Full Force on Tammy

by Milana Cheers

  “Look, Reed,” Ivana says, “let’s cut to the chase. I wanted to buy the house from a trusted seller to lie low, and now…” She throws up her hands. “I come here to check out the story you fed me only to find out there really is a nice lady here with little girls who you wanna move into a nicer place.”

  “That’s right.”

  “I’ve exhausted all my options. Believe me.”

  I don’t know what she means, but there’s more to this, or she wouldn’t be here in person.

  “Would you like a cup of coffee?” Tammy asks.

  Ivana blinks as if thrown off her axis. Probably is off since she came here on business, not expecting hospitality. Likely she expected hostility. “Um, yeah, I’d love a cup.”

  “Reed, can you show them to the dining room?”

  I glare at Ivana and jerk my head in the direction of the dining room, then sit at the head of the table practically growling at the two. “This couldn’t wait until Tuesday?”

  Ivana shakes her head and whispers, “I need a place to stay now, which is why I bought a house on short notice from someone I can trust. You feel me?”

  “Why this town? There’re other small towns with big homes.”

  “I’ve already scoped it out. I don’t have time to research more towns, and even if I did, rest assured this is the best strategic position, which is likely why you and your guys chose this one over your hometown. Besides, Blake is the seller here.”

  Tammy brings the coffees and sits next to me. I’m not gonna ask her to leave, and those two fuckers can speak now that they’ve opted to corner me on a Sunday inside her house.

  “Tammy, I like your home,” Ivana says. “And I need it.”

  Tammy sips her coffee. “What do you mean?”

  “I need to stay in it.”

  I’m trying to figure out Ivana’s angle, and I can’t yet. I’m missing something. “Go on,” I say.

  “I’ll trade,” she says. “Give up on your new house for this one.”

  I’m not gonna ask because I don’t wanna know her business, but if she’s planning on staying in town, I have to know because my family and my men live here. “What kind of trouble are you in?” Now we, the pros, have rules. We talk vaguely in front of civilians because the less they know, the better it is for their safety. “Your family is well connected. Why not go to them?” Her brother is a hitman for the Serbian Mafia, for God’s sake. She’s the Mafia queen, not a fucking princess in need of saving.

  “I’m out.”

  Silence falls over the room. If Ivana says out, then that means exactly what it means. She left the organization, and if I were her, I’d make myself invisible, hence her moving to this tiny Wyoming town. And I’m in a tough place with Tammy because I won’t lie to her about what I do or have done, while also not wanting her to know too much before I’ve had more time with her.

  She ought to know everything before she already says yes to marrying me. I got a year to go before she does. I wanna build our relationship on trust and get things out in the open, and these motherfuckers might fuck shit up for me. She’s a fine woman worth fighting for, though, so if they think they’re gonna get away with cornering us like this, they ought to rethink it.

  “What do you need from us?” Tammy asks. I’m warm inside because there is an us, and one of us is amazing, compassionate, and sweet. It’s not me. I’m not that one of us.

  “I need your house. It provides me shelter. I don’t want to travel too far to get food, and here, people will be around me, people who won’t miss a stranger coming into town. In an isolated location surrounded by hostiles”—she gives me a pointed look—“well, let’s just say I reconsidered.” She pulls out a key from her coat and slides it over to Tammy, who picks it up and examines it. Ivana’s playing the game. She slid that key to my girl and not to me, so it’s gonna stick. She wants to get me, Tammy, and the girls out of here fast, and I want out of here fast, but only if Tammy agrees.

  “Big key,” Tammy says.

  “Big house,” Ivana says. “Five times the size of this one. Reed has good taste.”

  I think my chest just puffed out, but I’m suppressing the smug smile. She’s gonna sell Tammy on the house for me. Jesus loves me today. “She’ll think about it,” I say. People like Ivana can corner anyone and coerce them to do their bidding, and I can’t let her do that to Tammy. I want to take her to the house and show her around and let her sit on it.

  “That’s where I come in,” Blake the Suit says. “I need these on my desk back in Chicago by Tuesday.” He opens the folder he’s carrying and slides it to Tammy.

