by Holly Hart
“Please,” I whimper, trying to buy time. “I’ll do what you want –”
He crouches down next to me, and begins to stroke my hair. What the hell’s going on?
“Hush, baby; it’ll be okay.” He whispers, running his short, stumpy fingers through my hair. “Lenny’s here for you …”
I suppress a shudder. I start to realize that this guy has got some kind of – I don’t know – obsession with me; and that maybe … just maybe, I can use it to my advantage.
Lenny’s fingers climb the front of my jacket and start to unbutton it. He undresses me, piece by piece, until the unheated house’s cold chill bites against my skin, and I’m left only in a set of plain black underwear. He pulls me gently to my feet, and I start to shiver.
“Come with Uncle Lenny, baby,” he says in a singsong voice
Uncle Lenny?
He leads me to a long, wooden, dining room table. “Lie down.”
I do as I’m told, and clench my jaw as my back freezes against the cold wood. I’m paralyzed by fear and indecision. I don’t know if I should try to fight, or else use Lenny’s strange interest in me to my advantage. I know the answer immediately. It has to be the latter. Lenny’s got a hundred pounds on me. He’d crush me like a bug. Besides, I know what Declan would say. “Don’t fight stupid, fight smart.”
“Do you like me, Lenny?” I whisper. I close my eyes, because I feel dirty just asking it. The last thing I want to see is the look on Lenny’s face as he hears it.
He strokes my cheek, and I hear the clink of metal. “You know I do, baby,” he whispers. “Give me your hand.”
I shudder and hold it out, eyes still clenched firmly shut. “Why –?” I ask.
I soon find out. The metal claws of a set of handcuffs close around my wrist for the second time this week, and by the time I open my eyes, I’m chained to the table.
“What are you doing?” I gasped, tugging my hand back, to no avail.
Lenny shrugs. “Vince’s orders,” he grunts. “But don’t worry, baby,” he says, moving around the table. “I get you once he’s done.” He pulls another set of handcuffs from a row he’s stuffed into his belt, grabs my ankle and straps it tight.
“Please –,” I whimper. “Please…” But Lenny’s only response is to clamp handcuffs tight against my free arm and leg, until I’m chained, spread-eagle and half-naked on the wooden table.
My mind is racing. I try to think of what Declan would tell me to do, but I come up with nothing. I’m going to have to do it my way.
Maybe that’s exactly what he’d say?
Unfortunately, the only card I’ve got in my locker is Lenny. I’m going to have to go all in and take my chances.
“Will you kiss me, Lenny?” I whimper, improvising, “on my cheek.”
He fondles my breasts roughly, dragging his callous palm across my chest. “I’ve wanted to fuck you since the moment I met you,” he growls.
It’s not exactly the response I had in mind, but I go with it, blocking out the shudders of disgust rippling through my mind.
“You don’t have to do this, you know,” I say, locking eyes with him. “We could have a life together, you and I. Without Vince…”
My eyes flicker lower, and I see a bulge growing at Lenny’s crotch. I swallow, biting back a wave of nausea rising from my stomach.
“I could take you right now, bitch,” he barks. “Use a condom, and who’s the wiser?”
“You could…” I whisper, “… take me, like you say. But I’m a … a good fuck, Lenny; when I want to be. And … maybe I want to be with you; but not with Vince; never, never with him.”
I see Lenny’s expression flicker, and the longing grow in his eyes –
– But, it’s too late.
An engine grumbles outside, and the vehicle pulls to a halt. A door slams, and with it the door to my freedom.
“Well, well, well,” Vince Amari says slowly, his heavy boots knocking against the floor. “Lookee, look what we have here.”
He walks up to me, and it’s all I can do to stare up at him with defiance. He strokes my leg and lowers his head between my thighs. “Smells like dead pussy,” he laughs. But I’m not fussy.”
I glance at Lenny, who’s staring at Vince with an unknowable expression on his face.
“Did Lenny show you the empty lots outside? Plenty of space to bury you when I’m done…”
“Boss! You said I could have the bitch when you were finished with her.”
