose. “What?”

  “If you die, what happens to me?”

  His eyebrows narrow. “I’m not going to die.”

  “It could happen.”

  “Vaffanculo! I could trip and break my fucking neck, who gives a shit?”

  “I have nowhere to go.”

  That seems to break through to Jack. He relents, heaving a great sigh. “Johnny would take care of you. He’d give you an allowance.”

  “You hate Johnny. Do you really think he’s going to give a damn about my life the moment you’re gone?”

  Discomfort makes Jack restless. He pushes himself off the wall and glares at me. “He would.”

  But he sounds so unsure.

  “They all hate me. The moment you’re gone, they’ll hurt me. I know it.”

  His frosty voice blows over me. “I’m not doing this.”

  The chilly tone seems to cement the fact that I’m surrounded by people who don’t give a damn about me. Maya’s unreachable and her husband wants her to have nothing to do with me. If he’s gone, I’ll be thrown to the wolves.

  Club whore.

  Their vicious voices reverberate in my head, and my eyes burn as I realize how reluctant Jack was to enter into this arrangement at all. My thoughts race and I reach out for him as I collapse to the floor.

  Those guys you overheard will probably be the first to slit your throat.

  I’m a club whore. A biker bitch. I’ll never be anything more, and if the alliance collapses, I’ll be the first to go. Why keep someone alive who can run to the police and tell them that she was coerced into marrying one of their members, in order to avoid testifying against the alibi in court? I’d be disposed of the moment I was no longer needed. The mob wouldn’t give a shit about the biker wife made from a sham marriage.

  Huge sobs wrack from my chest as I kneel on the floor, the weight of everything crushing me down. I hate crying like this—hate feeling out of control.

  “They have no respect for me! They won’t care about throwing me away!”

  Strong hands grip my arms, lifting me up, but I sink back down. Jack lowers to my level and my tears run over his hands as he cups my cheeks. I can’t bear to look at him.

  “Of course they do. You’re my wife.”

  My voice lifts to the ceiling, hysterical. “You didn’t hear them! They said one dead biker wasn’t enough—they called me a cunt!”

  Jack’s face turns ashen. “What? When was this?”

  “When I was at the bar with Maya. I don’t t-think they knew I was sitting right there.”

  He stands up slowly and steps away from me, all fatigue gone from his movements. I’m surprised at the violence with which he rips open the closet door to grab his jacket, shrugging it on.

  “Where are you going?”

  I flinch at his face, which is taut with rage. He moves stiffly and grabs my arms, giving me a brusque kiss on my cheek.

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  JACK

  Don’t worry about it. It’s the mantra of wise guys everywhere. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve told that to a woman. Don’t worry about it. Everything’s fine.

  Even when they’re not. Especially when they’re not.

  I had to leave before I exploded, but I don’t even slam the car door when I get out. I save that shit for those three guys—I know exactly who they are. She never left my sight the entire time we were at that dinner. I couldn’t help but look for her. She’s smoking hot and there are plenty of assholes who would hit on her.

  A roar builds in my ears as I open the door to the venue, but my heart is steady like a persistent drumbeat. My eyes dart all over the place, looking for those familiar faces so that I can fucking kill them. Instead I see Sal, seated at the dinner table. The live band strikes up a slow ballad, and everyone dances.

  I hurry down the steps and kneel at Sal’s side.

  “Hey! You’re back—”

  “Tim, Brad, and Vito—where the fuck are they?”

  Sal’s portly face stumbles. “Uh—they’re near the stage, I think.”

  I look, scanning through the dance floor of couples, and I see the three bastards heckling the lead singer.

  “What’re you—?”

  I ignore the last part of his sentence and grab an empty wine bottle just sitting on the table. Blackness pricks at the edge of my vision.

  They called my wife a cunt.

  They won’t know what hit them.

  I get about two feet from them before one of them notices me, and I swing back with the bottle. Vito’s head makes a dull sound as the glass shatters down his face. He drops instantly.

  “What the fuck?”

  The music shrieks. Brad grabs my arm and I elbow his face hard. Then an arm chokes my neck from behind, and I see Brad’s nose streaming with blood. I slip out of the chokehold and Tim screams at me.

  “Fucking moron!”

  My fist whirls at his face, and he ducks. Then a blow to the back of my head sends me reeling forward.

  Turn around!

  My balance is off and pain explodes over my skull. Tim’s fist swings at me. I grab his arm and yank. He flies right into my raised knee and his huge moan echoes in the venue. Someone grabs my middle and I dive toward the stage, groping until I take something long and metallic. It’s heavy. The bronze flashes across my vision as I swing it in my hands, bashing against the side of Brad’s face. It makes a loud, gong-like sound. I realize I grabbed the fucking trombone.

  “FUCK!”

  “That’s mine, you dick!”

  I look up into the musician’s hostile face, exploding. “Why don’t you come down here and I’ll cram it up your ass?”

  Something appears from the corner of my vision. I duck, the bat whistling over my head. I lunge at him before he can swing it again and hit him hard right below his ribs.

  H
e makes a retching sound and then my fist crunches the side of his head. Brad falls flat on his face, his abdomen heaving, but I can’t let the fucker go. I know what he said to her. Beatrice’s crying face surfaces in my vision and a fresh wave of fury makes me kick the asshole while he’s down. That’s what they did to her, didn’t they?

  “Jack! What the FUCK?”

  Johnny’s stern voice incenses me. A corrosive hatred that I’ve never known rises inside me. I can’t touch him, so I whale on Brad. My boot crunches his face. I get down on the floor and take a fistful of hair, and—someone tackles me.

  “Let me the fuck go!”

  “Take him out of here,” I hear Johnny mutter.

  Three men grab hold of my arms and drag away from Brad, escorting me through the wall of people, who scream when I approach.

  “Everything’s fine. Go back to your tables.”

  I almost laugh at the sound of forced calm in Johnny’s voice.

  My arms twist behind my back as they throw me outside some Employees Only exit, which empties into a deserted lot. Johnny explodes from the door, grabbing my collar.

  “What the fuck was that?”

  “They called my wife a cunt!”

  Suck my dick, asshole.

  He jabs at my chest. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “They made comments about my wife in her presence. Get the fuck off me!” I yank my arms out of their grips and glare at Johnny, who looks slightly mollified.

  “So you decide to beat the shit out of them in front of a hundred fucking civilians?” His screams deafen my ears. “You should have told me about it, and I would’ve handled it.”

  Bullshit.

  “So if someone called your wife a biker cunt, you would what?”

  He laughs, his white teeth flashing. “Don’t even start with me, Jack.”

  “What?” I scream. “You want to sweep this under the rug, too?”

  Johnny’s eyes gleam dangerously as he takes a few steps closer. “I wish Mike were here to tell you to shut your fucking mouth.”

  “He’s not here because of you!”

  Suddenly a cold muzzle presses against my forehead and Johnny leans in, pressing the barrel against my head as spittle flies from his mouth.

  “You want to fucking die? Say one more fucking word.”

  My heart pounds as I look down the length of the muzzle, down the arm, wishing I could tell him how much I despise him.