  It’s pictures and blueprints of the house. They remind me of just how perfect this home is for me and her and the girls. The girls would go crazy. It’s like one of their Barbie mansions. I want her to say yes, but I lock my jaw tightly so I don’t open my persuasive mouth.

  Tammy closes the folder, slides a hand under the table, and squeezes my knee. There it is again. What’s it mean? Should’ve asked the first time, not now when the stakes are high and we’re all leaning in to hear the verdict.

  “When can we move in?” she asks.

  HOME RUN.

  Epilogue

  Five years later

  If you thought a girl who made me run seven miles after a moving vehicle would say I had to stick around for a year and not mean it, think again. But stuck around I have, and Tammy married me. We’re on year four of our marriage, and have gathered on an open field for an Easter egg hunt. My daughter, Leah, sits on my hip while the girls tap on their phones, texting other girls on the Easter egg hunt.

  “Melany,” Reagan says and tucks her phone in the back pocket of her jeans. “Don’t text Jenna.”

  “Why not?”

  “Jenna is the enemy until the hunt is over.”

  Reagan extends a fist, and I bump it, then survey the layout. Open field, lots of trees. The eggs are likely not in places I’d have put them to actually hide something, like digging up a grave in Mexico and hiding a Mafia boss’s money. I know most people are normal and won’t think the way I think.

  Other parents come closer to us, and I put Leah down, glaring at one dad. He moves back into his previous position. Mm-hm.

  Leah tugs on my hand. At three years old, she’s wearing lip gloss and seven bows in her hair, courtesy of Melany, who thinks of Leah as her living doll. “I want to find at least thirteen eggs, Daddy.”

  “Got it.” Target: thirteen eggs.

  “You think I can find that many?”

  “Yes.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “Because I’ve got the layout of the land, and a plan.” When you have small kids, lots of things don’t go as planned. I hatch out a plan only to have it completely demolished by a three-year-old when she spills something all over her clothes. Having kids is like commanding soldiers who don’t particularly feel the need to fall in line. Nobody really listens to me, but I love pretending I’m running the house.

  I check my watch and note it’s two minutes to eleven. “Okay, Team MacLoyd, gather in.” I clap my hands, and the girls huddle around me. Crouching, I lock eyes with each of them. They look determined. This is great. “Target is thirteen eggs. You will call out each egg so we can all count. Reagan, take the bushes. Melany, the trees. Leah, you run point and collect. Clear?”

  “Clear, Dad!” they shout.

  Hurrah. I’m pumped. Let’s do this.

  The pastor walks over to the front of the line, and the families gather. I’m counting kids. Lots of kids means my girls are gonna have to be fast and ruthless. The pastor thanks everyone for coming, and when he goes into the significance of Easter, I check my watch, tap my foot, and lock eyes with Tammy, who’s at my nine o’clock resting on the grass. She’s nine months pregnant, with swollen feet, and can’t do much standing right now.

  Still, she can smile. Tammy can always smile, and probably at my expression. She knows all my expressions, especially this murderous one, because i
f the pastor doesn’t blow the whistle soon, I’ll gag him and take charge of the hunt.

  Five minutes later, and Fucking A, he’s still talking.

  I check my watch. Ten past eleven. A glance at Dawson tells me he’s as irritated as I am, standing at my three o’clock, glaring at the pastor.

  Finally, the talking stops, and I let go of Leah’s hand and crouch again. “Stay focused. On point. Kick anyone who’s compromising your mission.”

  Leah nods, curls bouncing off her shoulder.

  The whistle blows, and Reagan takes off for the bushes like a bullet, practically tackling a boy in her way. Yup. My chest puffs out, and I walk to sit behind Tammy so she can lean on my body. I press a hand over her belly and rub to see if I can get a kick. When I don’t get one, I poke her belly.

  Tammy groans. “Stop poking.”

  “You like being poked.”

  She twists, looks up, and nibbles my chin. I’m hard now and wanna fuck her again. The baby needs to come, and the good doctor said we can try having sex more often to induce labor. I took that as a mission, so I’m sure Tammy’s pussy is sore. Still no baby. But I can’t complain if I don’t complete the mission for a few more days, because I won’t see that pussy for the next month or more.

