Angel (A Reverse Harem Bully Romance): The Brotherhood

by K. M. Raya

  In the back of my mind I knew Papa would kill this boy. I was to remain a virgin until marriage and defiling the Capo’s youngest daughter was a sin greater than any other. Again, I can’t honestly say whether or not Papa really loves me . . . but he’ll protect his image until his dying breath.

  I remember the moment Paulo’s interest shifted while his semi flaccid cock was still inside of me. His hand had skimmed down the side of my torso and over my ass and into a place that should never be seen by a man.

  I screamed but he muffled it again. Before I could stop myself, reflexes kicked in and I reached for my bedside table. Paulo was so caught up in his drunken haze of lust that he paid no attention. Opening my drawer with one hand, I closed my fist around the cold metal inside.

  I felt him slip out of me and knew that I had only seconds to help myself. I remember flipping over as he wobbled on his knees for a moment, looking content but not yet sated.

  I placed the barrel of that tiny handgun right on his forehead and pulled the trigger with ease that should have scared me. Blood and brain matter rained down over me, my bed and my walls as I just laid there in silence.

  My body was bloody, bruised and sore . . . but the danger was gone. All that training I’d received over the years had paid off.

  I saved myself.

  When Papa and the other men burst into my room, they just stood there staring at me. I had expected Papa to yell and scream at me, but instead he’d calmly walked to my bed and sat down. He told me everything would be alright, and that I’d done well.

  Marco was furious, but not at me. Paulo brought shame to his family and for that he profusely apologized to both me and Papa until he was blue in the face. His nephew’s brain was dripping from my crystal chandelier and yet he was on his knees begging for my forgiveness.

  That was the day I lost every ounce of innocence I once had. It was the day Papa began to watch me— study me and plan. I still don’t know what he has up those silk sleeves of his, but my gun doesn’t leave my side now.

  ✽✽✽

  Of course, I can’t actually bring my weapon to school, so I try to content myself with target practice whenever I can squeeze it in on the weekends.

  It’s Sunday night and I’m all alone. These days it seems like my alone time is becoming fewer and farther between. Beth and the girls are at cheer practice all day, a sport they begged me to join, all the while I still fight not to gag at the prospect. No way in hell am I the cheering type.

  I’d much rather lock myself here in my basement—furnished with a couple of black leather couches that face a small shooting range with three plexiglass partitions separating the targets from where I stand.

  I reluctantly sent a thank you text to Papa shortly after discovering the basement level range. Back at the Valentino estate in New York, our shooting range was outdoors and spanned the length of half a football field. This is small potatoes compared to that, but it's just right for me.

  Most of my weapons are thankfully equipped with silencers because otherwise I’d have the cops banging down my door in no time—not that it would matter, Papa would only need to make a phone call and they’d look the other way.

  As I finish up target practice, I empty the chamber and secure my weapon once more, but I’m still not satisfied. Something keeps nagging at me, hard. Ever since that catastrophe of a party and the showdown I’d managed to interrupt, my mind has been a whirl and jumble of confusion, anger and just plain restlessness.

  I need to run.

  Running has always been the easiest way to clear my mind.

  Ignoring the fact that it’s probably a stupid idea to leave the safety of the house and traipse off into a city so obviously filled with secrecy, I dress for a run and slip in my headphones. I manage to ignore the gross feeling of distant eyes on me. Someone’s always close by, not here to interfere, but to make sure I’m safe.

  ‘I’d be safer if they just stayed far away.’

  I’m halfway down the block when I spot a fork in the nicely paved road. I follow it as it slopes downwards, knowing I’ll regret it on the jog back up, but soon the smell of sea water washes all of those worries away.

  The sun won’t set for another half hour and the vast expanse of the ocean is spread out before me. The waves splash up at the rocky shoreline sending sprays of foam into the air. It’s frigid out and thankfully I’d thought to wear a hoodie.

