You Don't Know Me: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance

by Georgia Le Carre

  He winks at me and I gingerly swing my leg over the seat of the bike and place my feet on the passenger pegs.

  ‘Hold me tight,’ he says.

  I scoot forward until my body is leaning against his and wrap my arms around his hard midsection.

  ‘Ready?’

  ‘Ready.’

  He takes off and as he leaves the driveway and gets on the road he accelerates and I hold tighter. He rides with precision and skill as if the bike is an extension of him. When he dips I follow. We cruise along the open road, the wind in our faces, my body glued to his. We travel downhill through the labyrinth of cobbled lanes and make for the roads lined with pines, almond trees and juniper bushes that hug the coastline. Ibiza is full of goats, picturesque coves, tall rocky cliffs, lovely beaches and old-fashioned boatsheds made of wood. Contrary to what I believe about the island being the playground of celebrities and fashion models, so much of it is green and undeveloped. We pass a lonely, whitewashed, hilltop church and at the end of it an olive grove starts. I tap Jake’s shoulder and shout over the roar of the bike for him to stop. He slows down and pulls up at the edge of the road then cuts the engine.

  ‘What?’ he says, turning to me, his hair wind-blown, his cheeks flushed.

  The whole time the tips of my breasts encased only in the thin bikini top have been rubbing against his naked back and I am feeling unbelievably horny.

  ‘I want you,’ I say, and taking my helmet off I get off the bike and walk into the grove.

  By the time he comes for me I am lying naked on the hot orange soil, my legs spread. When his hard cock enters me, his eyes raping me, raking over my exposed body like rough hands, I hiss with relief.

  THIRTEEN

  Jake

  From the open door I watch her wash vegetables in the sink. She turns off the tap and reaches for a knife. Her hair falls forward and she flicks it away carelessly. The gesture arrests me. Compels me to stay and watch. It is as if I am watching a movie. She is someone else. I am someone else. The picture of domestic bliss is so foreign. So alluring. It warms my heart.

  What is it about her that makes her so magnetic? Even the simplest thing she does becomes a movement of grace and beauty. I have to stop myself from going into the kitchen, lifting her onto the counter and fucking her until she claws at me.

  She leaves the tap running and turns to check on a pan of boiling water. As she puts the lid back on it she looks in my direction, sees me, and for an instant loses her concentration. The lid slips from her hand and falls to the ground, catching a ladle resting by the side of the pan on its way. The ladle pings up and falls into the pan of boiling water and splashes boiling water onto her hand.

  I hear the ladle clatter to the floor as I rush to her and try to pull her toward the cold water tap, but she shakes her head vehemently.

  ‘Flour,’ she gasps. ‘Find me some flour.’

  I stare at her, confounded; convinced I have heard her wrong. ‘What?’

  ‘Where’s the flour?’ she barks urgently.

  Flour! As if I would know where that is. I start opening cupboards and clumsily rifle through them. Dropping packets on the counter and floor. Cursing. I find an unopened packet in the third cupboard I open. I turn around quickly,

  ‘Open it,’ she instructs, white with pain.

  I open it and pass it to her. She takes a handful of flour and holding it against her burn, closes her eyes. It must have given her some relief because she looks up at me and smiles tremulously.

  ‘I know it looks weird but it’s an old Chinese trick my grandmother taught me. She actually keeps a packet of corn flour in the fridge so it is cold and ready for use whenever she burns herself.’

  I stare at her in shock. This is the first time she has offered a tiny little snippet of herself, without being prompted, and something real!

  ‘It’s brilliant,’ she adds. ‘It actually helps heal the burn faster and stops the skin from marking.’

  I keep my voice casual. ‘Your grandmother is Chinese?’

  She smiles. A tender expression comes into her eyes. ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you love her very much, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, yes I do.’

  ‘And she is still alive?’

  Suddenly the expression in her eyes changes, becomes guarded and fearful. And all I want to do is hold her close to me and tell her it doesn’t matter. It does not matter a damn. She has ruined nothing by telling me that.

