Fawn: A Dark Mafia Shifter Romance (Blackfang Barons Book 1)

by Elaina Jadin

  He’s not lean and clever like Bishop—he’s gangly and stupid. He’s not tough and passionate like Kade—he’s crude and selfish. He’s not refined and commanding like Draven—he’s slovenly and arrogant.

  How did I ever let this man come to control so much of my life? He’s nothing but a sliver of shit that anyone in their right mind would scrape off their shoe the first chance they got.

  My knees shake, but I lock my legs and face him with a steady, unrelenting gaze. “Get off of Draven’s desk.”

  The furious edge in my voice shocks us both, but only he shows the surprise. He straightens slowly, edging away from the desk, watching me as if I’m a stray dog likely to bite. It’s glorious.

  “I was kidding, damn.” Bryan lets out a laugh and raises his hands in mock humor. “Calm down.”

  His attempt at trying a different approach comes off about as smooth as a rock tumbling down the mountain. Still, he persists, waving me over as he walks toward the door.

  “Come on, Jemma, let’s go,” he says.

  The way he beckons me to him reminds me of how people at the park yesterday called their dogs over. When I stand my ground, I half expect him to pat his knee and click his tongue.

  The realization hits me hard—I don’t care about him anymore. I don’t care about Bryan, at all. Not about what he thinks of me, not what happens to him when he leaves here, not if I ever see him again. I don’t give a single flying fuck about any of it. He has no power over me now.

  Despite the gauntlet of emotions running through me, I manage to say the words in a firm, clear voice. “I’m not leaving.”

  He scoffs with irritation, gawking at me as if I’m being petulant. “You think this is cute? Mack’s been holding your spot, but he’ll replace you as fast as that,” he says, snapping his fingers.

  I give Bryan a shrug as I walk over to Draven’s desk. “He should. Because I’m not coming back.”

  “Don’t fuck around with me, Jemma,” he says, scowling at me. “You’ve held up our end of the agreement, my debt is paid, now it’s time to come home.”

  “No, Bryan, you’re mistaken.” I run my fingers across the polished wooden surface, stroking it as though greeting a lover. Given the amount of time I’ve spent on this piece of furniture, I feel a bit entitled to it.

  His eyes are glued on me, his brow furrowed as I make my way behind the desk and continue speaking in an even tone. “You might remember the deal had two parts. If I stay for a week, your debt is paid off and you get the extra fifty thousand you asked for. But… if I stay for a month, you’ll still owe them every penny, including the extra fifty that they give to me instead.”

  I ease into Draven’s chair, feeling as though I’m sitting on a revered throne. Sadie’s mouth gapes open as I sit down, but I don’t give a damn.

  If she tells Draven about it, then I’ll happily take the punishment. The look on Bryan’s face as he watches me sit here, poised confidently behind this big, imposing desk, is worth every delicious ounce of pain Draven might wring from me later.

  “I told you I’d stay a week, and you were so glad to sell me off to save yourself,” I say, the disgust evident in my voice. “But which deal do you really think I took, Bryan?”

  He glares at me, but I see the worry settling into his eyes, the way his spine stiffens, the uncertainty in his posture. He shifts from one foot to the other, his mouth half-open as though a word is caught in his throat.

  I tilt my head at him and turn my palms up one at a time as though weighing options. “The one where you get to use me like I’m nothing more than chattel to trade, or the one where I walk away with the money?”

  His confusion leeches away, anger bleeding in behind it. “Jemma,” he growls my name and strides up to the desk, leaning over it, the sour scent of cheap beer on his breath. “You’re coming home with me right now. You will not fuck me over like this.”

  The sound of his anger used to make me cower, made me bend and relent. But now I settle back against the plush leather of the chair, unafraid. His growl is nothing more than a pathetic whimper compared to Draven’s. I stare back at him, my nerves as calm as they’ve ever been.

  “No,” I say simply, letting the solitary word make its mark.

  Bryan gawks at me, fuming with disbelief, but I ignore his pointed stare as I rub my fingers along the armrests of Draven’s chair, drawing strength from the fine grain of the leather. Sitting here is almost like being embraced by the man, strong and sure, his masculine scent clinging to the material.

