… make that in Scotland. She has no idea your father is a sadistic crime lord and one day you’ll be his replacement.”
Buchanan strokes his finger down Bleu’s bare arm. “Sweetheart, the man you’re with is a deplorable criminal. He lies, steals, and kills. And that’s just the shortlist.”
I hate hearing him say those things to Bleu but I hate seeing his hands on her more. “Don’t touch her.”
Bleu looks at his hand and then at his face. “I’m giving you a warning and then an entire second to take your hand off me before I break it.”
“You just threatened the deputy chief constable of the organized crime unit.” Buchanan’s hand moves down Bleu’s arm to her leg. “I could take you in for that alone.”
He’s threatening Bleu. I’m sure she’s frightened but I’m not. I move toward him, prepared for what might happen next. “I said, take your hand off her.”
I don’t take a full step toward them before Bleu goes for his balls. I see the rotation of her wrist and know exactly what’s she’s doing. Buchanan yells out in pain and drops to his knees. “Take me in if you like. I’d rather enjoy hearing the tale you’d weave about how a young American female tourist came to have your balls twisted in a dance club.”
I don’t take another step because I see that my assistance isn’t necessary. Bleu’s totally got this.
“Let go!” he hisses through clenched teeth.
Bleu releases him and he falls against the floor into the fetal position. She swings her legs around and steps over him as she gets out of the booth. “I believe I’ve been delighted by his presence long enough.”
She loops her arm through mine as we exit the club. It’s surprising. She seems to be taking the news of my crime-family background rather well, as she isn’t running away. Maybe she thinks it’s bullshit.
We’re driving to her flat and I’m waiting for her to bring up the things Buchanan said. She doesn’t disappoint. “Is that stuff true? Are you part of an organized crime family? Or organization? Or whatever that jackass was talking about?”
I guess I could lie. She knows no one in these parts so she’d probably never be privy to the reality but I find I prefer to tell her the truth. Nothing about her is typical so I’m curious to see her reaction. And test her. “My father is the patriarch of our family and an organization called The Fellowship. Some people call us a gang. We’ve been referred to as mobsters or Mafia. I don’t care for any of those names. We’re Scotsmen—not Italians—so clan or kinship is much more fitting.”
“Do you do those things he accused you of? Lie? Steal?” She hesitates before saying the last. “Kill?”
“I’m in the business of boundaries and limits. I’m aware of what mine are and how far I’m willing to go to get my job accomplished. It can include lying and sometimes stealing.” I wait a moment for driving the last nail into the coffin. “And perhaps the occasional killing.”
“How do you feel when you do those things?”
“Powerful.” I purposely choose that word because it’s the one she used to describe how she felt when she brought Duff to his knees. I want her to see just how similar we are.
She watches out the window for a minute before speaking again. “Do you like the way it feels?”
I can’t lie. I get a high from it. “Very much.”
Another minute passes. “Okay.”
What? “Just … okay?”
“Would you like me to be horrified?” she asks. “I can do that if it would make you feel better or improve your opinion of me.”
She’s no fucking Pollyanna. So I guess there’s no reason for her to pretend to be. “No. Okay works for me.”
I’m not sure if I should be disturbed by her lack of appall. It feels like a double standard to be shocked by an absence of dismay.
My God, has the pot met the kettle? “I wish I could get inside your head.”
“No, you don’t,” she says. “My mind is a dark place to
Buchanan strokes his finger down Bleu’s bare arm. “Sweetheart, the man you’re with is a deplorable criminal. He lies, steals, and kills. And that’s just the shortlist.”
I hate hearing him say those things to Bleu but I hate seeing his hands on her more. “Don’t touch her.”
Bleu looks at his hand and then at his face. “I’m giving you a warning and then an entire second to take your hand off me before I break it.”
“You just threatened the deputy chief constable of the organized crime unit.” Buchanan’s hand moves down Bleu’s arm to her leg. “I could take you in for that alone.”
He’s threatening Bleu. I’m sure she’s frightened but I’m not. I move toward him, prepared for what might happen next. “I said, take your hand off her.”
I don’t take a full step toward them before Bleu goes for his balls. I see the rotation of her wrist and know exactly what’s she’s doing. Buchanan yells out in pain and drops to his knees. “Take me in if you like. I’d rather enjoy hearing the tale you’d weave about how a young American female tourist came to have your balls twisted in a dance club.”
I don’t take another step because I see that my assistance isn’t necessary. Bleu’s totally got this.
“Let go!” he hisses through clenched teeth.
Bleu releases him and he falls against the floor into the fetal position. She swings her legs around and steps over him as she gets out of the booth. “I believe I’ve been delighted by his presence long enough.”
She loops her arm through mine as we exit the club. It’s surprising. She seems to be taking the news of my crime-family background rather well, as she isn’t running away. Maybe she thinks it’s bullshit.
We’re driving to her flat and I’m waiting for her to bring up the things Buchanan said. She doesn’t disappoint. “Is that stuff true? Are you part of an organized crime family? Or organization? Or whatever that jackass was talking about?”
I guess I could lie. She knows no one in these parts so she’d probably never be privy to the reality but I find I prefer to tell her the truth. Nothing about her is typical so I’m curious to see her reaction. And test her. “My father is the patriarch of our family and an organization called The Fellowship. Some people call us a gang. We’ve been referred to as mobsters or Mafia. I don’t care for any of those names. We’re Scotsmen—not Italians—so clan or kinship is much more fitting.”
“Do you do those things he accused you of? Lie? Steal?” She hesitates before saying the last. “Kill?”
“I’m in the business of boundaries and limits. I’m aware of what mine are and how far I’m willing to go to get my job accomplished. It can include lying and sometimes stealing.” I wait a moment for driving the last nail into the coffin. “And perhaps the occasional killing.”
“How do you feel when you do those things?”
“Powerful.” I purposely choose that word because it’s the one she used to describe how she felt when she brought Duff to his knees. I want her to see just how similar we are.
She watches out the window for a minute before speaking again. “Do you like the way it feels?”
I can’t lie. I get a high from it. “Very much.”
Another minute passes. “Okay.”
What? “Just … okay?”
“Would you like me to be horrified?” she asks. “I can do that if it would make you feel better or improve your opinion of me.”
She’s no fucking Pollyanna. So I guess there’s no reason for her to pretend to be. “No. Okay works for me.”
I’m not sure if I should be disturbed by her lack of appall. It feels like a double standard to be shocked by an absence of dismay.
My God, has the pot met the kettle? “I wish I could get inside your head.”
“No, you don’t,” she says. “My mind is a dark place to
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