  Lily

  I stare at him in horror. Oh! My! God! I have totally slipped out of character. My alter ego doesn’t even remember her grandparents. I can’t believe I have fucked up so bad. What if he wants to know more about her? Or, worse, wants to meet her? I can’t tell him she is dead. I think of her, her head tipped back, roaring with laughter. My grandmother is very superstitious—Chinese believe all mention of death and dying is bad luck, and she would be so hurt if she knew I was telling anyone she was dead. I’ll have to tell Mills and the agency will have to come up with a fake grandmother. But that will be embarrassing, too. Admitting that I slipped up this early in the assignment.

  I drop my eyes to my hand.

  ‘How long do you have to do that for?’ he asks.

  I put my head up and see him looking at the flour I am holding against my burn.

  ‘Ten minutes.’ The flour has helped, but it is still painful.

  He switches the fire off. ‘Come on,’ he says, and with his hand on the small of my back leads me toward the living room. ‘We’ll order in tonight.’

  To my great relief he loses interest in my grandmother and does not ask anything else about her.

  It will be our last night on the island. Some part of me doesn’t want to leave. I have been happy here. Happier than I have ever been in my life. We have watched the sunset over the water and had our takeaway pizza, and now Jake has gone in to have a shower.

  I stand on the terrace for a little while longer soaking in the magic of the island. A lizard scampers up a tree. I know a faint tinge of envy. It lives in this paradise. I watch it until it disappears into some bushes. With a sigh I go indoors and pull out a book from my bag. Curling up on the sofa I start to read. Three pages later Jake is standing in the doorway.

  ‘Hey,’ he says.

  I gaze at him. He is wearing a pair of faded jeans. They hug his strong thighs. Something about him always makes my mouth dry. ‘Hey, yourself,’ I reply.

  ‘What are you reading?’

  ‘The Billionaire Banker.’

  ‘Any good?’

  ‘Not bad.’

  He comes forward, the muscles of his chest gleaming in the down-lights. Desire floods through me, so hot and fast that my clit aches.

  I pat the sofa next to me.

  He raises his eyebrows.

  ‘I want to try something.’

  His eyebrows rise. ‘What?’

  I turn my book to the appropriate page and hand it over to him. ‘I want to try that.’

  He takes the book from me and reads. I watch him, the way the light caresses his cheekbones, the shadows his long eyelashes make, the straight mouth. A beautiful man, a truly beautiful man. When he looks up his eyes are dark and amused. ‘I’ve got whiskey.’

  ‘I know where I can get some ice,’ I say with a grin.

  By the time I come back with a bucket of ice, he has stripped naked. His big thighs are bunched and ready and his decorated, satiny soft cock is erect and magnificent in the soft glow of the lights. He is so hot and so perfect my thighs quiver. In one hand he is holding a bottle of Jack Daniel’s.

  I lean weakly against a pillar. ‘Already so hard?’

  He doesn’t answer. Instead he opens me with his practiced fingers and does to me what the billionaire banker did to his woman.

  FOURTEEN

  The first thing I do at work when I return from our little holiday is go on the Internet and find out about bare knuckle fighting, a sport where the opponents ram their unprotected fists into each other to decide wh
o is the hardest of them. What I discover scares the shit out of me.

  The activity is considered to be the ultimate tear-up, no fucking around, no holds barred and with plenty of blood. It could be pouring from a fighter’s ears or even from his groin, bitten by his opponent.

  I also learn that the impact of one man’s bare fist on another is equivalent to the force of a four pound lump hammer traveling at twenty miles an hour. The effect could be devastating, even after a bout lasting just a few minutes. There are no official rounds to this blood sport; instead it just goes on until one of them cannot take it anymore, or has sustained so many injuries that he can no longer stand.

  It reminds me of the Chinese proverb my grandmother used to tell us grandchildren: When two tigers fight, one limps away horribly wounded, the other is dead.

  That evening, profoundly disturbed and unable to wait, I run to the front door as soon as I hear Jake enter and confront him. ‘Is it true that in bare knuckle fighting you could be bitten so hard in the groin that you start bleeding?’ I demand.

