King's Baby: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance

by Nicole Fox

  I smiled to myself. Some things about a person never change. Whether I was with Honi, at Stanford, or pretending to be a fucking whore, I was still the same old Farrah.

  Connor led me out of his office and through the compound. This time, I noticed, he held my hand. That, at least, was an improvement. He nodded at a few of his buddies, grabbed his leather jacket, and, next thing I knew, we were outside.

  “Yes!” I exclaimed, breathing in the fresh night air. It was so nice to be outside, in the open, without being afraid.

  Well, without being as afraid.

  Connor drew out his keys and mounted his bike, a formidable machine of chrome and obsidian black. Then, he tossed me a helmet.

  Eager to show off, with one easy, fluid motion, I swept my leg up and over the seat and settled down behind him. With a swift click, my helmet was on and secured.

  “Okay, then,” he said, and the motorcycle roared to life.

  As we peeled from the driveway, I let out a scream of joy. I couldn’t help it. It felt so good, so free, to be riding on the back of this awesome fucking motorcycle, and with my thighs and arms wrapped around Connor.

  Connor.

  Suddenly, all I was aware of was him.

  His broad, muscular shoulders practically swallowed up the view in front of me, topped by the surprisingly delicate skin of his neck and the rich locks of his hair. I could just see a few wisps of it escaping from under his helmet.

  Even through the thick, padded leather of his jacket, I could tell his obliques and ab muscles were rippling and strong, while his waist narrowed into a sexy V. My fingers closed around it, and I felt a throbbing heat that had nothing to do with the engine of the bike or the actual temperature of his skin. Every time we turned, ducking and weaving in rhythm with the road, this throbbing increased, spreading from my fingertips all the down to between my thighs.

  “Breathe, girl. Breathe,” I told myself. I needed to focus. Connor was obviously bringing me on a mission, and I was determined to prove myself useful to him. More useful than just a fuck.

  After a short trip that seemed like forever to me, Connor turned off the main road and parked outside a little bar and grill where I knew the skimmers awaited. I recognized the name. The place was ugly and unremarkable, and the parking lot nearly empty. Only a couple of the workers’ cars remained.

  Connor hid his bike in shadow.

  “Be careful,” he whispered. “And stay behind me.”

  I nodded. Again, I wondered why the hell he had brought me along on this venture, but I wasn’t about to complain. It felt great to be out and about and actually doing something. I liked to feel useful, especially when I wanted someone to like me.

  And do you want Connor to like you? I asked myself. I knew I would have been lying if I said no.

  I relaxed my muscles and forced myself to ease into the situation. I wanted to be ready for anything.

  Though the sign said, CLOSED, Connor marched right up to the door, turned the knob, and hurled it open.

  “What the fuck?” I heard from inside. Heedless, Connor charged in, and I flitted quickly in behind him.

  It was a typical place: heavy wood and antique bar signs as decoration, permeated with the stench of grease and flat beer. There were three men inside. Two were young. One had been swishing a mop back and forth on the floor, while the other was polishing the bar. An older man, with a chest like a barrel, sat at one of the tables, counting bills.

  “Connor!” the one with the mop exclaimed, fear and surprise in his voice. A little too carefully, he leaned the mop against the wall and stepped forward. “Great to see you!”

  “Rico,” Connor grunted back. His voice was neutral and all the more dangerous for it. Like a sleeping rhinoceros, there is danger in passivity.

  “Can I get anything for you, Connor?” the second young one asked. He dropped his rag and walked around the bar, looking as guilty as a puppy who’d just made a mess. The older man stayed silent, but I noticed him carefully piling up the bills he was counting and stowing them away.

  “I don’t know, Gary,” Connor sneered back. “Can you think of anything you can get for me? Something you owe me, perhaps?”

  Rico paled. Gary looked confused, and the old guy slowly got to his feet. His eyes never left Connor.

  “Something horrible has come to my attention,” Connor continued. He approached the three of them, like a wolf stalking prey it knows it has cornered.

  Rico made an attempt to be brave. “Y-yeah, Connor? What’s that?”

  Thunk. Thunk. Connor’s heavy, steel-toed boots cracked against the linoleum, like drum beats before an execution. Thunk. Thunk. He was practically standing nose to nose with Rico at this point.

  “I’ve found out,” he growled, “that someone has had the balls to skim off the top of the Devil’s Wings proceeds. Now, who do you think could have been so utterly fucking stupid as to steal from the Devil’s Wings?”

  “Really?” Rico stammered. “That’s c-crazy. I don’t know w-what you’re talking about …”

  Slam! The old man had leapt, rocketing himself through the air like an out of control cargo van, and punched Connor in the face. More surprised than injured, Connor stumbled back, then glared at the man and Rico in rage.

  “Why, you …” Pow! Connor punched back, his fist striking out like a snake and connecting squarely with the man’s jaw. Though he was bigger than Connor, his flesh was fat with grease and easy living, so this single hit brought him to his knees.

