by Smith, A. T
“Would everyone like to sit and we will go through the results and next steps, if needed,” Kurtis advises and all of us take a seat in the waiting room.
He slowly and almost torturously opens the letter informing him of the father. We both sit, fists clenched and legs shaking. “Mr Lock,” he begins and my heart drops for Antonio. They must have it wrong, there is no way this child is mine, she is a spitting image of Antonio. “I'm sorry to tell you, the baby is not yours.” I sigh inwardly in relief, not because I don’t want the child but because I know how desperately Antonio does. He needs something other than Georgia to complete his life. He needs this baby to make him.
“Mr Little, I am in fact, pleased to confirm the baby is yours. You are the father to Debbie Talbot’s baby,” Kurtis reveals and the smile that plasters Antonio’s face makes me happier than I have felt in months. “Now, there is a lot of paperwork to go through, including naming this child. She is on the mend after having been delivered early, but they expect her to fully recover in as little as a month. Would you like to go through the paperwork now or would you prefer to make an appointment for another day?” he asks Ant and the reply is almost immediate from my best friend.
“Now, I want to do it now.” Georgia is holding onto his arm, cuddling it. Her smile is just as infectious as Antonio’s. Their family is now complete by this tiny, beautiful bundle. There is no feeling better than being a father, nothing can complete you more than knowing you created a life and love it so much and so intensely you will do anything for it.
“Congratulations man. You deserve this, you both do. You’re going to be an amazing father.” I slap him on the back and shake his hand. “Abbi and I will head out; you two sort through all of this and spend some time with her. I’m so happy for you both. Welcome to parenthood, you’ll love it.” Ant just smiles at me, his eyes shiny and glossy with water.
We leave the both of them talking to the social worker, and walk through the hospital. “Do you want to see her, sweetheart?” I ask Abigail. I know she feels a little lost, after hoping the baby would be mine. Even though Melissa is only eight months old, I can tell she already wants another.
“Yes, please.” She smiles at me and I guide her through the corridors to the NICU. I manage to charm the nurse again to let me inside to see my new niece. Abbi gasps the second she sees her, connected up to loads of machines. Her tiny body, all three pound of her, wiggles relentlessly, smiling away. Her thick black hair and brown eyes look back at us, her tiny mouth smiling at us.
“Gosh, she is so beautiful, Leighton. She looks just like him.” Abbi’s hand is to her mouth in shock, her other hand itching to touch the tiny girl. “Can I touch her?” she asks me and I nod. She slips her hand through the little hole in the incubator, holding onto her little hand. Tears trail Abbi’s cheeks, sadness and happiness mixed in one.
“What’s wrong baby?” I ask her.
“This, this beautiful little girl. I wanted her to be mine, Leighton. I was so ready for her,” she tells me, stroking her thumb over Antonio’s daughter's hand.
“I know sweetheart. We will have more children. As soon as you are ready, we will have another. I don't mind if that’s next week or ten years away.” In all reality there isn’t a time we should wait until, as soon as Abbi is ready, I am. I have the money to care for them and make sure they have everything they need.
“I’ll always be ready to have children with you, Leighton.” I kiss my wife’s cheek, holding her hips as I pull her back into me. Her head rests on my chest and I kiss the top gently.
“Come, let’s go home. I need to see Melissa,” I tell her, slowly backing her away from the premature baby wanting love. I manage to get her into the car and drive away from the car park of the hospital.
*****
Arriving home, Abigail smiles the second we walk into our home and Joe comes running to us. “Is she cute?” he asks us.
“Who?” I ask him, playing dumb.
“The baby? Is she my sister or my cousin?” he asks me and I raise an eyebrow to how he knows so much, especially the difference between sister and cousin.
“Cousin, kid. She’s Antonio’s baby girl. She is just beautiful. She looks like him and Maria. Dark hair and dark eyes,” Abigail explains to him, scuffing his hair up.
“Aww, I can't wait to see her and hold her. I bet she is so pretty.” He smiles at us.
