“I want her.” I sat at my desk and stared at Janson. She was pretty and sensual, and those lips. Those lips that quivered when I looked at her. And she didn’t even scream. Not when the thwack of metal hit my skin. Not even then.
“Who is she?” I asked.
“Joanna O’Brien. Just some girl from Brooklyn Park,” Janson told me.
Brooklyn Park was a worn down working class part of town, not the type of place most of these women came from.
“O’Brien?” I asked. She’d said it before, but I didn’t realize it.
He nodded. She couldn’t be related to the O’Brien’s. He would’ve told me. And I don’t think they’d let a relation like that grow up in such a modest neighborhood. They all lived in large estates in Millersville. I shook the thought away and considered the man before me.
Not twenty-four hours ago Janson was beating me with his belt, his buckle ripping into my skin. It was at the demand of my father for my insubordination. He made Janson, my best friend, deliver the blows. The only man I trusted, the only one who could do what needed to be done without my own revenge. I was so pissed at him, at both of them.
But I forgave Janson for it all.
My wounds were bound, and all that was left was some bruises and some scars to remind me of my crimes.
But that didn’t matter, I was sitting where I belonged. Behind my desk with him as my right hand.
I wouldn’t let anyone else dole out the punishment.
“Hire her for tomorrow night. I want to see her.” I wouldn’t take no for an answer.
“Sir, I don’t think-” he interrupted me, but I wasn’t going to let him finish.
“I don’t care what you think. I want her. Give her to me.” I slammed my fist onto the table and looked him in the eyes.
“She’s eye candy only. Strictly off limits.” He looked at me and then continued. “She’s entangled. I don’t know all the details, but your father wouldn’t make it a rule if it wasn’t important.”
He had to know that only made me want her more. “Your job is to serve me. I want this. Get me her. Now.”
I looked him over and then stood. “Now, Janson.”
I shuffled the papers on my desk and grabbed a fresh stack of invoices, invoices for my pretend job, and my pretend life. Yeah, it all existed, sure. It was a real job for most men. But not for me.
Chrome. We plated it on motorcycle parts and car parts. A factory full, and I ran it all.
It was only a piece of who I was. A little part, a fake job, a fake life.
What I really was, was so much darker. Deeper. I was a monster, and I worked for my family. The family. The mob.
The Irish mob rolled deep in Baltimore, but it lived, it breathed, in Glen Burnie. In my chromium factory. They were working on the factory floor, in the warehouse, in the mailroom. They were everywhere. My family. My legacy.
And I was the head of the factory, but not the head of the mob. The real head of that very real monster. Well, that was easily the one person I hated and loved more than anyone else.
My father.
And if he said “hands off,” that meant only one thing.
She was going to be mine.
* * *
Joanna
“No. I’m not wearing that.” I crossed my arms and looked at the rag on the desk, even that was a generous term. It was a scrap of fabric, and sheer. He had to be crazy. Absolutely fucking crazy if he thought I was going to parade around in that stupid little thing.
It was a translucent dress with an opaque black band around the breasts and the more delicate places. No way I was going to put that on.
“You will wear it. And you will wear it with the shoes.” Janson put a pair of red stilettos on the desk next to the dress. They were shiny and tall, and everything I hated about being designated “eye-candy”.
“I don’t think so. Do you even know what my uncle would do if he heard about this?” I asked. It was one thing to serve drinks; it was another entirely to have to wear a getup like that. No. Absolutely not. I could just imagine the look of anger on this face as he screamed at them. It would start a war.
One they were on the brink of anyway.
“I think the very first thing your uncle would do would be to ask exactly why your father went to us for a loan. He’s the brother of the most influential man in the O’Brien family. Your family. So why did he come to ours for money, Jo?” Janson stood and leaned over the table, his bulging muscles and stubborn eyes daring me to keep arguing.
“Fine.” I grabbed the clothing and pulled them across the table. The fabric on the dress was odd and stretchy and entirely foreign. “I’ll do it, but this counts as double time for my dad’s damn debt, you hear me?”