  Rico hovered beside the pair of them, undecided.

  “You thieving bastards!” Connor cried, and then threw a haymaker at Rico. This connected with his ear, and he was sent sprawling into a table, blood flying from a gash in his head.

  Connor reared back, ready to attack again, when the old man, lunged at him from the floor. He struck him in the knees and they both went down. Connor rolled, quick as a cat, and found himself on top of the old man, his legs straddling on either side of him. He rained down a series of blows on the man’s face, and each impact could be felt in the terrible, rippling squish of his skin splitting open.

  “Hold it!” someone from behind me cried.

  Gary! I had forgotten about him! In the tumult, he had crept round to my back, and now held in his hand, for all to see, the stem of a broken wine bottle, with red liquid dripping from its glistening shards.

  Connor froze.

  “If you keep going,” Gary stammered, “then I’ll gut her! I swear I will!”

  I turned around and stared squarely at the guy. He was skinny, with that pasty complexion of too much beer and too little sunlight. The weapon in his hand trembled, and he was looking not at me, but at Connor and his two companions.

  “Oh, please,” I muttered, and struck.

  Wham! With a single, well-aimed kick I dashed the bottle stem aside, smiling as it flew through the air and shattered into harmless dust against the far wall. Gary gasped and clutched his hand to his chest in surprise and pain, then gazed at me in horror. It was like I could read his mind. “Oh fucking shit,” it said.

  Connor grinned and punched the old man in the nose. Rico, now committed, circled round them and leaped on Connor’s back like a monkey. At that point, I lost track of their fight.

  I had my own to worry about.

  Though I’d gotten rid of Gary’s weapon, he still had his fists, and he lunged at me, teeth bared in a snarl of rage.

  Nimbly, I stepped aside and held out my foot. Gary’s legs tangled against it, and he crashed down to the floor. Next thing he knew, I was on top of him.

  I did not pummel him like Connor did the old man. My hands were too pretty for that. Instead, I gracefully locked his right arm against my chest, swung my legs up and over his head so they lay perpendicular to his body, and closed my left calf over his face, my right calf over his chest, with his arm pinioned between. Then, I fell backwards.

  “Gracefully,” I heard my instructor’s voice say in my head. “Pay attention to the po
sition.”

  When his arm was out straight, his wrist pinned and his elbow locked, I thrust upward with my hips and yanked down on his forearm.

  Snap! I heard his elbow joint break rather than felt it, like ice cracking as it was dropped into hot water. Gary screamed and I felt all the strength leave his body. I smiled and leaped off him and back to my feet, ready for more.

  He gazed at me in horror, as if I was not a girl but some terrible supernatural creature, and then at his arm. It was hanging at an awkward angle and already swelling. He scrambled to his feet, gave me a last, fleeting look, and bolted for the door.

  “So long, sucker,” I called after him, then whirled to see how Connor was doing.

  All three were up. The old man’s face was a bloody mess, like a squashed tomato, and Rico had two blooming black eyes, but at least he was steady on his feet. Connor’s fists were split open from landing numerous punches, but he seemed otherwise unharmed.

  They noticed Gary dashing out the door and me standing there, cool and collected as ever. Rico’s face, if possible, got even paler, and he let out a frightened little whimper like a puppy being trodden on.

  Casually, Connor strode over to the counter, retrieved the rag Gary had been scrubbing with, and wiped his bloody knuckles.

  “So, gentleman,” he said, supremely unaffected. “Are you ready to pay the money you owe me?”

  Rico nodded. The old man’s answer was to topple over like a felled tree, smack, unconscious, onto the floor.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Connor

  Princess and I sat side by side in one of the bar and grill’s booths, counting out twenty dollar bills with as much pleasure as a cat licking its paws.

  “Two hundred forty … Two hundred sixty … Two hundred eighty …”

  Rico sat opposite, handing us wads of cash as we went, trembling but silent. We counted the final bill, and I turned to Princess, both our faces glowing with success.

  And for the tiniest second, I could have sworn to God I loved her. I leaned in, eager to kiss those sexy, awesome lips …

  And that’s when we heard the sirens.

  “Goddammit, Gary!” I swore, leaping to my feet. Princess, always quick on the uptake, was beside me in a second and followed me like a shadow out of the door. She was up on the bike before I was, and putting its engine into gear.

  “Where the hell did you learn about bikes?” I hollered, as together we peeled out into the night. The sky was lit up in the distance with red and blue lights, but I wasn’t afraid. I was still buzzing with adrenaline.

  “My father!” Princess yelled back, then fell silent. It was hard to tell if she didn’t want to say more, or simply wasn’t because it’s fucking hard to have a conversation on a moving bike.

  “How about your fighting?” I said. “What the hell was that? MMA?”

  She laughed into my shoulder. I could feel her hot breath in spite of the wind. “No,” she said. “Mostly self-defense, with some martial arts thrown in. Did you like it?”

