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

by Naomi West

  If we cut the head off the beast, does it grow a new one? Or does the body flop around and eventually die?

  Smith straightened one pant leg. “I have a large stash coming in. The first part arrives tomorrow. It’s only a fraction of the total goods. Some of you will go pick it up. If all goes well, you’ll accompany my men when they pick up the much larger haul in a couple of weeks.” He glanced around the room, finger under his chin as though giving this deep consideration. “You.” He pointed at Mica. “You’ll go.”

  Mica preened little.

  You little fucker, Pistol thought.Have you forgotten that he fucking shot you?

  “And you two.” Leonard indicated Ford and Hap, another club member.

  Ford glared at Smith. “I got club business to take care of here tomorrow. I ain’t going riding.”

  “Oh my. I’m so sorry to hear that.” Leonard didn’t sound sorry at all. “Unfortunately, you’ll have to put all that on hold. Any ‘club business’ is now my business, you understand. And this shipment takes precedence.”

  Ford’s jaw literally dropped. He turned to Kong. “Boss?” He said the word pointedly, emphasizing to Leonard that he still considered Kong his leader. Or challenging Kong to actuallybe a boss and stand up to the fucker.

  Kong’s expression remained stoic.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Katrin couldn’t take it anymore. The sink was full of dishes. Plates covered in congealed food. The chef’s knife. Mugs with coffee-stained bottoms. The dirty dishes were blocking the drain, and so everything sat in several inches of murky water full of food chunks.

  God damn him.

  She’d been telling him for days to do the dishes. That she wasn’t going to do them for him this time. She hated, hated sounding like a nagging wife — that wasn’t the life she’d envisioned for herself at all, and she resented him for forcing her to sound like one. And every time she asked — politely as she could — he replied that he’d do them soon, that she didn’t have to worry.

  I can’t do it, can’t be shut up in this messy house all day with nothing but my own thoughts. I either need him to be a partner to me — he doesn’t have to be a husband, he doesn’t have to be a lover; just a platonic partner who helps shoulder this burden — or I need to get out.

  The freelance jobs were going okay, but the work wasn’t consistent, and it didn’t get her out of the house. Instead she was caught in a vicious cycle — nightmares each night where Pistol came home covered in blood and wouldn’t tell her where he’d been. Where her father came into the house and tried to kill her. Where she gave birth to a malformed baby with her father’s face.

  She didn’t get in bad moods often, but when she did, she spiraled quickly. In this case, she felt she had good reason. She’d let too many things slide recently. Not least of all, the fact that Pistol apparently knew about her father’s plan to coerce Katrin into having a child. And he hadn’t said a damn word about it. No, “Say, Katrin, do you know what your dad asked me to do? What do you think we should do to avoid bowing to his ridiculous fucking wish?” No, he’d known that was part of the deal and he’d married her anyway. Without even checking to see if it was something she’d go along with.

  There were easy enough ways to avoid it, obviously. She could tell her father they were having trouble conceiving. That Pistol was infertile. Maybe they could even use some of Pistol’s club profits to bribe a doctor somewhere to say that having children would be an enormous risk to her health.

  Except she wouldn’t put it past her dad to have them both examined by medical professionals of his choosing.

  How far are we going to go to keep him satisfied? How much longer are we going to play this game?

  Those questions were on her mind every single day. And Pistol — Mr. Gallant Gentleman, Mr. “I Won’t Do Anything To You. I’m Not Like That.”— was being a real coward about helping her figure out the answers.

  She heard the bike roar up the drive, and the sound of it gave her a headache. Boys and their toys. He entered the kitchen with a quick hello, and tossed a greasy fast food bag on the counter. “Got us dinner. The burrito place is closed — some kind of repairs — so we’re stuck with Wendy’s tonight.”

  Katrin didn’t answer. A despair like nothing she’d felt since her mom’s death overtook her.I have no allies. No one I can trust. She heard Pistol go upstairs. Heard him thumping around up there.

  After a minute, she followed him. She found him in the bedroom. He’d changed from his shop T-shirt into a slightly fresher T-shirt, and, as usual, he’d peeled off his socks and left them in a corner of the room.

  He saw her standing in the doorway. Went back to searching out some sweatpants. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “Like what?” Katrin asked hollowly.

  “You look like I ate a kitten in front of you. What’s wrong?”

  “What’s wrong?” Her voice came out meek, hoarse. She cleared her throat. “What’s wrong?” she repeated. And this time, her voice sounded fierce, reflective of what she was actually feeling.

  He looked at her again, expression wary.

  “This house is a mess.”

  He didn’t respond.

  “This house is a mess, and I’m cooped up inside it all day.” She motioned to the socks on the floor. “What is this? What’s so hard about throwing your socks in the hamper? It’s right there, in the closet.”

  “All right, calm down.”

