Page 22 of Risky Fight

That might explain his insanity thinking I would just marry him, that I am a commodity which can be traded. Without fighting he’s lost his entire self, added to that he became a father with no warning. Roark is not himself, and he has no idea who he is. He is a lost boy who has come home. I understand it, but I am not going to allow him to think he can get away with this shit. He might be a mafia prince, but I am no princess and he can’t have everything he wants in life.

“If we are announcing this fake as fuck, bullshit engagement to family, then I want my family there too.” I say giving him a fright. He pulls his headphones off and looks at me.

“What?” He didn’t hear me, or he did and is just testing me to see what my answer is.

“I want my brothers there when we announce this so-called engagement, they are my family. Yours is not the only one that counts.” Truly, I just want to kick the two of them in the nuts and watch their eyes water.

“Fine,” he shrugs, “would you like to throw a party? We can tell the entire world if you like. I want everyone to know you belong to me.” He smirks like this is a win for him, he thinks I accept his fucking proposal. I can’t accept if I have no choice — I am being coerced.

I hold up my middle finger, “No ring yet, I also didn’t say yes. So, I belong to me, Roark.” He raises an eyebrow and waits for me to check myself, but I won’t. He knew me five years ago, I haven’t changed. I am still stubborn, rebellious, and full of shit. Nothing without a fight, I will make him regret he ever came back home. The paparazzi who hounded him will seem like nothing compared to the hell I will rain down on him.

“Lou,” he says, “go get yourself pretty, and practice saying yes. Because there is a man on his way with some diamonds. We can have a giant celebration tomorrow night with your family and mine. After we tell Nolan we’re getting married.”

Nolan. we can’t do this. He is a child and this ridiculous game will end in him being hurt. Surely Roark sees that and wouldn’t want his son getting hurt.

“Roark, that is not a good idea,” I say, “we shouldn’t tell him. What if this doesn’t happen. If you sell me for spare parts, or I kill you in your sleep? Nolan could get hurt, and that is not fair. He already lost his mother, you can’t just play with his emotions.” I shake my head and continue trying to get my point across, “He is a little boy, and he will get the wrong idea about what we are.”

“What are we Lou?” he asks me, “because I want us to be a family. I might have bought you, but I want you in my life, that’s why I did it.”

“You did it because you’re an egomaniac and you knew I would reject you if you asked me.” I’m not stupid I know he doesn’t like to be told no, Roark is used to getting what he wants, no matter what. “Do not fuck around with that little boy’s feelings, don’t be that cunt!” I get angry, remembering all the ‘replacement’ mam’s I fell in love with every time my father found a new bedwarmer. “He will hate you for it later, I promise,” I warn him.

“I am not your father, Lou, and I don’t want a hundred women. I want you.” I forget he knows me, everything about me. “I am going to marry you, and we will be the perfect family. Either you embrace it or you fake it. But it is happening.” I oscillate between hating him and wanting to kiss him. And decide on punching him instead, before he even knows it’s coming, I hit him with everything I have. A swift uppercut to his perfect chiseled jaw that makes his teeth rattle. He steps backwards, feet faltering and dazed with shock. He rubs the place where my fist made contact and a villainous smile creeps onto his face.

“You punch like a girl.”

“You would know, I learned how to punch from you.” I turn it right back on him. “Is that why you quit? You lost your balls and fight like a girl now?” I know I am looking for shit, poking at his fragile ego. It cannot have been easy for him to walk away from what he loved.

“Do not start a fight you can’t win, Lou,” he warns me as I ball my fists wanting to hit him again. “Go and do what you have been told.” I take another swipe at him, but he catches my fist in his hand and grips it so I can’t pull it away. “Hit me again, Lou, and you will have your hands tied behind your back,” he threatens, but it turns me on. The thought of him binding my hands and using me is hot. Fuck my filthy mind, it is going to get me in trouble. “Oh, you’d like that,” he smirks, the man has always been able to read my mind.

“Fuck you,” I say prying my hand free, “you can’t tell me what to do.”

“Oh, but I can and I will,” he says, “try me and see what happens if you don’t.” I see it as a challenge when he says it. “Go get dressed. You don’t want your engagement picture to be of you in your pjs.” I smile to myself as I leave his gym, I don’t give a shit what I am wearing when he forces a ring on my finger.

***

I’m called to living room about an hour after Roark finished in the gym and took a shower. I am still walking around in boy short undies and a see-through tank top — with zero fucks to give. He will regret this arrangement when he realizes he actually can’t control me, and that isn’t great for an ex-celebrity-turned-gangster trying to keep a low profile.

I’m the furtherest thing from invisible you can get. It’s one of the reasons he was told to leave me behind. Because I was too much. I guess he had trouble finding less because he came right back to me.

“Yes,” I say strolling into the room, very underdressed for company, “you called me?” Roark’s eyes go wide as he looks me up and down. He said get dressed, not in what I should be dressed. The man sitting opposite him chokes on the coffee he has been served and tries to avert his eyes.

“My friend Vito has brought you some rings to look at,” he says trying to maintain his composure in front of this stranger. “Care to take a look?”

I smirk and take a seat next to hisfriendand lean over him to look at the diamond rings he’s laid out on the coffee table. Roark clears his throat and I know I am getting to him. I take my time inspecting each ring.

Holding one up, I ask the man beside me, “Is this a good choice? The diamond I mean, when he gives up on this harebrained idea, will I be able to sell it and put a down payment on a house?” I glare at Roark as the diamond guy tries to find an answer, stuttering like an engine that won’t start. “I think I prefer this one,” I take another ring, “the diamond looks clearer, clarity is important isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is,” he says, finally making words come out his open mouth.

“It is important to be perfectly clear,” I say looking at Roark, not the man selling what I know are smuggled blood diamonds and a thousand percent illegal. “Things get very ugly when they’re murky.” The poor man looks confused and says nothing.

“These all have excellent clarity, and color,” he says, breaking the silent standoff between myself and Roark. “I would go with the pillow cut. It is unique in it’s setting.” He hands me my first choice back again.

“Which one did Roark like?” I ask him, with a wry smile.

“He loved the pillow cut one,” he starts and I interrupt him.

“Then I will take the marquise cut one, thank you.” He looks like an innocent little lamb stuck between two lions the poor soul. “I take it they’re already sized, so you don’t need me for anything else, do you?” I stand up so my ass is right in his face, I can feel the heat of him blushing as I walk away. Roark looks like steam might start coming out of his ears any second, but he has company so he can’t explode and make a scene. Appearance is everything.

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