McQUEEN: Las Vegas Bad Boys

by Frankie Love

“Seriously?” I take a hard look at her, knowing there’s a hell of a lot she isn’t telling me, but not really caring about my own safety. Right now I’m just concerned about hers. “You’re coming with me, JoJo.”

  Her shoulders drop slightly, and it’s as if hearing my unwavering words fortifies her. It should. I can fucking keep this girl safe for one goddamned night.

  She bites her lip, eyeing her Mercedes. “I can’t leave my car here.”

  “That’s okay. I’ll drive it to my place, park it in the garage. I can come tomorrow and get my own wheels.”

  She nods, looking back down at the photo. She’s a smart girl, and her current inability to make a decision tells me she’s completely overwhelmed.

  I can help make this easier.

  “Hey, Jo,” I say softly. “Let’s get you in the car, okay?” I open the passenger door and help her inside. Taking the keys from her shaking hand, I get in the other side. Turning on the car, I take her hand in mine, squeeze it tightly. “It’s going to be okay.”

  “You don’t know my family.” She looks straight ahead, out the window, numb. Not at all like the fierce fighter in the ring this morning.

  Right now she looks beat up, with a bruised heart, a battered mind. Putting the car in drive, I’m determined to find out why.

  JoJo

  I didn’t notice that he started driving, let alone that he pulled up to a house. All I remember is seeing the photo, freaking out, and then him telling me he was going to take care of me.

  I blink, hearing McQueen’s voice tell me we’re here, at his place.

  I pull my gym bag out of the car with me. Stepping into the cool air of the garage, I quickly see McQueen’s place is a lot different than the mansion I live in.

  “Wait here,” he tells me. “I’m gonna check the house first.”

  I wait a few minutes, and when he returns, giving me the all-clear, I follow him inside.

  Walking into the house, I step over a pile of tennis shoes in the doorway, and McQueen slips his off into the heap. I keep mine on, suddenly feeling incredibly vulnerable in a way I wasn’t out on the street.

  My chest tightens; fear lodges in my throat.

  “What if someone is following us right now? On their way here?” I ask, pulling myself closer to him.

  “It’s okay. Let me make a call.” He pulls out his phone and slides away the lock screen. He walks into a kitchen and flicks on a light.

  “Who are you calling?” My eyes adjust to the lighting. McQueen’s place is unremarkable. It looks as generic as a model home. I don’t know why I’m noticing the details, except that maybe it’s easier to focus on McQueen’s suburban house than the reality of my life.

  A leather couch sits in the great room, flanked by end tables holding lamps. Everything look like it could have been purchased at Costco. There are two stools at the granite bar in the open kitchen, but there’s no dining room table, nothing hanging on the walls. Nothing making this place his.

  “I’m calling the fucking cops.”

  “No,” I say, lunging for the phone.” My family may be crazy in a lot of ways, but I would never give the police a lead on them. “Are you nuts? You can’t call the cops.”

  “Why the hell not? Someone is fucking with us, and we need to know who, and why.” He holds back his phone, studying me. “Unless you know something about all this. JoJo, you can talk to me.”

  “No, I can’t. Trust me McQueen, it’s complicated.” I exhale sharply, knowing that coming here was a bad idea. “But you cannot involve the cops. That’s like, Rule 101 when it comes to the O’Malleys.”

  I should have called my brothers before coming to this house. Peter, Paul, and John need to know about whatever danger I’m in. They have more force—and can offer me more safety—than any cop. My brothers may think I’m a stupid woman, but they’ll take my virginity less personally than my father will.

  Except maybe not. They threatened to knock out the one guy I ever brought home. If they get wind of what McQueen and I did this afternoon, they might castrate him.

  Or worse.

  I swallow, shaking my head at my own ideas. I can’t call my brothers. I’d be leaking my own story. Best case scenario, the photographer was some creeper at the gym who got off by freaking us out.

  Worst case, it has something to do with my father, with my impending marriage to Grotto…. I don’t know. Someone wants me to look bad, wants to freak me out.

