by W Winters
The curious woman who wanted to play with fire no longer looks back at me with the desire she once had. She’s broken and burned. And it’s all my fault.
Her back rises and falls with each deep breath she takes, her belly pressed against the bench and her fingers gripping the wood beneath her. Is she purposely disobeying? Or is she so lost now that it doesn’t matter what I say … maybe she’s given up.
I haven’t prayed in what feels like an eternity, but if God ever listened, if he ever cared, I pray she isn’t so destroyed that I mean nothing to her anymore.
“On your knees, my little pet.” My words are spoken with a softness that draws her doe eyes to mine. Tears fall from the outer corners of her eyes. Trailing the paddle up the curve of her ass and then higher, her thick lashes lower as she shudders.
Fuck. My pulse races and I swallow thickly from the sight of her.
She doesn’t cry from the pain. It’s because she can’t escape. She saw something she shouldn’t have, and the terror has never been more evident than it is tonight.
She’s slow to move, and just when I think she’ll obey, she’ll give me control, she’ll let it all go and forget about the harsh reality, submitting to the pleasure I can give her, her shoulders hunch over and she buries her face between her forearms on the bench.
The leather paddle clatters to the floor at the same time a sob hits her, ruling this woman in a way I should be. Her cries take over, and the apology she utters is strangled as she covers her face.
Fuck. Not my Braelynn.
Fuck!
With one arm slipping around her waist and the other cradling her reddened ass, I lift her to my bare chest, needing the skin-to-skin contact, heat to heat. My bare feet pad quietly on the floor as I kiss her hair and move us both to the antique canopy bed. The one she picked out. Like everything else in this room, it’s for her. It’s all for her.
The mattress protests as I lay her down gently, careful with my motions as her ass rests against the sheet. Even that gentle graze causes her to wince, but it’s hardly noticeable. All I can see is a woman desperate to stop. For it all to end and for what happened to disappear.
That’s not the way my world works. And I selfishly dragged her into this.
Reaching up, she wraps her arms around my neck, pulling herself closer to me even though I know damn well pressing against the bed like that is only exacerbating the pain she’s feeling.
Again, I remind myself, it’s not the physical pain that’s done this. It’s the threat of what’s to come.
With her breasts squeezed against my chest, her small frame pulled together tightly as she attempts to nestle every bit of her she can against me, I do what I can to calm her.
Shushing her, kissing her hair, rubbing soothing circles on her back. I hold her as close as she needs. As she settles, her body relaxes slightly, but she never stops clinging to me.
“I will protect you.” My promise to her is whispered at the shell of her ear and she stills. My little pet looks up at me and I’ve never felt so cold in my life. Helpless, alone. I’ve never felt like a failure and less of a man than I do when she doubts me like she does.
She doesn’t believe I can protect her. I can barely breathe as the realization takes hold.
“They’re your family,” she whispers. Her gaze says it all: she thinks if they want her gone, I will choose them over her. She’s wrong.
Chills travel up my spine and I rip my gaze away from hers, hating the sight of her uncertainty in me. The only thing that moves in this damn room is the fan, the blades turning over and over as everything else darkens and blurs. Never stopping. None of it ever stops.
With my body cold, my anger coiled and every emotion running on high, I grit my teeth and give her the harsh command, “Get on your knees now.”
Shock lights in her deep brown eyes and she’s quick to move, her dark disheveled locks spilling over her shoulder. Not a bit of her touches me as she assumes the position. Her knees are spread the width of her shoulders, with her back perfectly arched the way I crave, so I can fuck her deeply. The groan of the bed matches the one of desire that runs through my chest as I climb off and then grab her ankles, moving her to the edge of the mattress. She gives the smallest of yelps at the sudden movement. Her initial instinct to grab hold of the sheets soon gives way to her obedience. With my feet on the floor, and her ass at the perfect height, I let my fingers trail down her slit. She’s not ready for me, so I’ll take my time.
With my fingers toying with her clit, I give myself the time I need as well.
A gentle moan of pleasure leaves her as her head falls slightly. My left hand splays on her hip, holding her there as a gentle reminder.
This is the deal. She’s mine. Mine to do whatever I want with.
The possessiveness that runs deep in my blood heats as I lean forward, gripping her ass and feeling her cunt tighten as I do. The mix of pain and pleasure finally give her what she needs to submit to me.
Dragging my fingers up her back, I grip her nape with my left hand as I spread her arousal with the opposite hand. “That’s better, my good sweet girl.”
She rocks back gently and I’m quick to reprimand her, fisting her hair at the base of her neck and pulling slightly, which forces her back to arch. She’s fucking gorgeous like this, at my mercy and weak for me. Waiting on me. Trusting me.
I love her like this.
No. My heart beats once, heavy and exacting. I love her. I won’t let them take her from me.
As I line up the head of my cock at her entrance, I lower my lips to her neck, nipping once and loving the chills that run along her skin. At the sensitive spot there, knowing my warm breath will cause her to shudder, I whisper, “I would kill for you. I would kill anyone for you.”
It’s not just a promise. I will kill for her. I will do whatever I have to for her.
