“You can’t go with them,” I tell her. “Come with me tonight.”
“It’s not that easy.” JoJo looks so small all of a sudden, like she needs someone to scoop her up in their arms and take her somewhere safe. Someone like me.
“What if it was? What if it is?” I pull her into my arms and whisper in her ear. “Someone is out there, trying to get to you, Jo. I can’t stand by and watch you get hurt.”
Our heads turn as the screaming reaches an all-time high.
“Oh my God, Mary, stop screaming.” Lucy throws her hands in the air. “Seriously. What the heck is going on here? One minute I’m playing a slot machine and the next the entire O’Malley clan is up in here fighting.”
“Everything is fine, Lucy,” JoJo says. “We were just going.”
“Talk about a buzz kill. This was supposed to be our night.” She pouts, her eyes scanning Ace, Landon, Jack, and then me. “They’re worth staying for.”
“They are taken,” JoJo tells her. “But whatever, Luce. Stay if you like. I need to get home.”
“You’re seriously leaving with them?” I ask. Is it my imagination, or was her ass all up in my face twenty minutes ago? How the hell did we go from there to here so damn fast?
“Yeah, she is,” Paul tells me. “And she isn’t your girl. So you best back off.”
Ace shakes his head, warning me to step down. I know why. He’s already warned me about the trouble the O’Malley family brings. We didn’t know if or how JoJo was involved with them, but right about now it’s clear their hold on her is pretty damn tight.
It’s bullshit. Here I am, willing to go all-in for this girl, and once again she’s shrugging me off for her fucking family. It’s messing with my head, and I don’t like it.
“Just let me get my bag from the back, okay?” she tells her brothers.
“You have five minutes. Then we’re coming after you. You want a scene here?” John asks.
“Too late,” Shaking her head, she passes Lucy. She grabs my arm and I follow.
Fuck, I may be saying I’m done with this bullshit—but one touch of her hand on my skin and, dammit, I know I’m not done with her.
JoJo
In the VIP room, he closes the door. Before I can hesitate, he pins me against the wall and kisses me.
Hard.
Our mouths press tight against one another, and although I want his hands to touch every part of my body, they rest against my cheeks, and he cradles my face as we give into a long, heavy kiss. Our tongues collide, and he tastes sweet, with the saltiness of sex. I want him and he wants me; his body taunts me even now as his thick cock presses against my core.
When we finally pull apart, I speak first, needing to apologize.
“I’m sorry. I really am, Ryan. I told you I was complicated.”
“I can’t believe you’re dealing with that. It’s like they think we’re in the 1800s or some shit. Girl, you don’t have to give in to them.”
“Really?” I shake my head, laughing softly at his naiveté, at my foolishness. “You don’t know them. Us. My family is the fucking mob, McQueen. My dad ... he’s the boss. It isn’t a joke, or a game where the man with the biggest cock wins. This is bigger than that. Bigger than us.”
“No,” he says flatly. “You’re wrong.”
My heart flashes with disbelief, with childlike hope. “What are you saying? You’re willing to risk your life to be with me? You’re the biggest player in this town. Hell, Lucy knew who you are and you’ve never met. You’ll give that all up to be in with my family?”
He pulls back, shaking his head. And I can’t tell if he wants to kiss me or shake me. Probably both. “Fuck, no. I don’t want to go anywhere near your family.”
My disbelief changes to disappointment. “Well, then, you can’t go anywhere near me.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m not cutting ties with my family. And that’s what I’d be doing if I fought for a man my family didn’t approve of ... a man who wasn’t in the mafia.”
“You’re kidding me with this, right?”
“No,” I say, pushing out of his arms. I can’t have him judging me. God knows I’m judging myself enough as it is. “My family is the reason I’ve never been with a man. Because I knew this was what would happen. It isn’t fair. To you. To me. To them. This is one game you can’t win, McQueen. You can’t have me.”
“It isn’t that simple. Someone is sending you pictures of their cock. Someone is taking photos of us. Someone is out to get you.”