  And I don’t know which it is. But if I start explaining things to McQueen, he’ll know too much. And that will put him in a zone that looks nothing like a no-strings-attached scenario. If I tell McQueen, suddenly he’ll be caught up in my life in a way that will hurt him.

  In a way that will possibly destroy him.

  I can’t make my complicated family his responsibility.

  “I really think I should go.” I take my keys from where he dropped them on the counter. “Look, I appreciate you bringing me here, but I don’t think it will help anything.”

  “No way. JoJo, listen, if you won’t let me call the cops, then let me at least get a security team here. Ace and Landon both have crews they use. I’ll get people here to watch the place, for the night at least. It’s after midnight, and nothing is going to be solved tonight. Besides, you’re still shaking. You can’t drive anywhere.”

  I look at the clock on the microwave. He’s right, it’s late. Late enough that someone will notice I’m past my curfew.

  “I’m past my curfew.” I shake my head. What twenty-three-year-old woman talks this way? “Let me call Lucy and see if she can cover for me.”

  “Will your dad care that you aren’t at his house?”

  “They know Lucy.” I grab my phone from my gym bag. “You call your security people, and I’ll deal with this.”

  He nods and turns to make a call, and I text Lucy.

  Me: Don’t freak. I’m at a guy’s house. He’s safe, from the gym. And I’m using you as my cover to my dad.

  Lucy responds right away, like a good friend … as opposed to whatever I am. Just seeing her name on my phone screen calms me down. Yes, there is some psycho taking pictures of me in the locker room, but I also just lost my V-card and I have to tell my best friend.

  Lucy: IS THIS JOJO??? Bc the Jo I know has never stayed with a guy in the three years I’ve known her. DO YOU HAVE A CONDOM? DID YOU ALREADY USE A CONDOM??

  Me: Yes. Shut up. I’ll explain tomorrow.

  I feel the heat rise to my cheeks.

  Lucy: I’m freaking out right now WTF??!!! Who is this man??

  I pause my typing, already feeling I’m a shit friend for ditching her tonight to help my sister. But I would be an even worse friend for holding back this information.

  Me: McQueen.

  Lucy: THE EFFING STRIPPER??? OMG WHO ARE YOU???

  Me: I love you. Sorry for being so flakey. I know. It’s all insane.

  Lucy: Is he there right now???

  Me: He’s in the kitchen. But I have to go. My dad is probably freaking out.

  Lucy: Well don’t want to piss off daddy.

  Me You know my family, Luc.

  Lucy: I know. Sorry. It’s all good. Call tomorrow. Xo.

  I close my messages and debate calling my dad or texting.

  McQueen is talking to someone in a muffled voice, his back facing me. It would all be easier if I just told him what was what, but I hardly know him. I was friends with Lucy for two years before I came clean-ish with her … and that was only because she knew something was up after stopping by my house and seeing my brothers packing heat.

  Still, she doesn’t know about my dad, what he really does, where our money is really from. She’s a sweet but clueless girl from Orange County who moved here for college and didn’t leave. She works as a barista and lives with three roommates. She isn’t dangerous to the family.

  But McQueen’s connections are different. His best friend is Ace, who has mafia ties himself. I know that Grotto—my husband-to-freaking-be—hates
him. I know that my brothers joked about taking him out for being such a douchebag. I know that everyone I live with thinks guys like Ace are the ruin of the mob. Ace thinks he’s slick, but he doesn’t seem to know about the target on his back. One wrong move, and people will come after him.

  I have no idea how much McQueen knows about Ace’s claim in the Italian mob, if he wanted it. Which makes the place I am standing really dangerous.

  I open my contacts and dial. It picks up right away.

  “Dad?” I say.

  “Where are you?” he says into the phone. “Do I need to put a dog collar on you?”

  “Sorry, I know it’s late.”

  “You are an asset we can’t damage right now. Grotto’s father wants his son to marry a princess, not a whore.”

  “I’m not doing anything.” I squeeze my eyes shut, stressed out with the amount of complications in my life right now. All I want is to get an MMA fight, yet I’m dealing with my old-school father and an arranged marriage. How is this my life? “Listen, Dad, I’m with Lucy. She isn’t feeling well and I’m going to stay with her tonight, okay?”