“There’s plenty more pussy in this city, Lenny. But this one’s mine.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Declan
The music’s leaking out into the street – and it’s pumping. Hell, maybe it’s just the blood in my veins; with the way I’m feeling, it’s hard to tell. All I know is I’ve gotta be quick. I ain’t got time to burn, not when every second’s another where freaks could be doing god know what to my girl.
Royale nightclub, near the Leather District: it’s Boston’s favorite nightclub, and that counts double for Mickey Morello and his crew.
Me? Hell, it’s never been my idea of a good time. I’m more of a pub with a pint of beer kind of guy – preferably my own pub, with a pint I’ve pulled. Just because a place has a girl, in a cocktail dress, outside taking names, doesn’t mean it will get me all excited.
“The fuck are you?” The bouncer grunts.
I don’t blame him. Me and my boys – all four of my brothers – we just sauntered up to the front of the line to get in like we own the place. I bet he sees this kind of thing all the time. After a while, I guess you don’t even see faces anymore.
The thing is, when you work the door for a club owned by the Morello family, or so rumor has it, and five guys with patches of white in their hair rock and roll up to the door, you’ve got two choices: run or fight. This idiot has chosen door number three.
You don’t choose door number three…
“Hey, asshole!” Someone calls from the well-dressed, young crowd. “How about you and your jackass crew wait in fucking line like the rest of us?”
Kieran spits out his gum. “You gonna do something about that?” He asks, staring the thuggish doorman down. “We could be paying customers. I mean, we’re not. But we could be.”
The bouncer shrugs. “So the guy’s an asshole; it doesn’t make him wrong.”
Kieran pounces, quick as a flash. I know what’s about to happen, and even I barely see it. Kieran pulls a pistol from underneath his jacket and presses it into the bouncer’s stomach. He does it all quiet-like, shielded by our bodies. To the crowd behind us, it just looks like he’s stepped in to talk privately.
“Here’s the thing, buddy,” Kieran grins, putting his hand on the man’s shoulder. “You see my brother, there?” He jerked his thumb at me. “That’s Declan motherfuckin’ Byrne. Ring a bell?”
The man nods dumbly – I swear, he goes white all over. The rest of his body has frozen up, but his eyes are darting left and right like he is looking for a way out. “What I’m saying, buddy … no, this isn’t right.”
“What –?”
“I can’t just keep calling you buddy. What’s your name, guy?”
“Dan. Dan Fox,” the bouncer whispers.
“Here’s how things are going to go, Dan,” Kieran says, picking up where he left off. “You’re going to take a walk, go home, put your phone on silent, fuck your girlfriend and fall asleep. You got it?”
“I’ll get –”
“Fired?” Kieran says, raising an eyebrow. “It’s better than getting dead, Dan.”
We push past him and a stupefied blonde holding a clipboard. I see Kieran’s eyes rove across her body, but he’s never been into blondes. It’s still never stopped him from sampling in the past. He winks at her for good measure.
“Keep those eyes on the prize, brother.”
The music’s louder inside. I can feel it in my organs, rattling around inside my lungs, and vibrating my kidneys. We move through the crowd, pushing
aside glassy-eyed partiers whose jaws don’t stop chewing; a nasty side effect of whatever they’ve snorted up their nostrils. I grimace with disgust. I prefer my nose clean and my head clear.
There’s a reason the Morellos own the clubs, and it isn’t just so Mickey can get his dick wet. Royale is the perfect hunting ground for their dealers. We shoulder past one, and he knows who I am instantly. He runs off, and Kieran starts off after him. I pull him back.
“Brother, he’s probably going to warn –”
“My ass,” I growl. “He’s a pussy. He’s saving himself.”
The crowd parts before us like the red sea until finally Mickey Morello himself comes into view. He’s sitting on a raised, roped-off, stage with a short set of stairs leading up on either side – drowning in strippers. And these aren’t ten bucks girls, either.
