Page 13 of Mob Bride

Thank goodness.

My mind might be going a mile a minute, but I haven’t really had to talk much since I got into the SUV last night. It hurts too fucking much. My face is a mess. My eyes remain nearly swollen shut. There’s a bruise across my left cheek. My lips are split. I’m lucky I still have all my teeth. My mom gave me a shot of powerful shit last night. She gave me some pills this morning. I took a dose before I left and one just before the train stopped in the city. It’s the only reason I can keep going.

I twist to look in the mirror. There are livid bruises across my kidneys, or at least where I’m pretty sure they still are. That fucker’s boot felt like he kicked all my organs right through my stomach and left them on the floor beside me. I’d probably be in less pain if he had. I’m lucky I could keep my mom from examining me, but now I need to play the part and put these on full display. I’m not letting that fucker get away with this.

I might have had to grin and bear it while it was happening—really grimace and bear it—but Bartlomiej won’t put up with this. That’s the only consolation I have. It’s knowing my boyfriend will beat the shit out of his brother for beating the shit out of me.

I pull into the driveway, and I recognize the cars parked here. Fucking hell, one of them’s Jacek’s. I steel myself against seeing him, even though it’ll be to my advantage he’ll be here when I tell Bartlomiej what happened. I won’t lay it on too thick, but I also won’t—or can’t—avoid telling him the truth. I head to thedoor, and the guard nods and opens it for me. I step inside and can hear voices, but none are Bartlomiej’s. I walk into the living room, and there’s a handful of men sitting around watching a soccer game.

Shocker. These guys are the most underemployed henchmen I’ve ever seen. But I suppose that’s a blessing in disguise. I say hi and head toward Bartlomiej’s office. The door’s open, and I can see Jacek, but no Bartlomiej. The fuck is Jacek doing sitting at his brother’s desk? He knows how much Bartlomiej hates it when he does that.

I smile.

He shoots me a grin in return. It’s pure evil.

The guy was in the army as an explosive ordnance disposal tech, and I don’t know if it unleashed a pyrotechnic in him or if that was already there, but he definitely came back from his four tours not right in the head.

He is the top henchman in the Polish mob here in New York. Bartlomiej trusts his advice, but only as far as he can throw his brother. Considering he’s scrawny as fuck and wily as a fucking coyote, that’s unfortunately a pretty far distance since Bartlomiej is only a little shorter and a little lighter than Shane.

“Where’s your brother?”

“Well, good morning to you too, sunshine.”

I don’t respond. Jacek grins even wider. It makes my stomach turn over.

“You’re too late, little darling. He had to go out of town this morning.”

I can’t stand him. The day I can put a bullet through his head cannot come soon enough. I turn around and hear him get out of his seat. I’m quick without running. I get back to the living room where I’m confident the guys won’t let Jacek touch me.

He tries to get closer, but he knows there’re limits to even his power when the other men are around. I stand as close as I canto the sofa and cheer along in Polish for the team I know the men favor. They laugh and joke with me, but they all keep an eye on Jacek. No one says anything about my face, but I’m certain word’s already gone around that I can thank Jacek for my new look.

They can all tell he’s paying too much attention to me, and it makes them all wary. They know he doesn’t like me, and they’ve become rather protective of me over the last few months. If they weren’t all psychopaths who enjoy their jobs—not just because they’re paid, but because of their loyalty to Bartlomiej and Jacek’s mother—then they might actually be nice men. But I can never take for granted these men make a living torturing and killing other people.

“Hey, I need to take off now. I’ve got to head back home. I’m not feeling my best today.”

That’s an understatement of a lifetime. I’m still in so much pain, and the medicine is wearing off. I won’t hide it for much longer.

Tymoteusz looks at my face, noting the bruises and split lip, then glances at Jacek. He stands and offers to take me home, and I gladly accept. Jacek tries to block the way, but Tymoteusz pulls out his phone and taps Bartlomiej’s contact.

Jacek knows his cousin won’t back down, not with his temperament and not because of his position. After Jacek, he’s the next highest man in the hierarchy. Tymoteusz escorts me out to a car, and we chat on the way back to the apartment Bartlomiej chose for me. Pays for me.

That reminds me. Once I’m in my apartment again, I grab my phone from my back jeans pocket and pull up Bartlomiej’s contact as I kick off the shoes he bought me. They land in the bottom of my closet. I take off the shirt he bought me as the phone rings. The jeans are mine, and the bra and panties are mine—though he’s picked those out for me too. As the call goesto voicemail, I slip off the jeans and loosely fold them and the shirt before dropping them on the end of the bed.

“Hey handsome, it’s me.” I might have thrown up a little in my mouth. “I’m bummed I didn’t get to see you. Something came up last night I was hoping to talk to you about. Bartek, I really need you, so I’m looking forward to when you get home. Let me know when you’re back in town. I really want to see you. I miss you. Love you. Bye.”

I hang up the call and feel like washing my mouth out with soap. Not just for the lies, but the kind of lies. I manipulate Bartlomiej almost as much as he manipulates me. He believes I’m a good Catholic girl who refuses to give up the V-card until I’m married. He thinks I’m playing hard to get. No shit, Sherlock.

But that doesn’t mean I haven’t felt backed into a corner more than once and wound up doing things more intimate than I’d like. The rules are clear: there’s no expectation of sex as part of the job. Other intimate things can happen if refusal results in imminent danger.

Bartlomiej is a fine line between pleasure and pain. He likes both in equal measures, as long as he’s doling it out. He certainly has no interest in receiving pain. He’s never physically forced me, though I wouldn’t put it past him when he drinks. He’s backed me against walls and into corners. He’s grabbed my arms too roughly. He’s threatened me without outright threatening me.

He won’t kill me for not sleeping with him, but he expects everything leading up to that. He gets frustrated when I don’t meet those expectations because I have boundaries I won’t cross. He thinks it’s religion. I know it’s ethics and my sanity.

That’s why I hate looking at my bed. I’ve spent the night a few times at his place, but he says he likes to get away from there since it’s also where he conducts so much business.

He usually shows up here if he’s not already with me. Somehow, I have skills better than I thought because I had him latch onto me like a Stage Five Clinger within two weeks of meeting him. He moved me in here within a month, but I made him sign a contract saying I can leave anytime I want—which is utter bullshit because I can’t—at least not yet—and I live here regardless of whether we’re having sex.

You better believe I had that written in there. That was uncomfortable as hell to have presented before his branch’s elders, but I knew it was the only way to guarantee my alleged maidenhead would stay intact. I haven’t been a virgin in so long, I almost can’t remember.

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