  He closes the door with a deliberate click. ‘It won’t be like that, Lil. Both Pilkington and I are too proud to bite like wild animals.’

  I clasp my hands together nervously. ‘But you could end up with a broken eye socket or a smashed fist?’ The thought makes me tremble.

  ‘Unlikely. The fight will be marshaled by a referee.’

  ‘But the possibility exists that you could get hurt?’ I insist.

  ‘Yes, I could,’ he admits.

  I take a deep breath. ‘And what happens when you do?’

  ‘There will be a paramedic on standby.’

  ‘It says on the Internet that you could be brain damaged. What could a paramedic do then?’ I cry.

  ‘I could die tomorrow crossing the street.’

  ‘I don’t want you to fight,’ I blurt out unhappily.

  He takes my trembling hands in his, but looks at me with an unyielding face. ‘It is tragic, but we both have to go through this fight simply to sustain our identities. I have to fight him, Lil. It is all arranged. The date has been set. Saturday coming. And there is no backing out.’

  I gasp. ‘And when were you going to tell me that?’

  ‘Saturday.’

  Angrily I pull my hands out of his grasp. ‘Before or after the fight?’

  He runs his fingers through his hair. ‘Before. I was trying to avoid a scene like this.’

  ‘Where will it be held?’ I ask coldly.

  ‘In a barn somewhere.’

  ‘I hope you’ve reserved a good seat for me,’ I throw at him sarcastically.

  ‘You’re not going.’

  My eyes widen. ‘Why can’t I go?’

  He folds his arms over his chest. ‘Do you really want to watch two men inflict savage injuries on each other?’

  I narrow my eyes. ‘I thought you said the injuries are not going to be savage?’

  He frowns. ‘Just stop it, Lil. You’re not coming, OK?’

  ‘It’s a spectator sport so won’t there be others there, including women?’

  ‘Yes.’ His voice is cautious.

  ‘And you said it is a noble tradition.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, I want to be with you while you engage in this noble tradition.’

  ‘Well, I don’t want you there.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because I will be distracted and unable to concentrate if you are. I want to know that you are in a safe place. At home.’

  Some part of me is relieved to know that I am not going to see the fight. It makes me sick to even watch a boxing fight between total strangers. I don’t know that I can take watching Jake bloodied in such a barbaric way. ‘Will you at least let me come and wait in the car for you?’

  He sighs. ‘All right, you can wait in the car with Shane.’

  I look at him. ‘Will many people be going?’

  ‘Entrance is by word of mouth and the location will only be revealed a few hours earlier by the organizers, so nobody really knows how many will turn up until the day.’

  ‘Will people be betting?’

  He shrugs. ‘They usually do.’

  Saturday flies into my life. Nobody talks and I sit in the back of the car, sullen and fearful, as Shane drives us to a barn in the middle of nowhere. Dominic has gone on ahead and will meet us at the location of the fight.

  A swarthy boy is directing cars down a beaten track to a field. I am shocked to see what looks like hundreds of cars parked there. Shane passes them and comes to a stop outside a barn. There is a van selling hot dogs and burgers. As I watch, people are going into the barn.

  Dominic has been waiting for us to arrive. He comes striding toward us. He is tall and broad like his brothers, but it is immediately apparent that he is not the thinker of the family.

  ‘It’s a fucking zoo in there,’ he says bending down at Jake’s window.

  ‘Is Pilkington here yet?’ Jake asks.

  ‘Just arrived. He’s got a lot of supporters. His women are going crazy, but don’t worry, it won’t take you long to put him to sleep.’

  Jake gets out of the car. I scramble out, too. Dominic acknowledges me with a nod. I don’t nod back. I know it is him that has caused this fight.

  Jake turns toward me and smiles. ‘Kiss me good luck?’

  I fling myself at him and, holding the sides of his face between my palms, I kiss him desperately. His mouth is warm. His hands come around my waist. And his tongue traces my teeth gently. But there is no passion. There is only the sense of cold fingers crawling all over me. I break away. He smiles again at me.