  “You see, I’m doing all the work here, like I always have,” I tell him. “But you’re not getting a cut of it anymore.”

  “Bryan, wrap it up. We need to go.” Sadie’s irritated but worried tone from across the room catches my attention and I glance at her, noting that her smug attitude has quickly deflated.

  She’s peering down the hallway nervously, as though she’s expecting to be caught with her hand in the cookie jar any second.

  A sense of satisfaction fills my chest at the sight. It seems that I was right—neither of these assholes have permission to be in Draven’s office. Sadie can take her precious keyring and shove it up her ass sideways, because she’s full of shit.

  In front of me, Bryan ignores her, nearly frothing at the mouth as he stares me down. “You got a taste of their money, is that it? You like being their fucking whore?”

  I raise an eyebrow and lift my shoulders, unable to stop a mocking tone from slipping into my voice. “Gee, I guess I really do.”

  “Fuck you, Jemma,” Bryan snarls, jabbing a finger at me, spittle hitting me in the face. “You’ll be fucking sorry about this, you self-righteous bitch.”

  “Fuck you, too, Bryan,” I say, leaning forward. “You’ve said your piece, showed your ass, and confirmed what a piece of shit you are. And you’ve got your answer. So now, take your sorry ass and get the fuck out of my face.”

  He smacks the desk with a yell, a guttural sound full of anger. Beneath the desk, my legs are jelly and have nearly gone numb. But from the waist up, I’m an unrelenting wall against his raging storm, looking back at him with utter calmness. It only makes him howl louder, and his hands curl into fists.

  For a second, I’m sure he’s going to hit me. My whole body is screaming for me to crawl under the desk and hide, to get out of his path of destruction. But I’m done with taking Bryan’s shit.

  The fingers of my left hand curl around the heavy, solid glass paperweight he tossed on the desk earlier, stealthily palming it. If he hits me, I’ll use every last breath I have to beat the motherfucking shit out of him with it.

  I force myself to rise from the chair, steadying my legs by leaning against the strong wood, and draw in a deep, steady breath before I speak. “Get. The. Fuck. Out.”

  He holds his stance, his lips twisted with hatred, and inwardly, I brace for the punch I know is coming. But finally, Bryan steps away from the desk and slowly backpedals toward the door, his face so red I expect a vein to pop any second.

  I didn’t even notice her leaving, but Sadie’s already disappeared from sight. Good riddance.

  Bryan’s fingers clench around the edge of the open door so hard they turn white with rage, and he points at me again with his other hand, his eyes narrowed into little beads. “You’re going to regret this, I promise you. You’re going to fucking regret this moment. I’m going to destroy you, you fucking used-up disgusting little slut.”

  Then he’s gone, yanking the door closed behind him with a wall-rattling slam.

  33

  Bishop

  The way Terrion masticates the chicken on his fork makes me want to snarl. The man saws at the tender stuffed breast before tearing it with his fork and shoving it in his mouth, uncaring of the juices running down his chin. The three other representatives of the Latian pack also attack their plates like brutes who’ve only ever eaten slop from a pile.

  Tonight it is important that we present a friendly face, and that’s the only thing k
eeping me from gutting every last one of them with the bread knife.

  Their manners reflect their beliefs, and I’ve no doubt that if we’d allowed it, they’d be eating in wolf form, tearing raw flesh from the bone.

  When Carl, the Latian seated to my right, belches without care, I pick up my wine glass and bury my face in it, gulping down the red liquid to keep from saying something. Draven senses my annoyance, but his look of caution is unwarranted. I have more control of my wolf than these mongrels.

  Thank fuck this dinner is almost over. I’ve already given Miri the signal that we’re skipping dessert. If I had to watch these mangy assholes destroy the beautiful fruit pie she made, I’d be feeding them their own tongues before the after-dinner coffee was served.

  “There’s one last thing,” Terrion says between bites, punctuating the air with his fork.

  He’s chewing with his mouth open and it takes him several more seconds of us staring at him before he swallows down the chicken. Disgusting.

