The Handyman: A Dark Mafia Romance (Bratva Dark Allegiance Book 3)

by Raven Scott

  “I’m sure it’ll be fine if you take another day or two, Reece.”

  “. . . I don’t want to be home alone.” Frankly, I didn’t want to be at work, either, but I’d take it over being stuck in my own head, for sure. Twirling my chair around to my workstation, I inhaled sharply as I reached under my desk to turn on my computer. “I need to finish this shitty report anyway. I want off this fucking case already. I want to forget I ever met that asshole. I mean…he should’ve just let that chick come by herself and at least give the illusion of progress.”

  I should’ve drunk more last night. The thought whizzed through my head as my mind started to organize itself. There was so much to do, and I was pretty close to being done. But the closer I get to being done, the less I want to finish.

  My mom was dead.

  Riley got beat up, and out of everyone, she called me.

  I was at least eighty-percent sure Sarah was the one that watered down the vodka I’d drunk last night. It’d been months since I touched that bottle— months since the last time I had her in my apartment. Months since she fucking bored to me to death trying to play coy. So long that I couldn’t remember what her face looked like, or the exact shade of brown of her hair.

  Sarah wasn’t that interesting to begin with, but she was willing, and I wasn’t exactly taking the moral high ground.

  Ugh. . . why can’t I just stop thinking about all this random ass shit. . . Lowering my head to take a few, deep breaths, I held my last in my lungs for a few seconds. Not that it did anything to help my frenetic thoughts slow down.

  5

  Riley

  Stomping my feet free of snow, I swept back my hood and glanced over my shoulder. The snow falling wasn’t very thick, but it was wet enough to seep through my coat. Heading to my mailbox, I pulled my keys out of my pocket and set my bag on the floor by my feet. In a city of 8 million people, I was pretty happy with myself for being able to get back within two hours of leaving.

  Granted, all I did was take one bus to the electronics depot for a single item. Semantics.

  “I’ve been putting off new headphones for too long. I’m not going to get anything done today because I went out,” mumbling to myself as I opened my mail locker, I grabbed the few envelops inside to lock up to haul myself and my stuff up the stairs. Frowning as I leisurely made my way to the third floor, my lips thinned in self-directed frustration. Already, I wasn’t making the progress I was hoping for a new client and now, I’d gone and wasted all these hours. “I have to finish the interview transcripts, too. Those always suck.”

  Maybe, I should consider getting a part time job. I liked writing and I was good at it, but this lull between November and February always hit me hard. Most of the year, I did more than well enough to save up. My spending habits were good and my expenses were low. If I wasn’t good on a budget, I probably would’ve had to move back home three times by now. Or there’d be no point in moving away in the first place.

  “Except I hate Redding and Redding hates me.” Memories of the home I grew up in blossomed in my mind’s eye, as a frown stained my expression. I reached the third-floor platform, pausing to shuffle my mail under my arm. I drove my ass all the way to Connecticut on the stupid, desperate hope that my mom and dad might be upset that Brandon had hit me. Domination wasn’t my kink by any stretch of the imagination, but he’d played up his openness to trying other things.

  Really, all Brandon wanted was to beat on someone and get away with it. His idea of ‘freaky’ was vague and unsettling; he couldn’t articulate what he wanted, and it didn’t take me long to find out that his idea of BDSM was simply rough sex. That inability to communicate should’ve been red flag number one.

  I was dumb and ignored it because we were both new to the scene. Brandon had only been to Black Cat once or twice before, and I’d been a member for a few months. Paying the $150-dollar yearly fee was worth it in just the first few times I’d been there. I met some really cool girls that stuck by me and gave me tips, and it was something to look forward to on Friday nights.

  Juggling my keys as I came up on my apartment door, I gulped down the tightness in my throat. The phantom touch that whispered on my skin warmed my cheeks, and goosebumps swarmed across my chest under my thick clothes.

