“Yeah? And Dad can choke on my dick. I said I’ve got this, which includes dealing with him. So, fuck off.”
Jude steps forward, and the girl pushes into my side, the subtle act setting the dominant sadist inside me on fire. She fears him, but then most people do—he’s big and angry-looking. I watch the side of her face, some twisted part of me loving how feeble she’s become. What a gullible woman she must be. A surprise, really, considering this isn’t the side of her I met earlier today. Right now, Jude is the villain to her, and that changes things for her, but what she doesn’t know is I’m worse than him.
“There is more than one solution to problems than killing people, Jude.”
He shakes his head with a chuckle. “You take the fun out of everything. Fucking killjoy, Easton.”
I squint my eyes at him. “Killjoy? No, you fucking idiot. I’m trying to find the best way to go about this shit. Murder isn’t the answer to everything, psycho.”
He shrugs and slips his knife back into its leather spot on the waist of his jeans. “It depends on who you ask.”
“Just go handle Iman, and I’ll deal with her,” I wave him off and I turn back to the girl. “What’s your name?”
She swallows hard. “Arloe.”
“Arloe,” I test her name on my tongue, seeing how it feels and how easily it rolls off. “First, let me explain—”
“Oh no.” She cuts me off, holding up her hands. “There is no need to explain. I’m just going to leave, and we can act like I was never here.”
I try to hide the grin that’s begging to escape. She thinks I’m crazy, and a smile at a time like this would only add to that theory, but something about Arloe intrigues me. I want to get inside her head. I want to tame her.
“Go on a date with me,” I say calmly, ignoring her previous statement.
She tips her head and looks around the now empty store like she’s trying to find someone else I could be talking to. “What?”
I cross my wrists in front of me. “You heard me. Have dinner with me.”
“I—date—” She shakes her head. “Is this a joke?” Her eyes widen while she waits for my response.
“No. If you want to walk out of here alive, then go out with me.”
“And if I say no?” she asks gingerly.
“No one ever tells me no, Arloe. I’m a powerful man and have ways of getting what I want.”
Her eyebrows knit together, and her eyes bounce between me and the entrance of the store. I glance behind me to look out the glass. Darkness blankets the town, and the streets are bare. If she were to make a run for it, it would be easy to catch her, but it’s still not a risk I’m willing to take.
“If you run, Arloe.” Her eyes jump to mine as I turn and speak. “It won’t end pretty for you. I’d have to tell Jude what happened, and he would probably tell my dad, and then we would all hunt you down, and I won’t be so nice.”
Her hands tremble again.
“Tell me, Arloe, have you heard of the Ciccones?”
She shakes her head. “I stick to myself. Which is why you don’t have to worry. I’ll be on my way and—”
I hold up my hand to silence her. Her hesitation in taking me up on my offer makes sense now that I know she doesn’t know who I am. She doesn’t know who my family is. We try to keep a low profile, but that doesn’t always work with what we do.
My father, Eric Ciccone, is a businessman of sorts. He’s hard and straight to the point in everything he does, and he wants every one of my siblings and myself to follow in his footsteps. There are eight of us in total, and we all play our part.
Kenley, my only sister, uses female persuasion to help the cause. Emilio runs a private club to help incriminate potential partners. Jett is a therapist who abides by the law unless we ask otherwise, and his twin, Jude, is our muscle. Then there is Leaon. He goes where he’s needed and does what he’s told. He’s almost as perfect as Max, but sometimes he lets good pussy cloud his judgment. It isn’t necessarily a bad thing considering he’s used the same way as Kenley. If she fails to get someone to cooperate, Leaon goes after the wives, wooing them and then blackmailing them to get their husbands to do what we want. Max, the oldest of us all, is stuck so far up my dad’s ass he might as well be him. And Ashton, or Baby as we call him, is, well—the baby.
We aren’t a traditional family. Other than Jude and Jett, there is no blood that connects us. My dad was a foster reject, and taking us all in was his way to give back, if that even makes sense at all. But I think all he wanted was an army—loyal soldiers who wouldn’t question his motives.
The only unfortunate thing for him is we all inherited his stubbornness in one way or another. Typically, we would send people like Arloe to Jett and have himevaluatethe situation before deciding what to do, but I know if I did that, he would want to keep her for himself. I may have gotten a jealous streak from good ol’ dad, too, because the thought of his hands on her makes me sick. Brother or not, I’d snap his fucking neck before he got something I deemed as mine.
Sure, Arloe isn’t mine, yet, but it won’t take long before she is. My appeal to her may only be because of her looks or that she isn’t like other women I bed. She isn’t afraid to speak her mind when she feels the need, and she stands her ground. Even now, while riddled with fear, she still won’t give in, but if she wants to leave, she will. This will be my way to keep close tabs on her and maybe have some fun in the meantime.
“Look,” she says, pulling me from my thoughts and dragging me back to reality. “Just let me go home. I work right down the street. Feel free to check in, harass me. I don’t care. Just please let me leave. I swear I won’t say anything.” Her eyes are pleading with mine.
