by Ashley Jade
It makes good fucking leverage.
“Nothing will happen to her. I'll make sure of it. I'll protect her.” I look him right in his dark eyes, which are identical to my own. “You have my word.”
He shakes my hand. “It's a deal.”
I squeeze his hand hard. “I know better than to make any more deal's with you. So you'll just have to take me at my fucking word.”
That fucked up combination of pride and anger flash in his eyes. “Very well. Get home safe, son.” He smiles and I drop my hand. “You've got some precious cargo with you.”
I walk toward my car and all I can think is—Jesus, what the hell have I gotten myself into?
I have my hands full trying to look out for and keep everything copacetic regarding my boys and DeLuca...having to look after her now will be a headache.
But then I think about the way her face fell and the devastation in those big brown eyes of hers when she thought DeLuca was getting rid of her.
When she thought he didn't love her anymore.
It was the saddest look I'd ever seen.
Craziest thing of all? I found myself identifying with her because I've felt that way before when it came to DeLuca.
I also know what it's like to feel like no one wants you. To feel like you have no one in your corner.
I know what it's like to go through life all on your own, only having yourself to rely on.
Hell, it's been that way for most of my damn life.
Until Jackson and Tyrone, that is.
I wasn't looking to get close to anyone when I began coaching them, but somehow I found way more than I could ever bargain for.
I found a family...a brotherhood.
There's no way I'll ever let anyone take that away.
“Oh, god pull over.”
Those are the first words she's spoken in the last hour.
I glance over and her cheeks are puffed out and her hand is covering her mouth.
Shit, she's gonna puke.
I cut the wheel so hard my tires screech when I pull over to the side of the expressway.
She opens the door, stumbles out and leans against the car while dry heaving.
I curse under my breath and grab a water bottle out of the extra gym bag I keep in my car.
“Everything's spinning,” she slurs.
“Yeah, it's called being drunk,” I say.
She shoots me a dirty look but it's quickly replaced by panic...right before she proceeds to blow chunks.
Begrudgingly, I hold her hair up for her. “I really don't feel good,” she says. “I'm never getting drunk again.”
“Famous last words.”
She starts trembling and panting between dry heaves. “I'm serious. I'm not even a big drinker in the first place.”
“Oh, so you're just a heroin addict then?”
“Fuck you,” she spews. “I'm not—” She pauses. “You don't know a damn thing about me, you judgmental asshole.”
She bats my hand away but she's so uncoordinated it doesn't do any good.“You know what? I don't need your help—” she starts to say before the next round hits her with a vengeance.
I stand directly behind her and place my arm around her waist so she doesn't fall. I use my other hand to rub soothing circles down her back until she relaxes against me.
She's right...I don't know a thing about her. Besides, who the hell am I to judge anyone in the first place?
I'm certainly no upstanding citizen myself.
She's still going at it so I wait between rounds to ask, “Did you eat today?”
She shakes her head and I sigh. “Rookie mistake number one. If you're going to down two bottles of wine during dinner you need to take a few bites of the dinner first.”
“I just need some coffee,” she says, attempting to stand up straight.
“Nope,” I say. “Coffee, showers, bread...none of that shit actually works.”
I crack open the water bottle and hold it up to her lips. “Open.” She opens her mouth and takes a few small sips. “The only thing that works is time. You just have to ride it out while the alcohol passes through your system.”
I open the car door for her and help her inside. “Make sure you keep sipping the water.”
“Thank you,” she whispers before she rubs her temples and winces. “God, I really don't feel good.”
I walk over to my side of the car and slide in the seat. “We'll be home in a little while.”
I glance at her out of the corner of my eye and hand her two ibuprofen. “Take these and get some sleep. Should make things better.”
She swallows the pills and her head lolls to the side. “I can't sleep. I don't sleep at night.”
Her statement slams into me because I've never known anyone to have that problem.
Well...besides me.
I'm want to inquire about it further, but I look over at her and sure as shit.
She's passed out cold.
I reach for her wrist and feel for her pulse to make sure she's okay before I begin driving.
Annoyance gnaws at me during the rest of the drive home.
I hate the predicament I'm in. Why the hell did I ever agree to this in the first place?
I might not know anything about her, but I'm not a babysitter and I really don't have time to deal with whatever problems she has.
To put it frankly, I don't want the added responsibility of having to take care of this girl.
Especially a girl who I'm convinced should come with a damn warning label.
She's still sleeping when I pull up to the apartment complex and park in my secluded parking spot located in the back. That means I have no choice but to carry her ass into the building.
I ask her if DeLuca handed her a set of keys to her humble abode, but her only response is an unintelligible muffle before she buries her head against my chest.
I curse when I realize that it's too late to call the super of the building and get a set of spare keys from him.
In other words, I'm stuck with her until morning.
Fucking perfect.
I make my way up the staircase with her in my arms and jet for the door to my apartment.
Only to be stopped in my tracks by Jackson and Tyrone coming out of their apartment.
Their expressions are a mixture of concern and amusement. No doubt due to the passed out girl wearing a skin tight mini dress in my arms.