  “It was fucking amazing,” I said, and that was the truth. “I’m just pissed I couldn’t have gotten a better view. I was too busy punching Rico’s fucking face in.”

  She laughed again, and I felt her hands digging more strongly into my waist. It was a good feeling, a pressure that spread from her touch all the way down to my dick. A girl who fights like that must be pretty strong, I thought. I wonder how tightly she can wrap those thighs around me …

  That thought made me remember that she was, in fact, a whore. My whore. I didn’t have to wonder. I could have her whenever I wanted. It seemed strange that I had forgotten it.

  “Weird,” I said, probing. “I don’t know too many whores who know self-defense.”

  “Of all people,” she said darkly, “whores probably need self-defense the most.”

  There was truth in that, but I still found it strange. I told her so, and she responded with silence.

  “Shit!” she cried suddenly, as cop lights burst into view just on our right. We’d been going pretty damn fast down that highway, and I would have bet he was pulling us over for speeding. But just because he didn’t start with the cops after us didn’t mean he wouldn’t have figured it out fast.

  “Hold on!” I ordered, and flicked a special switch beneath the handlebars of my bike. In an instant, all the lights of the bike went out, plunging us into darkness. Meanwhile, a small, hidden flap fell, shielding my license plate from view.

  When the darkness struck our eyes, Princess screamed, but then she quickly contained herself. Still, I could feel her panting and clutching at me in terror as I kicked the bike up a gear, riding even faster. It aZ one thing to be going ninety at night with your headlights on. It was quite another to be going one hundred in pitch blackness.

  “Whoa!” I cried in the pure, reckless craziness of it. Behind us, the cop revved angrily, speeding up like some sort of predatory animal who could smell its prey but couldn’t see it.

  I chuckled, then drifted to the side.

  “Connor!” cried Princess. “The road!”

  But I knew. I could tell exactly where the curb was, a long black snake slinking through the moonlight. The cop sped up again, hoping to scare us.

  “There’s a turn off just ahead,” I said. “Be ready to jump off the bike and hide.”

  “What?” she screeched. “Jump?”

  “Don’t worry!” I called back. “I’ve driven this highway a million times. I know it by heart!”

  “Jesus Chriiiiiiiiist!” she screamed as I hit the brakes, suddenly slowing. I felt her slam into my back, knocking the wind out of her, but I didn’t have time to care about that. Instead, I slipped off to the side, felt the shudder of my bike as it met gravel, killed the engine, and slowed to a halt.

  “Hurry!” I cried, practically throwing her off the bike. Then, with the force of all my muscles, I half-hurled, half-dragged the bike behind a tree, and then the pair of us crouched in the shadows.

  The cop slowed, sniffing that something was up, but he could not hear us and he could not see us. And the faster he went looking, the more the sound of his own engine blocked any hope of detecting ours. Deciding we must still be driving, he sped up.

  Like a narrowly dodged train, he blew by, leaving us alone in the dark.

  “Holy … fucking … shit!” Princess cried, collapsing in a panting heap onto the ground. I glanced over, mildly worried that she would have a fucking heart attack or something, but no—she was grinning. Wildly, yes. Wickedly, yes. But still grinning.

  “Come on, you crazy bitch,” I said affectionately. “Let’s get back to the compound.”

  Together, we clambered back onto my bike and rode to the Devil’s Wings, using backroads all the way.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Farrah

  By the time we reached the Devil’s Wings Compound, I knew I had made a mistake. Why the hell did I show him my skills? I thought. No regular whore— even the toughest of ones—does martial arts. Fuck. If he wasn’t suspicious before he is going to be now.

  And yet, I was torn. Part of me wanted to end this terrible charade, and yet the rest of me knew that this was the best way to keep me, my aunt, and even the Devil’s Wings safe. As for Honi … well, she was what I thought of as jumping out of the pot and into the fire. Yes, she had (at least for now) escaped whoring, but at what cost? The Devil’s Wings, and therefore probably the Minghelli family, thought she was me. What sort of danger did that put her in?

  But I couldn’t worry too much about Honi right then. She had picked her fate and whatever it would bring.

  I did need to worry about Connor. I strained against him on his motorcycle, wishing I could look into his mind. What was he thinking? Would he turn me in? Contact Montengo? The Minghellis? I couldn’t be sure. All I knew was that I needed to figure out some way to distract him—to get his mind off of everything that had been going on.

  But how?

  It came to me, in a single, clear, terrible
moment: Fuck him.

  At once, I was chilled by that response. Though I had grown up with whores my entire life—and had in fact been raised by one—I had never intentionally sold my body for something other than pleasure or love. Sure, I’d fooled around, and had sex with guys I’d later regretted, but I’d never gone in with ulterior motives. Distraction. Money. Political gain. It was all the same.

  Whoring?

  ‘So what? a callous part of me demanded. You are a whore. You’ve been forced into it, like a million women before you. It’s time you started thinking like one. Besides, just because you have ulterior motives doesn’t mean you don’t want to bang Connor’s brains out.