  Reece. . . now, he was a real man who knew exactly what he wanted. He was simultaneously the sexiest and most intimidating person I’d ever seen. The sex we had was deliriously amazing. He was such a gentleman and kind, considerate, and—

  That’s exactly why I was afraid of drawing up a contract with Reece. He was the kind of guy I wouldn’t be able to keep at Black Cat, and in the end…I couldn’t manage that feat, anyway. I’d called him, knowing I was breaking a rule— knowing he expected my dom to hurt me somehow when he gave me his number to begin with.

  “Riley?”

  Blinking hard, I glanced up.

  Hannah came flouncing down the hallway in her smart, feminine suit. She lived in the apartment next to me. “You break your key or something?”

  “Oh… no. I zoned out. You just getting back from work?” Adjusting my grip on my bag, I licked my lips heavily. “You wanna come in for a drink?”

  “Sure. I’m just gonna change, but I’ll be over in, like, 10 minutes? I had a crap day. This idiot at work. . .” Trailing off to roll her eyes, Hannah breezed passed me with her tiny waist and long legs. “I’ll tell you about it over a glass of wine.”

  I arched a brow quizzically “Okie dokie. Just knock.” I pushed my key into my doorknob to stumble through. My place flooded with natural light, bright and happy as I dumped my stuff on the couch to sigh heavily. The living room was still and I snatched the remote off the coffee table to turn on the TV. Almost instantly, the news made me tune out, and my mind wandered as I made my way into the kitchen.

  Pulling my phone and wallet out of my jacket, I hung it off the chair and stretched my arms over my head. My phone pinged shrilly, and I flexed my toes in my sneakers.

  ‘Reece: Friday 5pm Black Cat’

  Puffing out my lips thoughtfully, I bopped my head as butterflies fluttered in my abdomen. Before I could even begin to think of a reply, he started texting me again, and anticipation turned my blood to sludge.

  ‘We’ll grab dinner after. It’ll be a date. Bring extra clothes.’

  Flames licked my cheeks when I realized there wasn’t a question mark in sight. Reece just demanded it, and I bit my bottom lip as a groan built in my chest. ‘Ok. Everything okay?’ I texted back.

  “I wonder what happened,” Murmuring to myself as I opened the fridge, my hand groped blindly for the bottle of red on the second shelf.

  Reece started typing away, the ellipsis blinking at me teasingly. ‘Yeah. I’m not going to get into it over text, but basically I’m celebrating finishing this job.’

  A smile tilted my lips, a warm fuzziness blossoming in my chest at this response. The fact that Reece would want to celebrate an accomplishment with me of all people. Not to mention, he probably rented a room at Black Cat if we’re going so early. Of course, there were private rooms and specialized rooms, but they were really expensive. Not only did the room itself need to be rented, but then it would be down for cleaning and reorganizing. The rates didn’t cover anything under 3 hours because it took that long to properly clean. There were addons, like food that had to be ordered in advance.

  Really, it was a feat that Black Cat managed it all. I only had the basic yearly membership, but I knew there were some people, like Reece, who had more advanced packages. When I signed up, my membership required STD testing and a general health exam, which I hadn’t been expecting.

  One girl I’d talked to required a psychological exam because her kink was so extreme.

  But that was the beauty of the place, I guess— security and freedom. That woman was into public humiliation and she’d been given just as much concern as the one that liked getting cut. There were very strict guidelines, and if someone breached contract. . .

/>   Like Brandon. My mind’s eye flooded with memories of calling security on him. He’d tried to wrestle me down, asking me if I liked it— that I was a whore and a piece of shit.

  “He’s the one that’s a piece of shit. Good riddance.” Two burly ex-military guys had burst into the room when I managed to hit the button on the floor. They carried him out, naked and screaming like a lunatic. Brandon fucking deserved it! Who hits women in the face? But that doesn’t mean it’s not my fault for ignoring my gut.

  Thus, the crux of the matter. Brandon was a dick, but I chose not to listen to myself. At least I wasn’t really invested. After signing the contract, it was painfully clear he only cared about getting himself off— emphasis on the ‘pain’.

  ‘Me: Congrats! How’d things go at the storage place?’

  Shaking my head as I sent my text, I set my phone on the counter to pop open my bottle of wine. A soft knock sounded from the front door, and I grabbed two glasses hanging under my top cabinets. I cracked open the barrier smiled broadly, as I let Hannah in.