  “Josephine, it’s after midnight. You know the rules.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for anyone to worry.”

  “This is why you need to be married. You need a man to keep tabs on you.”

  “I know.” I say what I know he wants to hear

  “If Grotto’s out in a month, I need to keep a better eye on you. Tomorrow, we’re having a talk, with your brothers, about security.”

  “Okay.”

  I hang up, and slump onto the leather couch. I don’t want to face tomorrow at all. Filling Lucy in, I can handle. My family, though, is more than I can bear on my own.

  Chapter Nine

  McQUEEN

  When I get off the phone, I notice JoJo curled up on the couch, her eyes closed. She looks worn out—and fuck, after her workout today I’m not surprised. Combine that with the shit that went down tonight, and no wonder this girl is asleep on my couch.

  I drop my phone on the counter and walk to the front door of my house.

  When I spoke with Ace he was more than a little concerned. The moment I said JoJo’s last name, he didn’t hesitate.

  “This girl is trouble, McQueen. The O’Malleys are as bad as Grotto and his guys. I don’t know how connected she is, her role in that family … but if you know what’s good for you, stay away.”

  “It could be a coincidence,” I told him. “She could be a distant cousin. Or just happen to have the same name.”

  “Could be. But don’t get blinded by her body. If she’s a part of the Irish Mob, her family doesn’t mess around. The family that runs those gambling rings, they’re some crazy motherfuckers. The guys—Peter, John, and … I forget the other one—those guys are worse than fucking Grotto. They’re sketchy as hell. I won’t let them on my property. I don’t trust them at all.”

  “JoJo isn’t like that. She’s innocent. Sweet.”

  “Fuck, you’re already got your head up your ass for her.”

  “It’s not like that. We aren’t anything.”

  Which is true. Isn’t it? She insisted on no-strings, and fuck, that’s all I ever want, too. But another part of me wants to make sure JoJo is safe. Taken care of. Part of me wants to find whoever took the picture that freaked her out so bad, and fucking beat the daylights out of them.

  “Whatever, McQueen.” Ace laughs into the phone. “Listen, I’ll send a crew over, because if someone wants this girl it won’t take long for them to get what they’re after.”

  I look out the window, scanning the street for any movement. I see a black SUV making its way into the neighborhood. They park in front of my place and flash their lights twice, signaling to me it’s the guys Ace sent over.

  Good. JoJo can sleep soundly tonight. Tomorrow, I’ve gotta get these guys over to Kit’s Gym to check out the place. Who knows what sort of surveillance the sick fuck who took this photo has rigged up?

  “McQueen?” JoJo calls for me. There’s fear in her voice, and I rush back into the living room to make sure she’s okay.

  “What is it?” I ask, kneeling next to the couch.

  “Sorry. I just woke up and didn’t see you. I’m an idiot and got scared.”

  I’m not gonna force this girl to talk, but shit, she is all spun up. “You aren’t an idiot.”

  She sits up, and sighs. “My dad thinks I am. He just chewed me out.”

  “Fuck. Sorry. Did you talk to Lucy, too?”

  “Yeah. I told Lucy I was with you, and told my dad I was with her. It’s like I’m in high school and sneaking out.”

  “More like middle school,” I say, smiling.

  “You were always a rebel, then?” she asks, smirking.

  I shrug. “Nights always seem to find trouble. No matter how old you are.”

  “I don’t want any more trouble tonight,” she says. “I want to sleep.”

  “Then let’s get you to bed. The security team is here; we’re safe.”

  I take her hand and pull her up. She nods, and follows my lead.

  “I have a guest room across from mine,” I tell her as we take the stairs. “You can sleep there.”

  “Oh. Okay.”

  I swear there’s a hint of disappointment in her voice. I’ll fucking take an in wherever I can find one with this girl.

  “You want to sleep with me? Is that what you’re saying?” I ask, both of us stopping in the doorway to the guest room.