Kieran whistles at them; not that I can hear it over the sound of the bass. “It’s good to be king …”
I turn to Ridley, Mac and Liam. “You know what to do,” I grunt. “Kieran – you’re with me.”
My younger brothers drift back and left into the crowd, disappearing without a trace. They don’t offer a word of complaint. I know if I’d suggested attacking the Morello family yesterday, they’d have kicked up a fuss. Today, it’s different. Today the Morellos have struck us. This is payback.
“You: stop right fucking there.”
Mickey’s bodyguard pulls a pistol from his hip and levels it at my eyes. “I know you,” he growls, his eyes lighting up with recognition. “You’re –”
“A Byrne,” Ridley grins, appearing from behind him and tickling the bodyguard’s temple with his own weapon. “Guess what? So am I.” He reaches over and takes the man’s weapon. “So,” he says with mirth in his voice, leading the bodyguard to a nearby couch, “is he, and he and –”
“Enough,” I growl.
Mickey has finally taken his eyes off the two stocking-clad, eighteen-year-olds dancing in front of him, and he looks fucking terrified.
“You, you, and …” I say, pointing at all three women on the platform in turn, “you. Get the fuck out of here.”
The two young strippers run away squealing, tottering like baby giraffes on six inch heels. The third girl, about Casey’s age, relaxes back onto the couch opposite Mickey. “Actually,” she says with an amused smile, “I think I’ll stay.”
“Your death warrant,” I grunt. “Kieran, look after the –”
“Sonia,” she interrupts, “Sonia Morello.”
Kieran grins. “Two for the price of one,” he says, settling down on the white leather couch next to her. To her credit, she doesn’t once look at the pistol he’s cradling in his hands. I can’t say the same for her brother.
I sit down next to Mickey. I sigh. “Mickey, Mickey, Mickey. I thought we had an understanding?”
He squeaks instead of talks. “We did. We do.”
“Then where’s my girl, Mickey. You better start talking, because you’ve got three seconds before I blow off that tiny little cock of yours.”
“You’ll be doing the world a favor,” Sonia chips in. “It’s about time –”
“Sonia, you whore –”
I backhand Mickey across the face. Sonia giggles. “Do what the man says, big brother.”
I glance at her, and can’t help but notice that Kieran’s eyes are locked on her face. He looks besotted.
“You’re telling me you’re not behind this?” I ask Mickey, studying his bitch face for any hint of a lie.
He shakes his head wildly from side to side. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about!”
“Oh? What about Vince. Vince Amari. Where is he?” Mickey’s eyes widen with understanding. I grin. I’ve got him. And he knows it.
“Said he was going after some deadbeat bitch,” he whines. “I didn’t know –”
I reverse my pistol in my hand and press it against Mickey’s balls until his eyes bulge. His sister giggles.
Jesus, this is one fucked up family, I think.
“I need an address, Mickey.”
“Three.”
“Two –”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Casey
“You like it rough, bitch?” Vince says, in a mocking, singsong tone.
The chains holding my ankles and wrists locked to the wooden table rattle as I jerk my head from side to side, trying to get a glimpse of whatever Vince is doing. He’s moving, I can tell that much, and –
His belt buckle clinks as his fingers dance over it.
“You bitches are all the same. You claim you aren’t, and you claim you don’t, but we know better, don’t we, Lenny?”
I glance at Lenny, but he doesn’t make a sound. He’s just standing there with his fists clenched. I can’t tell whether he is about to join in with his master in abusing my body, or lay his master out cold with one powerful punch.
“You claim you want it soft, sweet, and sensual … but I know differently. Bitches lie. Once you see what a real man can do, you all change your tune. It’s a shame you won’t live to enjoy it …”
Real man my ass.
“Lenny, hold the bitch’s head down,” Vince orders. It sparks a wild panic inside my brain. Whatever Vince has planned, I don’t want any part of it. I know there’s no coming back from what he’s going to do to my body.
“Wait –,” I beg. Vince is standing by my ankles with his cock in his hand, and I know that I’ve only got seconds to stop him.
