OWN HER: A Dark Mafia Romance(62)

“Aw, fuck. He had his hands all over her. It’s against the rules. Fuck.” I hoped that excuse would be enough. I didn’t want to look too deeply into my real reason for flipping the fuck out over this asshole’s hands being all over Sienna.



“Dominic. In my office. Now.” Joey the Prick Ronn finally piped up, attempting an authoritarian tone through his nasal cavity.



Ronn gingerly raised himself out of the booth, in which he had cravenly sat throughout the beatdown, then straightened his silverized jacket and swaggered to the elevator bank near the lobby.



I dragged my ass off the floor, checked out my knuckles—bloody and a little sore, but not that bad, all things considered—and followed his lead.



We rode silently up to the second floor, neither of us looking at one another. Out the elevator, down the hall, and into his office, which was lined with a wall of windows overlooking the main room of the club. He seated himself importantly behind his huge walnut desk, which kinda dwarfed him and made him look a little ridiculous, though I bet no one ever told him that. He wasn’t the biggest guy: kinda short, probably no taller than five seven, and a little on the paunchy side. He actually reminded me a little of Joe Pesci, but without the sense of humor or that awesome accent.



He looked at me standing there, towering over his desk, and clearly didn’t like what he saw. He glanced at one of the chairs posed in front of the desk, then looked back up at me and said, “Sit.”



I played the good dog and sat.



The chairs were rigged. They were made to sink your ass way below normal level, so even though I towered over Ronn under every normal circumstance, it was clear that his chair hiked him up and mine sunk me down, so his head was nearly level with mine. I almost laughed out loud; it was such an obvious trick to gain intimidation points, but it still failed ’cause I probably had a good seven or eight inches on him.



“Do you know who that was? What the fuck were you thinking? I can’t believe you just knocked around Jonathan fucking Fielding. I should take you out, right here, right now. You have a big problem, my friend. Better start talking, fast,” he said, thinking he sounded all threatening.



“Listen, man,” I calmly replied, “I didn’t know who he was. Hell, I still don’t know who he is. I seen him around, man, but… Look. He had his hands all over her. You drilled it in with us that that’s not cool. Hands off the dancers. I was just lookin’ out for your girl. I was doin’ my job. If that guy is so all-out important, you should’a given us a heads-up. Who is that guy?”



“I’m gonna let you in on a little secret here.” Joey leaned in. “That guy is Jonathan Fielding. You don’t know that name? Who are you, the goddamned fucking groundhog? Jonathan Fielding, son of Senator Fielding, ring any bells? Stupid fuck. He also happens to be my silent partner in this respectable establishment, so you effectively just beat up your own other boss. You have some serious ass kissing to do now, my friend. Lucky for you, you’re right. Unlucky for you, you are also wrong: the hands-off rule applies to the clientele. Jonathan Fielding is not the clientele.” Finally, he leaned back in his throne chair. “But since you didn’t know, I’m gonna go to bat for you and protect your sorry ass. This time. Just never let it happen again. There are no third chances here. Be fucking grateful for this second one.”



“Yeah, man.” I nodded, pretending gratitude. “I ’preciate it. A lot. Really, I just thought…”



“You didn’t think,” he snapped, cutting me off. “Get down there now, and get out of the building. I’ll talk to him, make it cool, but I’m pretty sure he ain’t gonna wanna see your face the rest of tonight. And just so we’re clear: you owe me now.” He looked really satisfied with that.



I stood up. “Yeah, man, thanks. I owe you. Got it.” And I turned and left his office, heading down the hall to the bathroom. I needed a minute to get my brain together.



Holy hell. Tonight had turned into a clusterfuck. I shook my head.



It shouldn’t have surprised me. This whole racket was a disaster. And the time was coming close to deal it out to the end with Mr. Ronn, and figure a way—once and for all—to get myself out of this shitstorm. Things were not cool within Storm, and I either had to find a way to break from my MC (fuck but that burned), or turn things around. Our newish president of just four months, Clav, had completely fucked us up and over, forcing this work with the prick porno boss, Joey Ronn, the murdering slime. And the Pres was out there acting like everything was going smooth as silk. I about couldn’t take it anymore.