“Gone off of Isabella already?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
“Never, she is my best friend.” He smiles back and then runs off. “Oh, and by the way mum, Mel took three steps today, how cool is that? Then she fell and hit her face on the floor and cried. However, I made it all better for her. I gave her lots of kisses and cuddles. But then she pulled my hair and it hurt like hell.” He mumbles on, walking away. I laugh at his words, just one long sentence of randomness. I am elated that my daughter is trying to walk, at eight months old she is so advanced and smart.
We spend the afternoon as a family. Just Abigail, my children and I, watching movies and eating pizza. It is perfect, the best end to a lovely day. I can’t wait for Antonio to bring his daughter home and introduce her to everyone.
My phone buzzes and I pick it up, seeing a text from Ant. I open it and see a picture of his daughter, so beautiful and perfect. “Look baby,” I say, showing Abbi.
Under the image the words: Mine and Georgia’s daughter- Chloe Maria Abigail Little. The picture is perfect, Antonio holding his daughter for the first time, her tiny body impossibly small in his enormous arms. Beside him, my sister supports him, smiling widely as they pose for their first family photo. My heart expands with joy and glee.
“They are so perfect,” Abigail admits and I feel complete.
“Yes, they really are,” I answer. “As are you my beautiful wife.” I kiss her lips soundly, not caring that my children are around. Their eyes are both glued to the screen, watching Frozen.
“Later, baby, we make a baby,” I whisper to her, nibbling her ear slightly. She moans in return and snuggles in further, pulling the blanket from the back of the sofa onto us.
Chapter Thirty-Eight Leighton
I hang the phone up, a smile on my face. Lucas’ words replay in my head.
“I have him, Leighton. Get your arse here now.” That simple sentence has made my day; in fact, it completes my entire life. I message all of my men, including Luke and Nate, they deserve to be involved. It might give them some kind of reprise from their emotions and some closure from the revenge.
We all drive separately to Lucas’ office. I arrive first, walking through the building to the back room once again. This time I don’t need my gun at the ready, I just ring the buzzer for the intercom on the wall. The door unlatches and I walk in. “Urgh, really man?” I ask, turning my head quickly at the sight of Lucas’ arse in my face.
“Sorry,” He answers, laughing at my shock, knowing he has just let me in to witness him in the throes of... passion.
“No you’re not,” I answer, now laughing a little back. It is not like I haven’t seen other people fuck, it used to be a regular daily occurrence, it just surprises me, he is able to get it on when the situation is what it is.
“You’re right, I'm not. Can you blame me, looking at her?” he asks me and I step to the side to take in his woman.
And now... my cock is stretching my jeans. She is beautiful, absolutely flawless. Her dark hair and bright eyes stand out, but not as much as the gag filling her perfect mouth and the cuffs holding her arms above her head. “Hmm, yes you’re quite right, she is something,” I answer, walking towards her. I stroke my fingertip down the inside of her arm.
“You are married, aren’t you, Leighton?” Lucas asks me, still not withdrawing from inside the girl trussed up.
“I am indeed, Lucas. Still doesn’t stop me from looking and admiring another. Abigail understands, trusts me. I have seen and done much more at the club,” I inform him, really wishing Abigail was here to admire her and let me take out my new bui
lt frustration out on her. I will tell her of this, get her hot and bothered and then fuck the hell out of her. Tonight.
“The club?” he asks me, thrusting sharply inside of his companion. I can’t take my gaze off where their bodies connect, the glistening of her juices coating a rather impressive cock.
“Yes, where this happens, often.” I tug on the restraints holding the girl.
“Really? What is this place called?” he asks me and I chuckle at his enthusiasm.
“We finish this mission and I’ll personally take you there myself. Now, finish up. We’ve got business to do.” I slap his back and shake my head, before taking a seat on one of the leather computer chairs. I cross one ankle over my knee and interlock my fingers on my lap. I watch, aroused as hell, but just imagining my own wife in exactly the same position.
“Okay,” he nods, his face now contort and strained as he thrusts powerfully in her wet pussy. An animalistic guttural sound pours from his throat as he wraps his hand around the girl’s throat, hammering hard once before stilling. “Fuck.” He grits his teeth as his body shudders.