“Then I’ll stay closer to home,” I tell him. My voice is quiet, because this choice is killing me, but it’s the only option I have. “Look, I already quit the gym. I’ll stay home and help Mary with the kids, and I’m guaranteed to be safe. This isn’t your battle.”
McQueen looks about ready to punch something, or someone, and I know I’m torturing him by standing here in this tiny dress and pushing him away.
I need to go.
“I’m sorry for dragging you into this, I really am.”
As I pull open the door and walk back to my brothers, a part of me wishes I were worth his fight ... worth his sacrifice. A part of me wishes Ryan McQueen would march out of the doors and punch Peter, Paul, and John in the nuts, and grab my hand and take me away.
But McQueen isn’t the sort of man who begs.
And I’m a woman who just told him no.
I walk to the lobby of the club, where the O’Malley clan is surrounded by Hearts Royalle security, and I let my brothers lead me away.
I don’t turn back.
And not because I don’t want to see Ryan again. But because what I really want is something I know I can never have.
At home I rush off to shower before my brothers can stop me. I need a second to breathe, a second to regroup. As I wash off the sex, I pray the memories of McQueen will spiral down the drain with the water. I need to let go of whatever I’ve allowed him to be.
I dry off, dress in sweats and a tee shirt, and walk downstairs to the kitchen ... as slowly as possible, knowing that my bothers and father are waiting for me.
“Josephine,” my father begins, “your brothers tell me you were at the new Hearts Royalle club tonight?” He has a cigar in his mouth and a tumbler of whiskey on the table in front of him.
I slide into a chair at the kitchen table and nod. There’s no use in lying, in pretending I am or have been anything other than what I am: Deceitful and strong willed, disobedient and desperate.
Horny as hell.
I blink, letting my eyes rest on the trash can overflowing in the corner. Stems from the red roses stick in the air. Who sent those? I want to ask them for the card that accompanied the bouquet ... not that I could identify the sender by the dick photo. I’ve only seen one in my life. McQueen’s.
I shudder, watch my brothers enter the kitchen. “Where are Mary and Lucy?” I ask.
“Lucy is staying at Mary’s for the night, helping with the kids,” Paul says. “We dropped them off.”
“I see.” I purse my lips, realizing they’ve intended to get me alone. “I could really have gone with. I feel bad that Lucy is over there.”
“Could have, but can’t,” John tells me. “And you should have thought of that before you went to some VIP room with a fucking stripper.”
I roll my eyes, hating myself for the juvenile response, but I feel so stuck right now. So caught. Like I’m in a trap. I told McQueen I couldn’t be with a man who didn’t live within the rules of my family ... but it was—is—more than that. I can’t be with McQueen because I’m promised to Grotto.
My father clears his throat. “It’s my understanding that you were with a man tonight. Is that right, Josephine?”
“He’s a friend of Lucy’s. He happens to work there. It was a coincidence. Nothing happened.”
He shakes his head. “JoJo, this isn’t good for the family. And if this man, McQueen,” he looks up at my brothers for confirmation, “is going to be a problem, we need to discuss it now. He sends my daughter photos of himself? Is this a joke to you? Because your brothers were prepared to kill that man tonight.”
“You’re overreacting. It was a joke,” I tell them, realizing I’m throwing McQueen under the bus but knowing it’s my only way out. An out McQueen already gave me back at the club. “McQueen isn’t a threat. He thinks he’s funny.”
“Is this funny to you?” my dad asks, slamming his fist against the table. “Because your reputation isn’t a joke.”
“I know. I just needed a night to have some fun. Don’t you remember being young, Dad? I just ... if I’m getting married in a few weeks...”
“What, you want to play around like Mary? Forgetting everything that matters?” he asks.
“No. Look, I’m not asking for complete freedom. I don’t want to run away from my life like Mary seems to be doing.... I just—if I’m marrying Grotto in a matter of weeks, can I at least have a little bit of space until then?”
“What do you mean by space?” my father asks. “Because strip clubs aren’t space. They’re dangerous.”