Single Daddy Dom

by Sophia Gray

  “Well, by that rationale, it won't matter how far any of us run,” Brock insisted. “They'll still be powerful and influential enough to catch up with us. Our only shot at escaping in one piece is making sure that by the time we're done with Ricci, he's a joke among his fellow gangsters and his entire operation is crippled beyond repair.”

  The others looked at each other uncertainly.

  “Look, I know you're scared,” Brock continued. “I know you think it's time to get while the getting is good, but you have to think it through. We can either break Ricci completely, or we can all spend the rest of our lives looking over our shoulders. I don't know about the rest of you, but I doubt I'll get much enjoyment from the money if I'm checking under my bed for hitmen four or five times a night.”

  Franny stepped forward. “I hate to admit it, but Brock is right. When dealing with something as potentially volatile as this, the only smart move is to stabilize it completely before turning your back on it. No risks, no half-measures, or you're just begging for the whole thing to explode.”

  Hammer thought this over for a minute, then nodded slowly. “Okay. You've got a point, even if I'm getting a little tired of being surprised by you. So what's the next step?”

  Brock smiled. “I knew you'd see reason. The next step is actually a two-pronged approach. First, I've got another date with Maggie set up for three days from now.” Everyone in the room began to protest at once, but Brock waved them down. “Relax, okay? Nothing's going to happen. I'm just keeping things smooth and staying in the picture so I can keep Ricci happy.”

  “And what's the other part of it?” Hammer asked.

  Brock put an arm around Hammer's shoulder. “Tell me, have you ever heard of a dirtbag named Murray Morrow?

  Chapter 17

  Maggie

  Maggie checked her reflection for the fifth time in the mirrored wall of the Lafitte Lounge as she waited for Gabe to arrive. Adamo sat in the corner, watching her closely.

  Her mother had tried to apply Maggie's makeup and choose her outfit for the evening as she usually did before Maggie's arranged dates, but this time, Maggie refused and stood her ground. To Maggie, this second date with Gabe was even more special that the first. Now that they were both aware of the intense passion that burned between them, there'd be no need for small talk or pretense. They could bask in each other's presence completely, holding hands and embracing and kissing as they pleased. It was important to Maggie that for such a magical night, her makeup and clothing represented her, not her mother. It would make things more personal between her and Gabe, more intimate.

  Amelia had protested for twenty minutes, but finally, she threw her hands up in frustration and stalked off. When Maggie emerged from her room almost an hour later, her mother raised her eyebrows in surprise and admitted that Maggie had managed to look beautiful all on her own. It was one of the nicest things Amelia had ever said to Maggie, and she had to stop herself from crying so her eye makeup wouldn't run.

  Beautiful. Maggie couldn't remember the last time she'd heard anything from Amelia that wasn't harsh criticism, but today—when her heart was already singing with anticipation—her mother had actually called her beautiful.

  Excitement tickled Maggie's stomach like rows of marching ants as she inspected her makeup in the mirror, then spun around slowly, watching the pleated hem of her dress twirl. How would Gabe arrange for them to be together after dinner, despite their respective bodyguards? Maggie didn't know, but she was sure he'd find a way. He was so brilliant and charming, she was sure he could get away with anything if he tried.

  And then their bodies would be entwined again, and he'd be inside of her, and all would be right with the world.

  When the menu comes, I'm going to order anything I want, Maggie decided firmly. I'll start with an appetizer—some kind of crab dip with thick, rich, gooey melted cheese—and some hunks of crusty garlic bread to slather it on. And then maybe a big Caesar salad with lots of parmesan and dressing. No, forget the salad...I'll go straight to the entree, something fried and spicy that'll make me feel like I want to burst by the time I'm done. And dessert! Something with dark chocolate and a mountain of whipped cream on top. Let Adamo tell my mother whatever he wants. I'll already have eaten, and it'll be too late for her to do anything about it. Tonight is my night, and no one can take it away from me.

  Her stomach growled encouragingly.

  Gabe walked in with Rodolfo behind him, and the jitters in Maggie's belly went into overdrive. Gabe waved at Adamo and walked over to Maggie with a big smile. “Sorry if I'm late,” Gabe said.

  “If you are, you're worth it.” Maggie wrapped her arms around Gabe and planted a long kiss on his lips. He seemed taken aback at first, then relaxed into it slowly, his hands caressing her back.

  “You look amazing,” Gabe murmured.

  Maggie leaned forward to nibble on Gabe's earlobe playfully. “You'd better be able to find a way for us to be alone together later,” she whispered. “I can't wait.”

  Gabe pulled away from her, and she saw that his eyes were full of concern and regret. “Yeah, um...about that.” He turned to Rodolfo. “Can you give us a moment alone, please?”

  Rodolfo scowled at him.

  “You can watch us from across the room, okay?” Gabe sighed angrily. “Look, there's Adamo. Go see if he knows any good jokes or something.”

  Rodolfo rolled his eyes and loped over to where Adamo was sitting.

  Maggie looked at Gabe as the first hints of worry crept into her mind. “What's wrong?”

