I Can't Own You? (BOOK 1)

66 (NEW)

DON WESTON

My golden Bentley pulls into a deserted construction site, touched by a midnight's moon. When it halts, I use a spare handkerchief to draw the handle of my door. My loafers step out on shoveled land. Land that men tended to just for this occasion. The headlights from my car illuminate the dark surroundings. I look around, not seeing the gold Porsche or Bugatti. "It's 11:50. Why is it that I'm always early?" I confront men who stand in a line before me, only really remembering Dorian, due to his pale hair and testy attitude. "I thought you recruited more men."

Dorian moves up. "Don Weston, most fled due to being tailed."

"Hmm...the little boy king must be keeping track of his subordinates." I unfold my handkerchief, unraveling the middle section. "Remember..." and display the bloodstain to the group. A part of James. "Just because the traitors are out of sight, doesn't mean they will suffer no consequences." I turn and lift my head towards sixty security guards posted on high crates, giving two blinks.

The men draw their weapons onto the ten members, Sniper rifles. "Hey...we won't ditch, you can trust us." Dorian holds his hands up...the rest follow his lead.

"We're good for it." Luther, a bald guy, adds.

"Are you...or aren't you," I close in on Luther, wiggling the bloody cloth inches from his face, "playing spy?"

"N..n..no..no, sir, I'm not."

Additional headlights wash over us, bright and huge. "Ahh, dear, saved by the late comers." I draw the cloth away from the now sweaty guy and into a top pocket, running my hands through my slicked back, black hair.

The gold Porsche and Bugatti roll-up, the tires crackling, the lights growing smaller and thicker onto us. Behind the expensive cars, trucks follow. I stroll away from Luther, outstretching my arms at pausing cars.

Don Siciliano exits first, following the order of command, saving the best for last. "Aww, do you need a hug?" The skinny bastard pulls back a red blazer, revealing a Glock 43x. "Come closer." He mocks.

Don Xavier, the fat motherfucker. The self-proclaimed leader of our trio exits his ride with a grunting struggle. "Now isn't the time to be gay. Business, men." Xavier snaps his fingers, eyeing the ten guys. "What happened to the numbers?" An Italian accent flows his lips.

I sneer happily, knowing this will cause a huge scene. "Go on, Dorian, tell him the great news."

"How about you tell him?" Dorian claps back.

Siciliano laughs, his blazer does as well; flapping in the brisk wind with dark, cheek length hair. "That won't be as entertaining."

"Get to it!!" Xavier barks assertively.

Dorian jumps a bit, shuffling forward. "The rest bailed."

A deadpan expression is given to Dorian by Xavier. I share a teasing gaze with the white-haired guy. "What?!" The boss takes a menacing stride to Dorian. "How did you let this happen? Why wasn't I informed?"

"It happened today!" The guy scoffs.

Xavier fixes his tie and places a hand to the collar of his black suit. "Foot." A bullet cracks from above, from the high crates, zipping into Dorian's foot. He hops and screams, toppling over to the ground, cradling his injured shoe and bleeding foot. "Watch the tone you use or next time it will be the leg." The boss eyes Luther. "You...congratulations, step up."

Luther's teeth clenches as he stares down at Dorian, who swarms in pain. "Yes, sir."

"Track down the bitches, kill them all."

"Now, the product." Siciliano intervenes.

The eight guys behind Luther file away, stepping off to the side, into the high crates, which are ajar. I look up at the sky, at a half-moon; smelling icy air. "What do we do about James, we no longer need his cooperation?"

Xavier gazes over the men who return with bricks of white tucked in large, plastic containers-carrying the product to the trucks where they're stacked. "Simple, we keep him leased."

I step forward, using my photographic mind to measure the amount within the containers, the circumference of the width between each bag and the height. I hold a hand up, stopping one man, and open a lid. I retrieve a brick from the load. My hands weigh it. Hmm...three pounds, as ordered. My nose sniffs at the product like a German Shepard. "All is well." I drop the bag back with the others.

"Eccellente!" Xavier's Italian accent echoes the area. "Continue on." He waves the man I stopped, who hops to it fast, carrying the clear items to the trucks with a hasty stride. "You two, come." Siciliano and I follow him to his Bugatti, the driver gets out and waits by the back door. "No more threats are to be made at James."

My head tilts to the side. "Is ripping off his shit not a threat?" I wonder as the three of us walk in unison to the gold car.

"No, this is a punishment, the last one to be exact. He's been humiliated enough; a choked pet is no good. Tell his men to return...end these business meetings."

Siciliano nods. "Agreed."

Reluctantly I side with the majority. "Agreed."

Xavier heads to the door; the driver opens it for him. The boss's low, ruby brown hair blows all over as he scoots into the grand vehicle. The door snaps closed.

Why such a soft spot with my two partners? Why go in with deadly poison, only to save him? Dominance? Pity? Respect? Hmmm...I slyly glance over at Siciliano as the big man's car rumbles off. "What do you make of that?"

"e stata una scelta intelligente." My companion replies, pointing a finger to his temple.

"Speak English."

"Impara già la nostra lingua, americano."

"Fuck off." I dismiss him and stroll to the men lodging and loading containers.