BAD BOY'S KISS: A Dark Bad Boy Mafia Romance

by Naomi West

  What are you doing, Pistol? Don’t let him lower you like this. How cozy were Pistol and her father getting? She didn’t ask, because she and Pistol barely talked. Mostly they just worked on avoiding each other. Except when they found themselves in close proximity. When Katrin lay in bed listening to Pistol undress and change into pajamas. When they were both in the kitchen grabbing beer or a glass of water. Every time she was within a few feet of him, sparks crackled through her and her skin seemed to buzz. She’d lose focus; her heart would thud like she was still in middle school, sneaking glances across the aisle in biology at Dustin Faber. She’d find her gaze drawn inexorably to Pistol’s arm muscles, his lean hips, his ass, and she’d forget how to breathe.

  Goddamn it. Why do I want him so badly?

  Best to try to forget he lived with her. Best to focus on building her new life.

  She was on the computer one day when her father called. She stared at the phone screen, her heart pounding, sweat breaking out under her arms. She almost didn’t answer, but decided that would cause more trouble than she needed.

  “Hello?” she said, keeping her voice steady.

  “Hello, dear.” Her father’s voice was warm, and she closed her eyes for a second, wanting to believe that he really did want to talk to her. “How are you?”

  “Fine,” she answered stiffly.

  “How is life with your new husband?”

  What the hell did she say to that?He leaves his dirty socks everywhere, but every time I see him all I can think about is getting his dick inside me? “We’re surviving,” she said flatly.

  He chuckled, and the sound made her sick. “Glad to hear it.” He paused. “And tell me, darling — are you happy?”

  She nearly barked out a laugh. Was hekidding?

  She steadied her voice. “Of course I’m not happy. I want to go to school. I want to be able to leave the house.”I don’t want to be a hostage.

  Another pause. Then a soft cluck of his tongue. She couldn’t tell if it was meant to be concerned or mocking. “I see no reason why you couldn’t enroll next semester. And I’ll see about getting your car to you.”

  She closed her eyes for a second, relief and gratitude flooding her before she caught herself.Don’t you dare feel grateful to him. He’s the reason you’re trapped like this in the first place.

  His tone grew soft and serious. “But my dear, there is a request I’d like to make of you.”

  The nausea welled up in her, and she focused on breathing.What? What else could you possibly want from me? Haven’t you destroyed me enough?

  “What?” she asked, trying not to let her voice break.

  “You see … part of my arrangement with Jax was that he would father a grandchild for me.”

  Her heart dropped to her stomach. Bile rose in her throat and for several long moments, she couldn’t even think about replying. Her father had asked Pistol to get herpregnant?

  “Dad…” She hated how timid and fractured her voice sounded. “Dad, what are you … what are youtalking about?”

  “Katrin. My sweet girl. I know this is a lot to take in. But you’re married now. Surely you understand that this is the next step.”

  “You can’t be serious.” Her voice was gaining volume now, but it seemed like hysteria rather than strength. “What makes you think I’d even let him touch me — a man I never asked to be married to? Let alone…” She couldn’t bring herself to say it.

  Her father let out a soft sound of surprise. “Don’t tell me you haven’t even … Oh, Katrin. I thought you liked this guy.”

  “Dad, I don’t even know him!”

  “You seemed happy when you told me about him hitting on you.”

  She let out an incredulous gasp of laughter. “I thought he and I wereflirting. I thought it was harmless. I never wanted to bemarried to the bastard!”

  “Well, my dear, I’m sorry to tell you this. But I’m going to need you to do as I say.”

  Tears streamed down Katrin’s cheeks, but she refused to let her father hear that she was crying. “You’re a monster,” she said fiercely.

  Her dad made a soothing noise than made Katrin’s skin crawl. “Perhaps you’re angry with me now, but once you’ve fully settled into married life, and once you have a baby to take care of…”

  “I’m not some broodmare you can breed to a stud you found in your network of criminals.” She wiped her eyes furiously.

  “Katrin. Please. Try to look on the bright side—”

  “I hate you,” she choked out. “I’ll never forgive you. Mom would beashamed of you.”

  She hung up.

  ###

  She didn’t come out of the office when Pistol arrived home. She listened to him putter around in the kitchen, then eventually heard him go out to the garage and start working on the bike.

  She’d been numb since the phone call with her father. But now she felt angry. Angry and hopeless and terrified.

  Get up. Get out there and start dinner. Focus on the routine. This battle isn’t over yet.

  She made herself get out of the chair. Walked to the door one step at a time.

  “Part of my arrangement with Jax was that he would father a grandchild for me.”

  She walked slowly down the hall into the foyer.

  I’m so scared, Mom. So scared.

  And suddenly she heard her mother’s voice, clear as if it were coming from right beside her.You’ll be okay, Katrin. I’m here. I love you. We’ll get through this.

  But how, Katrin wondered.

  You knew, Pistol. You knew, and you didn’t say anything.