It’s only a fraction of a moment that passes before what I’ve said hits her and the realization reflects in her body language. With that I thrust inside of her deeply, all the way to the hilt and I take her savagely, fueled by her tortured cries of pleasure, reminding her exactly who she belongs to.
Declan
They say we’re brutal for this very reason.
“If he doesn’t make the payment …” my brother Carter states and his knuckles tap on the hardwood maple desk in a rhythmic way. The pace is even, as is Jase’s head when he nods, agreeing with the unspoken consensus. “ …let’s make it very public,” Carter concludes, stressing the word very.
“Very,” Jase repeats with a glint of a smile. As if it’s comical to murder someone in a manner that’s worthy of making the six o’clock news.
There’s a sinking feeling in my gut, paired with a heat that dances along the back of my neck but I nod as well. This is what happens when someone screws us over. They’re made into an example, and lately the examples have been adding up.
Anytime there are shifts in power, we’re bound to encounter challenges. They start off with small pushes against firm boundaries. We’d be naïve to think our enemies aren’t constantly checking for cracks and tampering with well-defined barriers. If you let someone get away with one thing, they’ll know they can get away with more.
“If he’s even an hour late,” Carter says, then gestures and Jase nods once again, this time adding, “Agreed.”
My gaze moves from Jase’s freshly shaven hard jawline to the bags under Carter’s eyes. The recent arrival of Carter’s firstborn, my nephew, has caused a stirring of betrayals.
My mother used to say, “Family will be the death of me.” I don’t remember much of her. She passed away when I was a kid, leaving the five of us behind, but I can hear her saying those words now. Her voice dripping with sarcasm as she rolled her eyes and tackled a never-ending cycle of dirty dishes and laundry.
There are only four of us now, and there’s no doubt in my mind she would mourn for the men we’ve become.
Family may be the death of me, but they’
re all I have and I would give my life for them.
There’s a bright flash against the paned window in the far corner of my office. Lightning strikes down, sending a streak of light through the expansive room. Even the darkened wood floors shine bright for a moment, revealing the polished and pristine surfaces. The room itself is free of clutter, and decorated with masculine tones of grays and browns. Black and white photographs Addison, Daniel’s wife, took years ago are scattered around the room. Some of my late brother Tyler, and some of family before we became who we are today are in frames on the floor-to-ceiling shelves to my left. But the others are merely modern cityscapes of the places my sister-in-law has traveled. She helped me design the space.
Without her, lavish details like the gleaming bar cart and cut glass drawer pulls would not exist. Nor would the feminine touches designed for comfort, like the softness of the throw blanket on the corner chair, upholstered in buttery smooth amber leather.
“If Aaron doesn’t pay, we’ll make it obvious what our stance is moving forward.”
“Execution style will do it,” Jase states firmly, bringing the conversation back around. His dark eyes reach mine. Instinctively, I nod in return. They know whatever they choose, I will enforce with them. I’m the youngest, the most in debt in my mind. Not that they would ever hold anything against me. I’m more than aware I came out the lucky one, given what my oldest brothers endured after my mother died. The brutality of my father, then the barbarity of living through tragedy after tragedy.
“In the Romano alley on Fifth,” Carter says and finalizes the location.
“He could still come up with the money,” Jase suggests, although he smirks at the thought, glancing down at his cuticles.
“With fifty thousand? Only if he steals it from someone else,” I comment, knowing damn well it’s within the realm of possibility and if it happens, someone else will kill the debtor. “Which I would greatly prefer.”
There’s a chorus of rough chuckles.
“That settles it then,” Jase states although he shares a glance with Carter to be sure there’s nothing else to discuss. It’s nearly midnight and my evening is just getting started, although they’ll go home and fall into bed with their wives who love them dearly.
With a deep exhale, Carter agrees. There’s no more business to discuss.
“Give Aria a kiss for me, will you?” I tell Carter easily.
Jase’s smile matches that of Carter’s as he stands, slipping his hands into the pants pockets of his gray suit.
“It’d be better if you came home.” Carter adds, “She misses you.”
Jase piles on, “You should come home more often. We’re starting to think you prefer it here.”
I huff a humorless breath, although an asymmetric smile kicks up my lips. “It’s quiet here and we all know there’s work that needs to be done.”
They go home to loving partners and children. I stay here, cleaning up the messes left behind. Monitoring the cameras that capture shit they shouldn’t. Keeping tabs on the residents who peek outside their windows late at night and need to be reminded we’re on their side.
The mafia only survives because of community. Crooks and murderers get away with their sins because of those who turn a blind eye, and those who support them.
Rubbing my eyes with the back of my hand, I say, “It’s a fucking full-time job.”
“You need help?” Jase offers and the sincerity rings clear in his tone.
“No. I need to figure out the last thing we discussed. Then I’ll come home.”
That sinking feeling in my stomach rears its ugly head again and both Jase and Carter’s eyes darken, their lips setting into a thin line at the reminder.
There’s a rat somewhere, leaking information to the feds.
“If you need anything,” Carter murmurs and shrugs on his black jacket. It’s bespoke and looks expensive as hell. Probably because it is. Both of my brothers dress in suits, stay cleanly shaven when in public. They represent the family well.