  This part of the coast is nothing like the beaches I’ve vacationed on with my family. This place isn't tropical and sunny; it’s overcast, grey and so cold that it seeps straight to my bones.

  But it’s breathtakingly gorgeous—the way the sea meets the thick tree lined coast, it’s one of the few places I’ve seen where the two landscapes clash in such a beautiful and serene way.

  Making my way down to the water, altogether abandoning my jog, the fresh air filters though me. It invigorates my spirit, making me feel like for once things just might be okay . . . as long as this place exists. I stand here for a while, watching the fishing boats in the distance, daydreaming about another place . . . another life. I’ve often caught myself wondering who I might have become if Papa was just an ordinary man. It’s almost laughable to imagine such a scenario.

  It’s a goddamn fairytale.

  This life is dangerous and endlessly cold. I’ve acclimated the best I can for someone in my unique position. I know that logically I’ll return home one day, but today isn't that day. Right now it’s just me and that exquisite ocean for miles.

  "It's getting late," calls a familiar voice from down the beach.

  I don’t startle though because I’d heard the footsteps long beforehand. He hadn't even tried to mask his presence.

  "I didn’t know you were a surfer.” I watch as he settles next to me, shoving the end of his black surfboard into the sand.

  My dark hair whips into my face, but the sting of it is a good distraction. Holden Kingsley stands there looking like a drowned god—dripping wet with his dark hair falling around his shoulders and tanned skin glimmering in the golden hour. He peels down the top of his wetsuit, showing me a glimpse of that tattoo I’d seen on his forearm. From here it looks like the shape of a slim dagger, all black lines and sharp angles.

  "You spend a lot of time in strange places, little bird." He ignores my obvious observation.

  "I didn't realize you were keeping tabs on me," I grumble, turning my back to him in favor of the swiftly approaching sunset. The sky is turning ever so slightly orange, soon to be followed by pinks, purples and deep blues before giving way to black.

  "I think you’ll find I know much more than you think I do. You roll into town and pull a gun on my enemy and honestly think we won’t be keeping tabs on you?" he asks with a bitter tsk.

  “We don't trust you, and until we do, I'll be keeping an eye out."

  The fact that the Brothers have for some reason singled me out hits a nerve. I came to this place to get away from the dangers and drama that plagued my home life, only to be unwillingly dragged into something else entirely. I don’t quite know what to make of the four of them. There’s a mystery here that needs solving, but I just don’t know if I have the energy to try.

  "So what, were you waiting out here for me or something?"

  He smirks and shakes his head, wet hair slinging water around his bare shoulders.

  "Don’t flatter yourself. Despite what you think, I do have a life outside of stalking you.” He winks and I go to argue but he cuts me off. “I just come down here to get away sometimes, surfing helps me clear my head.”

  His eyes leave mine and they travel over the dark water, growing more distant by the second. Those brown depths suddenly have a faraway look in them that doesn’t sit well in my stomach for some reason.

  "What do you have to get away from?" I blurt, inwardly chastising myself for being so nosey. I really don’t need him to think I’m interested in his life.

  He sighs and shakes his head.

  "Things you could
n’t even begin to understand. Things you’d regret knowing about.”

  The way he says it in such defeat makes me shudder. The life he lives must be incredibly strange. Strange and cruel. I’ve seen that strangeness first hand. I’ll be the first to admit I that I haven't been able to stop dreaming of those animal masks. Every time I close my eyes they're there, taunting me by the light of that fire. I need to know what they were doing out there.

  What is he involved in?

  For now though, I need to get these guys off my back.

  "What, mommy and daddy not buying you a new car this year?" I attempt to tease, but I regret it immediately the moment his jaw clenches and his eyes turn cold.

  I said the wrong thing. He turns to face me and I have to keep my eyes on his to avoid scanning his naked torso.

  "You don't know shit about me, Angel. You're a fucking stranger, why would I want to tell you anything about my life?" His eyes flit between mine rapidly, searching them for something he’s not finding.