Tyrone speaks first, “Who's the girl?” I open my mouth to answer but Jackson raises an eyebrow. “Better question...why is she unconscious?”
Shit, how the hell am I gonna explain this? I decide, to be as honest as I can with them. Lord knows, I lie to them about enough things already.
I give them a casual shrug. “I hired a ring girl.”
Tyrone and Jackson exchange a glance. I can only imagine what they must be thinking.
I blow out a breath. “She—uh. She got a little drunk during the interview.”
“Must have been some interview,” Tyrone says in his thick southern twang. “One that must not be over yet seeing as you brought her home and all.”
“This isn't part of the interview.” I point to the door across the hall located next to their apartment. “I'm only bringing her inside my apartment until I can get a hold of the super who has the keys to her apartment.”
Jackson makes a face and Tyrone grins. “You mean to tell us this little hottie is not only the new ring girl...but our new neighbor as well?”
I nod and Tyrone's grin grows wider. “Nice.”
Jackson shakes his head and laughs. “Does she have a name?”
“She does—” I pause because for the life of me...I can't remember the girl's actual name. I'm certainly not about to tell them her name is 'bambina.'
I scratch my head hoping it will come to me. “Lou...Lou—”
“Lou-Lou,” Tyrone says while rubbing his chin. “Never met a Lou-Lou before. That's kind of cute actually.”
Jackson rolls his eyes. “Br
o, she's not even awake...stop trying to hit on her. It's not like she can hear you.”
Normally, I wouldn't give a shit who Tyrone hits on, but I'm with Jackson on this one.
I know Tyrone's still reeling over the fact that his first love from back home is engaged to some hillbilly dip-shit. I know he's out fucking anything and everything in order to cope with the heartache of losing her.
It's gotten so bad I can't even say the full name of my mustang around him without causing him to get all pissy.
I know Lou-Lou will be nothing more to him than a simple 'hit it and quit it'...but unfortunately for him, he can't have her.
Lou-Lou belongs to DeLuca...and hitting on her would be the worst thing he could do.
I'm about to tell him not to pursue her, but Tyrone crosses his arms and glares at Jackson. “You never know. In fact, the subconscious state of sleep is excellent for hypnosis.”
This time, it's Jackson and me who exchange a glance, gearing up for another one of Tyrone's antics.
He takes a step closer and peers down at Lou-Lou. “Tyrone is the sexiest man in the world,” he says. “And you will let him tap that ass.”
Jackson chuckles but for some reason hearing him say that really pisses me the fuck off.
I hold Lou-Lou tighter and narrow my eyes. “She's not yours,” I growl, surprising them and me with how deadly my voice sounds. “Knock it the fuck off...now.”
Tyrone holds up his hands defensively. “Whoa, Ricardo. It was just a joke.”
“Well joke about someone else, not her. Like I said, she's not yours. So back the fuck off before I make you.”
Jackson shoots me a curious look and shoves his hands in his pockets “Let's go, Tyrone. The new hulk dvd is calling your name.”
I fish for my keys and the movement causes her to whimper against my chest. I open the door and slam it without uttering another word to them.
From the other side, I hear Jackson say, “Look, obviously Ricardo doesn't want you hitting on that girl...for whatever reason. So just try and control your damn hormones.”
“Me,” Tyrone says before laughing. “You should be telling him that. He's the one who just came out of his face and asserted his male dominance over her. Hell, if I didn't know any better I'd think he just clubbed her over the head before dragging her back to his lair like some kind of caveman. I'm surprised he didn't whip out his dick and piss in a circle around her. I mean, what the fuck was that?”
“I have no idea,” Jackson says. “Maybe he's really into her. Who knows?”
I hear the door to their apartment close and I lean back against the door.
Tyrone is right. I don't know what the fuck my problem is but I've never been this much of an asshole to them.
I look down and my annoyance flairs again because my problem is right here in my arms.
I study her features for a beat. Personally, she's a tad too young for me and not my usual type, but now that I'm really looking at her...I suppose I can see the appeal.
There's no mistaking that she is really beautiful. Even when those gorgeous doe eyes of hers are closed.
Her brows are drawn tight and her full heart-shaped lips part slightly before she begins trembling.
Any annoyance I was feeling quickly leaves when she whispers, “No. Please. No.”
I try to gently shake her but she's not having it...it's like she's trapped in whatever nightmare she's in...the alcohol she consumed only making it worse.
“You're okay, Lou-Lou. It's just a bad dream,” I tell her.
I walk around my apartment for a moment unsure of exactly where to deposit her.
The only option is the bedroom. I wouldn't feel right about making her sleep in the living room.
Since I live in a single one-bedroom apartment, my bedroom is big—big enough to have both a bed and a sofa.
Which unfortunately for me, looks like I'll be crashing on tonight.
Well, for the mere two hours of sleep that I'll actually manage to get—before my own nightmares kick in.
I hear a knock on the door and I'm kind of hoping it's Tyrone so I can apologize for going off on him.
