by Lily Harlem
Mobster
By Lily Harlem
Mobster: text copyright © Lily Harlem 2017
All Rights Reserved
With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from Lily Harlem.
Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the author’s written permission.
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.
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Back Cover Information
When the shit hits the fan, Beth Rammada has no choice but to get the hell out of Chicago. Her family are sinking fast and she’s at risk of being used as bait to hurt her father.
But living on the streets of New York is no walk in the park, until that is, she’s taken under the rather dubious wing of Roper Hermanus. He’s rough and tough and likes it kinky, or so he says. But should she stick around and help her sexy new friend turn a few tricks? Or should she be running for the hills?
As their journey reveals secrets, Beth falls for the man who’s shown her a new side to her erotic self. It seems their demons are compatible, they understand the underworld, extortion and blackmail is their currency.
Until that is the biggest secret of all has to be announced to their families. Will Beth’s life ever be the same again? Does she want it to be? And will her mobster lover be there when she needs him most?
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
About Lily Harlem
Chapter One
Beth drew her knees up to her chest and hugged them. The October night was bitterly cold, and the sidewalk sparkling with the first layer of frost. Beneath her, only a thin layer of cardboard separated her ass from the concrete of Monroe Street and behind, the gritty brick wall of a deli pushed harshly against her spine.
She’d lost weight since being on the streets, but that wasn’t surprising.
“Any spare change?” she asked a passerby, noticing him only at the last moment as his scuffed shoes came into view.
He ignored her, the clip, clip of his footsteps quickly fading.
She suppressed a shiver. She wouldn’t survive for much longer. As winter stole the nights, hypothermia would sneak up on her—if it wasn’t already.
How the hell had it come to this?
Oh yeah, because of him.
Her father.
She hoped he was dead in the desert with coyotes chewing on his bones and ravens pecking at his eyes, but that was wishful thinking.
Someone else was approaching. Beth looked up hopefully. It was a woman wearing a long, pale brown coat and high-heeled boots. Quite smart for this area.
“Please, any spare change?” Beth said, holding out her hand. Her grubby gloves were fingerless and a long thread hung from them.
“No. Get yourself home.” The woman threw her a disdainful glare. “I bet your parents are worried sick about you.”
No, they’re not.
But there was no point answering. She wouldn’t change the woman’s mind. She saw a scrap of a girl, dirty, underfed and living on the streets and figured it was a life choice.
As if.
Sleeping rough and begging was a soul-destroying way to live. It was eating at the very core of Beth’s being, reducing her to a mere shadow of her former self.
Once she’d been vibrant and happy. She was Beth Rammada, eldest daughter of India and Brent Rammada, whose illicit operations spanned half of Chicago. No one would touch her for fear of repercussions from her mobster family. Hell, no one would even have said boo to her without risking getting his genitals cut off—her cousin Samuel had been known to roll that way when displeased with men’s attention on family members. Kind of like a Rammada calling card.
The Windy City had been hers for the taking, and she’d grown up cocooned by that way of life. Yes, it was tinged with violence, and there were major ethical issues with the way her family earned a crust, but it was all she’d ever known. And while she’d had everything she’d asked for, to the point of being spoilt, she wasn’t going to question it.
Until that day three months ago.
Then she’d had to get away.
Eastman and his gang had changed everything.
Her stomach growled, and she grimaced at the taste of bile in her mouth. It was something that accompanied extreme hunger, that and the gripping pains in her belly.
Closing her eyes, she wondered if the restaurant around the back of Third had thrown out its garbage yet. She’d gotten lucky a few times and found edible tidbits there. She had to watch out for the chef, though, because he was a mean bastard and had thrown a bucket of filthy water at her the week before.
“Hey, girl.”
A deep voice, suddenly right in front of her, caused Beth to open her eyes.
A man was squatted before her, elbows on his bent knees and the collar of his leather jacket turned up. He had a thick spread of stubble around his jawline and his features were doused in shadows, but she could see he had a scar traveling over his forehead and slicing over one eyebrow.
A surge of adrenaline pumped into her system.
Fight or flight?
What did this stranger want? Whatever it was, it wouldn’t be for her benefit.
“Got a few spare dollars?” she muttered, wondering if it would be best to run left or right. Left led onto a busier street where someone might help her, but right took her to a park where she could hide if she managed to shake him.
She studied his narrowed eyes; black as the night, they were trained on hers.
Who was she kidding? She’d never be able to escape him. He was a man who oozed power. Through his coat it was easy to see his shoulders were broad, his limbs likely lean and strong. Her fuel tank was on empty, and he’d take her down as though swatting a fly.
“I have money,” he said, his voice low and gritty, almost as if his words were dragged over sandpaper. “But I won’t give it to you.”