He slips from her, securing himself back inside his trousers. “Up you get, sweetheart.” He slaps her thigh lightly. She sits up, naked, her perfect perky breasts fixed to her chest. My fingers ache to touch them, needing some relief. She winks to me and slides off the desk.
She walks to the door. “Where you going, pet?” Lucas asks her and she turns to look at him, biting her lip.
“Nowhere, Sir. Where do you want me?” she replies, her tall, slender body walking back to him.
“My lap,” Lucas instructs her, pulling her down onto his thighs. She tucks herself into him, his chin resting on her head.
“Luc, is it best she stays here while we talk? You know, I’m not sure it’s the right place for her,” I ask him, raising my eyebrows. I really don’t need some woman spilling all my secrets and ruining everything.
“Leighton, meet my wife, Paris. She is somewhat an expert in torture and no, I'm not referring to CBT.” I laugh at him, impressed that the precious woman seated on Lucas’ lap could harm anything. Also, I am now wondering if he is in fact the submissive in this relationship, talking about cock and ball torture.
“Really?” I ask.
“Yes, she has been trained brilliantly. She can kick any man’s arse.” He looks proudly to his wife, kissing her forehead gently and stroking her dark hair from her face.
“But now, you see, I’m interested in the CBT, is that something you let her do?” It is quite amusing talking about it. I have never personally had it done, but I have seen other men subjected to the horrific ordeal.
“Hmmm,” he answers me, no direct answer, but it is clear.
“Are you... are you a switch, Lucas?” I ask, shocked.
“Quite.” My mouth drops open, not meaning to. “Oh, don't give me that Leighton. Have you seen her? Wouldn’t you let her do whatever she wants to you? Trust me, if you let her have a go at you, you’d turn switch or even fully submissive. Pleasing her, it’s like completing me. If she wants to be restrained and beat, fine by me and if she wants me bent over while she pegs me, then all the better.” So it is clear, Paris is the more dominant partner and Lucas is her little bitch.
“Ok, I get it. Do as you will, man. Let’s get this all over with and you two can come to the club and do whatever it is you do without any interruptions,” I explain, looking to my Rolex to check the time.
“Okay, you’re in charge. Where is everyone else, anyway?” Lucas asks me, ushering his wife up to get dressed as her nakedness is still for everyone to see. I watch as she elegantly picks her clothes up, redresses herself in a power suit and slips her tower-high platforms on.
“They should be here really soon, where is my father anyway?” I ask, wondering if he is in the abandoned storage unit next to me or if he is at another location.
“He’s next door. Was the easiest place to bring him without any attention. Nobody owns a building round here, so there is no possibility of being caught.” He smiles smugly, almost proud of himself.
“Lucas, man, I don't ever get caught. I never have and I never will. I'm not that stupid,” I reply, standing myself up to leave the room and check the perimeter myself, just in case somebody is lingering around. It isn’t that I don’t trust him per say, it is that I don’t trust someone else to get a sneak in. I know my father is on his own, nobody follows him other than those he has paid to, but with the money I have; most of it his, I can pay them off easily.
I walk through the halls, every step of my boots echoing through the vacant space. I am on my own, my thoughts running wild, my anger and hunger spiralling out of control rapidly. I wish I was next door now, killing my father. He has sure as hell killed me, at least internally, so many times. He has murdered my soul, stealing away two of the things I love most in this world.
He had murdered, in cold hateful blood, my fiancée, the love of my life. Then he denied my mother, the woman that has always protected and loved me, the care she needed. She died, practically in my arms, fighting for her last breath as the cancer took over every living morsel of her. He had denied her the vital treatment she needed, the treatment that could have saved her life and had her live a healthy life where she knew her grandchild, a life where I would have remained sane and normal and had seen my own son grow up. I wouldn’t have run, I wouldn’t have needed too, she would have kept me grounded and safe the way a mother should.
My whole life would be different if it wasn’t for this man. Now, I have the enormous satisfaction of ending him, for the second time. This time I would make sure he died, there was no way on earth that he was going to live to see another day or draw another breath. I would obliterate him, ruin him and destroy him, the way he had me.