  “I know you said there are security guys out front … but I’d still feel better if I weren’t alone.” She pauses, looking at her toes. “Maybe that sounds forward. I don’t know. I just—I don’t want to be by myself.” She rushes forward with her words. “We don’t have to do anything if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  I step toward her, pushing her gently to the other side of the hall. To my room.

  “Oh, I’m not worried at all.” I grin, pulling my tee-shirt over my head. “I’m gonna sleep next to you, and you’re gonna dream of me all night long—and when you wake up, all nice and rested, I’m gonna teach you how to suck my cock, just like you asked.”

  JoJo lets out a soft moan, as if remembering her words back at the gym earlier tonight. Or maybe she’s just enjoying my ripped abs, the way my shorts hang low on my waist, narrowing into my massive cock—the one she doesn’t get until tomorrow. Because tonight this girl needs to sleep.

  JoJo

  McQueen and I stand in his barren bedroom. A king-sized mattress is situated in the middle, on the floor, covered with blankets. A pile of folded laundry is in a corner, and an open closet reveals a walk-in closet, mostly empty.

  “The bathroom is there,” he says pointing to the other door in the master suite. “Do you need something to sleep in?”

  “Thanks. A tee-shirt, I guess?”

  He walks to the folded laundry and pulls out a cotton tee. I take it from him, feeling so awkward all of a sudden. Wasn’t it just a few hours ago we were naked in one another’s arms? And now I feel weird slipping off my clothes and getting in bed with him.

  But I want to be in bed with him. I want him to wrap his arms around me and hold me tight. He’s like a big bear—so solid, so firm. And I want him to protect me, even if it is asking way too much.

  Still, as he walks toward me, helping me ease my shirt over my head, helping pull down my gym shorts, as I kick off my tennis shoes, I think that maybe he wants to protect me, too.

  And I know this is all going to end the moment we wake up and face reality, but right now I can let him be the bear I need.

  “It’s gonna be okay, JoJo,” he tells me, slipping his clean shirt over my head. “Tomorrow is a new day.”

  “Promise?”

  “Promise.”

  We get in bed silently, and he pulls me into his arms, just like I wanted. The idea of sleeping in a man’s bed for the first time should terrify me … but McQueen doesn’t scare me.

  My
face is nuzzled against his chest and he smells like safety, like freshly-cut grass and fresh air and honey. Which is a weird thought, because I know he’s been going hard all day … and we live in the freaking desert—there’s no grass anywhere. Yet he smells like a childhood I never had. And even if he is a stripper who’s rumored to sleep with a different woman everyday, right now, he feels pure. And all I want is to stay wrapped in his arms and be held by him.

  “Goodnight, JoJo,” he whispers in the dark bedroom.

  “Goodnight, McQueen,” I whisper back, realizing I don’t even know his first name—but also realizing that, right now, it doesn’t matter.

  In the early morning hours, I wake. McQueen is curled up behind me, spooning me with his hands over my shirt—not under, which I find pretty damn attractive. If he was going to try to get away with something, this was the night to do it.

  I keep my eyes closed, wanting to fall asleep again, but the heaviness of my fucked-up situation keeps me from any sort of REM. I’ve never in my life felt so helpless, so lost. I’ve never faced a problem I couldn’t overcome with the help of my family.

  When Mom died five years ago, my siblings, my dad, and I became closer than ever. We all relocated here to Vegas—even Mary and Connor and their baby, Hardy, who was only one at the time.

  This situation isn’t like Mom’s passing away. We knew she was sick for a long time, and when she finally passed we were all heartbroken, but grateful she was no longer in pain.

  This is different than death. I’m not trying to hyperbolize the photograph and the impact it might have, but it has to be tied to something with my family. With this marriage. And that is a big deal. Especially if Dad believes Grotto and I are the key to merging the families. My family’s future hinges on me, and I just callously tossed it aside.

  I’m horrible. To do that to Hardy and Justice and Bailey. They’re just a few of the kids in the family; there are more cousins and half-cousins and fourth cousins, both here in Vegas and back in Boston. All those kids are impacted by the way I respond to my father’s wishes for me.