  "Look, I didn't mean anyth—"

  "Again, you assume I care at all about what you say or what you think," he interrupts, stepping in closer.

  With his body so close to mine, I can smell the salt and sea on his skin.

  "You need to be careful around here. That loose tongue of yours is going to get you into trouble. I don’t know who you are or where you come from, but this place will eat you up and spit you back out if you don't get your shit together. You can’t prance around this town acting like you belong here . . . because you don’t. If I were you, I’d pack my shit up and go the fuck home."

  Hurt lances through my chest.

  Home . . . I don't think I have a true home anymore.

  I refuse to break his gaze and have absolutely nothing to say to that. I’ve been thoroughly scolded, knowing I crossed a line and ruined everything. Sure, I never actually intend on being his friend or anything, but for just a few moments it was nice being able to have a conversation with someone without expectations attached.

  To Holden, I’m still just some stupid girl, not the daughter of one of the most infamous mob bosses on the east coast. He has no clue that Papa’s soldiers could be lurking in the trees at this moment, watching our every move with laser like precision.

  We watch each other for a tense minute, saying nothing. He’s breathing evenly but he’s distant now. When the moment passes, Holden turns his back to me before storming back the way he came with his surfboard under one arm.

  I watch until he’s out of sight, wondering what the fuck is wrong with me.

  Chapter Eight

  Holden

  Dinner tastes like ash in my mouth. You couldn't pay me to tell you if it’s chicken, pork or hell . . . it could be sand for all I know. My appetite is nonexistent as I sit here across the table from my grandparents.

  The antique dining table is obnoxiously long, stretching out far enough to fill the entire dining room and could seat around twenty people with elbow room to spare. I try my hardest to ignore the emptiness around me, the distinct lack of mom and dad whose seats to the left remain empty for the third year in a row.

  My chest still aches when think of them. Those lucky bastards dropped off the face of the earth when I was ten—apparently deciding this life wasn’t meant for them. They wanted to take me with them and sometimes I wish they had, but grandfather refused. I’m still unsure what sort of leverage he had over them, but they left and never looked back.

  My grandfather—tall and regal with a strong handlebar mustache and a pressed brown suit jacket sits across from me, sipping his brandy and ignoring everything around him. His pristine white cowboy hat that hangs on the hook behind his head makes me irrationally angry.

  John Kingsley hasn’t ridden a horse in his entire fucking life; the hat is simply an intimidation tool—an adopted persona. My family owns vineyards and cattle ranches up and down the coast and our fortune is vast and old. So old in fact, that it was my great, great grandfather who had founded the Brotherhood in the first place. So on and so forth it went, trickling right down to my father and I . . . well, just me now I guess. I’m the next in line to lead the infamous Brotherhood and the dirty business that comes with it.

  Grandfather and his four associates, Giles, Jack and Cole control a good portion of the county and all the people in it, practically carrying the chief of police right there in the back pocket of his overpriced Wranglers. The people of this city know who we are, but not what we are.

  The truth is, we’re important men—even the young ones like Captain, Carter, Ellis and I. As an only child, each one of us are probably more important to the Brotherhood than even grandfather.

  "A little birdy told me you had a problem over the weekend," John's gruff, southern-lilted voice booms in the silence of the room.

  "It's been handled," I mutter as I push the food around on my plate.

  Grandfather sets his glass down with a smack, making my grandmother jump slightly before resuming her small sips of tea. John isn’t an abusive man, not physically anyways, but he commands respect.

  No, that’s not the right word.

  Fear.

  He commands fear.

  "From the sound of things, a little girl handled it for you, am I wrong?"

  I clamp my mouth shut, not wanting to have this conversation with him. Whoever his ‘little birdy’ is needs to stop blabbing.

  Grandfather's bushy white eyebrows almost cover his dark eyes when he frowns. It's almost comical how much he resembles one of those old western actors with their roughly tanned skin, bushy facial hair and arrogant attitudes.

