by Naomi West
“I’ll say it again, Squire. You’re a lucky man.”
I’m too busy staring at my girl to even turn toward Patrizzio. “Row, what the fuck are you talking about? There is no way in hell I’m taking you to Esposito’s doorstep. For what? So he can shoot me in the head and take you to his sex dungeon? Not a fucking chance, Row. Not a chance.”
“Listen to me, Kennedy,” her eyes are intense, more so than usual. “He talked to me about this. When he told me what he wanted to do to me. He told me that he wanted to teach me about it. He thought I was a virgin. His whole thing was getting there first. I really think that he’d be much less interested if he knew I was not only taken, but completely submissive to someone else. The game would be gone for him.”
I trace my hands through my hair. Jesus, this just got so much more complicated.
“I think she’s got a point,” Patrizzio says.
“How can you possibly say that?”
“Look,” Patrizzio says. “There’s an easy way and a hard way here. But you know exactly how bloody the easy way is. You’ve been down that road, Kennedy.”
I stand up and start pacing around the kitchen. His voice follows me. “We’re not talking a bodyguard or two. You know that we’d be talking twenty, maybe thirty men. And then Esposito himself. And he’s got kids, so eventually you’d have to get them too, if you really wanted to live in peace.”
Suddenly Patrizzio is standing next to me, one hand on my arm. “And you know I love the game. And you know I love you, kid. But that’s a lot of blood for anybody.”
I turn back to face them, Patrizzio next to me and Row, stoic and calm at the table.
“Arrange the meet,” I say to him. “But make it in a week or so. We have a lot of practice to do.”
Chapter Fifteen
Kennedy
Two weeks later I still can’t believe I agreed to this fucking plan. My stomach is in knots in a way it never has been before in my life. I’ve never been nervous. Not even when I was a contract killer. It’s just now, Row is by my side. Gorgeous and alive, and so precious I feel like I’m wearing my heart on the outside of my body.
She sits in the backseat of a town car that I drive, Patrizzio is in the passenger side. We’re weaving our way through the streets of Brooklyn. We landed early this morning.
Row wanted to go to the natural history museum in Manhattan, but both Patrizzio and I vetoed that idea. Both of us just wanted to get this fucking over with.
I swear to God that woman has nerves of steel. She wants to sightsee on the day that we’re headed to go bargain for our lives from a stone-cold murderer. Even now, she cranes her head toward the windows, peering out at the sights of Brooklyn.
She looks breathtaking. And very different than usual. She said that something Esposito had been attracted to was her girlishness. Her baggy clothes and youthful, simple look. He’d liked the idea of fancying her up.
So, she’d decided to change her look to a much more chic style, to prove that I’d already done that for her. Not that I wanted to do any such thing. I’d rather have gotten my teeth pulled than have her get her hair cut. But there she sits, with a spiky, chic cap of hair, not more than an inch or two long.
I have to admit that it really brings out her eyes. But still, I can’t wait for her to grow it long again.
She wears sophisticated gold tear drops at her lobes and an artful face full of makeup. She looks like a movie star. She’s wearing an elegant sweater dress and tall brown boots. Honestly, I could barely believe my eyes when she came out of the airport bathroom this morning. I’d seen the haircut, but everything else was a complete surprise.
I can’t wait to get her to myself, muss her up. I distract myself from what’s waiting for us at the other end of this car ride by imagining putting her in her safari clothes. Her khaki cap and dorky sunglasses. I don’t usually entertain myself by imagining putting clothes onto Row. But still, desperate times.
I pull the car smoothly into a parking space about a block from Esposito’s headquarters. He’s set up in a warehouse in Red Hook. It doesn’t look like shit from the outside, but the inside he’s transformed into a palace. As soon as we get out of the car, I pull Row to me. I kiss her, hard and passionate, for just a moment before the three of us start walking. Patrizzio and I side by side and Row behind us, the way we’ve practiced. Everything that comes next comes down to what we’ve practiced. An elegant, fucked-up dance.
None of the three of us talk as we walk up to the main entrance. Patrizzio doesn’t even pause as he rings the doorbell outside the side door of the warehouse. He knows as well as I do that there are at least ten cameras on us and to show any sign of fear or weakness is tantamount to laying down on the tracks.
Patrizzio had to do a lot of wheeling and dealing to even get us this meeting. And then even more to get Esposito interested enough to hear the deal we’re proposing. I couldn’t have done this without him. And I really didn’t think he was going to come with us to the actual meeting. But I think that Row has grown on him over the last two weeks. He decided that if he was coming there was a better chance he’d be able to talk us out of there if we got in a tight space and Row’s plan blew up.
Row’s plan. Jesus.
We’ve practiced it to a T. And I’ve gotta say, it’s been pretty fucking fun perfecting the whole Dom/sub thing. She’s a really fast learner. And for me, I don’t need the formality of a lot of this crap. All this shit she found on the internet about it. But, like she said, we have to put on a show for Esposito. We have to get him to believe that she’s spoiled for any other man.
