Page 26 of Possession

“Still, it’s whacked.”

My lips tip up on one side. I can’t argue with that. “I didn’t ask you to come in here to talk about my current life changes. I asked you here because you’re getting a new assignment.”

“Did I do something wrong?” Every muscle in his body goes taut as his knuckles whiten when they fist the arms of his chair. I guess I need to get used to that. “I can fix it. Swear, boss. I need to prove to Logan and the Jackals I can handle this—”

I put a hand up. “Chill out. I said you had a new assignment, not that you were fired.”

He barely relaxes. “What do I have to do? I don’t mind running back and forth between here and the club. It’s what they sent me here for.”

“Don’t worry about the club. They sent you here to work, they don’t get to dictate what you do for the family. You’re done cleaning pools and mowing the yard. From now on, you work for me.”

He frowns. “For you?”

“I need an assistant, and I want someone who has a direct line of communication to the Jackals. If you work directly for me and happen to pass Logan on the street and say hello, we all win. I’m working from Damian’s playbook—keep my hands clean at all costs.”

“But not get dead,” he adds.

“I do not plan to get dead.”

He pulls his sleeve up and glances at the unfinished tattoo on the inside of his forearm. It’s the mark of their club, but only half of it. Half of a skull that’s fading off into the night. The mark is only a month old. He’s a prospect and a high school dropout despite being one of the top wide receivers in southern California.

I had Carson pull his background. His mom is dead, and his father is in prison. The kid bounced around in foster care and is now on his own.

I know more about every person who comes into contact with the Marino family better than they know themselves. Ricky should be finishing his senior year and picking from a slew of scholarship offers. Instead, he was recruited to this path—a head dive straight to hell.

At initiation, he’ll get the rest of the tat. Initiation is no joke.

And it pisses me off that the kid sitting across from me is about to fall down that dark hole. He’ll never claw his way out.

“I’m not sure what the Jackals will think,” Ricky mutters.

“You don’t need to be sure. It’s done.” Ricky’s gaze jumps to me through narrowed eyes. I go on. “Consider it an order. This is your assignment.”

A muscle jumps in his cheek.

“It could be worse. Much worse,” I go on before he has the chance to argue. “Get with Spencer and tell him your sizes. He’ll make sure you’re presentable. I have business meetings you’ll attend. We’ll both get kicked out if you look like that.”

He glares at me. “I don’t want to wear a fucking tie.”

“You’ll wear a tie if I have to wear one.” I glare back because I need him to realize he can’t fuck around. “And pack a bag. You’re moving into the house.”

His light-brown eyes widen, and his eyes dart around the room. “I’m moving in? Here?”

I’m about to turn back to the computer and send him on his way, when one of the French doors to the bedroom opens. Ricky and I forget each other and look across the room.

Her messy blond-haired head peaks through the cracked door before she pushes it far enough to step inside Damian’s office. She wraps her arms around her middle, and if I’m not mistaken, she’s not wearing a bra. She’s rumpled, messy, and looks like she just slept for a decade.

She might be hotter this way than she was walking down the aisle. I can’t take my eyes off her. “You’re up.”

She looks around the office and hugs herself tighter when she looks from Ricky to me. “The, uh, bedroom door is locked. Why is that?”

I don’t answer and motion to my new assistant who’d better clean up and play the part. “This is Ricky, my new assistant. Ricky, my wife, Mrs. Torres.”

“Rocco,” Ricky amends and clears his throat. He sits up straight in his chair as he takes in my wife. “You can call me Rocco. It’s my given name.”

She lifts a slim shoulder. “You can call me Landyn.”

“He’ll call you Mrs. Torres.” I swivel my chair forty-five degrees so I can get a better look at her. Without tearing my eyes away, I give Rocco one last order. “Go find Spencer about your new wardrobe and think about a haircut. You’ll start this week after the funeral. We’ll talk later. I want time with my wife.”

---