while another knock echoes through the suite.
“What?” I tilt my chin to the door. After that shit, I’m not opening it. I smirk at the thought.
Johnny motions to his hips while looking at mine. I take a glance down. “Fuck!” Motherfucker; fucking Marco ruined my Brioni suit. It cost more than that dumb fuck had in the bank. I look over to his carcass slumped in the corner of the room behind the pool table as Johnny opens the door. With one hand positioned firmly on the butt of my gun, and the other on my drink, I'm listening but I keep my eyes on the dead body in the room.
I’m vaguely aware of the transaction as the pit in my stomach sinks and blood rushes in my ears as their voices turn to white noise. I fucking hate that I was born a Valetti. But it’s sure as shit better than being born Marco.
Becca
The car door shuts as Sarah gets out of the car. It closes lightly. I’m surprised the fucking light isn’t flashing to tell me it’s not closed all the way. Too gentle. Sarah is too gentle, too nice. We spent most of the car ride in silence. She kept opening her mouth like she was going to say something, but never did. What is she really going to say?
I swallow the lump in my throat and dig through the console for some tissues. I swear to God if his cum has leaked onto this dress I’m going to be mortified. I don’t have a change of clothes, and it’s not like I can just hide in the car. It’s Jax’s first game of the season. He may only be three and never remember this, but I will.
I close my eyes and wipe myself, feeling like a dirty slut. I’ve only ever been with one man. Rick the prick, as I’d recently started calling him. Until he died, anyway. I shake my head and shove the used tissue into the leftover paper bag from Dunkin' Donuts this morning. I crumple up the bag and toss it onto the passenger’s seat. Taking a few deep breaths, I open my door and slide out of my seat. No one knows. I keep repeating that to myself as I turn my head to take a look at the back of my dress. Thank fuck there’s no mark. Honestly, they’d probably believe I sneezed and pissed myself a bit over me actually having had sex with… him. Tears well up again, and my throat closes. I don’t even know his fucking name.
I start walking along the tree line, looking over at the soccer fields. A loud whistle blows through the air and practically scratches my eardrums like nails on a chalkboard. I wince and rub my temples. Jax is at the very last field. Fuck these heels. I feel like a damn moron walking in heels on grass. I nearly topple over pulling one off, but the second is easier. I shake out my fears and anxiety; no one knows.
My heart clenches in pain once again. I can’t say I didn’t enjoy it. I can’t say I never fantasized about being taken like that. Ruthlessly. Being devoured by a man consumed with lust. My cheeks heat with a violent blush. I need to get my shit together. I can’t let these bitches smell any blood in the water.
“You’re late, Becca,” Cynthia says in a singsong voice, but there’s a ring of disdain on the end. I hope she’s fucking burning up in that strawberry tweed Chanel skirt suit. Her blonde hair is in a perfect bun, showing off her too fucking large diamond earrings. She’s a picture-perfect housewife. The kind of twig who doesn’t even finish all of her salad and knows exactly how everything is supposed to be done and doesn’t mind chiming in to correct others constantly. Yeah, she’s what Rick thought he was getting when he married me. Fuck her.
My eyes drop to her heels. All the moms are wearing heels even though they’re digging slightly into the dirt. I don’t know how they don’t fall down on their asses. I tossed my pumps into my bag, and now I’m walking barefoot. As I come up next to them, their lips turn down in frowns. Zero fucks given.
“I had an errand to run. How are our boys doing?” I give her the same fake smile she’s giving me before turning to face the field.
“They really need to step