Warrior Undone

by Ruben, Jessica

  We enter the room that is freshly made, thanks to housekeeping, and I lift the suitcase on top of the dresser.

  I raise the bottom of my shirt, wiping the sweat from my forehead. “It’s hot.”

  “Yeah. You can use my shower if you want …” Her voice trails off. She wants me to stay.

  When I pull the shirt over my head, her eyes go wide. It’s a look I’ll never get sick of.

  “Sure thing.”

  I finish soaping when she steps into the spray.

  “Whatcha doin’, followin’ me in here?” I joke, hardening at her nude, lush body. I grip my dick, unable to stop myself. Can’t wait.

  She drops to her knees, maintaining eye contact.

  “Fuuuuck,” I curse as her hot mouth envelops me.

  13

  Lauren

  I’m going into Eve’s office in two days, so I’ve decided to spend today and tomorrow just relaxing. Even though I’m on call at the office and I have already gotten about fifteen hysterical messages from Carla, who is covering my desk while I’m gone, I’m able to help her without ever leaving my lounge chair. Nothing in life is perfect, but this comes close.

  The pools here at the Milestone are absolutely gorgeous. Around six in the evening, I get a message from Slade that he wants to pick me up. Running back to my room, I change in record time, just casually throwing my hair up and sliding on a T-shirt and jeans. He takes me for a long drive where we enjoy each other’s company and the magnificent mountain views.

  Stopping at a small diner off the highway, we sit side by side in the blue booth, unable to take our hands off each other. My head rests against his chest. His thigh presses against mine. He feeds me half of his burger—whole-wheat bun, lettuce, tomato, hold the onion—and I give him half of my chopped salad, kitchen sink. We each have our own waters, but for whatever reason, I keep drinking from his cup. Eating only lasts twenty minutes before he drops some cash on the table and drives us straight back to my room where we don’t even bother to turn off the lights. His body is so amazing. I’ve decided to forget about my own insecurities and just enjoy what it is I’ve been given—this gorgeous man, for a short time.

  It’s after midnight, and that means it’s time for him to go back to his own place. I’m wishing he could just stay the night, but … it is what it is. There’s no way I’m going to do something to jeopardize the great thing we’ve got going on together.

  “Bye, Slade.” I sigh, leaning against the doorway.

  We’ve been saying good-bye for the last ten minutes but keep derailing his departure with kisses.

  His mouth presses against mine before he says, “Tomorrow night?” Kiss. “Let’s do something.” Kiss.

  The man is a flood. Once I opened the gate, he found his way into every part of me.

  “What kind of something?” I ask excitedly, grabbing his shirt and hoping that he has some plan for us.

  I know our time is limited, and it makes me want to spend every available moment with him. Sure, I haven’t forgotten the other darker side. But it seems that, so long as I don’t cross any of his boundary lines, he’ll stay in his natural state—cool, calm, controlled, and sexy as hell.

  “I can take you to a nice spot for dinner.”

  “Okay. Well, what should I wear?” I bite my lower lip, trying not to appear too eager.

  “The less, the better.” He winks. “I’ll be back to pick you up at nine.” He pulls out his phone from the back pocket of his jeans and scrolls through something. “I’ve got a meeting that should end around eight thirty.”

  “Okay. That sounds good.”

  He backs up away from my mouth, and I sigh again, dazed.

  The next day is perfect pool weather, so I spend it again just lounging and answering e-mails. Around five o’clock, I look down at my nails and sigh. So many chips in my polish. After heading back into my room, I dial the spa and make an appointment in thirty minutes for a manicure. Jumping back into the shower to actually wash my hair, I do a quick shampoo. The conditioner sits in my tresses as I shave from my ankles upward. I typically prefer to wax, but there’s no time for that. After blow-drying my hair in waves, I run downstairs to take care of my nails.

  “What color would you like, miss?” The manicurist smiles, her white uniform perfectly pressed. With beautiful, long black hair braided like a rope down her back and high cheekbones, she is a true Native American beauty.

  I feel a surge of pride for Vincent, whose hotel and casino has employed so many tribal members.

