Page 1 of Owning Emma

Chapter 1

ROMAN

“Care to explainwhy the fuck you and your greasy haired fuckers are on my gravel?” I crossed my arms in front of me, giving the assholes a hard stare and a nice view of my muscles, muscles that I'd be more than willing to use.

“You’ve been stealing my business,” Krank said, mocking my stance as if he had any kind of power on my property.

“Is it really stealing when they come to me, begging me to help them out, cut them a better deal than the douche who has ripped them off in the past?” I should have said it nicer, but why bother? We weren’t in the business of playing nice and getting along, and if he couldn’t take a dose of honesty, maybe he should hop on his pink tricycle and cycle himself and his crew away from my compound.

“That’s fucking bullshit, and you know it! I've seen your guys in my neighborhood; I don't know what the fuck they are doing or who they pass their little business cards to, but it needs to stop yesterday!” His voice rose in his anger, spittle flying in the surrounding air.

“You and I both know I don't need business cards to drum up business. A little word of mouth does just fine. If you've seen my boys roaming your streets, it's probably just an innocent visit back to their roots. Or, have you forgotten where most of my men came from?”

I tried to fight the smile at the subtle jab I threw at him. There was no way he’d forgotten the loss of half his people after a bad deal. Who was I to turn away a bunch of misfits itching for a place to belong? Especially when I had some newly gained land, more jobs than people, and a taste for what freedom outside of the approved social standards felt like.

Krank took a step forward, then another, a move no doubt meant to intimidate me but was only successful in amusing me instead. He stopped his forward pace, standing a mere two inches from the front of my boots. “Do you think you’re cute? Everyone wants a piece of the infamous Roman Ortiz who walks on fucking water and saves goddamn puppies in his spare time. But what good would saving puppies do if you were caught without all your loyal merry men?”

It was a veiled threat, meant to shake me, but honestly, I could yawn. This douche thought he could scare me with threats. I had more loyalty within my men in my pinky finger than he had in his whole damn body. I’d like to see him try to harm me or any of us for that matter.

“I think you’re getting off track here. What the fuck is it you wanted? Spit it out and get you and your ladies off my fucking land before I’m forced to remove you.”

He scoffed. The mother fucking pansy had the nerve to scoff at me as he looked around my property. He spread his hands wide, holding them in the air. “We? I don’t see we, son. I see you and two fucking mutts that probably wouldn’t even harm a daffodil.”

I had to admit one of my favorite things was watching a cocky prick make a fool of himself. Don’t be cocky unless you have a reason to be, it’s that fucking simple, right? Actions speak louder than words, unsolicited praises scream more truth than slowly coerced words, and buying compliments to feed egos is only affecting the pocketbook.

I raised my fingers to my lips, eliciting a loud, long whistle. My daffodil loving dogs straightened their backs, and a low, threatening growl erupted from their throat. Behind them, my men appeared from all directions, dropping whatever task they were working on to come to my aid.

“Come on now, friend.” My voice unwillingly took on a darker tone. “Did you think I would have let you step this far without having a backup plan?”

* * *

“So,let’s hear it. What was so important that half my boys walk outside and twenty minutes later, come back bloody?” My mother was standing in front of me with her hand on her hip, giving us all a scowl that would make a weaker man crack.

“These are just scratches, Ma.” She looked suspiciously between my hand, which was dripping blood on the hardwood floor, and my face, before glancing over at Shaw, whose injury caused a nice flow of blood to cascade down his right temple.

“Just scratches, Mama Ortiz, I promise,” Shaw chimed in, his voice and good boy charm working over my mama like always.

“All of you, go get cleaned up and hurry it up. You’re dripping blood everywhere. Come back and clean up your mess when you’re finished. I swear it’s like I live with a bunch of animals! Last I checked, I only had one son, and he’s old enough to clean up after himself.” She walked away, then turned back toward me, pointing her finger like it would intimidate any of us. “I’m done being everything around here, Roman. I can’t cook, clean, do laundry, and be a mother to a bunch of grown men. I need help.”

She turned her back to us again, stomping away back toward the kitchen, no doubt heading to stir the giant pot of sauce I smelled simmering. With just a jerk of my head, I motioned for the boys to head to the bathroom to clean up. They all followed willingly, no one wanting to cross the mama bear.

“You should get her some help,” Shaw said from beside me a few minutes later as he was running hot water on his towel.

“Oh, yea? And where am I going to find it?” I gave him a get the fuck out of here look. It was a look that didn’t even phase him.

“We can ask around. I’m sure one of the guys knows someone.” He’s right. They probably knew someone. But could we trust that someone to be in and out of our compound day after day? That was my real worry.

“She’s doing perfectly fine. She’s just mad that blood got on her freshly mopped floors.” I reached up into a cabinet, taking out the supplies I would need to glue my hand back together. I probably needed stitches, but there was no way I was telling my mama that the scratch bleeding all over her floors was actually from an unforeseen knife block.

“Get her help, or I will.” Shaw’s voice was stern, and although I was the authority in the group, he was my go-to-guy, the guy who always made sure my decisions were wise, and my shit got taken care of.

Glancing at the blood pooling in my palm, he let out a sigh that was equal parts annoyance and exhaustion. “Common sense says, ‘don’t catch a body part in a knife swing.’ But does he use common sense? Not a single time. You would be so fucking lost without me.”

“Probably true,” I stated as he shoved a handful of gauze into my hand.

“There is no probably about it. You’re a fucking mess.” He blew a golden chunk of hair out of his eyes before looking at me again. “You got this covered, or do you need help?”

I glanced around, sure by this point everyone had cleared out. Shaw and I usually got the worst damage, being on the frontline. Most of the boys just had bruises and smashed up knuckles. A quick rinse, some ointment, and they were on their way. The room was empty, and I was thankful for that. I couldn’t afford to have them see me as weak.

I didn’t even have to answer his question; he knew me better than anyone. Instead of waiting for my answer, Shaw wrapped his palm around my hand, pulled me a little closer, his voice a soft and gruff combination, “I really wish you would be more careful.”

“This is me being careful,” I responded, lightening my voice some to avoid the echo in this room.

“No, this is you being careless. Like always.” His warm fingers drifted over my sliced palm before pouring an antibacterial solution over it. I bit my lip, trying to wait out the burning sting that was sneaking up my arm. “You’re careless and selfish, Roman, and one day that will lose you everything.”

He used a piece of gauze and patted my wound dry before slowly applying glue along the seam and pinching it closed. “Or, it will gain me everything,” I retorted, giving him a dose of the confidence I felt deep in my bones.

His blue eyes pierced into me, a look of skepticism penetrating my confidence. “I only hope you’re right. I really do.”

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