My eyes focus on Lenny. He hasn’t reacted to Vince’s order at all, and, other than the fact he’s shifting his weight from foot to foot at a glacial pace, you could be forgiven for thinking he’s fallen asleep. I know the things I’ve whispered into that slow, lumbering brain of his have had an effect. He’s beginning to question his master, and wonder whether life could be better for him if he wasn’t squashed under Vince’s boot.
I roll the dice one last time. Whatever the result, I know that it has to be better than letting Vince abuse me.
“You’re right,” I gasp to Vince. “We are liars.”
I close my eyes as if to pray, but really my mind’s just filled with images of Declan: the way he kisses me; the way his stubble grazes my chin; the feeling of his breath tickling my cheeks … all of it. I can’t believe that I wasted the time I had with him when I had the chance.
I should have talked to him, not stormed off in anger –
“We do want real men,” I pant. I remember how pathetic Vince was the first day I met him: willing to do anything to gain the admiration of his men. “And you –”
“You don’t need to tell me what I already know, bitch. You are thinking about me, aren’t you?”
“No…” I whisper.
“No?” There’s a bite to Vince’s tone; a threat. He knows that he’s walked onto uncertain ground, even though he doesn’t know it’s a trap that I’ve set for him on purpose.
All he knows is that he might look weak in front of Lenny, and that’s the last place that a man like him ever wants to end up.
“No,” Lenny grunts, finally breaking his silence. “She’s thinking of me.”
He tackles Vince like an NFL linebacker, and his boss trips, stumbling over the denim pooled down by his ankles. They go over in a heap, Vince’s pale cock flashing in the abandoned house’s gloom.
“Get off me, you faggot,” Vince screams. Lenny: the shorter, but bulkier, more muscular, man, climbs on top of him like a bucking bronco rider. There’s nothing Vince can do, not from the floor. Lenny overpowers him with superior strength, leaning down and picking Vince’s torso up from the floor.
He starts to squeeze, compressing Vince’s whole body in his arms. The Morello caporegime is choking now, eyes bulging, fingers scrabbling against Lenny’s popping, corded muscles.
“Fuck …” I whisper. I can barely believe it: my plan’s working, but now I’ve only got a small window to get the hell out of here. Whoever wins this fight, their blood will be fired up. That will mean bad
things for me. Awful things.
I tug at the handcuff on my right wrist, pulling until its jagged metal teeth bite into my wrist and leave a white line behind. The chain rattles and jerks a couple of inches towards me; for a second I almost believe that it might break loose.
“Come on, come on …”
But it’s not that easy. It never is.
I throw a quick glimpse at the men tussling like rutting stags for the right to own my body. Vince’s eyes are bulging out of his body and Lenny … Well, the less said about Lenny’s face, the better.
“Fuckin’ die already,” Lenny grunts. Spittle flies out of his mouth and lands on Vince’s soon-to-be corpse.
Neither of them is a patch on Declan, not even close. Even after everything that’s happened between us, I only want my Irishman’s lips to be the ones kissing mine at night.
Right now, he’s all that’s on my mind. That means something: something powerful. It’s going to take something powerful to get me out of this mess.
“Anyone can become an escapologist…” A voice says, echoing out from the depths of my memory, “if they are willing to break their thumb, that is.”
“Oh Christ,” I whisper under my breath. “You’re really going to have to do it …”
On the floor next to me, Vince’s struggle has been reduced to a quiet chorus of jerking wheezes. It’s clear that he doesn’t have long left. And yet …
The fingers of his right hand blindly roam the dusty floorboards beside him for a weapon. He tosses aside an old McDonald’s happy meal toy, passes through small piles of trash, until his hand closes around an empty wine bottle.
I watch it happen in horror. There’s nothing I can do to stop it. It’s not that I want Lenny to survive; I don’t. It’s just that at least with him, I have a chance.
Vince smashes the bottle against Lenny’s skull, and it connects with a painful thud, knocking the pockmarked man backward. He brings it down again, using the last reserves of his energy, and it smashes against Lenny’s forehead, knocking him out cold.
