Bad Girl (Les Pétales)

by Samuels, Kailee

Her lips twitched, and she breathed heavily. “But…”

  “But what?” I argued as the feathered headdress weighted on my neck and back. With transparency, I understood what I was attempting to do, but I wanted her to tell me. I needed to hear it as I wanted her observations to know if I was about to step in dog shit or saunter like a queen to her throne. “Tell me.”

  Leaning closer, she muttered three little words that would change the course of my entire life. “For one, if Gennaro knows you are going off with another top player like Ito, it might start a war.”

  Gee, and why would I ever want that?

  My reasons were simple. If these two were bucking horns, then they were paying top dollar for my silence and companionship. War was a win-win deal for me, providing I didn’t get caught. If I got caught, my friendly foes would both have their crosshairs aimed at me. Giuseppe didn’t mind sharing me, but there was an invisible limit as to how much caring would be allowed from the bigwigs.

  With a light touch to her arm, I blushed and played it up. “Sally Jane, I hardly think I’m worth a gunfight.”

  Under her breath, she whispered with much concern, “He’s into kink, Anna.” With a repetitious nod, she used her body language to try and convey how deranged and demented the boys from the Far East were.

  I smiled and gave her a wink. “Even better.”

  At this point, I had the run of the mill missionary. A little adventure sounded intriguing and fun. Daring even. I hadn’t run off to Vegas to be a nun. I wanted to experience the culture, grandeur, and world. With my poise and dancing ability, I outperformed many of the girls in less than a year and garnered the attention of the boys sitting at the tables behind closed glass doors.

  Don’t throw rocks in glass houses.

  And stealing another’s sex kitten would end with bloody shattered glass.

  I wholeheartedly believed I was prepared for whatever Daizou Ito had to offer as I watched Sally Jane stroll over to Dick and turn in the slips. I grabbed Giuseppe’s drink from the bar and sauntered over to the roulette wheel.

  In the crowd of people, I noted the lurker’s steely gaze on me as he stood with a whiskey in one hand and a cigarette dangling from his lips. He always came in with Gennaro. I didn’t know his name, so I came to think of him as the intruder. He looked dirty and unkempt. The kind of boy Mama would have cocked the rifle at when he arrived at the door. He had been watching over me since I first started working. I don’t think he trusted me with his boss.

  In the revelrous atmosphere, I peeked over my shoulder to Dick, shuffling through the slips of paper. One by one, he discreetly pointed to the girls, slipped them a room key, and the showgirls slowly vanished from the casino floor.

  This was how things worked.

  Keeping my banter light, I handed Giuseppe his drink and noticed Dick giving a decided nod in my direction. The intruder shifted his stance and stared. He had a lot of arrogance, but I ignored him and kept on with my business. I kissed Giuseppe’s cheek and whispered, “I’ll be right back.”

  “Alright, doll,” Giuseppe mumbled, paying attention to the game. The roulette wheel clicked along as I walked away to the fortune I predicted. “Come back soon!”

  Making my way through the crowd, I kept my eyes cast low for fear of setting off any alarms. I didn’t want to tip anyone off as to what I was up to. Attempting to serve both sides, I accepted the danger and deemed it worth the reward. My hands were clammy. My knees were weak. And it had nothing to do with meeting with Ito, but the adrenaline rush of keeping secrets.

  The bad boys weren’t the only ones who could play a badass game.

  No one expected it from one of the girls though, particularly one as young and green as myself. For months in the dressing room, I listened and paid attention. I knew who was screwing who. And who was backstabbing the bitch sitting next to her, despite the waxed fake smile smeared on her lips. It was a cruel, cruel world in the land of lace and stockings.

  Kill or be killed was the name of the game.

  I had the wherewithal to take Giuseppe up on his offer early on, and only a fool would decline Ito. When I left Texas, I wanted not only to survive but succeed. I defined achievement as the freedom to do what and who I wanted. Taking Giuseppe on was a smart investment; switching between Giuseppe and Daizou was flat out greedy. The other girls would hate me, but I didn’t care. I had a chance to cross the finish line and win gold.