“So piss off.” She jerked her head to the left, shifted on the cardboard and had a quick glance around, wondering if there was anyone who might come to her aid if she screamed.
“That’s not very nice. I only want to help.”
“You can help by giving me money.”
“What so you can spend it on your next hit?”
“I’m not a druggie.”
“Yeah, right.” He huffed, then straightened, looming over her. “There’s a diner around the corner called Metros. Come with me, and I’ll buy you a hot meal.”
“Why?”
“Why not?” He shrugged.
Beth looked away. “I don’t wanna be in your debt?”
“You won’t be.” He stepped away. “If you were my daughter, I’d like to think someone would at least feed you on a cold night like this.”
“But I’m not your daughter.” Though she could be. He was well into his thirties, maybe even forties, and to her nineteen years that seemed pretty old
.
He chuckled. “No, you’re not. So…you coming?”
“No, I’ll give it a miss. My mother told me never to go with strangers.”
“She’s a wise woman, but do you really think it’s safer sitting out here than in a warm diner, even if you don’t know me?”
Beth said nothing. The thought of a warm diner, warm food, a chair, for God’s sake, instead of the sidewalk to sit on was heavenly.
“Oh well,” he said, “I tried.” He nodded toward the end of the street. “You’ve got until I turn the corner to change your mind.”
“I won’t.”
“Okay, but just so you know, it’s a one-time offer. Won’t happen again.”
“What are you, fucking Mother Teresa reincarnated?”
“Probably the exact opposite.” He tipped his head and gave her one last lingering look.
A shiver went through her. Despite his age, he possessed the bad boy look that had always appealed to her—shaved hair, thick neck, a bump on his nose most likely from a brawl.
In a different time, a different life, perhaps…
Nah, her family would go crazy. They wanted her to marry a nice young man from a nice mobster family who knew how to toe the line with the Rammadas. Some old guy from New York…they’d flip their lids.
But what did she care?
It was their fault she was here.
He turned and paced away, his long strides quickly eating up the distance.
Once again, her stomach complained. She flexed and unflexed her freezing fingers, trying to revive them and get the blood flowing. Her butt was numb, and she hadn’t been able to feel her toes for hours.
An image of a plate loaded with pancakes, bacon, eggs, and grits, all swamped in maple syrup, hovered before her. She could almost taste hot buttered toast, and the thought of more coffee than she could drink was enough to get her heart racing in anticipation.
When had she last eaten hot food?
When had she last been warm?
She looked at the stranger. He was nearing the end of the street, his footsteps firm and sure, but getting quieter.
Did he really just want to feed her? Surely he’d want more. A feel of her tits, a blowjob, a fuck down an alley.
But maybe it was worth it to get warm and fed. How long did a blowjob take? Ten minutes? Her stomach would be full all night, and damn, she wanted to remember what it felt like not to be numb with cold. Her back ached from shivering, and the freezing air seemed to scorch her lungs. Surely it would be worth it to get rid of the permanent state of agony she was living with.
“Wait!” She pushed to her feet, grimacing as her hip clicked and her belly spasmed.
He turned the corner.
“No…wait.” She took several staggering steps, clutching the wall for balance. Her head was swimming, everything blurred. “Please, mister, wait…”
She broke into a run, not knowing if she’d fall and become unconscious or if her legs would actually work. Either way, she had to give it a go.
One foot slapped on the pavement, then the other. She could hardly believe she had the strength to accelerate, but she did.
But he’d gone from view now. What if it was too late?
One-time offer.
“Please,” she called breathlessly. “Whatever you want? I’ll do it.”
She reached the corner and flew around it, her palm scratching on the brickwork. “Please.”
She collided with something warm and hard. Not something, someone.
He stood there, her dark stranger, with his hands in his coat pockets and had barely flinched when she’d banged into him full pelt. “I’d turned the corner.”
“I know. I’m sorry. Please.” She pressed her hand to her chest and gulped in oxygen. It was the most exertion she’d had for sometime, her body just too weak.
“Please what?”
“Please, some food. I’ll do whatever you want me to, but I’m so hungry.” She paused and swallowed down a sob. Self-pity couldn’t be allowed to raise its pathetic head for, if that happened, she’d likely never stop crying. “And I’m cold.…so cold.” As if to prove the point, a bone-rattling shiver snaked up her spine and made her teeth chatter.
He held out his hand and pressed the backs of his fingers to her cheek. “Yes, you are…cold, that is.”
“You said…the diner.” She nodded at Metros. The windows glowed soft amber, and she could make out people inside—customers seated and waiting staff standing, all enjoying the warmth and the opportunity to fill their bellies or earn some cash.
