‘APAKAH ANDA MENYEBUT SAYA PEMBOHONG?’ I ask casually as the Statesman pulls into the garage. I grip my jaw, rubbing the short bristles along my chin and cheek, feeling the insomnia I fight all night, testing my patience with the fucker on Bluetooth. The morning sun hangs low in the sky, but its heat is already burning through the black tinted windows.
The Indonesian prick on the other line jumps right in, his anger flaring through the speaker at my accusation that he has shorted us nearly a hundred thousand worth of ammunition and weapons.
Vinny, my capo, twists in the front passenger seat, his dark Italian gaze meeting mine. He shakes his head in reference to the discussion. He understands a bit of Indonesian but not enough to speak it. Being an ex-military man, Vinny follows orders seamlessly and respects the hell out of everyone who earns it. His word is solid. If he tells me there is missing stock, then there is missing stock.
I lean back in my seat as the man yells down the phone.
‘Kami mengirim apa yang Anda pesan, Anda bajingan,’ He ends the call with a slam. Well, then. There may be an awkward interaction on Saturday night.
‘I think he just called you an arsehole, Boss,’ Vinny says with a chuckle in his tone.
‘Yes, I believe he did.’
Despite the car being parked with its ignition switched off, I don’t move. Pulling my phone out, I check the satellite image of the fire burning through the national park in Stormy River. I release a gruff sigh. ‘I’m not happy with how damn close it is to the docks, to my warehouse.’
Vinny opens his arms. ‘You think it’s a pointed attack?’
Que hums from the driver’s seat; his knowledge of my business is thorough, his loyalty absolute, and his shot, almost as direct as mine. ‘It could bring a fair amount of unwanted attention to the docks, Boss.’
I stare at the glowing red mass as I rub my jawline. ‘Another coincidence or…’
‘Or arson,’ Que says what I’m thinking before stepping from the car.
Yes, or arson.
Vinny scoffs. ‘They wouldn’t dare light up your city, Boss. Are they fucking mad?’
‘Lots of mad-men out there, Vinny. Go home. Sleep. You need it.’ I nod towards the door, and he understands, leaving me alone in the vehicle.
I stare at the satellite image of my city. It has always been my intention to run it from the top and, as we have since the seventies, from the underground. We have so much power in this city. And since stationing ourselves in powerful roles, scattering our influence across industries—Max in the building industry, Xander moving into law—we are in every crevice of her, every deal. I run this city, so this fire is for me.
My finger taps the phone gently as I fight the urge to open the home security application and flick through the rooms to find her whereabouts. Over the past few days, I’ve spent far too much time fighting that particular urge. If something happened to her or the baby, I’d get a call within seconds, so my desire to monitor her isn’t rooted in necessity, and yet the thought of my men watching over her sends displeasure climbing up my spine.
Staring at the phone, I imagine one green eye and one grey, sparkling with awe as her baby flips around inside her. She shared that moment with me, in a way she might her friend. Silly girl.
I think about the sensation of her stomach pulsing softly beneath my palm. Aurora and I decided long ago we would never have children. Bronson and Max will continue this legacy, and their children after them. Producing an heir to our empire was never essential. Neither she nor I tolerate children well, and yet, when I felt that ripple, when I saw my little deer’s eyes mist over with emotion, I felt a kind of feral possessiveness.
My little deer.
Christ.
And some fucker put that inside her while she was high. I grit my teeth, fending off the volatile heat sweeping over me, threatening to become me.
I shove my phone into my pocket.
Exit the car.
Que waits by the garage entrance to my house, opening the door for me to enter. I’m fucking hot with exhaustion as I head into the kitchen, finding Bolton, Xander, and Jasmine conversing, but my little deer is nowhere to be seen.
‘She is by the pool, Boss,’ Bolton states immediately. His entire career—life—depends on his ability to pinpoint her exact whereabouts.
Xander turns to acknowledge me while Jasmine straightens, twisting her arm behind her back, hiding the slice of cake she was carelessly scoffing when I strolled in.
Not giving a damn about the cake, I look at my brother. My brows knot in tight at the sight of his ballooning eye, at the raw slice a knuckle surely inflicted.
I sigh roughly. ‘Who got the hit on you?’
‘Oh.’ He grins with not a hint of concern in his expression. ‘The eye? Drazic, of course. I gave him a good shiner, too.’
‘You know Butch has MRIs once a year.’ I pause, scanning the youthful face of my youngest brother, beaten and stupidly smiling. Drazic would be at the bottom of the river if this happened outside the ring. Yet, I know my brother probably coaxed him into a bare-knuckle fight. It’s how our father trained—a means to make the comps less impactful, less intimidating. Gloves don’t hurt when you have had ninety kilograms worth of bare fist thrust into your face. ‘You keep this up—’
He scoffs. ‘Yeah, I know, Clay.’
‘Don’t interrupt me,’ I state, clasping my hands together in front of me. ‘Is that what you want for your future? At the moment, you make us all look like fools, but you keep taking hits like that, and you won’t be taking the bar; you’ll be taking food through a straw.’
He releases a quick chuckle, dripping in derision. ‘I appreciate the concern, but I was beaten up enough as a kid… Still smarter than you. At least now I get hit by choice. Now I can fight back. I win, too.’
I frown at that lie. Even though I wasn’t home for most of his childhood, I know my brothers. ‘No one ever dared touch you as a kid, Xan. Bronson and Max wouldn’t allow it.’