  “The girl,” he finally says, smacking his lips and sucking at his teeth.

  “What girl?” Draven sounds calmly detached, as he has throughout the whole dinner, but the fingers he was drumming impatiently a moment ago now press stiffly against the table.

  Terrion smirks, a slime covered expression as he leans back in his chair. “The human girl you three are spending a fuck ton of money on. You know, the one you dressed in my father’s pelt at the Tribunal.”

  “What of her?” Draven’s voice is still the same, and I doubt Terrion recognizes that he’s venturing into dangerous territory.

  “Jemma O’Connor,” he drawls, tilting his head back and forth with each syllable while he spins his beer bottle on the table. “Right? That’s her name? Or does she prefer her stage name—Prudence Sweet?”

  Kade and I exchange a glance. Kade lowers his fork, and even the other Latians pause in their massacre of the last few morsels of food.

  This dinner has tested our resolve to the very limits. We’ve managed to make it through an hour of mind-numbing topics, choking down small talk and bullshit stories, and even some discussion about the vague possibility of deals they’ll never live long enough to participate in. But this is the first subject that’s grabbed my wolf’s attention, and right now he’s baring his teeth.

  “Yeah, that’s the one—Jemma, the dancer,” he says, twirling a finger in the air as if he’s mentally spinning her around a pole.

  Rather than ask again what Terrion wants, Draven stares at him as though he has all the patience in the world. But I know from the dark glimmer in his eyes that he’s mentally slicing Terrion open and watching him bleed out all over the pretty white tablecloth.

  “I’ve heard she has some skill at dancing,” Terrion continues. “I figure if she’s good enough for the Barons, then the Latians should give her a go, too.”

  He has an arrogant grin on his face, as if he thinks he’s backed us into a corner. But all he’s done is push his chips to the center and made a bluff when he doesn’t even know what hand he holds. In fact, he’s not even playing the same game as we are.

  “Her contract isn’t up yet,” Draven responds, looking as calm as ever, his voice completely even, as though we’re talking about the wine selection for dinner.

  “Contract, huh?” Terrion leans on the table, squinting at us with feigned curiosity. “Interesting. Maybe we’ll have to arrange for one of those ourselves. What do you put in that kind of contract?”

  “You would have to ask her,” Draven says with a shrug of disinterest, sounding bored of the topic. But I know there’s no way in seven hells that he’ll let Terrion get close enough to her to utter a single word, much less make arrangements for her to stay with them.

  “I find it unlikely,” I begin, drawing Terrion’s attention, “that she would be interested in working for the pack who killed her parents.”

  But my comment doesn’t give him pause. Instead, he grins wider and rocks back on his chair. “I reckon you’re right. Terribly unfortunate, that whole situation.”

  He pauses to shake his head and cluck his tongue. His fake sorrow fools no one, but it does ratchet Draven’s blood pressure up ten notches, and Kade’s hands are twitching. This dinner needs to end, and soon.

  Terrion shifts gears, wiggling a finger at us. “But see, she doesn’t know you’re wolves, does she? I’m guessing no, since wolves are the reason she grew up an orphan. So, I don’t see why we couldn’t do the same. We’ll just not tell her.” He spreads his arms as though it’s a genius idea. “She never has to know who’s buried balls deep inside her.”

  Beside me, Draven finally loses his cool for a moment, a low growl issuing from his throat as he stares Terrion down. Every muscle in Kade’s body is tense now, and he’s nearly vibrating from the chaotic energy churning inside him.

  Before either of them can leap across the table, I clear my throat and speak up, forcing myself to use words when I really want to plunge my fork into the side of his neck and twist until his flesh looks like spaghetti. “Ms. O’Connor worked as a dancer, not a prostitute.”

  Terrion snorts, rocking back on his chair again. If he breaks the legs of the chair, it will take all the self-control I have to let him walk out of here and not shove the splintered pieces straight up his ass.

  “You know the only difference between a stripper and a whore?” he asks, smiling wildly.

  None of us answer him, but two of the Latians snicker, no doubt having heard their leader tell the ill-formed joke on more than one occasion.

