Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
ADELINA
When a knock rattled my locked door, I gritted my teeth. How kind of them to remember me and respect my privacy by not just storming inside. Why should I call out when they had the lock and keys on the outside of my door?
Knocking, however, was where the politeness stopped. One of the MC members—I didn’t know who—rolled in a suitcase and then slammed and locked the door again. Guess Papà finally had my stuff delivered. I hadn’t even had the time to get up from the bed, so when the door slammed, I huffed and placed my head back down.
I had my cell phone. And now, my stuff. Looked like I was home.
“Welcome to me.” I bobbled my head and rolled my eyes just before burying my face into the scratchy pillow again.
While I had a dresser and a closet, I didn’t get up to put things away. No one said I would be staying in this room long. Sas probably just put me in here to get me out of the way, and then he forgot me. Of course, he did. And if I had anything to say about my living arrangements, I was heading to the nearest Ritz Carlton as soon as I broke free.
Where was Rafe when I needed him?
I grabbed my phone and rolled onto my back, staring at the thing as my hold on it tightened enough for my knuckles to turn white.
Maybe I should call my uncle.
Or . . . I could call the police.
It would be so nice to leave this whole world behind and become someone entirely new. The only problem was finding someone trustworthy enough to create a new identity for me. Papà’s forgery guy, Luciano Ricci, would surely run and tell his Don at the first mention, so he was out of the question.
I pushed into a sitting position. Think, Adelina, you have to know someone who knows someone else. I had been a Mafia princess, after all.
Giving up that power made me almost sick. I couldn’t have a normal life, no matter how much I pretended that’s what I wanted. Escape from the Mafia once in the fold wasn’t something anyone with two functioning brain cells tried. But right now, what good did being a Mafia princess do when I was locked in a bedroom.
I hopped up off the bed and tried the knob just in case, and yep, locked. My shoulders drooped as I blew out a deep breath. Not my life. Stuck in this bedroom. Banished. Who gave Sas the fucking right?
I kicked the suitcase onto its back and unzipped the sides, picking through the clothing that I’d had the servants pack. They had packed four suitcases in total, so where the hell were the other three? I picked through the fabric and then plucked out a dress and a pair of high heels. I wouldn’t be lounging around in jeans, and I couldn’t crawl into my pajamas as much as I wanted to.
Running both hands over my forearms, I stopped and pinched myself, hoping I would wake up and realize this was all a dream.
No such luck.
Unfortunately, this was my new reality, so I pulled out the clothes and began to strip. Halfway with my shirt pulled off, I considered that there might be a camera in here, watching my every move. I checked but couldn’t find anything that looked remotely like a camera.
Honestly, I didn’t even care as much as I should have. I worked hard to keep my hourglass figure, and I knew by how guys at the nightclubs ogled me that my body was something worth staring at. Not a rail, but curvy with ample boobs and ass, the latter thanks to the squats my trainer pushed me through. I was sure the MC members would be masturbating to my tits if this was on video.
Let them.
Music ripped through the warehouse. Well, mostly the bass rattling the walls. and I jerked my head back.
What the hell was happening? I could feel the thump in my bones they had it so loud.
What the fuck were they doing?
Did the MC clubhouse turn into an actual nightclub when the sun went down?
I walked over to the door and jiggled the handle again. Still locked.
“Fuck!” I pounded on the door, but of course, no one heard me.
Grabbing my cell phone, I called Rafe. I would never be able to fall asleep, and I was hungry. They couldn’t just leave me in here! But my cell only rang until I got Rafe’s voicemail.
I held it away from my ear and yelled, “Where are you?” into my phone, his voicemail catching my words. “What is happening? Get me the fuck out of here!” Then I hung up and threw my cell phone on my bed.
The music kept pumping, but I realized that it wasn’t coming from inside the warehouse. In the bathroom, I hopped up onto the seat in the shower and peeked out the window. The bikers were gathering behind the warehouse, where there was a yard. No, a nice patio. Like something at a microbrewery or trendy restaurant.
Orange light flickered in a darkening twilight outside. The MC had lit a massive bonfire going that looked like it could’ve burned LA to the ground. The air here was too dry for a fire like that. A little fuel, and it would torch the city.
Good thing there wasn’t much here except concrete and metal.
Where had they gotten the firewood, anyway?
Not the point, Adelina , I thought to myself. The point was that I was stuck inside of me while everyone else was outside, MC and their women and whoever else, partying.
I had to get out.
No more of this princess in a tower bullshit. Damsel life was not my goddamn cup of tea, and I planned to show my future husband that I wasn’t about to be some meek little woman he could lock away. I jimmied open the small window over the shower, and braced myself on the wall, climbing out of my locked bedroom.
Score one for Adelina!
Landing was the worst part, but I managed not to break my neck. Or dirty my dress.
Pretty impressive.
