Conquered by the Mafia Boss

A voice dripping with acid filters through the door. “It’s Johnny. Get the fuck back to the hall, now.”

Oh my fucking God.

“Fun’s over,” I say in a low voice as his footsteps disappear.

“Yeah.”

The chill from Jack’s voice freezes over the temporary warmth between us. I watch him retreat back into his shell. His eyes close like shutters on windows and he disengages his arms from me, as though in pain. It twists inside me like a tiny dagger in my heart. God, how long will I have to do this?

Jack picks himself off the ground, already turning away from me as though I don’t matter. It takes at least fifteen minutes to put the dress back on and then we rejoin the hall.

Another excruciating hour later and hundreds of guests demanding a dance, a kiss, a whatever, we’re allowed to tear ourselves from the reception. Then it takes another hour to thank everyone for coming, and then finally we’re allowed to leave.

I look up at those white steps to his apartment. My home.

“I guess I live here now.”

“I guess.”

Neither of us sounds very excited at that prospect.

He opens the door for me and I hobble up the steps with his help. Once we’re inside, Jack slams the door and locks it.

“There’s a spare bedroom down the hall to your left.”

He vanishes from my side like a ghost. An hour later I have the dress and makeup off, and I lie down in this strange bed. I’m too wired to sleep, and part of me feels a tiny prick of pain at being so carelessly tossed aside.

It’s the loneliest night of my life.

JACK

I wake up in a state of agitation. The sheets cling to my skin, drenched with sweat. Heart-pounding dread. The cold, clammy feeling follows me as I rip off the sheets and stand from the bed. I run fingers through my damp hair. What’s missing?

I tear through drawer after drawer, throwing their contents on the floor. My feet slip on pairs of boxers. What am I looking for? I don’t know. The irrevocable sense of loss yawns inside me. It has to be here somewhere.

It’s oddly bright. Everything has a blue sort of haze. I stride into the kitchen, feeling a swell of disappointment as I open cabinet doors. The fridge holds nothing of interest, and I slam it shut.

Blood careens through my veins. I dive to the couch and fling the cushions aside. I don’t know how to explain it. Something’s gone. Something dear to me.

“Where are you?”

My fingers tear through the fabric, and my throat starts to close.

“Where the fuck are you?”

I straighten, my limbs shaking as I look around the deserted apartment. The chill moves up my chest, seeping inside, moving its icy tendrils around my heart. I can’t find him. I can’t-

I’m in a parking lot. Dark shadows shift in front of me, their forms obliterated by the bright white behind them. Then an arm suddenly slides across my neck and chokes off my air. I tug at his arm, but I’m so goddamn weak. Then the shadowy form in front of me steps forward, and I recognize John’s face as blackness creeps around the edge of my vision.

“Too close, Jack.”

The cold voice settles in my chest like ice. My fingernails drag in his tough skin as a smile lifts the corner of John’s mouth. The man’s arm crushes my windpipe and I fall down, my lungs burning. My face kisses the concrete and then suddenly air returns to my lungs.

What the fuck?

I pull back and feel wetness on my lips. A woman’s mouth. I’m lying on soft sheets, and there’s a naked blonde underneath me. Beatrice searches me with her deep-blue eyes and runs her fingers though my hair. I sink down and kiss the dusting of freckles right under her eye. My cock twitches when she wraps her arms around me, and I nuzzle her neck, feeling her stomach jump as I kiss her.

“Jack.”

Something pierces through my back. I feel the sharp edges digging through my muscles and tearing sinew as I collapse over her body. Her arm strains, and the object rips out of my back. The fucking pain. That innocent smile plays on her lips as I roll off her. She straddles my hips and lifts the blade dripping with blood in her hands. Still wearing the same smile, she plunges down-

My eyes snap open to a blank ceiling, and a surge of energy hits me square in the chest. I gasp out loud, heart still galloping ahead. I sit bolt upright as the sheets stick to my skin.

What the fuck was that?

I wipe the sweat from my brow as my body radiates with lingering phantom pain. The sheets whip around my legs as I tear them off and stand upright, walking through the door of my bedroom-Mike’s old room-and into the kitchen. The bottle of scotch in the kitchen cabinet burns in my head. My mouth waters. I want it so fucking badly that I can feel the richness rolling on my tongue. My legs move of their own accord. I see myself opening the cabinet door, grabbing the bottle, and slamming a glass on the table. It’s then that I notice the wedding band.This text is © NôvelDrama/.Org.

Jesus Christ. I totally forgot.

I’m married to a biker bitch.

I forget the bottle of scotch and stride to the guest bedroom. My hand grasps the door handle and I turn-fuck, it’s locked. A crazed, leaping feeling makes me hammer the door. She could be doing anything in there. Then I crash my shoulder against the door and splinters of wood fly everywhere. The dream fills my head with venom. I don’t trust the bitch-I’m going to put her in her fucking place.

The door swings wide open and I see Beatrice backed up against the headboard, her hair mussed around her head and her blue eyes wide.

I approach the bed, watching how the t-shirt she’s wearing rides up her thighs. A sliver of pink panties through her locked legs makes my cock twitch.

“Rule number fucking one. No locked doors while you’re in this house.”

She clutches her chest. I can see her heart fluttering the white t-shirt she’s wearing and the soft outline of her tits, her nipples gently peaking the fabric. Then I remember the promise I made to use her body as long as she was mine as blood pounds in my head.

“You could have knocked.”

“I don’t trust you, sweetheart.”

The mattress squeaks as I sit down beside her. There’s really nothing stopping me from ripping that t-shirt from her body. It’s one of mine. I realize that with a sudden, hot thrill that leads straight to my cock.

“What exactly do you think I’m going to do to you?”

“Stab me in my sleep with the switchblade you stuck in your wedding dress?”

She drains of color and her mouth hangs open, apparently struck dumb. “M-my dad gave it to me. I would’ve never-”

“Go ahead and try it. I’d enjoy tying up your arms to my bedpost and leaving you there until I’ve had my fill of pussy.”

“Jack, I would never do anything-”

“Second. If you fuck me over, I’ll fuck you. Then I’ll throw you out like a used condom.”