  “How much money you throw at them before they spread their legs.” Terrion slaps the table as he delivers the punchline and his men laugh, holding up their beer bottles in salute.

  “Gentlemen,” Draven says, placing his cloth napkin on the table and rubbing his hands together with finality, “I believe our evening has come to an end. As for Ms. O’Connor, she is currently under contract with us for the next twenty-three days. Where she chooses to go after that is entirely up to her.”

  His words are delivered true—we’ve given Jemma the choice, and she’s free to go anytime she pleases. She won’t leave, though. I already know it even if she doesn’t.

  A part of her has found security and foundation in the darkness we offer. With us, there are no expectations of whole mindedness or whole heartedness. She can give in to her brokenness and let us wear her down to dust. And then, if she wishes, she can be remade in our image. Strong, capable, and enduring.

  “Aww, come on. You can’t tell me you’d let a piece of fine ass walk away like that?” Terrion asks, looking between us all. “Haven’t you ever heard of straps and chains? They work really well for keeping a female where she belongs.”

  Kade meets the other alpha’s eyes, a snarl of disgust curled on his lips. “We like our women willing. If you please them well enough, they won’t stray far from your bed. With my skills alone, I don’t think she’ll be running into your arms anytime soon.”

  “Hmm,” is Terrion’s only response before he pushes his plate away and slugs down the last of his beer.

  My wolf’s hackles raise, my instincts hearing the simple hum as a challenge. He might as well have said we’ll see about that.

  Terrion stands abruptly, his chair bouncing back along the hardwood floor with a series of sharp squeaks. He picks up his napkin for the first time all evening and rubs it across his face, then tosses it in the middle of his plate before patting his stomach. “Well, I’m full as a tick on a deer’s ass, so I guess that means it’s time to go.”

  The rest of us stand as well. I eye the wreckage of the table as we rise to our feet—the disgusting mess of food dotting the tablecloth, the silverware tossed down with little care, the empty bottles of beer lying on their sides.

  I’ll send some of the pups to take care of it because Miri shouldn’t have to clean up after these slobs. By morning, the room will be spotless once again, the messy tablecloth gone and the gorgeous ebony wood gleaming as usual. Little do t
he Latians know, I’ve had our little fawn spread out on this table, feasting my hands and eyes on her delicious flesh before taking her roughly, her cries filling the room.

  “Thank you for joining us this evening,” Draven says, already motioning to the doorway. “Let me show you out.”

  The Latians file out of the room with Draven on their heels, his eyes seething with fire and brimstone. If he manages to escort them to the end of the hallway without snapping their necks, I’ll be surprised.

  As soon as they’re out of hearing range, Kade grips the edge of the table so hard I fear it might snap in two, and the snarl he lets loose sounds like pavement being ripped in half. “Fucking bastards,” he rumbles.

  “My sentiments exactly,” I say, taking my seat.

  He throws himself back into his chair with an angry snort. “We didn’t even get any information about that fuck, Bryan.”

  “No,” I say, letting out an irritated growl. “Terrion sidestepped that topic quite well, repeatedly.”

  Kade punches his fist into the palm of his other hand. “The nerve he had, lying right to our faces, acting like he had no idea who Bryan is. He must think we’re as dumb as he is.”

  “Well, tonight was their one chance to set things right,” I say calmly, “and they opted to blow that right out of the water. So, now we go to phase two.”

  Kade glowers. “I sincerely hope phase two involves ripping Terrion’s arms off. I swear to fuck, if he’d stayed here another second, I was going to pluck his goddamn eyes out and replace them with his balls.”

  “The only reason I made it through dinner is because I was devising new ways to torture each of them in my head,” I tell him.

  Dinner was atrocious, and my wolf is agitated—pacing, snapping, barking.

  But our lovely fawn is waiting for us patiently, kneeling obediently on the pillow in Draven’s office downstairs. She will serve as a perfect reward to balance the wretchedness of the last hour we’ve endured.

  My phone vibrates, and I pull it out of my pocket. While I busy myself with checking my latest messages, Kade crosses his arms, stewing quietly as we wait for Draven to return.