Conquered by the Mafia Boss

Oh thank God.ConTEent bel0ngs to Nôv(e)lD/rama(.)Org .

The heavy boots scrape the floor and I hear his body push from the door. I sag against the wall in relief. Seconds later my heart slams against my chest as Johnny raps his knuckles on the door.

My hands shake as I unlatch the nail from the hook and the cheap door swings inward, revealing Johnny’s slim figure. He wears black slacks and a dark-green polo, which clings to his body in a way that makes blood rush to my skin’s surface. A heart-stopping smirk tugs at his mouth.

“Close shave, hon.” He steps inside the bathroom and his smile falls. “Jesus, look at you!”

I glance in the mirror as he grabs my face. His thumb gently caresses my neck, brushing over the angry marks where my father choked me. I hiss in pain and pull away.

“That hurts.”

“I’m sorry.”

His voice sounds calm, but I’m scared of the darkness brewing in his eyes when he pulls back.

“That piece of shit did this to you?”

That piece of shit is still the president of the Devils MC.

“What happened?”

I’m still racked with nerves, and I don’t want to look at Johnny’s hard-set jaw and tell him everything that happened. My right ear won’t work properly. The gunshot was so loud that listening to him talk is like hearing a voice through a soda can.

His brows knit together. “We’ll talk about it in the car. Let’s go.”

“Is he gone?”

“Yeah. Come on.”

A warm hand slips into mine and I jump slightly, looking down at it. He frowns at me and walks. I follow him, strangely at ease. We pass by the bar and Johnny digs through his pockets.

The bartender shakes his head. “I don’t want it.”

Johnny slams a small stack of fifty-dollar bills. “Take it.”

“I don’t-”

“Just take it, old man,” he says in a slightly harassed voice, and the bartender shuts up.

I follow the pressure of Johnny’s hand into the sunlight. My head jerks up and down the street, looking for a hint of chrome, but I see nothing.

“Get inside, quick.”

I stoop down as Johnny opens the door for me, and then I collapse inside the black leather interior. The door slams shut as he effortlessly slides in next to me.

I am saved.

“Take me home, Chrissy.”

Then he slams the partition shut and for some reason blood rushes to my face when he gives me that concerned look.

“What the fuck happened up there?”

The cold voice feels like a bucket of ice water dumped on my head.

Chuck’s hand was reaching for me. He told me to run. And then my own father shot me.

I bury my face in my hands. If only I had just shut my mouth and kept my fucking thoughts to myself-made up some lie about why I went to Le Zinc-none of this would’ve happened.

“Maya, I need to know what we’re dealing with.”

Selfish prick.

“He knows I fucked someone who was at your restaurant. He doesn’t know who. Thanks for the fucking concern.”

His hand tenses next to mine and then it snakes over my shoulder. I feel it like stepping in a hot bath. He pulls me into his chest like a rag doll and his heart thumps against my back.

I can’t remember the last time I was held like this. Even though I know he’s just doing this to placate me, my skin heats like a furnace when his lips touch my cheek.

“What happened, Maya?”

“He-he shot Chuck. I don’t even know if he’s alive. Mom tried to protect me.”

Why am I so calm?

“They saw me going into your restaurant. He thought I was meeting with you to betray the MC or something.”

“Jesus.”

I look up and he irons his face with his hands. Hot, bubbling guilt surges inside me.

“It’s my fault.”

“What are you talking about?”

I have to make him understand the full brunt of my guilt. “I pissed him off on purpose. I was just-I wanted to hurt him. I said-”

“It doesn’t matter what you said. He did this to you.”

A finger brushes over the choke wounds on my throat.

It feels as though it was just another day at the MC. My dad guns down a man I actually respected, and I don’t even shed a tear. Christ, what the fuck is wrong with me?

“I can’t believe this shit.” His voice is breathless as he takes my hand, the one with the gash, and runs his thumb underneath the wound. Then his voice turns black. “If he was any other man, I would kill him. I would turn my car around right now, and gun him down in front of his wife.”

I don’t think I’ve ever heard such a gritty voice. It’s hard to believe that the sound came from his chest. There’s no warmth in him, just cold rage.

“He’s still my-“