My heels didn’t break either.
Smoothing down my dress, I flipped my hair over my shoulder and then walked into the backyard. Black smoke billowed into the sky and turned the yard into a haze, mingling with the normal LA smog. The bikers didn’t even glance at me, but so many women were around: hanging off guys, mingling, mixing drinks. With my short skirt that barely covered my ass, I almost blended in too well.
A biker stumbled a few steps back from the fire, a woman crawling after him. His erect cock stood at attention, and she wrapped her lips around it.
What the actual fuck?
I truly had landed in a redneck version of the Playboy Mansion?
Who the hell whipped out his dick with everyone around?
But as my eyes drifted around the crowd, I realized he wasn’t the only one. Guys around the fire were either being sucked off or fucking one of the many girls they had.
Vegas had a reputation, but this wasn’t like the home I knew. I had peeked into some parties along the strip, and even at those, people at least were more discreet about it, ducking into a dark booth or heading up to their rooms before actually fucking.
I scanned my surroundings, looking for anywhere that wasn’t whore infested. They were like a plague, and I wondered what happened to them to give them such low self-esteem. If the cartel saw them now, they would fuck the MC in their collective ass.
The guy doing the music was alone, and I started in that direction, careful to keep the heels of my shoes from sinking between the cracks. I needed to talk to this guy about his music taste and why it was so fucking loud, but as I neared him, I recognized him.
He was the one who had helped me earlier when I tripped. He was kind... or as kind as one of these depraved bikers could be. What felt the most familiar about him were his tattoos. Not a singular one because every inch of skin I could see on him was covered, a used canvas.
Did he have any left to paint?
“Graff?” I asked.
The man peeked up and smiled at me, warming my insides. If he suspected that I shouldn’t be out here, he didn’t say anything.
“You got a request?” he asked.
Not this , I wanted to mutter, but I said instead, “Anything... newer?”
He threw a hand over his heart and let his jaw drop. “What? Not an Eminem fan?”
Wrinkling my nose, I shook my head, and we both chuckled.
Using one of those tattooed knuckles, he nudged my chin. “Sorry, kiddo. The playlist for club bonfires is fixed. The most I can do is remix some of the songs.”
I scowled at him.
With a laugh, he focused on the screen in front of him. “How ’bout this?”
After a second, the song continued, but it changed. The existing heavy beat blended with a more modern song, something I should recognize. But no matter how hard I thought, I couldn’t put my finger on it.
After a second, I thought I might have it. “Is that?—”
“Yup. Miley Cyrus.”
“It sounds surprisingly good.”
Graff gave me a smile that erased all worry written on his face. He approved, and it lit a spark in the pit of my stomach. What the hell?
My lips curled up too, but I broke eye contact and drew my gaze across his exposed tattoos. “Nice ink.” I reached forward and ran my fingers over the circle on the top of his middle finger with three tiny branches inside. Then, I let my finger drift across the other fingers, each decorated with a branch like inside the circle.
He froze, brows lifted, as he flicked his attention up and down from where I touched his hand to my face. Red splotched on his cheeks.
“Does it have meaning?”
“Yes.” He balled his hand into a fist and dropped it to his side. The clipped word and his action made it clear he wouldn’t say more.
“I don’t have any tattoos,” I said, following his lead and curling my fingers away from him. “My father would never allow me.”
“Your uncle has them.” Graff tilted his head as the next song started.
He had been acting like he didn’t know who I was, but he knew. Furthermore, he probably knew everything about me. If the MC was like the Mafia, they had their own intel about me. So Graff probably already knew that I didn’t have any tattoos.
Had he seen the bikini pictures from our last family vacation to Sicily? Did the MC care about my grades in college or my degree in criminal justice? Or my MBA? Did they know about all the guys I’d dated in college—always a jock with a business degree. The hockey players had been my faves. Too bad I never let any of them in my pants, because now, it seems like I would be losing my virginity to a biker bastard.
Although, if I thought long and hard about it... or if they did... they would probably have more interest in my bank account or if my father told me anything about his business. He didn’t, but I knew. Growing up in the Mafia with one of the highest-ranking capos for the Gambinos gave me access to lots of intel.
Not that I planned to share.
“Yeah, so does Papà.” I snorted. “One of his many double standards. But Rafe wasn’t under my father’s thumb when he got his.”
Graff clicked away on the equipment, the blue light casting ghostly shadows around his eyes. “Your father’s probably just being protective. Women leaders are better at keeping things equitable.”
“Equitable?” I questioned, but he just kept his focus on the screen. Not a word I would have expected from a rough biker with ink for days. And women leaders?
I studied Graff under my dark eyelashes until he pointed at the screen with gun fingers, then curled his thumbs. The screamy heavy metal song blended with something lyrical.
“You’ve got quite an ear.”