“Hey, Leigh, you ready?” Luke asks me as he opens the front door of the building and walks in, a whole throng of people following. I count them, Luke, Ant, Thomas, Marcus and Scott.
“Where is Nate?” I ask, worried about him. The way I had found Nate, all those years ago, was not one to remember. The man was a mess, high on anything he could get his hands on, withered and dying from his own addictions; I don’t want him returning to that pathway again, it isn’t going to happen on my watch.
“He’s... busy,” Thomas answers me, looking everywhere but me. I walk to him, grabbing his collar to get his attention, drawing him to me. He always wore suits; whatever we did, he was there in his Prada dress wear, looking so pristine and polished. His shirt, so neatly tucked in, assisted with my intimidation. Nate is the oldest of us all, at thirty-one, we all need him to be the guiding light. He is so calm and collected it is scary. How anyone can do what we do and not freak the fuck out or lose their cool is beyond me, but he manages it without so much as a flicker of his eyes. I am now worried he is driving off the deep end again, that the death of Bradley has sent him back there.
“Where the fuck is Nate, Thomas? Tell me or so help me God I will end you.” I threaten him and I am being serious. I am in no mood to be joking around.
“He’s busy, Leigh. Please, just leave him to it. He’s a grown arse man, he just can't handle this at the moment. We need to give him some space to cool off, he’ll be back soon,” Thomas answers and it pisses me off. Nobody knows of how he is, no one other than his two brothers. None of the men know how strong he is most of the time, resisting every urge he has to touch the drugs.
“Space, you think we need to give him fucking space? He’s an addict, Thomas. We give him space he’ll find solace in a fucking needle. I swear to God, if he has overdosed on that shit I will ring your fucking neck.” I get into Tom’s face, our foreheads touching, but the rage pouring off me is like a volcanic eruption, soon to burn someone. I need to find a person to take it out on and hurting one of my friends is not the answer.
“Shit. God, I didn’t know. Why didn’t he tell me? What have I done?” Tom has tears in his eyes and I have to slap his face lightly to get him out of that zone. He needs
to be concentrating to assist in this.
“He’s ashamed of himself, Thomas, well, of the man he used to be. Luke and Brad had seen him at his worst and I don't want the loss of Bradley to drive him back there. You need to get your head in the zone to help here or you need to leave and find Nate.”
I can see it in his eyes that he is trying to decide on what to do. “I have to go, I’m sorry.” Tom speaks hurriedly before turning around and dashing out of the door. We all listen as his car starts and speeds from the car park, a blatant dust cloud following smoothly behind.
“I hope to God he hasn’t taken something,” Luke speaks, rubbing his temples with his fingertips. “I can't be dealing with all of this right now. We need to just get this over with.” It is my duty, as the boss and as their friend, to make sure all of my friends are taken care of and aren’t hurting. Doing this, killing the man responsible for so much hurt and destruction will put us all at ease.
“Okay, let’s go. I'm ready for this. LUCAS WE’RE GOING!” I shout out towards the back, wondering what is taking the man so long anyway, knowing him, he has his wife laid out on the table again.
The door opens and Paris saunters out, her suit clinging to her fantastic curves like nothing else. “Who the mother-fucking-hell is that?” Scott asks, his tongue practically hanging from his mouth. The dribble is so close to trickling from his tongue that I clip him around the head.
“That would be Lucas’ wife, so eyes off and cock down,” I tell him, winking to Paris as she walks past. “Plus, she would beat your arse, mate,” I warn him and his eyes shoot up to mine.
“You mean... she is a Domme?” he asks, glazy eyes and flushed cheeks.
“Yes, Scott, she is. So be careful or I might let her have you, you sadistic bastard.” He shakes his head, almost grossed out at the thought of submitting to anyone.
“God damn, why does she have to be so damn sexy but unreachable? I'm not losing my S-card for any woman, or man.” By S-card, Scott means Sadist Card, which is a lame phrase he has made up to sound cool.