  “Look, what happened between us at the end of the last date...that can't happen again, Maggie. It never should have happened to begin with. It was disrespectful to you—”

  “No it wasn't!” she protested. “I had a wonderful time. I thought you did, too. I thought it was special for both of us.”

  “Sure it was. And I did have a wonderful time, honest.”

  Maggie frowned. Her heart felt like it was plunging down a cold, dark, bottomless well. “'I did have a wonderful time, honest.' Wow. That sure sounds convincing.”

  “It was a mistake. On some level, you have to realize that. I mean, it was our first date, for Christ's sake. All I'm saying is, let's take a deep breath, relax, enjoy a nice dinner together, and take things a little more slowly.”

  “I don't think it was a mistake.” Maggie felt her face getting flushed, and her voice was starting to tremble. “I don't understand. Was I...that bad?”

  “No, you were incredible. I had a terrific time. This isn't about that.”

  “Do you not respect me anymore because I did that on the first date? Do you think I'm some kind of slut or something?”

  “It was disrespectful to your father, okay?” Gabe snapped. “He trusted me to take you out on a date, and I abused that trust. If he found out, he'd be pretty pissed about it. And even if he never finds out, that still doesn't mean it was the right thing to do. He and I are going to be in business together, and I don't want it to start off like this. He's an honorable man, and I need to show him I'm one, too.”

  Maggie blinked back tears. “This is because of my father? You're so afraid of upsetting him and ruining your business together that you'll just toss me aside?”

  “No one's tossing anyone aside. Just relax, okay?”

  “No, I won't relax.” Maggie sniffled as she felt the first hot tears traveling down her cheeks. Some of the other patrons were starting to stare at her, but she didn't care. “I thought you were different. I thought you really cared about me instead of sucking up to my father and trying to marry your way into his family. But you're just like all the others, aren't you? A slick, spoiled, greedy bastard who'll say and do anything to get my father's approval.”

  “This isn't like that,” Gabe protested.

  “Of course it is,” Maggie shot back, grabbing a napkin from a nearby table and dabbing at her eyes. “I should know. I've certainly seen it enough times.”

  “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to h
urt you. Let's just go over to our table and talk this out...”

  “Why? Are you upset about jeopardizing your big payday? Don't worry, my father will marry me off to you whether I like you or not. So go on, make your important deals with him and keep kissing his butt. I guess I'll see you on our wedding day.” She pushed past Gabe, storming out of the restaurant.

  Once she made it outside, she collapsed against the wall of the building, sobbing uncontrollably. Just a few minutes ago, she'd been eagerly awaiting the happiest night of her life. Now she wished she were dead.

  “Miss Margherita? Are you all right?” Adamo was next to her, staring at her with his crab-like eyes and holding out a handkerchief.

  But Maggie felt like she'd never be all right again.

  Chapter 18

  Hammer

  The muddy stream in the bayou came up to Hammer's knees as he trudged through it carefully, trying to make as little noise as possible. Splinter, Lash, and Cobra walked behind him in a line, dutifully matching his pace like a trio of ducklings behind their mother.

  Instead of their usual biker duds, the Saints were wearing black commando gear, paintball masks molded to look like leering skulls, and plastic body armor they'd bought from a costume shop a few towns away. It wouldn't stop any bullets, but it still achieved the desired effect.

  They looked frightening as hell.

  And unlike the armor, the AK-47 assault rifles they carried—and the bullets in their magazines—were very real.

  “What's the point of all this crap?” Cobra had asked as Hammer gave the clerk at the costume shop a wad of cash. “It ain't like we're goin' up against real hardasses or anythin'. It's just Morrow an' those inbred cousins of his.”

  “First of all, we can't have them knowing who we are, or even that we're bikers,” Hammer explained. “Putting aside the fact that half of us are supposed to be dead and the other half are supposed to be gone, Morrow's dealt with the Saints and other MCs lots of times. That won't scare him off. If he thinks we're an X-factor he's never encountered before—like some super-commando squad from God knows where—then he'll be a lot less likely to give us any pushback. Besides, Murray Morrow's a fleabag piece of shit and I've never liked him, so this is gonna be a lot of fun. By the time we're finished with him, he'll feel like the Grim Reaper stuck a finger up his ass and twisted it.”

  It had been almost a week since Brock's second date with Maggie. During that time, Brock had talked on the phone with Ricci a handful of times—first to say he'd wired the money to the rebels in Myanmar, and then to tell him that no, he hadn't received any word back from them yet. Hammer wasn't known for his patience, so sitting tight for so long hadn't made him too happy. But Brock had assured him this next step in the plan relied on perfect timing.

  And now that it was finally time for him to act, Hammer had to admit he was having a hell of a lot of fun.

  As the four Saints made their way through the mangroves and tall grasses, Hammer pushed aside a curtain of peat moss. He knew it was childish, but in his mind, he kept pretending he was Martin Sheen in Apocalypse Now—stalking through the steamy jungles of Vietnam with his finger on the trigger and murder in his eyes, delivering grim inner monologues about the beauty and horror of war. It had been his favorite movie since he and Brock had cut class in the fifth grade to rent it.

