I SWIPE my hand across my bare abdominals, feeling the muscles twitch and pulse, still loosening from that mouthfucking my little deer performed. She sucked the sin out of me and then asked, “Will you ever belong to me?”
Fucksake.
That, and her “I love you, Clay,” have me twitching and animalistic. Possessive. Volatile, and not me at all.
Not careful.
Not fucking neutral.
Knotting my brows, I stride meaningfully to find my family and assess the situation before she wanders out here and into a full-blown Butcher gathering.
Passing the kitchen, I see Julia preparing a platter of fruit and filling carafes of bubbly orange liquid.
Please, make yourselves at home.
Mussing my dark hair with my fingers, I wander, barely dressed, towards the rear sliding doors. Already in view through the glass panelling is my four-year-old niece throwing a bucket of water on Bronson and Shoshanna’s Staffy, Crixus, who is completely covered in mud, probably from the dam half a kilometre down the hill.
He brought the fucking dog?
He can’t leave a single member of his family out for even a moment. Hovering near, Max and Bronson watch young Kelly spill more suds on the grass than on the bouncing Crixus.
Bronson, of fucking course, is also drenched from his dark-brown hair to soggy boots, his black shirt and jeans dripping from being submerged. I’d guess he dove in to drag their unruly Staffy from the muddy depths. That dog is free-range… just like Bronson.
I sigh my annoyance, approaching the alfresco, catching sight of the four women in the wooden gazebo to the left. Apparently, it’s a fucking family affair. Further waves of frustration billow through me.
As I pull the sliding door open, Bronson’s eyes meet mine. “Hello, darling. You slept in. Oh, no—’ Bronson laughs, not caring that I’m clearly not pleased by his presence. “Look out, big brother looks cranky.”
“Uncle Clay! I’m washing Crixus!” Kelly shrieks over to me, her squeaky little voice vibrating with excitement as the Staffy bounds around with energy rivalling her own. “He was trying to catch the fish in the water down the hill.”
I find a smile for my niece. “Throw some of those suds on your uncle Bronson while you’re at it, sweetheart.”
“It’s not our fault we have to force ourselves on you, you grumpy prick.” Xander’s voice finds me before I twist to see him lighting the barbeque on the porch while my half-brother Konnor unwraps sheets of bacon.
He’s not lying. I’ve taken more on than any other Don to keep this scene, this concept of family normalcy for my brothers and their partners, their children. For the past twelve months, since Jimmy’s death, I have kept our business running with minimal disturbance to their otherwise normal existence. Only bringing them in on the Dustin issue, Bron in on the incident with my little deer—a Butcher issue.
This legacy is my right and burden.
Konnor tips his chin. “Sweet pad, Clay.”
I nod politely at him, before muttering to Xander, “I would have appreciated a text.’ I stroll across the lawn to the gazebo, smoothing my frown into a polite smile for the women in my family. The absence of Aurora in this moment is tangible; she would have been among them, offering greetings and conversation, smoothing the path for me to follow suit. But my wife is where she belongs, where she really desires to be, managing our business while I manage mine.
I don’t need to worry.
Although, I do.
I’ve not made even two steps in their direction before Cassidy’s large black and taupe Bernese Mountain Dog appears behind her chair, approaching me at a stalking pace.
Fucking crazy animal.
Clara raises her hackles, her eyes assessing my intentions from her lowered head. We stop in front of each other. She levels me while I dare her to the challenge.
“Clara,” Cassidy calls, and the overprotective mutt strolls back to lie beside her owner. I’m surprised Max doesn’t have disputes with Clara over her claim on his wife.
“What a beautiful sight you all are.” I circle the table until I’m behind Stacey, who is the closest thing I have to a sister. With her rich chocolate-coloured hair and tanned skin, she could pass for Sicilian too. Well, with the time she spent with my brothers when they were teenagers, I imagine she knows them far better than I do. Growing up, there wasn’t a single family gathering that Xander’s best friend didn’t attend.
