Page 4 of His to Possess

The showers are roomy and made up of two sections: the first has a bench and hooks on the wall to hang a towel and clothes; the second is the actual shower stall itself. I drop my bag on the bench, kick off my tennis shoes and strip off my sweat-soaked t-shirt. My shorts and boxer briefs quickly follow and then I step into the large, tiled shower. After adjusting the water, I move beneath the warm spray and soap up.

As I wash off, I can’t help but think over my conversation with Carlotta. I heard the wistful tone in her voice even though she tried to play it off as though she didn’t mind being single overly much. But it’s clear that she wants to find someone special. I acted like I didn’t care about finding anyone myself, too, but maybe I should’ve told her I’ve been questioning things lately, more than ever before. It’s not that I’m ready to jump into marriage and babies, but I have been thinking—and questioning—my eternally single lifestyle and some of the questionable choices I’ve made.

I’m guessing all of this self-reflection is because I’m approaching thirty.

Whatever the reason, a really big part of me is scared I will never meet my perfect match. People talk about soulmates and finding their other half, but I normally get bored during a first date. I can’t pinpoint what my problem is exactly, but my attention wanders and I find myself wanting to skip right to dessert AKA sex.

I’ve jetsetted all over the world and I’ve met the most beautiful women. None of them have managed to hold my attention for longer than a night or two. I can’t help but wonder—why is that? Maybe I’m the problem. Which leads me to my earlier conclusion that I’m going to die alone. Probably old, grumpy and still trying to figure out why everyone else fell in love, got married and had a family.

The image of myself all alone in a nursing home, wrinkled and sad, stirs up a sliver of fear. I guess this is when most people consider settling, but that’s not something I can easily do. There has to be a woman out there who is my perfect match, right? Hell, she doesn’t even have to be perfect. I just want someone who will challenge me and call me out on my shit. Every woman I’ve known or dated has bent over backwards, literally, to please me. The truth is I want someone who’s going to give me a run for my money.

Does she exist though?

As the thought swirls through my head, I consider what I can do about my solitary situation. I go out a lot, so I’m always meetingavailable women. They just aren’t what I’m looking for. Instead of giggling and flirting and yes’ing me to death, where is the girl who’ll tell me to shut up and fuck off.

My groin tightens. Yeah, that’s what I want. A lady who isn’t afraid to speak her mind and boss me around a little. Especially in the bedroom.

Okay, Rossi, what can you do?I ask myself, rinsing the soap off and reaching for the 2-in-1 shampoo/conditioner bottle.

Maybe I could try online dating or even a matchmaking service. The thought immediately makes my balls shrivel. Not because it makes me look desperate, but because I know the kind of women I’ll get hooked up with, especially with a professional matchmaker. She’ll think I want a perfect society wife. A fucking Stepford Wife. And then what do I say?

“No, I’m actually looking for a feisty, little pistol who can singe me with her sass and keep me on my toes. Pretty is nice, but compatibility is key. Amazing sex is a non-negotiable, but I also need a woman who can slap me upside the head when I say something stupid and who isn’t afraid to call me out if I’m being an arrogant ass.”

Truly enjoying each other’s company isn’t something I’ve ever experienced with someone I’ve dated. Granted, my dating record includes an endless string of women and I’m the furthest thing from celibate. But it’s all been so meaningless. Every sexual encounter, while pleasant at the time, blends into the next. For once, I want to linger in bed after sex with someone I care about and just talk and laugh. Hold her, kiss her and realize how lucky I am. I want to have that night where we get to know each other on every level. I want to be comfortable enough where we can fall asleep in each other’s arms.

Holy hell, I’m talking about falling in love. Something I never thought possible for a guy like me. I know what people say—that I’m a player and a charmer. A bachelor in his prime. And, while that may be true, it doesn’t mean I don’t want more. Because, yeah, I see what my brothers have found and how it’s changed each of their lives in the best possible way.

Even though I didn’t admit it to Carlotta, I’m definitely interested in a woman who not only has the power to make me stop in my tracks and take notice, but also one who isn’t afraid to love a bum like me. Because I know out of all my siblings, I’m the one with the least potential. I’ve just always accepted it. While Miceli rules the mafia kingdom, Vin runs Rossi Vineyard, Enzo makes millions of dollars through his investments before he even gets up in the morning and Carlotta has so much creative talent in her pinkie finger, she could do or become whatever she focuses her mind on.

Me, though? I’ve always felt a little lost. Someone meant to wander the globe, meet a ton of people and have fun in his life. I’ve never wanted to work in the family wine business or get too deeply involved with the Five Families. I could care less about stock picks and sitting in an office all day. While my brothers have all found their path and significant others, I’m feeling more lost now than ever before.

Maybe I should focus my attention on finding someone I could potentially have a serious relationship with. At least it will give me something to do, a goal to work towards. But, again, I have serious doubts that the perfect woman for me even exists.

The moment that thought moves through my head, the shower curtain is yanked back and a cool draft of air makes my skin prickle. With a frown, I turn to see who the idiot is who walkedin during the middle of my shower. Because, clearly, the facility was in use.

“Get the fuck out” is on the tip of my tongue when my gaze collides with the most striking pair of aqua eyes I have ever seen. A tall woman, maybe around five feet eight inches or so, stands there looking like some kind of badass biker chick. Her long dark hair frames her perfect face complete with high cheekbones and a set of full, pouty lips. She’s dressed in all black from head to toe—t-shirt, jeans, boots and even a leather coat despite the warm weather outside.

My attention moves down to admire her long, slim legs. I’ve always been a legs man and hers are killer. When I glance back up, I see those amazing aqua eyes snap up from where they’d been looking—very pointedly at my crotch—and I feel my lips pulling back in a smile.

“Can I help you?” I ask with a flirty smile, not caring in the least that I’m wet and naked and on full display.

Biker babe whips out a pair of handcuffs. “Put these on,” she orders, pretending that she wasn’t just ogling my nether region.

Huh. Well, things just got interesting.

3

BLAKE

One Hour Earlier…

Once I accept the job, Fox sends me a dossier on John Grady. It consists of the most basic intel: target name, physical stats, occupation, possible whereabouts/last location seen, the reason he’s wanted—which may or may not be true—and a photo of the individual, if available.

After a bounty hunter accepts a job, it immediately locks the other hunters out and is considered taken. There are exceptions to the rule, for example, an especially wily, hard to catch target who may be on the run or in hiding. The person who puts up that job may decide to open it up to everyone to better the chances their target will be brought in sooner. Then, there’s the Kill List. But that’s a whole other level of hunt. Either way, they both result in a free for all, and then may the best man or woman win.

Once I secure my target, I send photographic evidence to Fox and he will deposit half of the money into my bank account. Upon delivery, I receive the rest of the payment.

I’ve never had any major issues with this job and Butterfly has a success rate of one-hundred percent. I’m damn proud of myself because it’s not always easy. Especially when it comes to the free for alls. Who knew NYC had so many bounty hunters looking to make some fast cash? Although we don’t socialize or have any kind of monthly meetups, I have run into several hunters before, including a big, former military guy who goes by Fury, at least I assume he’s military by the way he carries himself, and another female whose code name is Vixen. She’s a slippery one and I always keep a lookout for her because I don’t trust her as far as I can throw her. Then, there’s Beast and I’m not going to lie. He scares the crap out of me with his wild eyes, dangerous air, endless scars and slicked-back hair. I don’t know if he’s a former mafia enforcer or just half crazy, but running into him is my least favorite thing of all time.

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