  “Don’t tell me to calm down. Don’t act like I’m crazy for not wanting to live in a pigsty.” She threw her arms up and let them fall to her sides. “The dishes. You’ve been telling me for days you’ll do them, but they’re all piled in that disgusting, crud-filled sink.”

  “I’ll do them.”

  “That’s what you keep saying! Seriously, you’re a grown ass man, not a teenage boy.” She kicked the sock. It didn’t go very far across the carpet, which only made her madder. “Act like it!”

  Oh my God. They were fighting like an actualmarried couple.

  Pistol’s face went red. “Look, I didn’t ask to be in this situation, so—”

  “Neither did I!”

  “—if you think I’m gonna change to fit your—”

  “I’m not asking you to change, I’m just asking you to act a little more like a grownup. Is that too much?”

  “Becauseyou’re perfect to live with?”

  “I’m a hell of a lot better than you!”

  “The way you stare at me all the time like you’re just waiting for me to fuck something up, so you can add it to your mental tally…”

  Her mouth fell open. “I never—”

  “You do. You look at me like I’m dirt under your shoe. I got news for you, princess. This ain’t no fairy tale.”

  She laughed harshly. “Oh please. Nobody knows that better than me.”

  He glowered at her, and for a second she was almost frightened, but anger overrode it. “You think I want to be here, walking on eggshells in the house some psychopath bought me? Before you came along, everything was great. ’Rango and me were gonna drive up to Three Sisters sometime, just the two of us. Get the hell away from this town for a while. I wish we’d done it. Wish I hadn’t even been in Rialto the night this all went to hell.”

  “Wish you’d left your brothers to deal with the fallout?” she shot back.

  His eyes narrowed, and for a second she thought she’d gone too far. “Keep your mouth shut about what you don’t understand.”

  She walked right up to him and very nearly jabbed him in the chest with one finger. “Don’t’ tell me to keep my mouth shut. I’m not asking you to fall in love with me. I’m not asking you to give up your brotherhood. All I’m asking is that when you’re here in this house, you do your laundry and your dishes.”

  “Fine!” He sounded like a sulky, overgrown toddler. He bent over and grabbed the socks and T-shirt, went to the closet, and shoved them in the hamper. “Happy?” He demanded as he strode past her and pound
ed down the stairs. She heard the sink turn on, the clink of dishes, and all she could do was stand there, stunned. Pistol was a lot of things, but she’d never considered him a jerk, or a fucking child.

  She went downstairs after him and found him at the sink, furiously rinsing dishes and tossing them loudly in the dishwasher.

  “Pistol—” she began, not sure whether to be angry or amused. But before she could continue, Pistol yanked his hand out of the sink with a string of curses.

  “Motherfucker!”

  Katrin saw that his hand was dripping blood. Her gut plunged.

  “Jesus Christ!” Pistol snapped.

  “Hey, hey,” She stepped forward. “Calm down.”

  “It’s bleeding like a—”

  “Stick it under the water,” she said, keeping her voice calm and authoritative.

  Pistol placed his bleeding right hand under the faucet. “The fucking knife.”

  Katrin resisted the urge to point out that if he hadn’t left the knife in the sink in the first place, this wouldn’t have happened. Instead she placed a hand on his shoulder, ignoring the jolt that went through her at the contact. “Good,” she said. Just let it run.”

  “It feels deep.”

  “We’ll look in a minute.” She let him flush the cut out a moment longer, then turned off the water. “Let me see.”

  He showed her his right hand. There was a cut across the meat of the palm — shallow, but a bleeder, for sure. Blood dripped into the sink while she grabbed some paper towels and laid them over the cut. “Hold those there. Keep pressure on it.” She led him over to the table. He followed meekly and let her push him gently down into a chair. “Stay put. I’m going to get my first aid kit.”

  She went to the pantry, where she’d put the kit — most accidents happened in the kitchen, after all. She brought the small plastic case back to the table and opened it, then took out some gauze and tape.

  Blood had soaked through the paper towels, but when she gently moved the wad of towels away from the skin, she saw the bleeding was already starting to slow.

  “Good,” she said quietly. “Hold out your hand.”

  He did. She wiped some blood away, then began to wind some gauze around his hand.

  “Don’t we need to … sterilize it or something?” he asked.

  “Back in the day, the medical community recommended iodine or rubbing alcohol for cuts. Now we’ve realized that flushing with water is often all you need. Alcohol and iodine kill the good bacteria that will help your skin heal.”

  He looked white as a sheet, but he nodded. “Glad you know your shit.”

  The sound of her voice seemed to calm him, so she kept on. “My mom used to use iodine. When I was little and got hurt. The smell of it used to fascinate me. And the way it looked — the way it dyed my skin yellow.”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen iodine.” He kept his gaze on her as she deftly bandaged him. “Man, you don’t lose your cool, do you? Blood makes me kinda … queasy…”

  She half smiled. “Well, I’m gonna be a nurse, remember? So it probably wouldn’t go great for me if I didn’t have a strong stomach.” She picked up the tape and began winding it over the gauze. She was suddenly uncomfortably aware that the front of his sweatpants was tented. And she was even more uncomfortably aware of her own reaction to his proximity, to touching him. She was close enough to hear his breath, a little shallow, the way he breathed sometimes in his sleep, in the midst of a dream. And his hand was warm and rough… She swallowed.

