Page 9 of Gangster Daddy's Girl

I sit back in my chair and run a hand through my hair, chuckling to myself. “They’ve got balls; I’ll give them that.”

“It ain’t balls. They’re just too stupid to know better,” Marco says. “I was going to tell them to fuck off, but you’ve been pretty uptight the last few days, so I thought you might need a laugh.”

“Couldn’t hurt,” I say. “Send in the clowns.”

Chuckling to himself, Marco walks out and closes the door behind him. A couple of minutes later, it opens again, and the clowns do indeed walk in. They’re still bruised and battered as they cross the office and stand before my desk, bodies tense, expressions of contrition on their faces. I stare at them in silence for a long minute, letting the stress of the moment settle down over them a little heavier. They shift on their feet, looking uncomfortable.

“What the fuck do you want?” I ask, finally breaking the silence.

Always the bolder of the two, Rico clears his throat. “Listen, boss, we know we fucked up the other night., and we wanted to apologize.”

“Yeah?” I reply. “And what is it exactly that you’re apologizing for?”

The two men exchange a look, obviously trying to figure out what they’re supposed to say next. Rico nudges Dawson, encouraging him to pick up the ball. Dawson runs a hand over his face and straightens up.

“Yeah, we shouldn’t have been messing with that chick,” he says. “We should have been focused on doing the job you put us out there to do.”

“Really? You’re apologizing because you think I’m pissed that you were slacking off on the job?” I ask, my tone incredulous.

“Well, yeah. Right?” Rico says. “We were out there to do our jobs and got distracted by a piece of ass. But if you give us another chance, it’ll never happen again.”

“Right,” Dawson agrees. “If you give us a chance, we’ll be all business all the time. We swear it, boss. One hundred percent. We’re all in and focused.”

I steeple my fingers in front of me and stare at them coldly, letting my gaze make them uncomfortable. It does. These two are weak. Simps. They’re idiots who don’t understand a damn thing, let alone what it was they did to piss me off. That they actually think it’s the fact that they weren’t “locked in” on the job proves just how stupid they are and why I can’t trust them to be part of my organization any longer.

Their eyes widen, and their faces pale as I get to my feet and walk around my desk. I stand in front of Rico and Dawson, glaring at them. They both swallow hard, their shoulders bunched, fidgeting on their feet.

“Let’s try this one more time,” I say. “Why did I beat your asses the other night?”

They exchange another look, then turn back to me, their faces blank, and shake their heads. They’ve got no fucking idea. I sigh.

“That girl didn’t ask for your attention. She didn’t ask for you to harass her. And she sure as shit didn’t ask you to put your greasy fucking hands on her,” I growl.

Rico sneers. “She’s just a piece of ass, boss. What does it?—”

I deliver a sharp smack across the face, cutting off Rico’s words before he can finish his sentence. He stares at me, shocked. Scared. And still not understanding. So, I slap him again. His head is rocked to the side, and he groans as blood begins to trickle out of his nose.

“Boss, come on. I’m sorry,” he says. “I won’t do it again.”

“Me neither,” Dawson says. “We’re sorry.”

“Not good enough,” I say. “Even now, neither of you get it. You both think you’re entitled to things you most definitely are not entitled to.”

“Boss, what is it about this bitch that?—”

I cut off Rico’s words with another hard slap across the face. He winces and recoils, taking a couple of steps back as he raises his hand. Blood is leaking from both nostrils now and also from the split in his lip. Dawson, not wanting any part of it, steps back.

“Call her a bitch one more time,” I say, my voice low and gruff.

“C’mon, Tyson?—”

“Do it,” I repeat. “Call her a bitch again and see what happens.”

Neither of them speak for a moment. The air in my office crackles with a dangerous tension that feels a lot like the air right before a lightning strike. Bloody face and all, Rico puffs up, his eyes narrowed, his hands balled into fists. I step closer to him, the tip of my nose hovering mere inches from his, and hold his gaze.

“You going to do something?” I ask. “Come on, Rico. Do it. Throw a punch and find out what happens. I dare you.”

The tension lingers for another minute, but in the end, just as I knew he’d do, Rico deflates. His face falls, and he lowers his gaze to the floor.

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