Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
clay
Bolton enters my office with military precision. All-black suit. Earpiece. Sidearm holstered at his hip. The uniform of her protector. Of her bodyguard.
But he is more than that…
Isn’t he?
Her friend and confidant.
Such a powerful position he has stepped into without asking my permission first. Today, I see beyond the employee to the man beneath—the man who stands guard while my little deer frolics, who catches the sweet tones of her laughter day after day. Perhaps, more than me.
"You requested me, Boss." Bolton comes to a stop before my desk.
I stand, leaning against the edge, mere metres from the black boardroom table I had my little deer grinding against, had her sweaty palms pawing helplessly at as I finger-fucked her tight, wet pussy less than five minutes ago.
I remain calm.
Casual.
Easy.
Anything but.
My gaze hits him hard, a heavy press of scrutiny from his six-foot solid build, to his mid-forties face that is neither striking nor repellent. "My little deer seems quite attached to you," I observe, my gaze boring into him.
A slight tension ripples through his stance, his professional facade only thinning when his throat rolls. "I care for her,” he confirms, but there is more to it.
"Elaborate."
"As an individual, Boss."
"Careful," I warn, fingers digging into the desk edge until the wood strains. "Do you love her?"
He doesn’t hesitate, answering, "Yes, Boss. I do."
"What manner of love? Be honest with me, Bolton.” My voice drops to a deep whisper. “Do you imagine what she might feel like inside?"
He frowns. "No, Boss."
“Are you afraid of me?”
“I’d be stupid not to be.”
Clever.
A smile slides across my lips. “And you’re not stupid, but you’re not afraid enough to keep your decorum?”
Bolton's shoulders tense beneath his suit jacket, subtle but I see it. “It'll hurt her if I pull away from her, Boss. We have always joked, always been friendly. I don't want her to feel rejected by me. She's been through enough.”
“Don’t tell me what she has been through.” My knuckles ache against the wood. “I have seen it with my own eyes. I have held her fragile body while she wept, felt her tremble.”
“I know, Boss,” he murmurs, gaze holding mine respectfully. “I have watched her cry from afar, watched her eyes drift to the sky, to the moon. Watched her miss you.”
Interesting.
“I see.” I fix him with a stare that could freeze Hell itself. “Do you like women?”
“Yes, Boss.”
“It must be hard to date when you spend so much time staring at my future wife. Watching her, as you say.”
“It is.”
Honesty.
I like that.
“I'm going to give you a choice.” The air stills at my smooth utterance. “Resign now, and I'll let you go. That doesn't happen often in your line of work.” It’s a test, not an offer. “I will let you live with our secrets. Do you want this?”
“No, Boss.” His voice doesn't waver.
"Then understand what you're choosing. This isn't just a job.
It's a death sentence suspended by my goodwill alone.
One slip—" I click my tongue, a quiet sound that somehow makes his jaw lock.
"One moment where your eyes linger, where your cock twitches in her direction—and I'll feed you to Stormy River piece by fucking piece while you're still conscious enough to register what is happening. Do we understand each other?"
"Perfectly, Boss."
"She is mine, Bolton. I loaned you to her like a fucking library book. You touch her for anything other than protection, it’s all over. Are we clear?"
"Crystal, Boss."
His composure impresses me—the slight roll of his throat, pulse of his jaw, is the only tell. A man who guards my little deer must withstand more than my scrutiny. If my interrogation and threats break him, what chance would he have against those who would truly wish her harm?
“My mother had a bodyguard who once laid eyes on her naked in the pool. That day is scorched in my mind. I was still a child,” I reflect, holding his gaze.
“My brothers hadn’t yet been born. My mother was only a tad older than Fawn.
She was a breathtaking creature; no one could contest her beauty.
A viper, as you know, but a captivating one.
The man, I don’t remember his name, didn’t flinch.
He stared. My father found out, probably informed by my mother—she liked the theatrics…
” I smirk, reminded of how much Bronson mirrors her in this way.
“My father gouged out those wandering eyes with his own fingers, puncturing the sockets, scooping the balls from his skull like carving a watermelon. I watched.”
I push to a standing position—at least four inches of shadow over him.
“He spared the man’s life. I thought it was mercy, but no.
He had to work for us, blind, crippled. I’ve replayed that scene countless times, pondering the question: why?
Why did my father do that when he loathed my mother?
Why bother? Now, as a man fiercely guarding what belongs to me, I understand it doesn’t matter.
Love. Hate. She was his. If that is the length a Butcher goes to for a woman he detests, imagine the depths of Hell I would plunge for her. ”
He nods, curt but true. “I understand.”
I believe him.
With that settled, I circle around the table and take a seat behind my desk. “Then you can be her friend,” I say, firm and final. “She looks to you for advice. I expect it to be the right advice for her. In her best interest.”
‘Not mine’ I wish to say, though I feel that is redundant. He will act in Fawn’s best interests, perhaps even die for her. That’s not something I take lightly—it is heavy, deserving of gratitude. “Take the day off today, Bolton. I’ll be doubling your usual salary as of tomorrow.”
He turns on his heels, walking towards the door, but I say, "Know that her happiness is important to me.”
He stops and faces me.
“Her innocence. Her joy. Fun. I will do anything for her. Tell me everything I need to know. You’re my eyes and ears, be her dobber rat.
Don’t keep secrets from me. I may be irrational at times—" I smile, thinking about how fucking irrational she makes me.
"But ultimately, her safety is all that matters. Do you agree?"
"Yes, Boss,” he agrees, his deep tone carrying the weight of an oath.
"Thank you." I nod towards the door.
He walks through it with measured steps as I lean back in my leather chair until it creaks, lifting my ankle to rest on my opposite knee.
I stare through the window to the landscaped lawns of my estate, cracking my knuckles one by one. The conversation had to happen. Had to be dealt with.
Exhaling hard, I stifle my territorial nature. A Butcher trait that runs deep. I ram it down. For her. I lift my fingers to my lips, inhaling the scent of her pussy. Mine. Humming, I suck my fingers clean.
Fuck. I grab my phone to text Bronson, my fingers moving over the screen, and then hit send.
Clay: Fawn needs more females in her life. The next time you take her out, bring Cassidy.
My brother Max’s wife is the perfect companion for my little deer.
She is gentle, like Fawn, honest and loyal, like Fawn, and she has a quirkiness that I believe my little deer will appreciate.
She is also new to the Cosa Nostra, has not seen what Shoshanna has, nor been beguiled by it like Jasmine has.
Yes, Cassidy is a good fit.
My brother texts back.
Bronson: Maxipad doesn’t like sharing her. Might have to lady-nap her.
Clay: Don’t do anything stupid. Ask Cassidy. She will agree. Fawn needs fewer men around her.
Bronson: Ape Man beats chest.
Clay: As long as Ape Man brings Ballerina Girl next time he takes my fiancé shopping.
Bronson: No, mate. I’m not the Ape. You’re the ape. Like a caveman? I’m clearly the most emotionally evolved of us Butcher men. Maxipad has the evolutionary compassion of a stonefish, and you’re a fucking scorpion.
I reply with a scorpion emoji, and then set the phone on my desk, wondering what the Hell has gotten into me—using emojis? Such a weak form of communication.
Spending time with Fawn is my priority this afternoon. Only me. My eyes, not Bolton’s or any other man’s. I smooth down my tie and leave the office to gather my little deer and my sons for our outing—shopping.