Which, of course, she very well fucking is.
The door to the warehouse swings open and one of Esposito’s flunkies leans against the doorjamb. I know this cat. He’s a real dickhead. Finny.
“Hey there, Squire,” he snivels. “Nice night to beg for your life, huh?”
“Shut the fuck up, Finny.”
He just laughs, like it’s my funeral, which it very well might be. And he leads the way through the warehouse. I know where he’s taking us.
The banquet hall. It’s called that because of the long skinny table that runs the length of it. Once or twice a year, Esposito has all of his team gather there together. So that he can collectively intimidate us all at once. He always brings along whatever ‘project’ he might be working on at the time. Some poor schmuck who is still about two weeks from death.
I bite back the bile that’s building at the back of my throat just thinking that it could have been Row’s dad. Or Row.
I remind myself for the millionth time that we’re doing the right thing. No more blood on my hands.
In two hours, we’ll be home free. I say it like a mantra.
Two meat heads pat the three of us down, and of course, find no weapon. I deftly eye each and every place that the two of them are packing. If I need a weapon, I wouldn’t bother carrying it in here. It’ll be easy enough to relieve these linebackers of theirs.
We step into the banquet hall, large room, large table, large men lining the walls. Esposito sits at the head of the table, swirling a glass of red wine. I recognize the man at his left hand. It was the eastern European hit man that I switched vehicles with in France, Mikhail. Looks like he’s become Esposito’s second in command. I couldn’t be more relieved to pass off that job.
“Benvenuto,” Esposito says, his voice as oily as his hair.
“Grazie,” Patrizzio replies and strides forward into the room with the ease and grace of a man who has been in a hundred rooms just like this.
I’m not sure if it’s seeing Patrizzio like that, or if it’s finally, finally being able to look my enemy in the eyes, but I feel calm settle over me. A surety of foot. I can handle this. I can. The worst case scenario is that I shoot our way out.
Patrizzio and Esposito speak in Italian for a minute, as I knew they would. It’s part of their rapport. Part of what got us in the door in the first place.
Finally, Esposito sta
nds and Patrizzio sits. It’s a calculated move on both their parts. Esposito wants to show us that he owns the place, and Patrizzio wants to show him that he has very little at stake here. The best kind of broker is one who doesn’t have very much skin in the game.
Esposito starts toward us. His eyes like two dirty puddles. Man. I didn’t realize how much I hated this dude until he tried to steal my girl.
“Rowena,” he says. “So lovely to see you. Although you look different, my girl. So much more sophisticated than the last time I saw you.”
Row stands behind me by about a foot. Her eyes are cast to the ground her hands crossed in front of her. In almost every way she looks as if Esposito hasn’t even spoken.
He keeps talking as if he hasn’t even noticed. “I trust your travels were easy, pet.”
My hands tighten at my sides and I tersely remind myself that I can’t rip his jugular out with my teeth. There are way too many guns in the room. But if he calls her pet one more time, all bets are off.
“She won’t answer you,” I tell him.
Finally, his eyes leave Row’s form and turn to me. “Ah. Yes. Patrizzio mentioned that the two of you had entered into a…relationship.”
He turns back to Row and my blood absolutely boils. “But you don’t actually care about that. Do you, Rowena? This man is not your master.”
She remains completely still, completely passive, her eyes averted.
“You may rest,” I tell her and instantly, as if it were magic, she comes alive. She bends down to crouch on her knees, her hands resting on her thighs and her head down. Her entire body is pointed to me in supplication.
Esposito curls a lip. “She’s certainly obedient. That was something that I had hoped to teach her, Squire.”
We’re on dangerous ground here, but he’s unknowingly fortified me. There’s nothing I won’t do for Row. Nothing I won’t do to keep her safe, and it strengthens me. I can feel it in my eyes. I can see it in his; he’s taking me in like I’m a different man than I was before.
“We brought you the money her father owes you.”
Patrizzio holds up a small messenger bag and slides it across the table to where Esposito had been sitting. Mikhail opens the top with the butt of his gun and nods at Esposito to confirm that it’s money.
“I care not for money,” Esposito says, starting to execute a small circle around Row and I. His eyes are planted firmly on the back of Row’s bowed head. “I wanted a toy.”
He’s walking too close to her now and I don’t like it. “Stand,” I tell her and instantly she’s on her feet. “Come to me.”
She’s next to me in a flash, her eyes on mine. I bend down to her, whisper nonsense in her ear and she smiles. It means nothing, but I can see the intimacy of it disgusts Esposito. His eyes become colder as I drag a hand over her cap of hair, down the back of her neck.