“Thanks.” He winked at me and leaned onto the table with one elbow. “He wasn’t?”
I furrowed my brows at him.
“Rafe, I mean. Under Massimo’s thumb.”
“Aahhh, no.” I shook my head. With Rafe part of the MC and this stupid deal now, he was probably more under Papà’s control than he ever had been before. “He got most of his tattoos in the Marines.”
“So he said,” replied Graff.
I scoffed. “Why ask if you already knew?”
“Rhetoric.”
Okay, so this guy was starting to seem like someone I could hold real conversations with.
“We talked about it earlier,” Graff continued. “He wants to complete his sleeve.”
I could see that with Rafe. It suited him.
Graff reached out and ran a finger over the exposed skin on my upper arm. “Your skin would be an amazing canvas.” His attention seemed lost somewhere. “Are you looking to get some ink?”
“I’m considering it,” I replied, surprising myself. I hadn’t been considering it before that moment, but with the fascination he showed. Well, yeah, I’d let him create something on my skin. Maybe it would even be a good enough FU to Papà.
Heat spread across my skin, in the wake of Graff’s finger, and I told myself it was just the bonfire, and all the wires connected to the big speakers. It was logical. Electronics put off heat.
“What do you want?” asked Graff.
“Belladonna.” The word had fallen from my lips before the thought entered my mind.
He rocked back on his heels, and I smirked. Some questions I couldn’t fathom passed through his eyes, and they flitted around the patio. His look wasn’t neutral, more like half-heartedly confused. Maybe he was concerned that others were watching us.
“I don’t think you have to worry about the others looking over here.”
They were more interested in the half-dressed women and getting their rocks off.
“Belladonna is a bold choice,” said Graff.
“You don’t recommend it?” I asked, dipping my chin. “I thought that was your work on the front of the warehouse.”
“I’m not recommending shit.” He set his jaw. “Tats are a personal thing, but?—”
“So you’ll do it?”
“You gotta give me more to go on,” he said.
“What else is there?” I asked.
“Design. Size. Coloring. On your bottom. Or breast?” He had dropped his voice for the last in his list, but no one was listening. No one could hear us over the music. I could barely hear him over the music, and I was standing less than a foot away.
“What about your artistic choice?” I asked.
He shrugged. “It’s not the same with tattoos. Tats are an agreement between the artist and the canvas. Something goes wrong, trust is fried.” Graff’s lips cocked up on one side. “And in this case, you’re the canvas.”
I tucked my chin as my cheeks flared. Why did being called his canvas make me so shy?
Tucking my hair behind my ear, I said, “What you did on the building is gorgeous.”
“It needs work. And I could redo it.”
“Same with tattoos.”
He thinned his lips and gave his head a small shake. “Those are more permanent.”
“Why belladonna on the warehouse?” I asked, curious. My reasons were a tribute to Nonna, but as he’d pointed out, belladonna is a bold choice.
“Why not?” He grinned. “Don’t see us as flower guys?”
“Not exactly,” I admitted, but his broad smile was infectious. “It’s deadly, true. Although, I expected more guns, less poison.”
“Guns are too predictable,” commented Graff.
“Isn’t that the point?”
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t you want to establish territory and fear?” I asked. “I would assume the club, being all about this counter-culture lifestyle, would want something big and scary on the building. I mean others would have to know what it is to be wary, because it really draws the eye.” My cheeks flared when I caught myself blabbing, and I looked down.
Graff curled a finger and tucked it under my chin, bringing my eyes back up to meet his. “There’s something addictively beautiful about the belladonna flower. Like it’s Mother Nature’s way of saying, ‘Come in and play,’ just before she eviscerates you.”
“Oh, I see,” I replied, keeping the flirty tone, though I didn’t know when that had started. Maybe when I first touched him tonight or maybe when we started bantering so naturally. But I had the sensation I was a mouse playing with the cat. I needed to be less sadistic before I lost my prize.
He drew his eyebrows together, like he was still trying to figure me out. “The Mafia’s so different?” His voice wavered between joking and hesitation.
“I don’t actually know that much about my father’s business,” I lied, “but I think the Mafia hides themselves better... until they don’t.”
I huffed and looked away, feeling like a misplaced child playing a game I didn’t understand. Yet. I may be a pawn now, but I had a plan brewing. Unfortunately, I looked away from Graff at the wrong time, losing the growing safety and contentment that had been forming between us, because then I saw Sas stumbling across the yard, his arm slung around one of the half-dressed girls. A bunny?
His glassy eyes reflected the bonfire before he stumbled toward the flames, but the bunny drew him back. He fell against her, and they laughed.
“Adelina,” whispered Graff, though it echoed in my ears. He brushed his thumb across my knuckles, but I withdrew my hand. I couldn’t let my betrothed’s friend offer that kind of comfort.
“Why is he covered in blood?” I demanded, still watching Sas.