  Hannah wore pajamas and slippers.

  “Man, I wish I thought of getting into my PJs. I got distracted.”

  She giggled a little, flipping her long, blonde hair over her shoulder.

  “It’s one of those days, isn’t it?” I shut and locked the door behind us.

  “Oh, my God— you have no idea, Riley. Okay, so. . . you know how I’ve been suspecting this guy of stealing tips?”

  Nodding firmly, I poured us both a glass of wine before grabbing the bottle and heading into the living room.

  “I finally caught his ass. He started talkin’ shit about how he was having such a rough time, and all this bullshit, but I finally had an excuse to fire him.”

  “Juicy. What happened? Was this before you opened?” Sitting on the sofa, I curled my legs under me I sipped my wine, regretting that I hadn’t changed into something more comfortable. Wiggling my feet out of my sneakers, I sat back against the arm rest as

  She nodded, dropping heavily onto the cushion opposite me. Then she took a huge gulp of her wine. “Yeah. So, basically, I thought for a couple months now that things weren’t adding up, but today I finally caught him stealing. He started crying about how he needed this job, and this and that, and he was gonna pay it back. Blah. . . blah. . . blah. Shit like that. I fired him on the spot, and I’m debating trying to figure out how much he stole over the past few months and whether or not to take him to court over it. I’m pretty sure it’s a lot.”

  My brows rose and I hummed over the rim of my glass.

  Hannah rolled her baby blues as she leaned in, her smug excitement palpable in the air.

  I was more than happy to listen to her go on and on about this guy, whoever he was. It’s nice not to be stuck thinking about Brandon or my parents. I could always count on Hannah to talk and talk, and talk—and talk.

  6

  Riley

  ‘Riley: Sorry it took so long to get back to you. I had my neighbor over for wine and gossip. I fell asleep on the couch.’

  Stuffing my head into a fresh shirt, I dropped my phone onto my bed to cover my arms and pull the fabric under my breasts. Gazing at myself in the full-length mirror on the back of my closet door, I smoothed my shirt down my sides under deeply knit brows. I’d always had a tiny waist, so my legs and boobs looked bigger than they really were because of it. Cupping my B-cup breasts, I arched a little as I fought a frown.

  “It’s wrong to say ‘tiny’. . . I’ve never been below a size 8,” my mumble swept through the room to crawl up my back, and I reached down to rub my thighs outside my jeans. Of all the things I wished I could change about my body in high school, my legs were at the bottom of the list. Flexing my toes in my heeled boots, satisfaction bloomed in my chest as I inhaled deeply. Reaching to pull my hair into a loose bun, my lips quirked in a smile at my own reflection. Talk about vanity.

  My phone chimed shrilly, and I snapped a hair tie around my mess of locks to snatch the device off my duvet. Excitement popped against my ribs, the light, airy feeling of a good day straightening my shoulders and bumping up my mood. I read his reply.

  ‘That’s okay. I’m on my way to the storage facility. Whoo...’

  Pursing my lips thinly, I rocked back on my heels slightly and gnawed my bottom lip. I had to work. I had no choice but to get something done today. Falling even more behind than I already was would make it that much harder to catch up. But—I really wanted to see Reece.

  We were meeting up tomorrow night, but that wasn’t close enough. A groan of frustration bubbled up from deep in me, and I typed back a quick, simple text. Reece didn’t seem enthusiastic to go to the storage facility, but there wasn’t much I could do.

  “Damn jobs and damn adulting and— ugh!” Grumbling to myself, I left my bedroom and shut the door behind me gently. My apartment was a two-bedroom that I could barely afford this time of year, but I loved the layout and the area. Shouldering my way into my office, I inhaled deeply as I gazed at my computer. “How hard is it to coordinate promotional material, anyway?”

  To be fair, I wrote romance fiction, blogs, and articles to make up for the slow season, but there was always so much to do and not enough time to do it. I was always trying to get ahead, but my running got me nowhere. During the spring, business would boom, but I always had to be careful— and I hated it. Working a regular job wasn’t what I wanted for myself.