“On your knees,” I tell her and she instantly falls to the floor in front of me. She’s eye level with my cock and she looks up at me expectantly, patiently waiting for any direction that comes next. She’d do it if I told her to. Without hesitation. Without reservation for the thirty pairs of eyes watching her right now. She’d go down on me, no question.
“Rest,” I tell her and she goes back to her waiting position on her haunches, facing me.
Esposito has completed his circle. He’s standing back in front of me. “If she really is devoted to you, then she’s spoiled for me.”
My heart gives a leap, and I yank it back into place. He’s about to pull the rug out from under us, I can tell.
“However,” he continues. “This kind of thing can be a farce. An act. How would I know if she’s truly devoted to you unless I try her out for myself?”
He smiles a disgusting smile as he slides his hands into his pockets. The lapels of his coat catch back behind his arms and reveal a gun on one hip and a curved blade on the other.
Well. Worst case scenario.
Sorry, everyone. I’m fighting us out of this.
“Do I have permission to speak, master?” Row’s voice cuts through the cloud of rage and fury I’m currently working myself into. I immediately snap my focus back to her.
I stare at her, intense, dark. She wasn’t supposed to speak. She’s deviating from the plan. And if she says something she’s not supposed to, I’ll be forced to punish her in order to keep up the ruse. But she’s staring me in my eyes. Something I’d insisted on during practice. I don’t care if some Dom/sub relationships don’t allow that. I knew we’d need some way to communicate while were there. And right now I’m so fucking glad I made that happen. Because I can see her thoughts in her eyes. She’s confident. And sure. She knows what she’s doing.
“Yes.”
“I can prove it to the man, master. That we’re devoted. Tied. Connected.” She’s intentionally speaking to me and not even using Esposito’s name as a way to show that I’m the only one who exists for her. Good girl. Good smart-as-fuck girl.
“How?”
“I brought two things that might help clear this up.”
My mind goes blank. Muscle memory has me closing the distance to her, taking her chin in my hand.
“You prepared something without telling me? You know you’ll be disciplined for this later.” I can hear the hard edge in my voice and for a second her eyes flare with arousal.
We both know that this isn’t Squire, the practiced master, talking for show. This is Kennedy talking. All me. And she’s gonna get spanked the first second I have that round ass to myself.
“Whatever pleases my master, I’ll be happy to receive.”
I unhand her chin and step back, my hands crossed over my chest, looming over her. She reaches into the pocket of her sweater and pulls two little plastic tubes out. She slides them across the ground to me.
My mind screeches to a halt. I recognize them. I just can’t believe what they’re telling me.
“You’re pregnant,” Esposito says, revulsion sliming through his voice as I scoop the tests off the ground.
She’s pregnant. Holy fucking hell she’s pregnant. Jesus god almighty. She’s pregnant. My girl is pregnant. My Row. My woman. My everything. She’s pregnant. We’re pregnant.
Her eyes bore into mine. I can read the expression from a mile away. Keep it together, Kennedy, she’s telling me. We’ll talk about it later.
“And how do I know that these are actually hers?” Esposito says.
I look down at the tests and see that one of them is unused. Good girl. Good smart girl. I thank god for the hundredth time that day for her mental acuity. “She’s brought a clean one. She’ll take it now if that would settle any remaining questions you might have.”
Esposito steps back from us as if we’re infected with some sort of disease he doesn’t want to catch. “Then she truly is spoiled for me.”
I see just the tiniest glint of victory in Patrizzio’s eyes before he goes back to being just a bored, old mobster.
“I’ll take the money, of course,” Esposito says. “But you owe me a woman, Squire.”
Again, I just outright thank Jesus for Row’s brain because she already thought of this.
“My woman is an archaeologist. You know this,” I say to him and he nods. “We thought you might begrudge the loss of such good…entertainment. And we wanted to offer something else you might find interesting.”
He’s wandered back over to his chair and he sits down heavily. “Go on. But I’m going to warn you now. If this isn’t interesting to me, I’m going to shoot the two of you and bring the girl down to my playhouse for a little target practice.”
I completely ignore him. What a fucking dickhead. He’s not lying. But still. What a fucking dickhead.
“She’s scheduled to go on a dig in Ethiopia soon. She and her team are hunting for Princess Tigrinya, you may have heard of her?”
I can see from the flash in his eyes that he’s interested. More than interested. The story of Tigrinya is horrific and romantic and the legend is t
hat he who finds her will have the choice of immortality on his deathbed. Row told me the whole story when she came up with this idea.
“You dare ask me for funding for an exhibition at a moment like this?” Esposito means to sound outraged, but instead he’s just sounding curious.
I shrug, as if I hadn’t even noticed the audacity of it. “When Row finds Tigrinya, she’ll be yours. To rename, to display, to study whatever you want to do with the site. With the artifacts. They’ll be yours.”
Esposito leans back and considers us. His eyes are so black they look like holes in his head. “You offer up the dead for the living.”
I nod. And wait.