  Two mob bosses, one girl.

  At the podium, I took the key from Dick as he mentioned, “The client requests you stay dressed.”

  I shuffled away to the service elevator. Ito was in the swankiest room of the hotel. I made my way up to the top floor and inserted my key into the lock. I had never been to this suite before. The view of the city was incredible as the lights twinkled in my eyes.

  Out there—somewhere—was the life I left behind.

  My father would have forced my hand and coerced me into marrying Gilbert Saunders. His father had oil rigs in the Gulf and between the two—my father and Mr. Saunders—they would have made happy oil love for years to come. It was diabolic on my father’s part.

  Franklin Ford thought he had negotiating power over his only girl and he might have if he had ever treated my mother worth a damn. But he didn’t. His never-present state led to a string of bad choices by my mother which ultimately led to her death before forty. With his absence, he broke her heart and my refusal to marry Gilbert Saunders would break his.

  I had no regrets.

  … Until the intruder grabbed the door and prohibited me from shutting it. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m trying to save your ass,” he barked, thumbing down the cigarette tucked upon his ear and lighting it as he shut the door behind him with the toe of his boot. “You need to listen to me good, little girl.”

  Nonchalantly, I waved off his scolding. I didn’t need a man—any man, least of all this man who apparently didn’t even own a suit—telling me what to do. “Whatever you have to say means very little to me. You ain’t nothin but a bruiser.”

  Drowning in his blue eyes, I dismissively sighed as he gruffed, “How old are you?”

  “Old enough.”

  “You aren’t even,” he rebuked as I hastily spun. He grabbed my arm and stopped me from leaving. “Look, you’re fuckin quail! And I’m not playing games with you. You are Gennaro’s pussy on a plate. If he finds out you are messing with Ito, he will have your pretty head on a silver platter. You don’t get to play the whole room.”

  Through gritted teeth, I sassed, “I play with whoever is paying, same as you.” Pursing my lips, I served him up a decadent spread of everything I’d witnessed. “I pay attention, and I saw you come in with those boys from New Orleans. You aren’t loyal to Gennaro anymore than I am. I don’t know who you are or what you do, but stay the hell away from me.”

  With an impressed snarl, he scanned over my face and body as he dipped down and had the nerve to kiss me solidly on the lips. They were full, warm, and inviting as they peeled back the layers of my ever-hardening exterior. His mouth smoothed over mine like sweet ice cream melting on my lips. His tongue invaded my mouth as I felt myself turn to putty in his hands. He nodded once with a proud smirk. Releasing my arm from his grip, he growled, “My name is Jacob Ballister. If you need me… I’ll be around.”

  “Don’t kiss me again.”

  “Why?” He lowered to my face. “Because you liked it?”

  “Because you are nothing more than a hoodlum, Jake.”

  “Jake…” he snickered with a sexy, deviant grin. “I like it.”

  Turning back quick, Jake swaggered off and left the room as my heartbeat returned to a steady pace. I licked my lips and breathed as my hands ran over the bare flesh of my midriff. He couldn’t come around again. He could've easily destroyed my plans with my body in his hands and his mouth upon my skin.

  How dare he have the nerve to kiss me?

  Flushed and excited, I flurried to the bathroom to check m
y makeup and adjust my costume. Ito wanted me dressed, not undressed and ready to go for home base as soon as he walked in. I skimmed my hand down over my private parts held in tight by the taffeta and rhinestone fabric. Tilting my hips back, I touched the dampness there.

  God, I didn’t need a man like Jake.

  He was the drug my body craved; the addiction my mind loved.

  I told myself, no, but my inner voice screamed yes.

  Without any prospects of a crowned life, Jake was no better than Gilbert Saunders. Or so I believed. I would humor his whims of watching over me, but never allow his touch upon my flesh again. Risk management with Jake meant not succumbing to the mutterings in my heart and my panties, where there was no profit to be made. Profit came from sex not love.

  That’s where I was wrong.

  Jake had all the benefits.