  "Answer me, boy. Did you let some bitch handle business for you? Was Finley fucking Cassini too much for you to handle?"

  I’m all too aware of the sweat gathering at the base of my neck.

  "It's not that simple, John,” I decide to address him formally. It’s business now, not family.

  "Something's not right about her."

  John raises a single brow, intrigued now. He waits for me to continue.

  ‘Shit.’

  "She lives by herself and in all the times we’ve driven past her house I never see any signs of parents or siblings or anything. I tried getting a hold of her school records but they must be filed somewhere else because I can’t find a single thing on her.”

  "So get one of our guys on it," John says like it's a no brainer, taking a heavy swig from his short crystal glass. "If you feel something's off about the girl then you ought to look into it. You know we can't afford any unknowns, especially right now, Holden."

  "I'm aware. I’m pretty sure Carter already has someone on it, but it's been two weeks and we’ve heard nothing back. Her last name matches up with a few of your contacts, but there's no record of an Angel Valentino anywhere. It doesn't add up, girls like her don't just appear out of thin air."

  “Valentino, you say?” John asks, eyes sparkling in the light.

  My stomach rolls at the gleam there at the mention of her name. His whole demeanor seems to change and I want to know why.

  "That's right. And your little birdy wasn't wrong—Fin was there to start something and this girl just jumped right into it. It was like she didn't even think about it. I swear to god she would have slit his dumbass friend’s throat right there."

  My heart speeds up as I retell the previous night’s events. Watching that fiasco had been the highlight of my year but I’d never admit it.

  "She grabbed his blade before he could get to Carter . . . held it to his throat like she'd done it before. He and those twins he hangs out with fucked off after that but the guys were pissed. I don’t even know if anyone was still around to see it but if they did it’ll be all over school soon."

  I can see the wheels grandfather's head turning. I should have kept my goddamn mouth shut until we learned some more about her. If she is just some weird chick, I could be putting her in serious danger.

  I tell myself this even as my mind rejects it. There's no way Angel Valent
ino is just a normal girl. That has to be the reason I have yet to mention the fact that she had a gun.

  "Here's what you'll do, son. Get close to her. Feel her out a little and see if she’ll talk. I’ll have a chat with Jack and see if he knows something. If she goes to Draven then he had to have seen her school application at some point. We’ll see if we can't suss out the truth, but Holden . . . if she is here on someone’s behalf, or somehow working for the Cassini’s, I need to know that you and your men are prepared to handle it." His eyes bore into mine as a weight settles on my shoulders.

  "I can’t afford for you to fuck this up. These next few weeks are crucial and we can’t have some strange girl meddling in places she has no business meddling, understand?"

  "Of course, John," I promise him, all the while ignoring the twisting sensation deep in my gut and ignoring the hopelessness in my grandmother's eyes as she watches it all go down.

  I just made a fucking mess of things.

  Chapter Nine

  Angel

  I pull up to campus bright and early Monday morning.

  To my surprise though, Carter’s pearl white BMW sits in the spot I’d pilfered from him day after day since my arrival.

  It's hard to smother my smug grin as I pull up alongside it. Despite the fact that he’s taken his spot back, I know I've won a small battle. There's an entire hour before class starts and my little game has done its job in forcing this guy to come to school early.

  Three of them wait outside, leaning against Carters car without a care in the world. Well . . . not any that they let people see anyways. Despite what everyone thinks about the Brothers, I can see the turmoil simmering beneath the surface of their carefully constructed facade.

  I don't see Captain anywhere though, only Holden, Carter and Ellis. It's strange to see only three when in the past it's either been one or all. Still, I can't shake the feeling they've been waiting for me specifically.

  I take my time getting out of my car, making sure to stop and fix my hair in the mirror and top off my eyeliner before making my way outside. The guys are watching me—Carter looking like a perpetually pissed off lion, Holden with that annoyingly attractive smirk and Ellis, stoic and impassive as ever. They pass around a cigarette between the three of them, making me wrinkle my nose in disgust.