Page 27 of Any Means Necessary

“Go ahead.” I wave him off over my shoulder, not bothering to glance in his direction.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be real nice to her,” Ricky says smugly, stirring the pot.

“Lexie.” The steel edge in Callum’s voice forces me to pull my eyes away from my work. I look up at him, his eyes moving over my face intently. Like usual, he’s reading my every thought.

“I’m fine. This shouldn’t take too long,” I assure him, letting him read the truth written all over my face. Seemingly satisfied with my answer, if not reluctant, Callum turns to Roscoe.

“Stay here.” Roscoe nods and remains diligently in place behind me as Gio leads Callum, Marcus, and Lucciano back into an office along the far wall. I can see them glancing at me through the window that looks into the larger room, but I don’t bother to wonder what they’re talking about. Instead, I focus on what I’m here for.

As soon as we’re alone, Ricky shifts back in the chair, his stance cocky and dominant. There’s no doubt in my mind that Callum’s absence in the vicinity has everything to do with his change in attitude. Chin tilting up, his eyes run me up and down as a string of Italian leaves his mouth.

“Watch it.” Roscoe’s warning rolls right off Ricky’s back, making his lips twitch arrogantly.

“You know I don’t speak Italian,” I say. “But whatever you just said was obviously an insult if you waited for Callum to leave before you said it.”

“Was it?” It’s not a denial.

“I would hope not. It’s never a good idea to offend the person in charge of making sure you don’t die from infection.” I add a little more pressure against his wound than necessary to make a point, making him wince. His jaw sets, but he regards me with interest and a hint of respect.

“Where did Cal find you, anyway? You two fucking?” Ricky seems to flip between being a cocky insulting asshole and curiously amused by my mere existence. He doesn’t find me pleasing, I’m clearly not what he prefers to look at. But he’s enjoying the fact that I don’t make sense. I’m an unknown variable in Callum’s equation, written in sparkly pink gel pen amongst all the gray area.

“You can ask him that when we’re finished here if you’re feeling brave enough.”

“Ah, you’re no fun,” he grumbles, making me smile.

“Not for you.”

“So you are fucking.”

“I didn’t say that. I can’t imagine Callum has a habit of mixing business with pleasure.”

“Never,” Ricky confirms with a snort. “He used to be so much more fun before everything happened with his Mama. Now he’s a fucking machine.” He looks at me thoughtfully. “Although, none of his employees have looked like you, and he’s not gonna fuck someone like Tony. But you? You’re just his type.”

“Oh really? And what’s that?” I ask, bracing myself against the potential emotional scarring from whatever crude answer he’s about to give me.

“Fat, blonde, big tits.” The way he purses his lips while his eyes move over me says he doesn’t get what Callum finds attractive about fat bodies. “Even before, he’s always had a thing for the big bitches.”

“Hmm,” I hum in a simple response, completely unoffended. Ricky not finding me attractive is almost laughable, especially considering I wouldn’t let him touch me with a ten-foot pole.

“What did he threaten to do to you when we first walked in?” Curiosity has the question leaving my tongue before common sense can reign it back in. I guess I can relate to the cat who died of curiosity because it turns out I have just as little self-control.

“To put a bullet through my head if I don’t play nice.” Even as Ricky shrugs against my hands, his tongue runs over his teeth in contempt. He doesn’t take that threat as lightly as he’s letting on. Probably a good idea on his part. It’s oddly flattering that Callum cares about my well-being enough to threaten someone’s life. And horrifying.

“You get shot a lot?”

“Once or twice.” Ricky’s shrug is causal, but the scars over his torso say it’s happened more than that. This guy is riddled with marks, both from knives and bullets. He gets into quite a bit of trouble, I’m sure.

Chapter Eight: Callum

“You think she can handle it?” Marcus asks, looking at Lexie through the window.

“She’s got the skills. She’ll probably stitch him up faster than Dr. Morelli. And it’ll be cleaner too.” Morelli’s gotten sloppy, and his handiwork has started slipping with his age. The Family will need a new physician on payroll before too long.

“Lots of people can stitch up a little bullet hole.” Lucciano dismisses with a wave of his hand. “It takes a lot more to deal with a business like this. She seems sweet. Soft.”

“You’d be surprised.” Hell, I have been. I left Roscoe in there with her for both Lexie’s protection and mine. Leaving her alone with Ricky is dangerous, and not just because he tends to have wandering hands and doesn’t like hearing the word no. I wouldn’t put it past Lexie to get a few too many answers from the flashy idiot—things I don’t want her to know.

“Tony’s a cocky asshole, but he’s good. And his family ties make him reliable,” my father points out, crossing his arms. He’s speaking like he has any say in my business, like any of them do.

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