  As I listen to my girls call out the count, I try not to think about Tammy’s labor and what I saw when she was delivering Leah. This time around, I’m not gonna watch as closely. I saw her pussy stretch and spit out a baby. Nope, I’m good with standing behind her this time.

  A leg kicks out, and I poke it back. A leg kicks out again. Aww, life is good.

  “That’s a great idea,” Tammy says and moves to get her phone, but she’s so heavy that she topples over my leg and stays there, laughing, arms outstretched, reaching for her purse.

  I hand her the purse so she can dig out her phone. She does, and I drag her back up to lean on me, watching while she pulls up the notes app and starts the furious thumb typing.

  Tammy quit the diner and writes books full time. She has a lot of these ideas popping into her head. Last time she had an idea, she spent the night in her office and wrote ten thousand words. Meanwhile, the last thing I wrote this month was mine on a take-out box. If you don’t claim it, it’s gone, and sometimes, even when I do claim it, it’s gone.

  “Eleven,” Reagan shouts, and I hear her curse and run around. Leah’s trying to catch up to her to put the eleventh egg in the basket, but Regan is fast, zipping through the crowds like a ricochet. Most kids have given up already. My girls are still searching, though, because they know all things worth having take effort, and when most give up, the hard girls get moving.

  Two minutes later and still missing two eggs, I’m getting a bit nervous I’ll have to give them the failure-as-motivation speech, but Leah screeches at the top of her lungs and holds up one egg. “Twelve!”

  “Wohoo,” I cheer from the sidelines. “One more for Team MacLoyd. Come on.”

  Leah throws the egg in the basket and crawls into bushes. Cuts, cuts, cuts. Shit. “Baby, watch your eyes,” I holler, then prop myself up, taking Tammy with me.

  She drops her phone and turns up her face. “Stay down, Reed.”

  “There’s gonna be cuts on her.” I’m such a pussy when it comes to my girls. If it were my team, I’d tell them no pain, no gain but I don’t say that to my girls.

  When Leah doesn’t come out, I stand and take Tammy with me, then go around her. I’m gonna get my kid out of the bushes when she says, “My water broke.”

  You can’t plan this shit. None of it, and girl number four is coming. (We haven’t decided on a name yet.)

  “Team MacLoyd, we gotta go,” I shout. We’re too loud. People are giving me dirty looks, but fuck ’em.

  “One more, Dad,” Reagan shouts back.

  “No more. The water broke.”

  “Gimme a minute,” she counters.

  Christ. Bent over, Tammy’s walking toward the car, so I know she’s having contractions, and Reagan won’t give up. She can’t. She can smell the final egg. A bloodhound, that one, like her daddy, which is me in all the ways but one, but that one doesn’t count in our book. I’m a father, not a sperm donor.

  I walk to the bushes and find Leah standing over an egg that’s definitely not an Easter egg. It must’ve fallen from the tree.

  “Pick it up, baby. It’s your lucky egg.”

  “Will it count?”

  “Sure it will.”

  Leah hands me the egg and the basket and crawls out. Reagan and Melany meet us at the bushes, and we all jog to the car and get in. I turn and count my kids as I peel off, gunning the minivan toward the hospital.

  “Reed, we need to stop by the house,” Tammy says between labored breaths.

  “Why?”

  “I need the bag.”

  “Got the bag, baby.” I side-eye her. “You okay?” Inwardly, I’m praying she’ll make it because I do not wanna deliver the baby. Labor and delivery staff are heroes.

  Tammy’s looking at me all emotional, and there’s tears in her eyes. I’m gonna melt if she continues, so I watch the road.

  “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Reed. Did I ever tell you that?”

  I melt in my seat. Also, I clear my throat, a little uncomfortable with all the melting I’m feeling. “Thank you, baby. Did we settle on the name yet?”

  “Sparrow,” Leah says from the back.

  “Oh,” Tammy turns. “That’s…that’s really nice. Reed?”

  “Whatever you want, Tammy." I squeeze her knee. "I’m with you.”