‘Sure, mate. You know everything,’ he says, standing up. ‘Fawn doesn’t want any clothes, by the way.’ He laughs once, his amusement striking hot pokers into that Butcher head of mine. ‘She doesn’t like being told what to do either… She said no. Well, actually, she is very polite, so she said, ‘No thank you.”
‘Like hell she did.’
Xander’s smile shifts from amused to measuring. Little shit. I’m usually far more neutral, but she’s in my care, my responsibility, pregnant and being fucking…Fuck.
Prideful.
She should just say yes. Not even thank you. And she shouldn’t deny my offerings. I don’t need her to tell me how to care for her, which, despite how it came about is now my duty. And I’m a busy man; I don’t have time to convince her to comply.
Christ, she’s getting to me.
Dual-coloured eyes are in my head. Her questions about me, not the business—me. Asking about my insomnia. Giving a shit, and then not letting me give a shit in return.
Frustration circles me.
Striding away before my perceptive little brother can analyze my tone further, I head towards the pool. Still before the French glass doors, the sight of a perfectly shaped figure dripping with water comes into view.
I watch as she climbs from the pool. The swell of her arse stretches her knickers. My brows tighten as she stands in full view of everyone, the guards, cleaners, everyone.
Her underwear is clearly too small for her now, her having put on a few kilograms since she’s been under my care, but she refuses new clothes. My little people-pleaser is eager to charm everyone with her pleases and thankyous but she doesn’t want to charm me?
Veins of heat rush up my arms.
My breathing becomes shallow, my eyes glued to the lower curve of each cheek, the material dipping into the gap between them, stuck to her like another layer of skin. Blood pumps to my cock, lengthening it across my leg to agony.
Past Fawn, Lee grins nonchalantly as though she isn’t damn near naked in front of him. This is not acceptable. She knocks his shoulder with her fist in a playful gesture, comfortable in his presence.
The heat in my arms begins to hurt.
Twisting to the lounger, she bends over to grab her clothes, and I inadvertently ball my hands into fists, the heat curling my fingers at the sight of her soft wet thighs, and the curves of her pussy lips visible between them, the tight wet material translucent.
Perfect.
Then Lee tilts his head and peers down, seeing what I’m seeing.
And I don’t even think.
I stride through the doors, drawing my Glock from the holster around my belt. Upon him before he can even blink those wandering eyes, I take a fistful of his hair, shadow him, and press the Glock to his lips, demanding entry to his mouth.
His eyes gape with terror.
The metal clinks as I scrape it along his teeth.
‘Mine,’ I hiss. Mine. Mine. A word I didn’t know I would use, but now that I have, it takes root inside me. My responsibility. Mine to protect. Mine to care for. To clothe. To look at. Mine.
A trembling little boy stares up at me, and I realise I’m out of my goddamn mind, plagued with fatigue and in need of a fuck, but that changes nothing. I want to remove his eyes, but I fight that dark impulse.
Panic drains the blood from his cheeks as he nods violently. I release him. Lowering the Glock, I watch him bolt across the grass and disappear into the trees in the direction of the staff parking bays. There is only silence surrounding me, but I can feel her close. I stare at the tree he vanished behind, a tension-releasing shiver rushing along my skin.
That’s better.
Holstering my Glock, I retrieve my phone and text Que.
Butcher: Get Lee. He needs to sign an NDA before he can leave the grounds.
I slide my phone into my pocket.
Turning around, I narrow my eyes at the most beautifully stunned dual-coloured gaze—my deer in headlights.
‘You will let me buy you anything I so please, little deer,’ I state smoothly. ‘Part of resilience is not secretly rotting behind your bullshit pride, my girl. Accept opportunities. Grab them by the balls despite how they arise.’ I hear Jimmy Storm in my words, in my tone and realize how much of my deceased boss has rubbed off on me.
Stepping towards her, I reach up and grab her jaw with one hand, puckering her lips, holding her startled mouth open, the pink of her tongue flashing at me deliciously. ‘Now be a good girl, and let me see these lovely lips say, ‘Yes, Sir.”
My gaze drops from the pink insides of her mouth to watch her rub her thighs together. She’s turned on by what just happened, at least her body is screaming such a truth. And I’m too tired, too horny, to think straight.
Fuck.
‘Yes, Sir,’ she mutters, a whisper of a growl weaving through the word Sir, surprising me, exciting me too. Her eyes find mine, awash with a hint of a challenge. My little deer, daring and determined, having listened and obeyed me, now reaches up and wraps her hand around my wrist, pulling my grasp from her face.
I don’t let her.
‘Please,’ she begs, fighting against my hold. I let go of her jaw. ‘You’re not just a politician,’ she mutters, stepping backwards, putting space between us. That’s a good move, but not hers to make. As her throat rolls, she takes another step away before whispering, seemingly to herself, ‘My mum was right.’
I step towards her, closing the gap she just made, my body hovering over hers, my narrowed gaze anchoring in beautiful uncertain eyes. ‘Put your clothes on or I will do it for you,’ I order, the threat forcing more blood to my cock.
She does as I asked, sliding her tiny denim shorts on and pulling her shirt over her head as I watch her closely. My hands twitch with the desire to do it myself.
As soon as she is clothed, I tear my gaze away from her and walk inside with one thought in my mind—bending Lorna over my mattress.
I have denied myself a lot to get to the position of power I now hold. Denied myself the search for a marriage based on love. Yielded to serving the Cosa Nostra. I continuously give up the luxury of time to control every aspect of my legacy, but I have never denied myself the soft, warm body of my choosing.
Until now.