  “What happened to your mom?” he asked very softly.

  Katrin barely flinched. “She died. Last year.”

  “Oh God. I’m sorry. I didn’t … I wondered how it ended up being just you and your dad, but I didn’t realize…”

  “It’s okay. I miss her. But I know she’s still with me, every day.”

  He shifted. “I’m sorry too, about the … I’m sorry I was such a jerk.”

  She nodded. “Thank you. Sorry I yelled too.”

  “I’ll do a better job with the house.”

  “I’d appreciate that.” She finished taping and stepped back. “There.”

  He flexed the hand tentatively, still gazing at her.

  She met that gaze, and her heart began to pound. Something was happening between them. His stare wasn’t … wicked, exactly, but it was hungry, blazing with need. It pulled at something deep within her. She didn’t move as he rose, towering over her, arm muscles flexing. He extended his uninjured hand gently toward her face, and she shivered in anticipation and desire. He stopped before he touched her. “May I?” he asked.

  She nodded mutely. He cupped her jaw — the lightest of touches, his thumb ghosting over her cheekbone. She inhaled softly, closing her eyes. She tilted her head slightly, so that her lips brushed his palm.

  He leaned down, and she strained upward, and suddenly they were kissing. Kissing like they had at the wedding, except now it was different. Now they were alone, and she wasn’t afraid. She wanted this, wanted it with everything in her.

  She cupped the back of his neck with one hand, drawing him closer. He teased the seam of her lips apart with his tongue, then slipped his tongue inside her mouth. It swiped over her own, and her pussy tightened with a pleasurable thrill. She backed up, drawing him with her, until he was pressing her against the wall, until his hand swept down to her hip, guided her ass away from the wall so he could cup it.

  He squeezed until she moaned into his mouth, then gave her a light pinch. Her eyes flew open in surprise at the slight, delicious sting. Then she thrust her hips forward, grinding her crotch against his, feeling wanton, free.

  He pulled his tongue back and they stood there for a moment, panting with their foreheads pressed together. She whimpered against his lips, and he hissed as he moved his injured hand to her breast. Though their mutual passion, their need, hadn’t dulled in the slightest, Pistol was gentle as he stroked her breast, careful as his thumb grazed her nipple through her shirt. Back and forth, back and forth until her nipple stiffened, until she arched her back, longing for more of that touch. She wanted to rip off his clothes, wanted to drink in that body she’d only glimpsed before. Knead that taught ass as she guided him deeper inside her, scream her pleasure as he drove into her, his big arms pinning her in place.

  She gasped as he pinched lightly through the fabric. She took his hand and set it at the hem of her shirt, guiding it up and underneath until it rested on the cup of her bra. The gauze and tape felt strange on her bare skin as he stroked her, and she laughed, half nervous, half breathless with excitement.

  “You want this?” His voice was low, rough.

  All she could manage was a nod. Then finally, she managed to get words out. “So much.” He slid one knee between her legs, let it travel up her inner thigh, drawing her skirt up. She gasped as the course denim of his jeans rubbed against her soft cotton panties. Panties that were rapidly growing wetter as his knee moved back and forth over her pussy, sometimes putting just enough pressure on her clit that she gasped. “Please,” she whispered. “Please.”

  “My pleasure,” he growled, brushing his lips along her cheek. Then, without warning, he spun her so that she faced the wall. Her breath left in a rush, and her back arched automatically, thrusting her ass out so that it met his crotch. He flipped her skirt up and ran his left hand between her legs, using two fingers to pet the damp fabric. She spread her legs, moaning, welcoming his caress. He circled her clit with his fingertips, and she bucked her ass further out, wishing he’d yank her panties aside and plunge his fingers into her, that he’d rub her clit with his thumb until she was wild with desire, and then throw her over the table and ram his cock home.

  But he took his time. Teased her slowly, rubbing her pussy with one hand, kneading her ass with the other. He leaned forward and kissed her shoulder, using his teeth to pull the collar of her blouse aside for better access.

  She dipped her head, sighing her pleasure. The room was going fuzzy, so s
he let her eyes close, sinking into the ecstasy. She began to ride his hand, her legs trembling, until he had to hook one arm underneath her to keep her upright, to keep her where he wanted her while he slowly, inexorably, tugged down her panties.

  When they were around her thighs, the fabric stretched taught by her spread legs, his hands disappeared for a moment, and she was left there, trembling, her ass and pussy bared to his gaze.

  “God,” he said, voice low. “I’ve wanted this since I first laid eyes on you.”