Risky: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance

by Ava Bloom

She pointed at me as she stepped backwards into her apartment across the hall. “Just you wait. We are going to have such a great time.”

  I closed the door, but I could still hear Sadie shouting at me from across the hall.

  “Tomorrow night is the night that will change your life!”

  3

  Josephine

  The beat of the music pounded against my eardrums and made my head feel like it was vibrating. Sadie knew how to move to the electronic beats pouring from the speakers, but I felt like a foreigner trying to understand a new language. My limbs weren’t sure how to respond to the consistent pulse of the music, and I ended up doing a half-hearted side to side shuffle while I sipped on the ten-dollar drink I’d bought from the bar.

  Men flocked around us, most of them trying to get past me to be closer to Sadie, but she paid them hardly any attention. Her eyes were closed, head thrown back as she gave her body over to the music. I tried to shout and tell her I was going to head back over to the bar, but I couldn’t get her attention, and I didn’t feel like fighting through the swarm of men around her.

  The music was still just as deafening next to the bar, but the air felt cooler, less stagnant. The heat of the dancing bodies was sweltering, and the black dress Sadie swore to me was a dress and not a t-shirt clung to my skin. I pinched pieces of the fabric and pulled it away from my body, trying to get some airflow to cool myself down.

  “What are you drinking?”

  I looked up to see a man—middle-aged with salt and pepper hair, but incredible green eyes and a strong jawline—looking down at me. He was already calling the bartender over, and I didn’t feel like paying another ten dollars for a drink.

  “Whiskey sour,” I said.

  He put in our order and turned his body towards mine, elbow rested on the bar top.

  “Whiskey girl, then?” he asked.

  “I am tonight,” I said. I extended my hand. “I’m Josephine.”

  His eyebrows pinched together slightly at the sight of my hand reaching out towards him and then he smiled and shook it. “David.”

  “Nice to meet you,” I said.

  The bartender slid our drinks down the bar and David handed me mine. “I don’t meet many women in clubs who shake hands,” he said.

  “So, you often meet women in clubs?” I asked, one eyebrow raised.

  He laughed and shook his head. He had a great laugh. “Will you lose interest if I say yes?” he asked.

  “I’ll lose interest if you lie.” I couldn’t believe I was flirting. How long had it been since I’d flirted? I knew Sadie wouldn’t approve of the man’s age. He had to be at least fifteen years older than I was. Sadie liked to sleep with men who looked like they had just hopped out of men’s fitness magazines—hairless, muscles, and young.

  “Okay,” he said, leaning closer, running the back of his hand down the length of my arm. “Then, I’ll tell the truth, but only if you will.”

  “Great,” I said, feeling myself drawn towards him. Even though we’d just met, I felt like I wanted to kiss him. I did not kiss strangers. I didn’t meet men at bars. Who am I? I thought. I wasn’t sure, but I thought I might like it. “I always tell the truth.”

  His lips tilted up in a smile. “Me first. Are you as attracted to me as I am to you?”

  I felt my face flush, but I ignored it, trying to keep my cool. I took a sip of my drink and shrugged. “That depends how attracted you are to me.”

  “Incredibly,” he said. I could feel his warm breath on my face. It smelled like peppermint and alcohol.

  I nodded, trying not to look as pleased as I felt. “Then, yes, we harbor similar levels of attraction. My turn.”

  David shook his head. “I had to put myself on the line to say how attractive I found you. I think that earns me another question.”

  I conceded with a smile.

  “Will you dance with me?” he asked, tipping his head towards the dance floor.

  I dreaded the thought of going back into the sweaty fray of the dance floor, but I also couldn’t bear to disappoint David. When he reached for my hand, I gave it to him and let him lead me to the center of the room.

  The multi-colored lights from the DJ booth made it look like we were underwater, watching the sunlight dance across the surface. David wrapped one hand around my waist, pulling my body flush against his, and began to grind his hips into me. It didn’t feel particularly like dancing, but I played along, bouncing against him to the beat.