The bunny was drawing him further away from the flames, their limbs intertwining.
“It’s his own,” said Graff. “Mostly. I think.”
“I can tell that from the shiner on his cheek.”
Then Sas and the bunny started kissing. Disgustingly. His jaw dropped open, and he looked like he was eating her alive. His shoulders were hunched over her small frame, his body shadowing bunny. They made out like they were devouring each other. Shit, they were probably going to continue until the bunny was on her knees, sucking Sas’s cock. Like all the other whores here.
“Adelina,” said Graff in the same whispered tone. It was too tender for this kind of life.
“It’s fine,” I said, finally tearing my gaze away from Sas and the bunny. “Who is the chick?”
“Kaos,” said Graff.
I snorted. “What kind of name is that?”
Even the whores had stupid names. It probably all came down to what they did in bed. I bet the Duchess only fucked cowgirl style. Yeah, I might’ve been a virgin, but I wasn’t some na?ve doll.
“They shouldn’t...” muttered Graff, shaking his head. All color had drained from his face, but he had wound his hands into fists. “Sas should know better, and they are...” He ground his teeth.
“It’s not like I expected him to be a real husband.” I waved off his concern. “I’m familiar with the lack of monogamy in MCs.”
He pursed his lips. “That’s, um, not exactly what I was getting at.”
“Seriously.” I scoffed. “It’s not like we’re married yet. Hell, I could be fucking whoever I want too. Right?”
Why waste my virginity on that asshole? I scanned the crowd to find almost everyone paired off, and gross. I would never want to touch any of these men, let alone have them touch me. But I peeked back at Graff from the corner of my eye.
Orange bonfire light illuminated his features, hardening the lines on his face that I hadn’t seen before. No, they hadn’t been there before. But now the lines were etched around his eyes, aging him ten years. The tattoos now made sense on him. The belladonna on the outside of the building had extra meaning—beautiful but deadly. It would bring in the weak and those who marveled, and then it would kill them slowly.
I just had to resist that slow demise.
“That isn’t a good example of non-monogamy,” mumbled Graff, waving his hand toward Sas and Kaos. And then he motioned to the rest of the MC that had paired off with the whores.
“What?” I asked. “You’re into the peace, love, and STIs?”
He frowned. “This isn’t peace and love.”
“Only STIs?”
He said nothing about that, but he flipped to the next song. It grated on my nerves. Was I going to have to listen to rock-rap mix for the rest of my life? It sounded like something straight out a teenage emo’s moody bedroom? Thankfully, my life was looking short.
I was considering pushing him out of the way and finding some good music when he continued, “I’m quite familiar with the peace and love lifestyle.” continued Graff, the conversation not dying like I thought it might. “I grew up in a poly situation.”
I startled back. “A cult?”
“No, not a cult,” he said on an exasperated sigh. “This is more of a cult than where I grew up. As is the Mafia.”
“Oh, that’s definitely cultish,” I said.
“The village I grew up in was a wonderful place. For the most part,” he added like he knew I was going to ask. And I was. He cut me off again by going into further details, “It was peaceful. Definitely full of love. Most relationships, though, weren’t only between two people. As long as everyone was comfortable.” Graff quirked his brow at me.
“Like more the merrier?” I hadn’t meant to sound like a bitch, but I could hear the tone in my voice. I recognized it for part of the fa?ade that I’d been wearing since my father sold me off for marriage.
Graff narrowed his gaze on me, anger flashing. I’d overstepped. The apology was on the tip of my tongue— something Mamà would’ve made me do—but I swallowed it. I didn’t need friends here. I was already surrounded by enemies. Let another person hate me.
Roars echoed up from the crowd as Sas led Kaos back toward the clubhouse, holding her by the forearm, but she followed him like a puppy. Those cheering for him parted like the sea. I recognized a few of the prospects: Ghost, Merry, Pip. They had no girls to themselves, and they probably wouldn’t with their naked MC cuts. The crowd’s cheers died out as the door swung shut behind Sas and Kaos.
Graff was shaking his head and in his stupidly sweet, pity-filled tone, said, “Adelina.”
“It’s fine,” I snapped. “This isn’t a real relationship.”
“It’s not fine ,” he growled. His tone was as low as the base in his music. “Unless you mean fucked-up, insecure, neurotic, and emotional .”
“Hmmm,” I mused. “That about sums it up.”
He peeled the headphones from around his neck and handed them to me. “You’re up.”
“Up?” I asked, confused.
“Catch ya later.” He was already walking to the warehouse, showing me his leather-covered back with the skull in The Ridge MC patch staring back.
“I’m putting on something better,” I called after him, hoping it sounded threatening, but Graff didn’t look back at me.
Determination rang out with his boot heels clomping on the cobblestones. He stalked into the warehouse, and something told me he was going to find Sas. But why?