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I have to. I want her at my place, where I’ll feel more at ease from having her all to myself. And fuck, I want her to see another side of me. One that isn’t just about growling and putting my muscles to use. But I don’t know how to impress a girl like her. She won’t be impressed if I tell her how many people I’ve bought a one way ticket to the afterlife. And she won’t be impressed by my knowledge on how to break bones, or leave a crime scene without a trace.
“Just hold on,” I tell Yale and she leans her cheek against my back. After a while her breathing turns even, her body relaxing and for a second I worry she’s fallen asleep and is about to loosen her grip when she murmurs,
“Axe?” She sounds a little embarrassed. “I’m starving.”
I curse inwardly. Of course, she’s hungry. She’s a lot frailer than I and I shouldn’t have expected her to sit on a bike for hours. There’s a diner sign ahead and diners aren’t my favorites but there’s nothing better to choose from. I pull over, parking the bike.
“My butt hurts,” Yale says, taking the helmet off and then her cheeks tint. “Not that I needed to tell you that.”
“Why not?” I frown. “I’m responsible for your ass as much as the rest of you.”
She snickers, shaking her head to herself and I help her down. I scan the parking lot, checking for ZeroSum bikes but there are none and we walk over to the entrance. Yale’s stomach is already growling and she practically races inside when I clasp her elbow, murmuring,
“Stay close.”
Yale’s brows rise and she does stay close but not because I told her to, but because people are staring at us. “They’re all looking at you,” Yale whispers. They’re looking because they don’t know what I am, but they know I’m probably not a boy scout. We sit down by the counter and I order for Yale. The waiter’s eyes round in fear when looking at me and he nods at everything I have to say even before I say it, stumbling over himself to accommodate me but I’m used to it.
Men like me are like dark royals. We get anything we want, not because we carry the badge of honor but because we carry the badge of the underground.
“That’s too much,” Yale groans at my order. “I won’t be able to eat all that.”
I let her know she doesn’t need to and then I lean back and enjoy watching her sip on her milkshake until foam coats her upper lip. It makes her look young and unaware of everything bad in the world and tenderness flares in my chest.
I get something to drink for myself but spend most of the time observing Yale. I look my fill, memorizing every little detail of her face and body until she’s entrenched in me and that’s where I want her. Deep-seated on top of my throbbing length and deep-seated in my heart.
Images of what I want to do to her play in my head but it’s more than just the physical. She won’t just be the receiver of my primal side but I want her to receive the parts of me, I keep hidden from the world and I need her to take it with open arms.
She’s finally compliant now and it makes blood beat in my ears. It’s what I need from her, need her to have this little whim where she follows my every command because I was born to have her lean on me.
Her demeanor is mellow, accepting and bursting with a desire to walk by my side. It’s where I wanted her all along, wanted it since the moment I saw her.
I’ve had women throw themselves at me but I’ve never felt like I was possessed by one. Yale is dancing inside of me, red and bold and she flares out in my heart, hitting every corner. I can’t focus on anything else but her and it should frustrate the hell out of me but she’s a fantasy come to life. My perfect little mob wife in the flesh.
And yeah, I will marry her. And yeah, it has struck me there’s a potential she’ll say no but I’ll coax her into it if I have to.
I’m a mobster, she’s incorruptibility personified. We mix like oil and water but somehow we still make it work and she glances at me while she eats, smiling occasionally and she tells me stories about her friends and family and she’s lived a sheltered life. I joined the mob even before I was eighteen together with a cousin of mine. He didn’t last long. The life chewed up and swallowed him alive but he never had the same need for harshness as I did.
I was formed in that harshness, got so familiar with it, I became hard myself. Impenetrable. Unfeeling. And then Yale showed up and suddenly I don’t do anything but feel. She’s pushed buttons, a machine like myself isn’t supposed to have. I’m not supposed to feel like I’m on the verge of detonating but around her, I do.
I used to be rigid as granite. Concrete. I used to be more a piece of stonework than a male. The more time I spend with Yale, the more I feel myself cracking at the sides and if I’m not careful, my little redhead will bust me fully open.
She flicks her head back, dangling with her shapely legs and smiles and says something about the napkin I’ve ripped into little pieces, because I don’t like having her surrounded by so many people, when I notice that someone else other than me is looking at her.
My head strikes around and a man in denims is staring at Yale like he’s famished, scanning her ankles, her waist that’s visible because of her short top and I snarl,
“You like looking at my woman? Keep staring at her and I’ll have your one eyeball watch while I make you eat the other.”
Terror floods the man’s eyes and he bolts out of the diner, leaving a trail of toppled chairs after him.
Yale pales, dropping her pastry. “Did you really have to go there?”
“Yeah,” I mutter, pulling her to her feet again. “We’re out.” And this time nobody stares at me. And more importantly, nobody stares at her.
5.
Yale
Wind beaten, we arrive at Axwell’s place a couple of hours later because it’s been a long drive. He has told me this is not where he usually lives and I feel a shiver down my spine as I gaze upon the mansion that rises over me. It’s definitely gothic...