  He grabbed my free arm and draped it over his shoulder, burying his face against my hair. It felt intimate, and a little too much too fast. I pulled back and smiled up at him. “My question.”

  He dipped lower so his ear was near my mouth, waiting for my question. I was about to ask what he did for a living when his left hand reached up and encircled the wrist of the arm I had draped over his shoulder. In the flashing lights, I saw a glint of something on his finger. I squinted and realized it was a gold band encircling his ring finger.

  “Are you married?” I asked before I could stop myself.

  David tucked his left hand behind my back, squeezing me closer to him while he pressed the growing bulge in his jeans against me. “Are we still being honest?”

  I arched away from him, a panic welling up inside of me. “Yes!”

  He shrugged. “Then technically, yes.”

  I wiggled out of his arms, eyebrows furrowed. “What do you mean, technically?”

  “I mean that I am married but being married doesn’t preclude me from finding other women attractive or dancing with them,” he said.

  “Well, you being married precludes me from wanting anything to do with you or your pelvis,” I said, using both hands to indicate the very obvious tent in his jeans.

  “So, will you or won’t you be taking me back to your place tonight?” he asked, still swaying slightly to the music.

  “Are we still being honest?” I asked, fuming.

  He nodded and wagged his eyebrows at me.

  “Hell no, I won’t be going home with you,” I said, splashing the rest of my drink across his shirt.

  He gasped and threw his arms out wide in shock, knocking a few nearby people in the backs of their heads, but I didn’t stay to see anymore. I turned around and made a beeline for the entrance of the club.

  Even late in the evening, the air was sweltering, but it still felt refreshing compared to the stagnancy of the club. I took a few deep breaths, trying to calm my heartbeat, and then pulled my phone out of my bra to text Sadie.

  J: Going home early. Had no fun at all. You can never ask me to go out with you again.

  Sadie had told me before we left for the evening that she planned to find a guy to go home with, so I drove myself to the club. The parking lot had been packed, so after circling it a few times, I’d finally given up and parked along the street a few blocks away. The neighborhood was nice enough that I wasn’t worried about walking by myself at night, but I still clung to my clutch, fingering the shape of my mace can through the shiny silver fabric.

  I reach the block where I’d parked—I could see my car up ahead between a dark black truck and a white minivan—when I heard footsteps behind me. I didn’t want to turn around and seem paranoid, but I also didn’t want to be attacked from behind. So, I tried to casually glance over my shoulder. When I did, I saw a man with a baseball cap pulled low over his eyes walking behind me. His hands were tucked into the pockets of his jeans and he seemed to be minding his own business, but he was also gaining on me. I turned back around and walked a little faster.

  I already had my car keys in my hand, so I pressed the button to unlock the doors and felt slightly comforted by the small honk my car elicited. However, the man’s steps were growing louder. Now, I had to decide whether I wanted to try to get to my car and risk the man forcing me into the car where he could drive me to a second location. Or I could slow down and mace him right here on the sidewalk if he did have bad intentions. As I grew closer to my car, indecision m
ade me freeze up. I was standing halfway between the man and my car, my hand on the clasp of my purse, trying to decide whether I should pull out my mace when the man grabbed me from behind.

  I screamed and swung my other arm, trying to hit the man with my purse. My swing landed, cracking him across the face and knocking his hat off. He looked so young, barely twenty, and his eyes were narrowed in animalistic rage when they met mine. I knew there would be no reasoning my way out of this. I would have to fight.

  He wrapped his hand around my upper arm and began dragging me towards an alley behind the office building I’d parked in front of. I continued swinging at him while digging my heels into the concrete, trying to gain some traction, but it was useless. He tugged harder, and one of my heels snapped from the force. I stumbled forward, practically landing in his arms. He coiled himself around me like a snake, squeezing so I couldn’t move anything except my legs. I tried to scream, but it felt as though my lungs were collapsing with every breath. I kicked and thrashed as hard as I could, but the darkness of the alley began to surround me, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to fight. The man was too strong. I squeezed my eyes shut and prayed I wouldn’t die.