“I said I’d feed you,” he said, his breath misting in the air around him.
“Yes, you did.”
“And I will. Come on.” He turned abruptly.
She stared at his wide shoulders and long legs. Then, hurrying after him, saliva built up in her mouth. Food. Coffee. She needed it all.
He opened the door and held it as she stepped in.
The air was a caress on her cheeks and stroked gently down her throat to her lungs. She breathed in deeply, the scent of bacon and onions, coffee and sweetness lining her tongue.
Again, her stomach rumbled, almost as if knowing soon it would be fed.
She glanced around. It was hardly a posh establishment, but still, she was woefully scruffy, and although she’d stopped being aware of the stench of her clothes and hair, she knew it was there. It crossed her mind that she was lucky to be allowed in at all.
“We’ll sit back here,” he said, indicating a booth at the rear of the diner.
“Okay.” She didn’t blame him for wanting to tuck her away. A man like him probably had a string of sassy chicks he took out on dates, likely with bleached hair, fake tits and clothes a size too small, but still, that was an improvement on her while she was in this state.
“You gonna take your coat off?” he asked, sliding onto the seat opposite her and picking up a laminated menu.
“No.” Her coat might be a dirty, old leather Gucci from last season, but it was like gold to her. The difference between life and death, literally.
“Okay.” He shrugged. “So what do you want to eat?”
She licked her lips and studied a plate of food a waitress was carrying past.
How would she ever choose? She wanted everything.
He smiled. “You want me to order for you?”
“Er, yes, thanks. Coffee, though…lots of coffee.” As she’d spoken, a waitress appeared holding a pot.
She sloshed coffee into the two thick white mugs on the table. “Haven’t seen you around here for a while, Roper.”
“Nah, been out of town on business.”
So his name was Roper. Suited him. Unusual, tough, but was it a first or surname?
“All good, I hope,” the waitress said.
“Bit of both.” He huffed, then set his attention on Beth. “Get this girl pancakes with all the trimmings.”
The waitress looked at Beth. Her nose shriveled.
Beth sank into the hard chair. Once upon a time, she’d worn designer clothes, used the most expensive toiletries and cosmetics, had her hair fixed at one of the top salons in Chicago. But there was no more of that in her life. Now she looked more like a piece of shit scraped from someone’s shoe. If she’d had the strength to shout the waitress down for looking at her that way she would have, but strength was in short supply, and besides, she wasn’t going to do anything to risk not getting fed.
“You doin’ your bit to save the world?” the waitress asked Roper.
“Yeah, one urchin at a time.”
Urchin. God, if her father or any of the men in her family heard her referred to that way, there’d be blood spilled.
“And for you?” the waitress asked.
“The same.” He smiled and passed her the menu.
“Coming right up.”
Roper sat back and folded his arms, his jacket creasing. “So you got a name?”
“No.”
“Aw, come on. I’m buying you dinner.
”
Beth shrugged.
“You know my name, so it’s only fair.” He tipped his head. “First name at least.”
Oh, what the hell. “Beth.”
“Short for what? Elizabeth? Bethany?”
“Neither, it’s just Beth.” It wasn’t. Her name was Bethany, but this stranger didn’t need to know that.
“Okay, just-Beth, how long have you been living rough?”
“A few months.” Beth tapped her fingers together and wriggled her toes. A flush of heat was traveling to her extremities, and pins and needles were setting in.
“What happened? Parents kick you out?”
“Something like that.” She didn’t want to go into details of how her father ratting out Eastman’s VP to one of the city’s top FBI agents, Lou Kempton, had bitten not just him but all of her family on the ass. She’d had to get out of Chicago quickly; it had been her only choice if she didn’t want to risk being a tool to get at her father. Which she most definitely didn’t. Being raped and tortured wasn’t something on her to-do list.
“They’ll be looking for you, worried sick.”
“I doubt that.”
“Parents love their kids, no matter what.”
“You reckon.” She tucked her ratty hair behind her ears.
“Yeah. I do.” He was watching her movements closely. “And what are you? Fifteen, sixteen?”
She frowned. “No, I’m nineteen and perfectly capable of looking after myself.”
“You call this looking after yourself?” He scowled.
“Shut the fuck up. You said you’d feed me, not interrogate me, not judge me.”
“Just making dinner conversation.”
Her frown deepened, and she banged her feet on the floor. “Fuck.”
“What?”
“My feet hurt. Feel like they’re on fire now they’re heating up.”
“Yeah, that’ll happen.” He removed his coat and folded it on the seat next to him. He wore a black turtleneck sweater that stretched over his pecs and hugged his torso.
“You ever been so cold you can’t think?” she asked.
