Page 11 of Mafia Captor

Guess who’s clinging to my baby brother’s arm…

Ashely.MyAshely. And god damn, does she look amazing.

She’s wearing a pink gown. Her breasts are perfectly encased in satiny fabric, smooth and round and welcoming. I want to bury my face in them, kissing the sweet nipples I know are hiding under that material. The rosy shade of the dress is a perfect match for the excited blush rising in her cheeks. Her hair is down, soft waves brushing her shoulders. She’s worn heels tonight, trying to appear to be a normal height and not the tiny little thing she is.

Sailor and Ashely look great together, him in blue, her in pink, like they’re already practicing for their gender reveal party. I take in my all-black ensemble, no jacket, shirtsleeves rolled up to my elbows, colorful tattoos covering my forearms.

Not a match.

Honestly? He’s perfect for her. I can see them now, driving their Suburban to potlucks in the ‘burbs. Two point five kids dressed in white polo shirts with their hair parted and gelled. Mom chasing after them telling them not to get their shoes dirty. Mom and Dad sharing a smile while looking on adoringly at the perfect little creatures they’ve created.

A bit of bile rises in my throat.

I can’t let it happen.

I know there’s a naughty freak flag inside that girl. I’m gonna be the one to make it fly.

Not my little brother.

She’s laughing at something he said, touching his arm playfully with those pretty pink fingertips she’s had repolished to match her dress.

Fuck.

Heat rises in my chest, my fingers tightening into a fist, clenched at my side.

I’ve already cut off her conversation with one man, literally blocking Danny Bachman from her view with my body. That fuckin’ guy. I saw the way she smiled at him at that wedding. Made my blood boil. Uh-uh. Not my girl. She’s not going to talk to anyone unless it’s me.

I stand back, leaning against the wall as I sip my whiskey. I’ve got to think. Ending a convo between her and a stranger was easy. Ending a date between her and my brother? Could get a bit dicey.

I’m not a jealous man. I just know what belongs to me. And I don’t share well.

I could just tackle him and throw him to the ground like I did when we were younger. But now, he’s filled out by spending hours in the gym. My only form of exercise right now is throwing a ball to my dog. Plus, after I kicked his ass, Ma would kick mine for ruining her event.

Scratch the wrestling match.

I rack my brain, stumbling through possibilities. I’ve already ragged him enough about the name thing. I need something fresh.

Blackmail? Ha. There’s no dirt on the kid. He’s squeaky clean. The worst thing he’s done this year is getting pulled over on his way to check on Ma when she went radio silent for a week. Turns out she had slipped into a depression when the Red Sox didn’t win the World Series. And as soon as he flashed his license with the name Sullivan on it, the cop let him go.

I could beg him. It is a charity ball, after all. Who’s a sadder cause than me? The brother who got dumped and never got over it. At least, that’s what they all think. I could play up that angle.

Or I could steal.

Only, it’s not thieving when the treasure already belongs to you. I did see her first. I should have reeled her in at that damn wedding.

I’ll wait till she’s alone, then I’ll corner her. Show her what she’s missing in my brother. Show her how bad boys make good girls get naughty. Drag her off to the dark places in this house and let her see how fun dirty can be. Now, I just have to lie in wait.

And try not to kill my brother in the meantime.

I stare daggers at him as he wraps an arm around her shoulders. He’s infatuated with her. Oblivious to me. A waitress hands Ashely a glass of the signature cocktail of the event. Ma’s latest obsession, a pink flamingo cocktail. Vodka, grenadine, lime, and pineapple. They hold their glasses up to one another to clink.

I’m going to vomit.

This plan of mine needs a little help. I walk by the happy couple with my usual grace but somehow as I’m passing Ashely, my face turned away from her, my elbow happens to jut out in her direction. My arm makes contact with hers. Electric tingles brush up my arm, just from my naked forearm making contact with her warm, bare skin. I bump her just enough to send a wave of flamingo juice splashing over her gown.

“Oh!” her sweet voice calls as I pass by. “My gosh.”

Dick move, I know. But save for making a scene, I have few options.

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