  4

  Lance

  Josephine didn’t go out on Saturday nights. She lived alone, and from what I’d gathered in the weeks I’d spent observing her, she didn’t have any overnight guests. So, taking her out wouldn’t be a problem. I posted up near her building just after five and waited for her to get home from work.

  She parked in her usual parking space and slipped out of her car. She had on straight-legged trousers and a sheer white shirt tucked in. Her long brown hair was pulled back into a tight bun, and her glasses sat low on her nose. She had a seriously hot librarian thing going, and it was very sexy. I planned to attack just after dark.

  The summer nights were long, so that wouldn’t be until after nine. Now that I’d seen her go inside, I knew she wouldn’t leave again, so I drove home to wait. There was no sense letting people see a suspicious man sitting in a car near the complex on the night one of the residents was killed. I was only there to ensure she did come home and that her Saturday would look like the past several Saturdays before.

  Josephine lived in the Northeast corner of Houston. I was on the Northwest side, about thirty minutes away. I rented a small house from a friend of my mom’s. She and her husband had used it as a summer house for many years, but he’d been diagnosed with cancer the year before, and they needed the extra money to take care of medical bills. Even still, they charged me less than they could have charged someone else because of the “friends and family discount.” It was small—two bedrooms, one bath—but it had a backyard and a decent-sized kitchen. That was what I really cared about. I needed a place where I could cook.

  I got home and immediately flicked on one of the burners of the stove to heat up the cast iron skillet. Then, I pulled the skirt steak I’d been marinating all night out of the fridge. I cut it into strips and dropped it in the pan. While that cooked, I started a pot of white rice and threw some broccoli covered in olive oil and salt into the oven. Within twenty-five minutes, I had my take on Korean bar-b-que with a side of fluffy rice and roasted broccoli. It was good to eat a nutritious meal before a hit. If things went south, I didn’t want to be stuck wrestling with someone on a stomach full of pizza and beer. I’d learned that the hard way.

  As I was washing up the dishes in the sink—the house didn’t have a dishwasher—I noticed a blue envelope sitting in the middle of the table. I’d grabbed the mail on my way in but had been too hungry to look at it. I dried my hands on the drying towel and picked it up. My mom’s handwriting caught my attention immediately. I hesitated. Did I really want to read this right now? I needed to stay in a good headspace if I was going to finish the job tonight. I couldn’t let myself be distracted by anything else.

  My finger was sliding beneath the flap of the envelope before I could stop myself and I pulled out a card. There was a picture of a droopy-faced bulldog on the front holding a wooden sign that had the words “free hugs” carved into it. I opened it.

  * * *

  Lance,

  * * *

  It’s so hard to get in touch with you these days. I know you are busy, but you should never be too busy to call your mom back. I thought I’d write you a letter inside. I don’t have any news, but I miss you. When will you be able to come home and visit again? I haven’t seen you since Christmas, and my lights are still up on the front porch. My neighbors probably think I’m white trash. (Who am I kidding? I am white trash haha.) Please get in touch soon so I can remember what your voice sounds like.

  * * *

  Love you always,

  Mom

  * * *

  P.S. I don’t mean to guilt you. (But who am I kidding? I totally mean to.) Call me.

  * * *

  I smiled and tucked the card back into the envelope and stuck it to the fridge with a magnet. I did need to call her. It was hard because I couldn’t tell her the truth about anything. Not about what I did for a living, why I was always busy on the evenings and weekends, why I didn’t have a serious girlfriend. All of it boiled down to being a hitman, which she couldn’t know. Well, almost all of it, anyway. The girlfriend thing was a bit of my own doing, as well. Even if I weren’t a hitman, I wouldn’t have a girlfriend. I wasn’t ready for anything serious. But I didn’t want my mom to know about dad’s bad bets, the threats that were made when he skipped town. I did what I had to do to protect her. She’d feel like it was her fault, but I knew there was only one man to blame: my dad.

