Page 1 of Gangster Daddy's Girl

1

TYSON

“Let’s check in on Dawson and Rico,” I say.

“You got it, boss,” Zeus, my driver-slash-bodyguard, says.

He navigates my black Escalade through traffic, which seems unusually light. The rain probably kept people inside tonight, which doesn’t bode well for tonight’s take. Outside my vehicle, the streets glisten, and the reflection of the streetlights gleam brightly off the wet surface. It doesn’t rain all that often here, but I always love it when it does. It makes everything seem so clean and so fresh. It’s a stark contrast to how grimy and dirty the world usually is.

I know I add to the filth I see in the world, so it’s kind of hypocritical for me to point it out. But, whatever. It’s not like I have many options. I’ve never been a nine-to-five kind of guy. But even if I was able to get my mind around it and talk myself into working in a cubicle for forty hours a week, there isn’t much I can do. I don’t really have any practical skills that most companies are looking for. You need to buy weed or guns?I’m your guy. You need somebody beat to a pulp? Call me. You need somebody to copy something in triplicate and fill out a spreadsheet? Yeah, that’s definitely not me.

“You okay tonight, boss?”

“Yeah. I’m good, Zeus. Thanks for asking.”

Oh, there are things I’d love to do. Call it the naivete of youth, but once upon a time, I had dreams and aspirations. Doing what I do now wasn’t it. But life didn’t deal me the sort of hand that allowed me to chase my dreams. Instead, I had to grow up fast. I learned to do what I had to do just to survive. Growing up steeped in that kind of shit and living that kind of life doesn’t really translate to the buttoned-up, strait-laced corporate world. So, here I am.

I guess I can’t say I’ve got too many complaints about the way things have worked out. I don’t necessarily like doing the things I sometimes have to do, but the compensation and all the perks ain’t too bad. I’ve got more money than God, want for nothing, and can have anything I want whenever I want it. There are a lot of people in this world who struggle just to keep the lights on or put food on the table. I don’t. All things considered, I suppose it could be worse.

“What the fuck are these clowns doing?” Zeus mutters.

I turn and look through the windshield as Zeus pulls into a spot in front of the bodega. The two employees I’d posted up there for the night, Dawson and Rico—dumbasses, both of them—stood in front of the bodega, a tiny, petite redhead between them. Every time she moved, they would move with her, standing in her way and refusing to let her leave.

“I’ll take care of this,” Zeus says.

“No. I got it.”

Zeus turns and looks at me. “You sure, boss?’

“I’m sure. You just stay put.”

Getting out of the Escalade, my eyes meet the redhead’s, and my heart falls into my stomach. I lick my suddenly dry lips and stare into her wide, emerald-colored gaze. The fear I see in those eyes is palpable, and I can see that she’s silently pleading with me for help. For their part, Tweedle-Dumb and Tweedle-Dumber are giggling and acting like buffoons. The pair of idiots are so consumed with terrorizing this poor girl, they don’t even see me coming.

“What the fuck are you two doing?” I growl.

They spin on their heels and look at me, their eyes wide, fear etched into their faces, and then exchange a look with each other. The redhead takes advantage of their distraction and slips out from between them, but I grab her arm before she gets away. I catch a brief hit of her perfume and the scent of citrus in her hair and feel my cock stiffen. She looks up at me, her fear intensifying.

“Go wait for me by my car,” I tell her and wave to Zeus.

My driver, a large Samoan man who’s been with me for years, gets out and stands by the door. The girl swallows hard and walks over to the car. When she’s standing near Zeus, I turn back to the two dipshits.

“W-what’s wrong, boss?” Rico asks.

“What the fuck do you two think you’re doing?”

“We’re workin’. We’re doin’ what you told us to do,” Dawson stammers.

“Did I tell you to harass that woman?”

“Well, no,” Rico says. “But we was just havin’ a little fun with her?—”

“Did she look like she was having fun?”

“Come on, boss. We were just screwin’ around. We wasn’t hurtin’ nothin’,” Dawson argues.

I grit my teeth so hard I could bite through steel right now. Both Rico and Dawson take a step back, the same sort of fear I saw on the redhead’s face now on theirs. That’s good. That’s satisfying. They need to remember their place. And I think I need to give them a refresher course to make sure they understand that lesson.

“Come with me,” I growl.

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