  I’m scanning the rows of colors, like I’ve done millions of times before, but nothing is feeling right. “Actually, no color. I just want all of my polish removed and my nails buffed.”

  “Are you sure?” Her eyes widen in surprise. “Not even something simple like Ballet Slippers or Marshmallow?”

  I smile. “Absolutely sure. I’m Lauren, by the way.” I take a seat in the cream-colored swivel chair as she fills a small green bowl with warm water from the sink behind her.

  She sits in front of me. “Tina.”

  As she takes off my nail polish with white cotton balls dipped in remover, we chat about what I’m doing here in Nevada. I spill about the shooting in Vegas. How Slade saved me and cleaned me and then held me all night. I also mention how amazing he’s been, lightly dropping in the fact that he’s had a few random outbursts, which terrified me. But, overall, it’s been dreamlike.

  She places my left hand in the warm water as she begins pushing back the cuticles on my right. “You need to be careful, Lauren.” Her face darkens in warning.

  “W-what do you mean?”

  She holds my free hand in hers like a mother would.

  “Some men go off to war and come back and can adjust. Others, they can’t manage life back at home. Don’t you think that maybe he’s pushing you away for your own safety? Or possibly acting in a way he can’t control?”

  I shake my head. “No. No way. I don’t think it’s as serious as you’re saying.” I smile, but somehow, it all feels rehearsed. “Yes, he has been through hard times. But I think he’s just a man who likes things a certain way, and he doesn’t want commitment. Okay, so he doesn’t want a woman in his bed. But maybe that’s his thing. I know he can get aggressive, but maybe that’s just how these types of men are. Right?” My voice is jovial, but my chest tightens. The truth circles around my insides, but my heart won’t let it enter. No! That’s not him. “Anyway, in Vegas, he hurt others for me. But he’d never hurt me.”

  She looks at me, face tight but eyes slightly narrowing. There is more she wants to say, but she doesn’t. With a hard swallow, she lifts my left hand from the water, dries it off with a plush white towel, and places my right inside the water bowl.

  When she’s finished, I’m happy to realize that I don’t need to sit under a dryer for twenty minutes. With clean nails, I exchange phone numbers with her and promise to get lunch while I’m here.

  “Lauren, please be careful, okay? You’re a great girl. But I’m not so sure you understand the gravity of—”

  “I’ll be careful,” I exclaim with a smile, cutting her off mid-sentence.

  Back in the room, I plop on the bed, feeling absolute relief. How long has it been since I’ve just gone natural without all the fuss of makeup? In LA, there’s so much emphasis on my looks and attractiveness. Sitting at the front of the real estate department, a client walks in, wanting to see the girl so that he can feel like the man.

  I lift my gigantic silver makeup bag, emptying it all out on the beige bedspread. Highlighters and bronzers to show off my cheekbones. Coal and liquid liners for eyes and creamy nude liners for lips. Seven separate brushes, all for different parts of my face. I turn from the pile of makeup, frustrated at what I have to do to maintain my womanhood. Always, I plaster makeup on myself, but tonight, I’m going to say, Fuck it. No one on earth cares what a man looks like. All he needs is some swagger, and the world swoons.

  Sticking with my why the hell not philosophy,
I apply a moisturizer on my skin and tinted pink balm on my lips. I feel pretty good. Without the mask of makeup, I’m only myself.

  Shuffling through my clothes now hanging in the room’s closet, I decide to go with tight jeans, a white tank top that shows off my boobs, and short Rag & Bone booties in black suede. Am I ready? I hope so.

  Slade knocks on the door exactly on time. I open it, wrapping one foot behind my opposite ankle. He lets out a long, slow whistle as he stares at me from my feet up to my face.

  I shrug happily, bending my head down almost shyly. Now that he’s here, I’m wondering if I really should have done more with my face. Some lip gloss at least. Meanwhile, Slade looks sexy and casual in dark jeans and a navy shirt, his hair freshly buzzed.

  “Ready?” After a flicker of a moment, his eyes lower. “What’s wrong?”

  I open and close my mouth a few times, but nothing comes out. What to say to this man?