  ***

  Hi, Milana here. I just loved writing Reed. I swear up and down everyone needs a Reed in their life. Thanks so much for reading. Next up, I’m writing Blake, the Suit’s book, and it’s turning out pretty filthy so far. Since I’m still writing it as I type here, I invite you to join my mailing list so I can tell you when it comes out. Meanwhile, if you haven’t read Marry the Russian, read the snippet on the next page.

  Marry the Russian Teaser

  A fun arranged marriage mafia romance

  “We require proof of loyalty, and my father will not accept dealing with someone who doesn’t have a personal interest in this trade.”

  “What kind of guarantee are you looking for?” I ask. I know what he’s suggesting, but I wanna hear him say it and then see what Ivana does, namely how she reacts, because I got a feeling she hasn’t told me everything about this deal. I’m not interested in marriage and definitely uninterested in kids. The risk of marrying a woman who would later get sick of the lifestyle and cause me problems is too great. No, thanks.

  “A marriage,” Ivana says with a sly upturn at the corner of her mouth.

  Yup, she set me up, put me on the spot. Motherfucker. The things I put up with from her. I swear… I crack my neck, trying to distract myself from images of snapping hers. We’re not the first or the last organization to arrange a marriage between two partners to ensure smooth business transactions or sometimes a transition of power, but I dislike that Ivana’s cornered me, knowing I can’t back away from the deal or anything this guy offers, though I’m certain we’re getting maximum profit since she’s taking a percentage of the profit instead of a lump sum up front.

  Under the table, where the guy can’t see it, I tap my fingers on my thigh. “I see.”

  She’s forcing my hand, making me cave because we have to show a strong united front. Some days I wanna strangle her, and today is one of them. She knows damn well I’m never getting tied up on paper with another person. Contracts make me itch all over, which was why I grabbed her from Nikola in the first place and gave her permission to do all that. If they want a marriage to seal this deal, she can get married all she wants.

  Decision made, I glare at the guy. “Go deal with the cartels and watch them slaughter you from the inside. Good luck.”

  “You might wanna reconsider,” Ivana says, when she knows damn well I will not reconsider.

  I’m at the office door, hold
ing it open for Ivana, who’s giving me a death stare.

  The man leans forward, grinding his teeth. “You said he would agree.”

  “He will,” Ivana says, then extends her perfectly manicured hand and pets his, squeezing it. “Trust me.”

  I roll my eyes. She’s fucking playing him. I ought to give her a medal for all the men she’s played since seventh grade. Finally, Ivana stands and moves past me. “Come along, Boss.”

  Christ. Her plan to turn my criminal organization into an investment company that’s gonna revolutionize the way we prosper in the future comes at a price. Namely my tolerance for the shit she pulls.

  I make my way out of the hotel’s penthouse office space and into the living space, then cut a corner and open the suite’s door for Ivana when a woman steps out of the room on the other end of the massive suite. She’s wearing black shorts, a gold tank top that clings for dear life to her tits, and a smile that immediately makes me wanna smile back. Even her big brown eyes are smiling, and I’m impressed I see them given all her other assets.

  My face nearly splits, and I show her all my teeth. “Well, hello there,” I say.

  She’s moving toward us, all mile-long legs and heels and tits and I bet an ass I’d love fucking.

  Ivana tugs my elbow, tries to yank me to the side so the woman can exit the suite, but I’m a mountain, baby, unmovable. Frozen solid, I’m staring, feet planted firmly on the ground. The woman can try to squeeze them tits between me and the doorjamb, rub all that hot body all over me.

  “Hi,” she says and stares up at me. Tall, maybe five ten or more, she’s just the right height for my six three so when I lift her right leg and press her against this door, I don’t have to bend too much for my dick to enter.

  She drops the smile, and her gaze traces the scar over my eye. I grit my teeth. Most people dislike it or are plain scared to even look. I’m an ugly fucking bastard with or without the scar. The women either want money and dick or both from me, which is fine and why I don’t do commitments or relationships or mornings or cuddles. Especially not the cuddles, though I have some sort of weird gut feeling about this girl.