  In the kitchen, she drank a glass of water. Then she got to work, wiping down the counters, cleaning grime off the stove burners.

  She was taking the trash out, struggling to haul the overly full bag out to the garage, when she bumped into Pistol on his way into the house.

  “Oh, excuse me,” she said, as though they were two strangers who had bumped into each other on the sidewalk.

  He put out a hand to study her. “Here, let me take that,” he said.

  “No, I’ve got it.” She gave the bag a tug.

  “Hey, that’s way too full. Let me get it.”

  She sighed, panting a little. “Well, if you don’t mind.”

  He reached for it, and his hand brushed hers. She tensed, feeling a fluttering in her stomach, a rush of heat between her legs.

  What’s wrong with you, she chided herself,you ought to feel sick just looking at him. Her face heated further.

  She handed the bag over, trying to pretend she hadn’t felt that spark of electricity. Even he had some color in his cheeks.

  So he’ll take the trash out if he sees me struggling, but he won’t put his dishes in the dishwasher or do his laundry? She went back into the house and tried to find ways to busy herself. Damn if she was gonna tackle the dishes in the sink. That was his job, and she’d gladly let them stack up to the ceiling before she’d do them for him.

  She heard his footsteps approaching outside. The back door opened and he came in, smelling just slightly of motor oil and the outdoors. His T-shirt was damp around the neck, the sleeves rolled up to reveal his bulging, tattooed arms. He caught her eye for a second, then they both looked away.

  Even if I want to fuck him — and God help me, Ido want to fuck him, that’ll just be playing right into my dad’s plan.

  I get sick just thinking about it.

  It was too early to start cooking dinner but it was her night, and she couldn’t think of anything else to do. She got out some pots and pans and pulled some veggies out of the fridge — Pistol had salvaged a junker from his auto shop so they had a more efficient way to grocery shop than him going on his bike. And to his credit, he had done the grocery shopping the other day when she’d asked him to. Except he’d gotten all the wrong things. He’d bought a chili pepper instead of a bell pepper, instant rice instead of a bag of long-grain, dish soap instead of dish detergent…How did he survive before this? she wondered p
rivately.

  She started chopping veggies for a stir-fry, using the giant chef’s knife from the knife block. The same knife she’d hidden under the mattress her first night in this house. She heard him go to the fridge.

  If you even drink our juice out of the carton…

  But he just grabbed a bottle of water and some string cheese and stood there chugging the water. She was inexplicably irritated by his presence, but whether because she actually wanted him out of the way or because she thought she’d come in her pants if she caught one more glimpse of those tattooed arms, she wasn’t sure.

  “You should wash your hands,” she said finally, dicing the onion more quickly than was strictly necessary. “Since you touched the trash.”

  She heard the crack of the plastic bottle as the suction stopped. He let out a satisfied sigh and turned toward her. “You think I’m dirty?” It was said teasingly, but there was an edge to the words she didn’t appreciate.

  God help me, I don’t know how much longer I can survive this “marriage.” I’m either going to fuck him or stab him.

  She tried to lighten her tone. “I do. Totally dirty. Go one, wash up.”

  She gestured to the sink with the knife.

  “Whoa. You look dangerous with that thing.”

  You have no idea.

  He passed a little too close behind her — deliberately? She wasn’t sure which got on her nerves more — when they both acted formal and polite toward each other, avoiding being in the same room as often as possible. Or when he started making bids for her attention. Because she didn’t know how to treat him when he tried to engage her. Like a friend? Like a fellow hostage?

  Like a husband?

  He made it sound like we were in this together. Him and me against my father. But we’re not, are we? He’s my father’s pawn. And given what kind of money he’s making, he probably likes it that way.

  He washed his hands, shaking them dry and flinging water everywhere. She held her tongue.

  She thought he was going to leave the room. Instead, he hovered for a moment. “Need any help?” he asked.

  She was shocked. Pleasantly shocked. He was actually offering to help her cook? “Actually, yeah. If you want to chop those mushrooms, I’ll get the sauce going.”

  They worked side by side in companionable silence. Pistol seemed a little unsure how to chop veggies, but he did his best, and soon dinner was well underway.

  “Kinda early isn’t it? For eating?” He reached past her to add some cabbage to the skillet. That jolt again. Katrin could have grabbed him right there, ripped his shirt off, and started licking him everywhere.

  Not appropriate, not appropriate, not appropriate…

  “Uh, Katrin?”

  Dammit. She shook her head, trying to clear it. “Oh, um, yes. A little early. But I was … hungry.”

  When he didn’t respond right away, she glanced at him. He raised an eyebrow, but then went back to monitoring the rice.

  Great choice of words, Katrin.

  Focus, she needed to focus.

  “I, uh…” She wiped her forehead with her arm. Why was she so hot? It wasn’t that warm in here — they had the AC on, and the kitchen was well ventilated. “I’m gonna run to the bathroom. Just … keep stirring that.”