  Once everything from dinner was cleaned up, I laid down on the couch and tried to sleep a bit. It would be a late night, and I wanted to be fresh. However, like always, I couldn’t fall asleep. My mind was always too busy before a hit job. I couldn’t seem to turn it off. So, giving up on a nap, I turned on the television and watched a few hours of the Astros game. As the sun began to sink below the horizon, sending warm rays of dying light into my living room, I turned off the tv, grabbed my hit bag, and left.

  Over the last several weeks, I’d memorized the path between my house and Josephine’s apartment, so I didn’t even have to think as I switched between city streets and frontage roads. I didn’t want to take the interstate and have a record of me taking the tollway. I parked a few blocks away in front of a twenty-four-hour diner and walked over, jumping the wrought iron fence that bordered the complex just behind Josephine’s unit.

  I entered through the back door, following an elderly woman and her toy poodle, and then took the stairs just inside the door to the third floor. The hallway was empty, but I could hear music coming out from under one of the doors and the ominous base of a horror movie coming out from another. If Josephine screamed, there was a chance I’d be caught. But she wouldn’t scream. She wouldn’t even see me coming.

  I picked the lock and slipped into her apartment within twenty seconds. Just as I’d guessed from peering through her peephole, the living room was dark. Discarded Chinese containers from the night before were scattered across her coffee table next to piles of manila folders and paperwork. The space looked like it was only half-furnished. There was a couch, but then the space where you’d expect an armchair to be was vacant. There was one bookshelf beside the tv stand, but a similar-sized blank spot on the wall on the other side. It was as if someone had split the apartment in two.

  I refocused, remembering why I was there. I’d already unzipped my hit bag while I was walking up the stairs, so I slipped my hand into it now and pulled out the hood and the rope. When my targets were considerably smaller than I was, strangulation worked better than a gun. Less noise and less mess. I didn’t have to worry about gunpowder residue or blood on my clothes.

  Just off the living room was a single hallway with three doors. The first led into a microscopic laundry room just big enough for a stackable washer and dryer and a hamper. It was overflowing with clothes. I saw a pair of red lacy panties sitting on top and
thought once again what a shame it was that Josephine had to die. The next door opened onto a bathroom. A curling iron was plugged in and had fallen into the sink, and the countertop was covered in various types of makeup—tubes, compacts, pumps. There was one final door at the end of the hall, which I knew would be the bedroom. I also knew Josephine would be behind the door. I took a deep breath, turned the knob as slowly as I could, and pushed the door open.

  It was empty.

  The comforter and sheets were thrown back like she’d jumped out of bed that morning in a hurry, not bothering to make it back up. Clothes cascaded out of the closet and onto the floor. A stack of dresses were thrown over a desk chair in the corner that was pushed up against a desk that looked an awful lot like the coffee table in the living room, overflowing with paper and folders.

  Where was she? The apartment was clearly empty, but that didn’t make any sense. I’d been following her for weeks and the only times Josephine left was to go to work, pick up food, or workout. I pulled out my phone and opened up the tracking app I’d downloaded. I’d placed a tracker under her car, but I’d stopped using it within the first week because, like I said, Josephine was always at home.

  Her red dot popped up in the city center on a street lined with bars and nightclubs. I refreshed the app, expecting her dot to reappear in the parking lot of her complex. I hadn’t checked her usual space for her car on my way in, even though I usually did. What was wrong with me? I’d never slipped up this many times before a hit. I was nothing if not professional. How could I have let my target out of my site? I debated whether I should stay in the apartment and wait for her to come home, but I had no idea how long that would be. And the less time I spent there the better. Besides, after weeks of watching her follow the same monotonous routine, I wanted to see what Josephine Reed looked like having a little fun.