  Working a job at all wasn’t what I wanted for myself.

  “Especially retail. Screw retail.” At the very least, I didn’t have to work three jobs at three different physical locations to support myself. I didn’t have to coordinate my schedules to best drive myself into the ground. I didn’t have to worry about being fired for being late, having to leave early or missing a day entirely.

  Breaking me from my thoughts, my phone vibrated insistently in my hand, and I blinked hard. Surprise twitched my brows, but a frown dragged down my mouth. My mom’s name flashed on the screen, sending an itch through my hand to turn down the call. She was persistent, though. And she never had anything good to say.

  “Hey, Mom. I’m about to get ready for work. What’s up?” The line crackled ominously, and I walked over to my computer to turn on the multiple monitors one by one. “Mom?”

  “Riley!”

  Her shrill excitement rattled my teeth, and I closed my eyes as a shiver of foreboding raced down my spine.

  “Why didn’t you tell me you had a boyfriend?”

  Pausing at this, my jaw dropped. My mouth dried as expectant silence rang in my ear, and I opened and closed my mouth a few times. “W-what? I don’t have a boyfriend, Mom. That’s stupid. Who told you that?” Seating myself heavily in my chair, I swished back and forth, as I reached to pinch the bridge of my nose. “Do I even want to know the answer to that?”

  “I got a message this morning from him— that he was your boyfriend, and he wanted to introduce himself. I’m so glad you’re over the disgusting phase. It was worse than your goth phase, Riley. Honestly, you took things too far. It’s good you learned your lesson.”

  Her super vague reply bristled the hairs on the back of my neck.

  Then my mom’s tone went from exciting to chiding before I could even blink. “If you ask me, I think you’re blowing this whole thing out of proportion. You can’t be with every creep in the city and decide to take a little thing way over the top. He seems great in our conversations. It’d be stupid of you to ruin it. Have you ever heard of compromise? I think it’s a little fast to get into a relationship, myself. You’re not gonna call the cops on this guy too, if he looks at you wrong, are you, Riley?”

  “. . . What the fuck, Mom?” Disbelief softened my tone, and the line crackled from the wind or something to snap against my cheek painfully. “Are you seriously telling me I should just let a guy hit me in the face?”

  “What! No! I’m saying that when you hang around a crowd like that, you’re just asking for trouble, that’s all. You can’t dec
ide to move the line whenever you feel like it, Riley. I’m seriously telling you that you should hang out with better people, or that’s what happens.”

  My heart lurched into my throat as my stomach roiled, and goosebumps pocked my whole body under my clothes.

  “It’s not like you don’t like it, either. You said it yourself, Riley, that y—”

  I hung up the phone before my mom could say anything more. What the fuck was there to say? My brain couldn’t even wrap around what words she already forced into my ears. Almost immediately, my phone started to vibrate against my cheek, and I jumped with a harsh gasp. Underneath me, my chair rattled as the room started to cave in on me, and I tapped around on the screen to block my mom’s number hastily.

  My mom wasn’t that traditional or strict, but on what fucking planet. . .?

  “I shouldn’t have picked up the phone.” Once again, I’d ignored my gut and gotten burned— bad. Knowing my mom really had nothing to say, she just wanted to talk at me, I should’ve ignored her call. I stupidly thought that whatever she had to say wasn’t as bad as being pestered by her for however long she tried to call me. “Maybe she’s right, and I do deserve it.”

  Maybe, I am the problem. My mouth dried at that thought, and I stared at my phone screen as it went black. Maybe, my mom was right, and it was my standards that were skewed. Maybe, I should expect to get abused because of my fetish.

  Being tied up. . . the next logical step after that would be to get violent, right? To get rough. To be violated and physically degraded. Maybe, I just freaked out with Brandon because it was so sudden and expected. What if I do deserve it because of my deviancy? You can’t like fire and not get burned at least a few times. I can’t like being bound and expect men to be gentle.

  Closing my eyes, my cheek twisted with the phantom prickling of Brandon’s palm— of his hands wrapping around my neck and squeezing. The way he pinned me to the floor and twisted my arm back. Calling me a nasty whore— maybe, he was right.