  I just hadn’t seen them, but in time, I would.

  Putting the thoughts of Jake on the back burner, I stepped to the entryway of the hotel suite and waited for the sugar daddy to appear before me. There was no use in hiding what we were or weren’t; it was quite clear.

  He was rich. I was young and beautiful.

  And this was how the world worked in Vegas.

  Bouncing the door open, Ito’s men streamed in before him. They scattered off to the sides as the middle-aged man with a toothy grin smiled at me. He strode closer and brushed his fingers over the feathers and the gems of my bodice. With barely a hint of an accent, he asked, “What is your name, pretty girl?”

  “My name is Anna Ford.”

  Blossom in the Water

  CHAPTER 2

  The lipstick smeared on my face as I stared at the wall of mirrors. Ryu Ho, Daizou Ito’s righthand man, had been inside of me for what seemed like hours. He was akin to the food taster of olden days—making sure the girl wasn’t poison for the King. I hadn’t endured such insults with Giuseppe, and this alone discouraged me from the get-go, but I continued with my face smashed to the comforter because this was what I did.

  And this was far better than marrying Gilbert Saunders.

  Ryu was a short, slightly round man. He was pleasant enough during our conversation, albeit a bit odd. With Daizou in the main room, Ryu escorted me to the bedroom where I sat down and answered his miscellaneous questions. He wanted answers for my rather dull past—where I came from and what I was doing in Vegas.

  I tried to provide as much gentle persuasion as I could without pressuring him. The last thing I wanted was him to back out of where we were. “Take off your costume, Anna. Please do not remove your shoes.”

  He didn’t make a pass or even ask, but demanded I undress before him. There was something to be said about getting down to business. In several years, I would find that to be a common element among his men. After a few brief minutes of conversation, they wasted no time. I was okay with that.

  Removing the headdress, I did my best seductive rolls in stripping from the costume, which proved almost impossible. They weren’t meant to come off quickly. They were heavy and confining, but I made every effort to look as sexy as I could.

  I was standing naked in the room in my bright high heels. “Please bend over the bed.”

  No kissing. No touching. Just fucking.

  It was incredibly annoying for a good while, until I lifted my head from the plush comforter, and asked if I could do anything. He slapped my cheek hard enough to bring tears to my eyes. In my slobber, I messed up my makeup. Now, in the mirror, I looked as though a youngster had done my face like a mangled puppet.

  It was terrible, but strangely—it turned me on.

  Suddenly, Ryu pulled out of me and came all over my backside. With his handkerchief, he wiped me up and bowed. “Thank you. Please wait here.”

  That was that.

  Not every time with Ryu would be so sterile. This testing process, as I had come to think of it as to not be insulted, was the only time I had to endure such.

  With the unusual start of my relations with the Japanese mafia, I imagined it would only intensify. Exactly one hour later, Daizou Ito appeared in my doorway and asked, “Would you like to eat something?”

  “Yes,” I said as he moved to the bathroom. I heard the water filling the tub as he returned. “There are clean clothes in there. Take a bath. I’ll order dinner.”

  “Thank you,” I replied, glancing up. “Very much.”

  In the dimly lit room, he pivoted back and approached slow. Running his fingers over my cheeks, he said, “You look like a pretty broken showgirl. Do not take this off.”

  I nodded as I experienced truly feeling used for the first time. I knew Giuseppe was using me, but he never made me feel like a prostitute. I found comfort in his touch balanced by his razor-sharp words.

  Daizou was entirely forthcoming as he said, “Stop worrying, Anna. Ryu was to see if you can handle the rest.”

  I said nothing for a good minute. “… What if I can’t?”

  “You will,” he assured, caressing my cheeks again. “You are as brave as you are beautiful.”

  He left the room, and I rose up to see the bath. The massive tub was lightly filled with bubbles and a mixture of flower petals. The colors in the water were beautiful. Somehow, in that very insignificant act, I found the strength to continue in the adventure with this man. I had so much to gain. If my only loss was a brief moment of utter humiliation, I could take it—Daizou was right—I was brave.