I place Lou-Lou on the bed and put a blanket over her since she's still trembling. I make a mental note to adjust the central air since she obviously gets cold easily. Probably because she's so tiny.
I answer the door and cringe when I see who's on the other side of it.
Fuck...it's Scarlet.
Otherwise known as the tall, long-legged, curves for days, redhead stripper that I sort of—kind of have a thing with.
And by 'thing'— I mean meaningless sex on a semi-regular basis.
I don't recall making plans with her and she knows I don't like when people drop by my place unexpectedly.
Suffice it to say I'm not all that happy to see her at the moment.
Especially when the last time we slept together, she hinted that she wanted more than I could ever offer her.
Even though I told her from the get-go that we could never be anything more than just fuck buddies and I thought she understood.
Clearly, I thought wrong.
The reason I can't give her more isn't because I'm some kind of asshole, either.
Well...maybe it is.
However, my actual reason for never getting into a serious relationship is because I'm DeLuca's son.
I'd have to be a heartless bastard to ever pursue something serious with a woman and bring her into the mob world.
And while I'm not exactly a heartless bastard...I'm sure as fuck not some kind of monk. I enjoy sex...lots of it. Especially the part that involves getting a woman off.
Overall, it's just a fuck of a lot easier for me to detach myself and have a casual sexual relationship with a woman.
I don't need the extra baggage that comes with a relationship and they don't need the danger. I'm firm in my resolve about this and there's not a woman in the world who could ever change my mind.
I make sure any and all women in my life know this and accept the rules I lay out before things heat up. Hell, I even make it a point not to kiss them in order to reduce any sense of intimacy between us.
I also make sure they know that whenever we're together sexually...I'm the one doing the touching and providing the pleasure. It's never the other way around.
Shit, my encounters would be a lot easier if my dick swung the other way.
But one look at Scarlet's mile-long legs and full breasts and I know that won't ever happen.
Dammit, why must women be so beautiful? And not just Scarlet...I mean all women.
I've yet to find a woman on this earth who doesn't possess at least one beautiful trait that snags my attention.
Whether it's their curves, supple backside, nice legs, great eyes, pretty face, soft skin, silky hair, the way their ass swings when they walk or the way their breasts bounce when they move.
From the 21-year-old at the local college to the 88-year-old grandmother stocking up on her werther's originals and cat food at the grocery store...all women are beautiful to me.
And it sucks when you're the man who's about to break a woman's heart.
“Can I come in?” Scarlet asks while shuffling her feet.
“I don't think that's a good idea.”
“What's going on with you, Ricardo? You never answer my text messages or my phone calls anymore. It's been almost two weeks now. What did I do wrong?”
I squeeze my neck, hating this conversation. “You didn't do anything wrong, Scar.” I look into her pretty green eyes and reach for her hand. “You deserve better than me. You knew from the start what this was and what this wasn't between us.”
She nods and a tear falls down her cheek. “I know. I just—I thought...maybe.”
“You were going to be the one to change me?” I finish for her.
She nods again and another tear falls. “Yeah.”
I let go of her hand and take a step back. “Sorry, honey. I can't change and God said 'fuck it' and t
ook the day off when it was time to create my soulmate. That shouldn't stop you from finding yours, though.”
I take another step back. “Take care of yourself, Scarlet. I hope you find what you're looking for one day.”
I wait until I see her walk down the hallway before I close the door.
All things considered, that could have gone worse.
I turn the central air down and walk back into the bedroom. She's still trembling. I graze her arm and she feels fine, not too hot and not too cold.
“No!” she screams and I jerk my hand back.
Christ what in the world has she been through to cause her to scream like this?
I layer another blanket on top of her and my stomach fills with lead.
In my experience, prayers don't tend to work when you're the son of the devil...but I say one anyway.
I pray that this feeling in my gut isn't right and I'm mistaken.
I pray that DeLuca didn't do what I think he did to this girl.
I pray he didn't destroy and ruin another beautiful soul...again.
I pray he didn't do to her what he did to my mother.
I scrub a hand down my face and swing my legs over the couch. The good thing about sleeping on a sofa that's too small for my almost 6'4 frame was that I hardly slept at all.
I look over at Lou-Lou who's still sleeping. She's huddled up in a little corner of my bed, her small frame barely taking up any room on the king sized mattress.
She looks so innocent when she's sleeping, it's like night and day.
My senses are on high alert when I hear the sound of my front door opening.
I immediately reach for my jeans on the floor and pull my gun out of my pocket.
I'm two steps outside my bedroom when I hear both Tyrone and Jackson in my kitchen.
I tuck my gun into the waistband of my boxers and make my way over to the kitchen table where they're eating breakfast.
“Help yourself, guys,” I mutter while walking to the cabinet.
Jackson looks up from his bowl. “Sorry, we were out of cereal.”
Tyrone shakes the now almost empty plastic container. “And milk.”
I join them at the table, take the milk from him and pour it into my bowl. “Sorry about going off on you last night,” I mumble.
“It's cool,” he says between spoonfuls of his cereal.