  Oh, I normally never walk out of the house with so little makeup but had this weird epiphany that I didn’t care. But, now that you’re here and I want to impress you, I think I might have gone the wrong route.

  I straighten my back. Well, what’s done is done. If he doesn’t love the way I look naturally, then there’s nothing I can do about it now. I won’t be ashamed of myself.

  I grab my bag off the edge of the bed as we head out toward the elevator. “I wanted to bring my bike but thought you’d be more comfortable in the truck late at night.”

  My chest inflates at his thoughtfulness. “Either is okay. I tried to be casual tonight.”

  I risk a look at his face. His eyes are warm and happy. The monster from days ago is gone.

  “Yeah, I like it.” He nods slow, taking me in again. “You look hot, no matter what, but this laid-back look …” His voice trails off as I wait for his answer. “I like it more. I like to see you.”

  “You do?” My eyes widen.

  He smiles warmly, moving a stray hair away from my face. “Yeah, babe, I do.”

  I want to lean up and kiss him, but he’s not giving me the option. Standing at his full, huge height, he’s just so physically intense.

  We leave the hotel, where the valet guy stands in front of Slade’s truck. Slade gives him a back pat with some cash and holds the door open for me.

  Stepping inside, I immediately notice how fresh it looks. “Did you just get it cleaned?”

  “Yep.” He nods. “I don’t like things to be unorganized or dirty.” He shuts the door and walks to the driver’s seat.

  I look at my nails, giving myself a pat on the back that they’re nice and neat.

  We drive with the windows open, the air filled with a warm, dry wind. Slade seems to become agitated, clutching the steering wheel at random intervals, as though he’s filled with anxiety. I stay quiet, not wanting to make it worse.

  Twenty minutes and an entire playlist of grunge later, we pull up to a small and dilapidated-looking house. This can’t be the restaurant, can it? The gravel driveway crunches beneath the wheels of his truck. I look around, trying to find a name, but it’s unmarked.

  “Wait. What are we doing here? This isn’t the restaurant, is it?” For reasons I can’t comprehend, my own anxiety builds.

  “Just stopping here to pick up a few things. Wanted to come earlier but the timing didn’t work out. Be back in ten.” Moving a heavy arm to the back of my seat, he turns his head to back into a spot. Stopping the car and turning off the engine, he hops out, slamming the door with a thud.

  I want to call out to him, ask more questions, but my sense of self-preservation tells me to shut up and be quiet.

  The car beeps as he locks me inside. That’s when I notice a row of bikes in black and chrome sitting together like a foreboding gate. My heart quickens.

  Oh shit. Is this a motorcycle club?

  I pause, staring at this derelict den and wondering what the hell he’s doing inside this place. Slade seems to say a few words to the guy at the door, wearing a black leather vest, before entering. I sink low into my seat, hoping not to draw any attention to myself as I wait. I grip my phone but won’t turn it on, for fear that someone would see the light and know there was a lone person inside. This is dangerous, and I feel it in my bones.

  14

  Slade

  The kid hanging out by the door is youngish-looking with a tough, acne-ridden face and leather vest with one small patch on the front that says, PROSPECT.

  The farmhouse is smoky and full of club members and their friends. I look around, trying to find Lion in the crowd. Quickly spotting the shaved head, leather cut, and trademark smirk, I walk over.

  “Get the fuck outta here,” Lion growls, baring his teeth at some girl with long black dreads hanging down her back.

  She’s wearing nothing more than a white T-shirt and jean shorts so small that I can see the underside of her ass.

  “You’re a piece of shit,” she hisses. “I’ll never give him up.”

  “Bitch, that’s my son. You can die in a ditch for all I care. But, if you take my boy away …”

  He lifts his hand, grabbing the base of her throat. The woman’s face is stricken with fear, staring at Lion as though he were the devil incarnate. He isn’t choking her, but she is scared to death.

  Her breaths are labored when he says, “Alicia, if you take my boy from me, I’ll fucking shoot you in the head myself.” Her body shivers so hard that I can see the tremor moving through her small frame. “Deliver our son to the clubhouse at noon on Sunday. And get out,” he yells.