I kiss both her cheeks.
“Nice smile,” she teases, her eyes coasting over mine, apparently aware I’m not impressed by the impromptu visit.
Cassidy has already twisted in her place, her strawberry-blonde hair swaying in the wind, her slim arms wide and inviting an embrace. “Me next!”
I pass Shoshanna as she nurses her son, Stone, gripping her shoulder in greeting. She returns my gesture by patting my hand. “You look different,” she points out.
“That’s because I’m not dressed,” I say, leaning down to take Cassidy into my arms, kissing the freckled skin on her left cheek and then her right.
Clara makes a small humph sound at my feet.
“It’s been too long,” Cassidy whines. “Kelly misses you.’
Releasing her, I straighten. “I highly doubt that.”
She feigns shock, her hazel eyes wide with mock offence. “Are you calling me a liar, Clay Butcher?”
“A fibber, Cassidy Butcher,” I retort. Not wanting to overlook Konnor’s girlfriend, Blesk, the Marilyn-Monroe-style-blonde beside Cassidy, I kiss her cheeks too. “Nice to see you again.” She smiles softly, but the slight rise of her shoulder may indicate she’s not keen on the Sicilian custom.
Noted.
I know little about her, but she is family all the same. The sliding door running along the tracks strikes a sense of urgency through me, so I turn to see the epitome of a deer in headlights, frozen at the threshold. Her long blonde hair hangs down the back of her muted-pink shirtdress that exposes long perfectly formed legs shuffling with nerves.
“Clara, no!” Cassidy scolds before I even get a lead on the large dog now rushing at Fawn.
Launching towards the beast, I relax somewhat to a steady pace when I see Xander step in front of Fawn, creating a blockage with his body. Clara screeches to a tumbling halt, peering around my little brother’s thighs to see the new arrival.
My sweet girl doesn’t even flinch in the face of the dog eyeballing her and standing at above waist level. Over Fawn’s shoulder, Bolton is a meagre few inches from her back, glaring at the fluffy dog, ready to wrestle it to the grass if needed. He cares about my little deer. I appreciate that. Money can buy a lot from a man, but no currency is superior to affection. I nod at him, and he respectfully takes a few steps backwards.
“Woah.” Xander holds his hands up to Clara. “Seriously, you guys need to tie her to a post or something.”
“If I tied her to a post, what use would she be? She wouldn’t have hurt the girl,” Max states plainly, grabbing Clara’s pink collar and dragging the hefty dog back to his wife. “She’d just keep her away from Cassidy.”
As he passes me on my way to collect Fawn, I fight the urge to growl, talking through clenched teeth instead. “Last chance, then she goes on a damn lead.”
Xander sidesteps from my path when I get to Fawn. I cup her soft cheeks, and she flutters her eyes closed, seemingly unable to hold them open when I’m so close. So sweet, my deer. “Do you feel up to meeting my family, sweet girl?”
Her eyes open, wide green and blue, fluttering up at me through lashes like golden fans. “Are they ready to meet me? How will you introduce me?”
“I don’t need to. They know who you are.”
“Oh.” Her brows weave. “Because of my dad or… do they know about… us?”
I curse inwardly. That familiar sensation ignites through me—fear. Fear of her. Of my affections. Of what will happen between us when I kill her father. “They know now.”
Her eyes flash from mine, darting to the right and then left, meeting the eyes I know are glued to my back and this situation. I watch the slender column of her throat roll under their attention before she finds my gaze again. “Yep, they’ll definitely have a few questions.”
I drag my thumb over her lower lip that is still rosy, still a little swollen from being such a good girl for me.
Mine.
After everything she has been through, I want to throw her over my shoulder, draw my Glock, and put bullets through anyone who tries to influence her. I want her deaf to outside voices, blind to every manipulative face. I want her ears honed to my timbre, her smile provoked by my mere presence, because she knows I’m the beginning, middle, and fucking end for her and I’m all that matters.
I want complete control.