Daniel mostly sticks to the family estate, and I reside here most of the time. At The Club. My club. Everything I need is at my disposal.
Including concrete rooms in the basement, and alcohol upstairs for when I’ve finished tasks like taking care of late payments.
“Is there anyone or anything else I should be aware of?” I question with Carter’s back to me, his hand on the doorknob. He’s quick to turn back around, Jase at his right. His dark eyes narrow as he thinks. My brothers look so alike. Tall, domineering. When they smile it’s infectious, and when they’re less than pleased, it’s intimidating.
I see the way others react to them. I’m more like Daniel, quiet and preferring to keep to myself.
If anyone sees me, they wish they hadn’t. That’s how I prefer it.
Carter shakes his head and then peers at Jase before asking, “Am I forgetting anything?”
My chair protests with a groan as I shift my weight to focus on Jase, resting my ankle across my knee as I lean back.
“If anyone else comes in late on payments, we do the same.”
“That was a given,” I comment, knowing this weekend is going to be a bloody one. “It would match our reputation.”
Carter says, “Our reputation is all we have.”
“And each other,” Jase adds. Carter nods, and again I note the darkness under his eyes from lack of sleep.
They say we don’t wait, that we don’t give second chances.
They say we’re murderers and thieves. We’re gangsters and lowlifes. Although, to be fair, we received those last two labels when we were only children. Poor and alone and not a sin worthy of hell yet to be made.
I think God would have forgiven us back then. We were barely aware of the world in those days. But now? We run this hell on earth.
“I’ll tell Aria you’re coming home this weekend.” Carter’s statement sounds like it’s a question as he opens the door. Both of my brothers wait for my answering nod.
With that I bid them farewell, my gaze flicking to the whiskey in the corner of the room. To get through tonight, I’m going to need a stiff drink or two.
There’s a common phrase people like to say: “Blood is thicker than water.”
Its meaning has been twisted over time to convince others that family is most important. More important than anyone else. Because family is blood. The quote it’s derived from entails the exact opposite: “The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb.” The quote is meant to strengthen the bonds of soldiers on the battlefield. Those you spill blood with are closer to you than anyone else.
I’ve spilled more blood in the last decade than I ever thought possible alongside my brothers. There’s not a damn thing in this world that could ever drive us apart. Blood and water, they are one and the same. We have killed for each other, we only survived because of it and the bloodshed will never stop.
It can’t. If it does, it will be because we’re buried under ten feet of dirt and only a stone will ever speak for us again.
Pouring three fingers of amber liquid into the tumbler, I throw it back. Tonight is just one of many similar evenings in the very near future. I can feel it in the very marrow of my bones.
Braelynn
Life is brutal.
You can argue all you want that there are sweet parts of life. Some people cling to the belief that there are more good moments than bad, but that’s not what I’m talking about. Life is brutal because it keeps on coming.
One hit after the other, knocking you down. You don’t have time to get up and brush off the dirt.
Life doesn’t acknowledge pain and the need to pause when it hits. We need to breathe, and life doesn’t care. It doesn’t stop and it doesn’t grant reprieves.
In short: life can be a coldhearted bitch.
With a deep inhale, I follow a hairline crack in the ceiling of my new bedroom. My brow cocks at it, wondering if it’s been there for years and it’s fine, or if the crack wi
ll get worse.
The room itself doesn’t feel like mine yet. There’s not an ounce of me in it.
No vibrant colors, though the walls are primed a dull white. Brown boxes are stacked a few feet high and the only things I took out of them were the bedding. Which … leaves a lot to be desired.
The fitted sheet is pulled off the corner of my mattress, making an uncomfortable ridge under my foot. I push at it with my toes. I must have tossed and turned when I finally fell asleep last night.
That would explain why I don’t feel rested at all. Par for the course, I suppose. Glancing at the clock, I realize the alarm hasn’t even gone off yet. Nothing is worse than waking up feeling like shit before the sun has fully risen.
I debate on trying to slip back to sleep, but my mind is already reeling with every item on my to-do list. My bedroom is still barren, other than the mound of cardboard boxes. I have a hand-me-down bed frame and a nightstand my mom let me take. I have my mattress and a set of sheets that aren’t too bad, fitted sheet notwithstanding. I have a laundry basket with my clothes in it, and not much else.
A numbness creeps over me and my tired eyes feel even more weighed down.
Shake it off, Braelynn. Shake it off. I remind myself that this isn’t me. All of this doubt and exhaustion are because of what I’ve been through.
Today is different. Today is another chance.
I’m not going to be able to fall back asleep. And if I did, it wouldn’t be dreams that greeted me. Sighing, I push the sheet halfway down my body and rub my eyes with the back of my hand. Once my brain is on for the day, it’s on. There’s no going back now. No matter how tired I am from last night.
It makes me hate my ex, Travis, all the more. It took forever to find sleep after he texted me. Just thinking his name makes my body go cold.
God, I don’t want to think about that. Sure as hell not first thing in the morning.
The thoughts spun through my mind all night. I don’t want to think about it; I’d rather focus on the crack in the ceiling, but I can’t stop.