  Brave. Bold. And determined.

  I slipped into the hot water and let the emotions take over. I cried. I cried for the girl I once was. I cried for the girl who was lost in the room beneath Ryu. I cried for the story I didn’t think I could change, but that was where I was wrong.

  Changing the story is hard.

  The chapters of life are sometimes painful and brutal. And the only one to commiserate with me in the vat of loneliness was the voice in my head reminding me of the one thing I believed in—freedom.

  In my father’s house, I suffered through the invisible oppression because of what he did to my mother. I got the leftovers and the after-effects of a whittled down, used up woman willing to do anything for the love of one man.

  I witnessed my mother’s self-destruction for a careless asshole.

  His selfish acts removed any chance of me having a relationship with the woman I loved most in the world. His pain trickled through our family like a pathogen. His vitriol-fueled words collapsed the very foundation of us and led to my quiescent self-proclamation, “I’m never getting married because men always hurt women.”

  Having casual sex with mobsters was a hell of a lot easier than longing for a man who would never return my love. When the self-harm cycle repeated itself in relationships, I had to ask why, but these… These were the skills I learned over a lifetime.

  If love wasn’t working correctly, then there was a damn good chance it was broken.

  That didn’t mean giving up and calling it a wash or throwing it to the junk heap, but fighting for the connection to be repaired. Having the will to fight was a huge piece of changing the story—and it was hard, especially if both parties didn’t want to fight.

  Taking the love apart—bit by bit—and repairing the damage, only to stitch it back together again. Those stitches might hold; they might not.

  But there was great forgiveness in trying.

  And there was beauty in loving another as fully and completely as possible.

  * * *

  Stepping into the main room of the suite, I smiled at Daizou. He was sitting at the table by the window with multiple plates of food. He changed clothes to a black silk pajama set which complemented the white one tinged with pink roses he left for me.

  We drank sake, ate lobster, and chatted until the wee hours. He was a delightfully amusing man, and I was honored when he asked me to dance barefoot with him at three in the morning.

  I will spare the details of our lovemaking because it is just too painful to recount. Sally Jane was right. He was into mischief, b
ut nowhere near what I would grow to become accustomed to. I remember he liked nipping me, and we laughed a lot.

  Our late night ended early the next afternoon. When I awoke in his bed at eight the next evening, I noticed Ryu, sitting in a chair and staring at me. It was slightly disconcerting, and I scooted back quickly. He wasn’t touching himself or acting anymore peculiar than usual, but something in his eyes bothered me—deeply.

  “… Ryu?” I whispered, pulling the sheet up over my naked skin. “Where is Daizou?”

  “The contract between our establishment and you will continue.”

  I furrowed my brow and sat up. I was confused by his statement as less than six hours ago I was riding on Daizou’s hard cock. Of course, our contract would continue.

  “What are you talking about?”

  He finally met my gaze. And I think I knew then, even if I didn’t know. That morning I learned intuition was a chilling bitch capable of knocking the wind out of my lungs. “Daizou was shot and killed en route to the meeting with Gennaro.”

  My eyes fluttered as I couldn’t escape the fact that I had a dead man’s come dripping out of me. I broke down. Grabbing the white silk shirt, I jerked out of bed in search of a place to hide and cry. I snuck into the bathroom and fell to the floor as the sobbing took hold.

  “… Miss Ford?” Ryu said, kneeling beside me. His hand rubbed my back as he tried to comfort me. “Miss Ford?”

  With my remaining makeup falling onto the white silk, I sobbed big tears for a man I hardly knew. It felt surreal and absurd. I had known my father my entire life and never shed a tear over his actions, but twelve hours with Daizou crumbled me to a mess.

  “If Daizou is…” I stopped, unable to say the words. “How can our contract still be applicable? Are you the new leader of Ito’s business?”

  “No,” he said, clasping my hands in his. “But I have contacted the next in line, and he has agreed to honor all negotiations—yours and Gennaro’s.”

  Shocked, I darted my head up and looked Ryu in the eye. “What do you mean? Giuseppe killed him.”