  “I wanted a mission,” he murmured under his breath in a gravelly voice. “And for my sins, they gave me one.”

  “What?” Cobra whispered.

  Hammer smiled under his mask. “Nothing. We're almost there. Remember, when we bust in, let me do the talking.” Unlike the others, Hammer had also opted for a cheaply-made voice changer from the costume shop, which he'd tucked into his mask.

  A dilapidated tar paper shack stood a short distance ahead of them with battery-powered lamps in the windows. Hammer motioned for the others to remain silent and follow him. Then he crouched down and continued his approach.

  Once they were close enough, Hammer peered into one of the windows.

  Murray Morrow stood in the shack with his cousins, Kenny and Louie Wells. Kenny was in his late twenties, with watery blue eyes and scraggly blonde-white hair that looked like dirty corn silk. He wore a patched, stained pair of overalls. Louie was a bald, squat, troll-like man in his mid-thirties, with thick black hair on his arms and warts all over his face. He sported a filthy yellow t-shirt that said “Time To Rub One Out,” and a pair of cutoff denims that were so short his scrotum was almost visible.

  The three men were ladling heaping amounts of white powder into styrofoam bowls of heroin and stirring them around sloppily, as a Country/Western station played between bursts of static on a battered radio in the corner.

  “Didn't this asshole have three cousins?” Cobra whispered. “Or was it just the two?”

  “Pretty sure it was just these two,” Hammer answered, re-adjusting the weight of the rifle in his arms. AKs were sturdy and reliable, but man, were they heavy.

  “I ran out of baking soda,” Kenny announced with a belch.

  “So use some of the detergent or rat poison to cut with.” Louie paused in his work to scratch his balls and sniff his fingertips. “An' let's hurry it up, okay? I gotta take a shit the size of a wedding cake.”

  “I told you before, just go an' do it outside,” Murray said. “You ain't gotta hold it in. We got plenty of toilet paper.”

  “An' I told you before, I ain't shittin' in no swamp. Had me a girlfriend who tried to do that once. She squatted down, an' the next thing she knew, she had a mud snake hangin' from her pussy by its teeth. You shoulda seen her come runnin' outta the bayou screamin', with that thing swingin' between her legs like a big black dick!”

  The men in the shack guffawed loudly.

  “I dunno why we're out here fuckin' around with this shit anyhow,” Kenny pointed out. “You still ain't heard nothin' from Ricci, have you, Murray? For all we know, he's found some other source.”

  “He'll call,” Murray insisted. “If there was someone new slingin' this shit around here, I'd have heard about it. Naw, he's just playin' it up like he's some kind of big man so's he can watch me sweat about it. Them wops an' their bullshit power trips, man. They think us good ol' boys are nothin' but a bunch've dumb pig-fuckers who can be pushed around.”

  That sure is what it looks like from here, Hammer thought.

  Hammer looked around to make sure the other Saints were in position. Then he unclipped a stun grenade from his belt, yanked the pin, and tossed it through a window.

  “What the—?!” There was a scramble of confusion inside, and a second later, the grenade went off with a blinding white flash and a thunderous bang.

  Hammer kicked down the door of the shack and burst in, followed by the other Saints. Murray and the Wells brothers were sprawled on the floor, blinking up at them and moaning in pain.

  “Murray Morrow. Kenny Wells. Louie Wells.” Hammer pronounced their names like a judge handing down a death sentence. With the voice changer set to its lowest setting, he sounded like Darth Vader.

  He had never felt cooler in his life.

  “Your sins have caught up with you at last,” Hammer intoned.

  “You want the H?” Murray asked, his voice quivering. “Take it! It's yours!”

  “You think you can bribe me with your cheap poison?” Hammer picked up one of the bowls of powder, flinging it at Murray and crumpling the styrofoam into a ball. The heroin caked Murray's face and he coughed.

  “I am your Fate, Murray Morrow. I am your Angel of Death. There is no bargain. There is no escape. There is only penance.” He pointed a finger at Murray dramatically.

  Murray dragged himself to his knees. He brushed the powder from his face, gagging and retching. Then he laced his fingers together like a man about to pray, looking up at Hammer pleadingly.

  “Please...I'm so sorry...I never meant to hurt no one...my daddy left when I was two an' I got led astray, you gotta know that...but I will be good, I promise, I'll do wha
tever you want, whatever it takes, just don't drag me down to hell, Mister Skull Face, please...”

  Suddenly, there was a deafening mechanical roar just outside the door, followed by a yowl of pain from Splinter.

  Hammer turned in time to see a hulking figure in a tattered cloak that looked like it had been stitched together from varmint pelts. His face was broad and lumpy, and one of his eye sockets was sunken and empty. His snarl revealed a mouthful of broken teeth that looked like crooked fangs.

  He brandished a large chainsaw.

  Splinter was still yelling and clutching at the small of his back as dime-sized drops of blood hit the floor.

  “Kill 'em, Shredder!” Murray hollered over the sound of the machine. “Kill 'em all!”