  She nearly bolted from the kitchen. In the bathroom, she splashed water on her face. Stared at herself in the mirror, watching the water drip from her skin.

  Get ahold of yourself, girl.

  What would Maddy think if she could see Katrin now? Maddy had always teased her about her prudishness. It was easy to make Katrin blush with a sex joke or a tease about which guy at the bar she should go hit on.And now here I am, sharing a house and a bed with a giant, tattooed biker with the hottest body I’ve ever seen. He’s helping me cook for God’s sake. He may be a criminal; he may be a reminder of the corner my dad’s got me backed into, but goddamn. Maddy, I need to share this with you.

  For a second, she fantasized about texting Maddy. She’d gotten a couple of texts from her in the weeks since the wedding. But she always replied with only vague details about how she was doing.I should call her. Message her. Something.

  But if she asks, it’ll be too tempting to tell her what’s going on. And if my dad finds out I’m getting in touch with old friends…

  She felt queasy again. Her father had never explicitly stated what would happen if she went against his wishes. But it didn’t take much imagination.

  I’ll get out of this. I will.

  She heard Pistol whistling in the kitchen, the tune loud enough to be heard over the sizzling of the stir-fry.

  What if I don’t entirely want out?

  What if there is some good in this whole mess?

  She pictured Pistol’s dirty socks n their bedroom. The way he spent hours a day sometimes tending to his bike. Her resolve hardened once more.

  Just because he’s hot as hell doesn’t mean we’re at all compatible. I’ll be out of here at the first opportunity. I’m not going to stay and get fuckingbred to him.

  She wiped her face on the hand towel and left the bathroom.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Pistol was dying. He had a serious case of constant blue balls, and it was only gonna get worse if he kept sharing a house with Katrin. Katrin and her tight skirts and blouses that made her look like a sexy librarian or some shit. Katrin who wore pumps with low heels, even though she wasn’t in some office somewhere – she was just walking around the house. Making dinner or watering the plants or checking her phone… He could hear her coming a mile away just by the sound of those heels on the hardwood floors. And he got hard each time he heard the sound.

  Sometimes she went barefoot. She had these small, perfect, elegant feet. Toenail polish that was, like, some kind of light purple. Lavender? Whatever it was, it was flawless, never a chip in it.

  And God, sharing a bed with her … it was torture. He’d lie there sometimes after she’d gone to sleep, erection tenting the covers, fantasizing that she’d suddenly wake up reach for him. Tell him she’d been dying to fuck him for weeks. Sometimes he’d get up, go to the downstairs bathroom — so there was no chance of her hearing him — and jerk off to the fantasy.

  It didn’t help that the rest of his life was all up in the air too. Every club meeting, there seemed to be more and more tension among the Blackened Souls. Some of Smith’s contacts across the border had proven useful, and the club’s bottom line had increased significantly. But no one was happy. Smith cast a long shadow, and he’d started sending his men on ride-alongs with the Blackened Souls. Ford had been particularly pissed about that, but since Kong hadn’t objected, he’d kept his mouth shut too.

  The brotherhood was nervous, and Pistol wasn’t sure what to do for them. At the auto shop, Deion was often quiet, his usual spark gone. There was no more talk of riding up to Three Sisters. The only one who really seemed okay with the whole situation was Mica, who was getting to go on more and more missions despite his inexperience. He was thrilled about the increased profits, and openly sneered at the others when they expressed doubt over whether it was all worth it.

  When Pistol stepped into the clubhouse for Thursday night’s meeting, relieved for the chance to get out of the house, where Katrin was walking around in a particularly tight pencil skirt, he nearly did a double take.

  Leonard Smith was sitting in Kong’s usually chair, surrounded by goons. A few of the Blackened Souls were hanging around the walls, looking uneasy, not sure where they should sit.

  Leonard met Pistol’s gaze and smiled. “Ah, Jax. Good to see you. It’s been a while.”

  Pistol glowered at Leonard Smith. He couldn’t stand this fake chummy shit Smith pulled. He continued to stare at Leonard, who finally looked away, tapping his fingers on the arm of the chair. “Where is everyone? This is a rather … important meeting.”

  Kong leaned against the wall, looking older and more haggard than Pistol had ever seen him. “They’ll be here. We don’t usually have a
set time for meetings. Just whenever people can get here.”

  Leonard checked his expensive watch. “I don’t have a lot of time this evening,” he said imperiously.”

  “Too bad,” Ford muttered.

  Leonard ignored him, though Pistol thought he saw the man’s jaw twitch. “I suppose we can get started. Do fill your absentbrothers in later.” He said the word “brothers” with a slight sneer.

  Leonard leaned back, hands on his knees. Yeah, this guy had read all the self-help books about how to take up space in a room and assume a “CEO stance” and whatever the fuck. He just looked like a pathetic douche. For the thousandth time, Pistol cursed himself for going along with the guy. For not knowing his own fucking enemy. For not knowing how far Smith’s reach extended, how many men he had at his disposal.