  Shane comes around to stand beside me as I watch Jake stride away with Dom.

  Close to the barn, he stops, and turns around to look at us. I wave at him, but he simply stares at me as if this could be the last time he will see me. The thought makes my throat constrict with fear. What if something happens to him? Brain damage. Or…death. People have died during these fights.

  The thought galvanizes me, and I take a step to run toward him, but Shane’s arm shoots out and grasps my forearm. I stop and do not move. He holds me still while Jake carries on staring at me.

  Finally, Jake nods and, turning away, walks into the barn. He never turns again. He enters the door and I hear the crowds roar their welcome. I feel a shiver go through me. Shane removes his hand. I hug myself. I don’t want to think of what is going on in that barn.

  I turn my head to look at Shane. He is staring at the entrance, his face tense and anxious.

  ‘It’s going to be OK, right?’

  ‘Yeah, it’s going to be OK,’ he says very softly, not looking at me.

  This is the first time I have been alone with him since that night at the party when he found Jake with his fingers inside me. ‘I’m sorry,’ I say.

  His head whips around. ‘About what?’

  ‘About that night. I didn’t mean to hurt you or cause trouble between you and Jake.’

  He stares at me incredulously. ‘You don’t understand at all, do you?’

  ‘Understand what?’

  ‘My brother would never have done that if you were right for me.’

  I stare at him curiously. This unshakeable loyalty they all have toward each other even at their own expense.

  ‘My brother is the father I never had. Did you know that his burning ambition was to be a vet? He wanted to be the best vet in the world. He was convinced he could talk to animals. Maybe he could. Even fierce dogs used to wag their tails at him.’

  His eyes harden.

  ‘He gave it all up for us. We are what we are today because of him, because he took the tough decisions and did whatever was necessary for us to stay alive and thrive. I owe my life to him. So yes, I liked you, but contrary to what you think, I had no problems stepping aside. And I am proud that I did something for him. I introduced him to you.’

  I flush bright red with guilt. ‘I’m not special,’ I mumble.

  ‘You’re so cleve
r and yet so blind,’ he says, shaking his head. ‘When you see him, what do you see?’

  I shake my head. My thoughts about Jake are so jumbled, so conflicted and so confused that even I have not tried to analyze them yet.

  ‘You see a flashy criminal, don’t you? He dresses that way because those are the trappings of those he deals with and it is a disguise he wears so they do not see that he is not one of them.’

  I think of Jake on the horse and the way he was when we were alone on the island. He was most comfortable when he was unshaven, barefoot and shirtless.

  ‘Do you really think my brother treats anyone else the way he treats you? I’ve never seen a woman get as close as you have to him. In fact, to my knowledge no one has. Don’t fuck it up by mistaking the strong emotions he has for you with weakness.’

  FIFTEEN

  Jake

  The atmosphere in the barn is buzzing. All around me side bets and cash seem to be changing hands. Dominic has rounded up some of our boys to shout their welcome for me, but they are few compared to the people who have come to see The Bat.

  At six feet two, an inch shorter than me, but weighing well over nineteen stones, and with a chest that is reported to be fifty-five inches, he is not just a veteran of at least thirty bare-knuckle fights, but a champion, too. I made light of it to Lily, but Billy Joe Pilkington has never lost a fight. His opponents are known to be either out cold or crawling pathetically away from him at the end of the fight.

  And now he believes no one can beat him.

  Taking a deep breath I walk toward the makeshift ring. It’s been so long since I have been in one. The ring is a claustrophobically small six by six feet square made of three bales of hay stacked up to mid-thigh level. Billy Joe stands in one corner, shirtless, his chest puffed out and covered in tattoos, the largest being a bat with its mouth open in a red scream, and the letters No Fear written in olde English font.

  His eyes, black with cold intent, are fixed on me, as he pulls a mouthful of Guinness from a can. He swallows and slowly and deliberately clenches his fist. White frothy liquid shoots out of the can and pours over his large hand. He flings the crushed bit of metal aside and, with a savage roar, repeatedly bangs his chest with his fist in an astonishing show of bad ass.