The silence between us lasted a while.
Reluctantly, she stepped out of the car, and then we were back in the kitchen, waiting for A.J. to come home from his play date. Conversation was sparse, and Molly didn’t make eye contact after that, but the moment the doorbell rang and I let A.J. inside, waving off his friend’s mother, Molly was resurrected.
A.J. rushed into the kitchen, and the moment he spotted her, he blinked in surprise. “Who are you?”
She scoffed at his rudeness, then returned, “Who are you?”
“I’m A.J.” Then he stated, “I live here.”
And Molly grinned. “I’m Molly, and I don’t.”
So she was good with kids.
“Whoa,” he said, awestruck as his eyes glanced the tattoos through the holes in her shirt. “You’ve got tattoos.”
“I do,” she said, then narrowed her eyes at him. “Do you?”
He giggled. “No,” and then he added, “I’m too little,” as if she didn’t know. I knew it was coming before he said it. “My dad’s got tattoos. Lots of them.”
I did not expect her to say what she did. “I met your dad once.”
My frown was slight. She had?
And A.J. was instantly dumbfounded. He spoke slowly, quietly, “You did?”
She nodded. “Yep, I did. It was a long time ago, but I still remember him.”
Sounds about right. Who could blame her?
Twitch was hard to forget.
“How long?” A.J. asked, dropping his backpack on the floor and stepping closer.
Molly thought about it. “Years ago.” She smiled down at him, knowing he was wrapped in attention. “I remember he was so tall.” Then she frowned. “Or maybe I’m just small. I don’t know.”
A.J. piped in with, “You are small, but Dad was...” He looked to me, and I smiled reassuringly. He continued, “Yeah. Dad was tall.”
As I sat there listening to the little Goth tell my son what little she knew about his father, I leaned against the kitchen counter and smiled at her recollection. After she was done, A.J. was half in love, and when she said, “You look just like him,” I knew A.J. was hers, heart and soul.
I booked Molly in for two days a week for a month. I increased that by a day over the next week, and another the next, until eventually, she was in our home more often than not. I got to see a different side of her. The playful but firm guardian to a little boy who adored her, and she loved A.J. wholeheartedly.
It seemed natural that when I found part-time work in the social sector that I asked her to move in with us. Molly graciously accepted, and she’s been with us ever since.
But I wasn’t a stupid woman, and my time spent with Twitch had taught me a lot, to read between the lines and hear the words unspoken. So when I found out that Molly was highly skilled in weapons training and martial arts, my suspicions were confirmed.
I wasn’t sure who Molly was, but Julius wanted her near A.J. for a reason, and that reason was protection. I just didn’t know why.
And that bothered me.
Chapter Three
Ling
With a vicious scowl, I put my hands to the doublewide doors and pushed as hard as I could. They opened with a whoosh, slapping the walls with a loud smack. I strode in, baseball bat in hand, surrounded by my brothers, and looked on at the absolute clusterfuck in front of me.
My men were brawling with the Turks again.
From behind me, Van cussed loudly, “Fuck, Ling.” His eyes shot to mine. “Don’t just stand there.” He looked down at me, leant in, and snarled, “Do something.”
Oh, I’d do something, all right.
My lip curled. I strolled inside and perched the bat to rest on my shoulder as I moved through the club. The tiny red dress I wore wasn’t exactly an outfit made for damage control, but, shit, what’s a girl to do?
These men were starting to rattle me. I was their fucking queen, and this was how they treated me?
I was going to show them just how I felt about their insubordination, and I was going to do it in a way that was uniquely my own.
The red-soled heels I wore felt tacky on the sticky nightclub floor, and when I approached one group of men tussling, I lowered the bat a moment before lifting it high up over my head. I braced, my face twisted, and then I brought it down as hard as I could over one guy’s head.
My guy.
He fell with an ungraceful thud, unmoving.
The two Turkish men reared back to look down at the prone body of my Vietnamese soldier and gaped. I smiled wide, wild-eyed, and leant in, crooking my finger. When I was sure I held their attention, I licked my cherry-red lips, and said, “Now imagine what I’ll do to you.”
Mere seconds later, they were scrambling as I pursed my lips, looking around for my next victim. I looked to my Dragons, my boys, and shook my head discreetly in displeasure. They never learned.
But they would.
As I moved onto another group of men, I held onto my bat with one hand while reaching into my garter for my switchblade. Singlehandedly, I flipped it open before gritting my teeth and bringing it down into the thigh of one of my men.
The young gun screamed out in pain and reared back to hit me. His face, contorted in anger, turned to fear the moment he saw me.
My eyes dared him to speak, dared him to make a fucking sound, and like the good boys I’d raised, he lowered his head submissively.
They were shameful.
It wasn’t their fault they were like this. It was mine. I had been too lenient, too long, wanting my boys to have a good time while working. And they did. They just didn’t know when to quit.
Clicking my tongue, my face transformed as I knelt down, gripping the back of his head lovingly and gently bringing it to my bosom. I stroked his sweaty face, and muttered, “I don’t like hurting my babies.” In a split second, my face contorted. I gripped his hair and tugged hard, forcing him to look up into my eyes. “But you continue to shame me.” My eyes landed on the knife sticking out of this thigh. I put my hand down and pushed on it.
The young man’s face twisted in pain, and he gasped, but he didn’t scream. Instead, h
e bit his lip hard enough to bleed. My heart started to race.
Damn.
All this blood and pain was making me hot.
As I brought my face to his, I pressed harder on the knife’s handle, and when a choked sound gurgled in his throat, I threw my head back and my mouth parted in desire.
I really needed to get laid.
When I slowly ran my tongue over the youngins lips, I felt his short, panting breaths against my mouth, and I pressed my lips to his, sweetly thanking him for his service. As I pulled back and stood, I peered down at him impassively. “Go home. Now.”
With a sigh, I put my hand to my hips, legs braced, and looked on at the carnage that ensued.
Bodies littered everywhere; it was a bloodbath, and when I felt someone come up from behind, I put my hand to the .22 caliber concealed in my garter.
But then he spoke. “This is getting out of control.”
My eldest brother, Van. The only brother I really bothered with, the only one of my family who understood me, because he was the same.
I nodded slightly, and when Van pressed his front to my back, I closed my eyes and swallowed hard.
It was a game we played with each other, pushing the limits.
Yeah.
We were fucked like that.
His hand came to rest on my hip and he leant in close, placing his lips to my ear. “This is your domain. Take control.” The hand at my hip squeezed. “Be the queen I know you are.”
I twisted to look up at him and he kept his face close. Too close.
Without breaking eye contact, I took out my gun, lifted it, and fired three shots.
Van’s eyes smiled, shining with pride, and I returned that arrogant smile, peering down at his lips a long moment.
“Ling.”
I bit my own lip, wondering what he’d taste like.
“Ling,” he warned roughly, taking hold of my wrist and snapping me out of my stupor.
Blinking, I shook the unnatural desire off and looked around, searching the floor, momentarily surprised to find all eyes on me. Luckily for them, I loved the attention. Lived for it.
I took in a deep breath before my gaze darkened, and I stated loudly, “I’m disappointed.” Peering into every set of eyes, I went on. “Should I lie down right here, or would you prefer if I bent over the bar?” At their clear confusion, I said, “Well, you’re all fucking me so hard that I may as well get comfortable.”