I GUIDE her towards the store, flanked and surrounded by my men as we filter through the people on the street muttering my name. Offering them a gracious smile, I touch her lower back as we pass through the sliding doors.
The service staff lock them behind us, sealing the entire section off to the public, leaving my little deer to wander around without interruption. Awe circles her. It’s adorable.
In the corner of my eye, I see people line the glass, peeking in, but I ignore them. I’m used to this. District residents eager to ask me questions about the fire, bored or, being the prying lot that they are, wanting to know who the pretty girl is.
Mine.
‘Woah,’ she mutters, opening her arms wide and spinning in a circle, the long strands of her white-blonde hair skirting out as she takes in her surroundings. I look at the time on my cell. Today is an inconvenience.
Yet, I wanted to give her something.
After last night, I needed to.
Aurora would have had hundreds of pieces of clothing sent to her room to choose from had I agreed to it, but I didn’t, and I’m still not sure why. An entire day wasted—shopping.
Lifting my hand, I rub my jaw. My cock twitches as I smell the lingering scent of her pussy on my fingers, as I remember her damp lips, the cries that fell helplessly from her throat, the way she said, ‘You won’t fail,’ and I put my phone back into my pocket.
I stalk her with my eyes, watching the prettiest thing I have ever seen—a sight that makes my chest ache, my mind torrid—the thing I dare not throw down and claim despite my every muscle convulsing to do so, stroll nervously around, stopping to touch the fabric on a mannequin.
I’m a possessive man and fucking her will be the start and end of something. My urges have already undermined my controlled lifestyle, the decisions I’ve made regarding her have shown to be uncharacteristic…
What is it about her?
I see a lot of myself in her, but where I have spent every day attempting to step from Jimmy Storm’s shadow, she has spent every day clutching at life, merely trying to exist. We are both the perfect product of our institutionalised circumstances.
Moving forward, she will be my responsibility, and after, when we gut her father, she’ll still be mine to watch over—however, from afar.
It is better that way.
Could I keep her after it is all done? She will hate me. Would that stop me? I don’t have the answers to those questions. Had this vendetta not been for my brother, but my own, I may lay it to rest for her… Such a self-indulged and pathetic consideration. As I know, I won’t choose a soul over them again…
But I won’t allow her to merely survive. I doubt she’ll know what to do with herself…
Try something, perhaps.
She leans down, peering at the price tag.
She blanches.
I smile.
Her eyes train to a small clothing display, her feet taking her towards it hesitantly as though drawn to the unknown. She stops beside the small table, shuffling her feet coyly. Then she lifts a baby onesie from the pile of folded clothing. Across the white cotton vest is a blue and green print of some native American-looking symbol, a web with feathers, a hanging ornament of sorts.
A dreamcatcher, I think.
I straighten, watching her. Then I’m on my feet. I stop beside her because I need to know what about this item has her attention, has her hands trembling.
Barely noticing my presence, Fawn circles the print with her fingertip, careful not to touch it too much. When her eyes mist over and her throat rolls, I frown at the piece of cotton, ready to shred the thing to pieces for that response.
Her lips try to smile. ‘My mum would have loved this.’
‘Get it for him then.’
‘We shouldn’t be buying him anything. I’m not keeping him. I’m not made of the right stuff to be a mother. I don’t even know how to cook.’
‘You learn on the job, little deer,’ I state, my words forcing a shaky breath through her lips. ‘You have the luxury of time before you give birth. Use your time. Think hard about whether you want to give him up.’
I know I’m going to set her up and send her on her way. Hell, I’ll give her enough money to never work, to never just survive. I consider it her payment for my brother’s revenge. I’ll trim the wage straight from Dustin’s cut of the diamonds. I’m not worried about her—financially—and yet… there is this fucking burn in my chest that surges every time I remind myself that her presence is temporary, that she may give that boy up for adoption, limiting my access to him. Not that it’d stop me—Fucksake. What am I thinking? ‘We should buy it for him,’ I say, gritting my teeth as I do, her short inhales finding their fragile way into my chest.
We?
Madonna Mia.
She looks up at me, her dual-coloured eyes glossy with tears, her green eye so bright beneath the rising pool. ‘I like the sound of that. You said to take the opportunities; however, they arise. I think I can do that today.’
She is far more compliant, sweeter, after a good spanking. Eager to please me now, are we?
I touch her jaw and look down at her wide-eyed hope. ‘Then get it.’
My thumb moves over her mouth as she parts her lips. I want to lick the length of that pretty soft flesh, so I release her. Strolling slowly over to the large white ottoman, I make myself comfortable.
I nod at her, drawing the service girls into action. Leaning back on the couch, I observe them sycophantic to her needs. Her inexperience against their enthusiasm to please is just so damn entertaining. Women approach me, one after the other, displaying clothes, and I nod at a few, shake my head at more, but offer Fawn most of my attention.
They flash her my approved pieces. Her smile lights up the darkest crevices of my stone soul. But even a rock can be worn down when affected the right way. By persistence. By determination. By another rock.
She ducks into the dressing room to try them on.
Below the curtain, I see her shorts drop to the floor, followed by her panties and her bra. My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I sigh, frustration tumbling down my breath.
Retrieving it, I prepare to fire someone until I see it’s a text message from my mother. My forehead tightens as I read the message. She is another person who relies entirely on me, as there is nothing but dislike and distrust for her in her own household.
She was never a good mother.
But she is, still, our mother.
Victoria: Did I just see you in town? Come share a drink with me, darling. We haven’t had a drink in weeks.
Butcher: We discussed your sobriety last time I saw you.
Victoria: Clay, I am out with the girls. They want to meet you. I am so proud of you, sweetheart. I want to show you off.
Butcher: Another time.
I pocket my cell as Fawn walks from the dressing room in jeans worth more than all her collective belongings. They’re tight and purposely faded around the curviest part of her legs, adding accentuation to her perfect pins. It would be wrong to leave teeth marks on them, and yet… I rub my jawline.
With a stunning wide smile that reaches her eyes, she gestures towards the new shirt.
A print. A little deer—Bambi.
She grins at me.
Well fuck.