  When he lets go, she scurries away, running.

  Not a moment later, Lion notices me and happily exclaims, “Slade!” He stands up, greeting me as though he didn’t just threaten a life and saying, “Hello,” like we’re one and the same.

  “Hey, man.”

  We bump fists.

  Under normal circumstances, I’d run after that girl. Make sure she was okay. But I’ve got business here that can’t wait. It’s just a one-time thing. I won’t need more after this.

  Sweat beads at my brow.

  I met Lion after moving out here. A few former Marines introduced us after a few drinks at The Blue. As an aggressive motorcycle club president who expects nothing but complete loyalty to the hierarchy he’s created, veterans easily gravitate to Lion. Still, I was honest about the fact that I wasn’t interested in the brotherhood. He asked if I could be a friend to the club if they needed it. As the head of security for the Milestone, I’m able to get information on people much quicker than they can. Not one to make enemies, I was evasive with my answer.

  Last week, he requested some information from me. I was ready to say no when I realized there was something I could use in return. I named my price. He accepted. And here we are.

  The music is loud, but he doesn’t shout when he says, “Glad to see you came around.”

  Another woman walks by in a bra and panties, medium-height with gigantic fake tits and red lipstick. Sweat, like slick oil, beads between her breasts. She’s coked up to the gills. Lion’s beady eyes dart to her, tongue flicking to the top of his mouth.

  Grabbing her by the wrist, he says, “Don’t move from this spot. I’ll be back.”

  She nods.

  I hear a loud moan. Turning to see where it’s coming from, I find one of the club’s members with long and stringy black hair fucking some club slut on one of the tables for all to see. My stomach rolls. This entire situation is fucked. If Lauren were here, she’d be revolted. My heart pounds with the thought of her name, but I push it away and focus on the task at hand.

  Lion and I walk together into a back room when I check my watch. Shit. It’s already been twenty minutes. A small and round wooden poker table sits in the center of the room. We take seats on opposite ends.

  I light my smoke, and he does the same. I’m here tonight because he needs some information on Tom Maione, the Mafia boss of Kill Incorporated, known on the street as Kill Inc. And I need something, too.

  �
�Word is,” I pause, clearing my throat. “Tom is running the enforcement arm of a few Italian American families. He’s handling contract killings and running small businesses on the East Coast—some legal and others not. I’m sure expansion is on the horizon now that Antonio is out of the picture.”

  “Antonio Borignone, that crazy fuck. Ran a tight ship though. Which families is Tom doing work for?”

  “Mostly Italian American gangsters based in Brooklyn. The boys grew up together. Childhood friends. The Bonannos and Luccheses. He’s also got his own guys working under him. None of the old-timers.”

  “Your boy Vincent, he knows ’em?” He ashes in a small black tray.

  “Vincent doesn’t get involved in this shit. Ever.” I sit up to my full height. “My boss is completely uninvolved and always will be.”

  He chuckles. “Yeah, yeah. The reformed prince. Ivy Leaguer. Builder of the famed Milestone. I know all about him.” Smoke leaves his mouth in a hard exhale, a dark smirk filling his remorseless face.

  “That’s right.” My mouth is straight, but my heart secretly beats like a wild drum from within my chest.

  If Vincent knew I was here …

  I’ve got to go.

  Sensing my unease, he says, “Wait.” He stands and exits the room, only to resurface minutes later with a baggy filled with tablets. “This shit is harder than you’re used to. I’ve got a feeling you’ll like it. And thanks for the info. You hear anything else, let me know.”

  I take the bag, trying to steady my hand. This isn’t me. But it is me. It’s just for now, so I can get myself straight. I won’t be back here again.

  His dark face shadows, like he knows something I don’t. “Men like us, we’re cut from the same cloth. I served, too. Saw crazy shit. Came back to a country that could never understand me. They want me to follow laws I can’t abide by. Muscle like yours is valuable to me, Slade. Working with a man like you, who understands honor in the way I understand honor, could be a real good thing for us both. If you’re going to need this on the regular, we can make a de—”