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Here's the link: BROKEN ENGLISH ON NETGALLEY
Marita A. Hansen
About Marita A. Hansen, writing, art, and anything that comes to mind.
Saturday, October 29, 2016
BROKEN ENGLISH won't be on NETGALLEY after October the 31st!!! So, get it now!
Reviewers, take note! If you want to read and review BROKEN ENGLISH, you better request it now from NetGalley, as it will be gone after October 31. Though, please note, I don't pick the reviewers, the person running the co-op does.
Sunday, August 21, 2016
BROKEN ENGLISH: Chapters 1 & 2
By Marita A. Hansen
UK English is used due to the New Zealand setting.
All other variations are also due to where the book is set, as well as the characters' cultural and socio-economic backgrounds. This is why some characters use different speech patterns from others.
This book is set in the year 2002.
Temptation is the fire that brings up the scum of the heart.
Thomas Boston
I turned into Wera High and parked in the teachers' car park, so excited I was literally shaking in my seat. It was my first day as a permanent English teacher, something I'd been dreaming of since I was a kid. Prior to today, I'd only worked as a substitute, filling in when other teachers were away, which wasn't what I wanted. What I wanted was to have my own class, one where I could foster a connection with the kids, and help them fall in love with literature like I had. Then a colleague had mentioned that Wera High was looking for an English teacher. I'd jumped at the opportunity, even more eager since the high school was in South Auckland, a lower socio-economic area in New Zealand, where I felt I could really make a difference.
I flipped the vanity mirror down and checked my appearance, making sure my lipstick hadn't bled out like a vampire's victim. I smiled at the metaphor. I was a huge Buffy fan. I not only watched the programme, but read all the books. My husband thought it was hilarious that a Lit Major loved 'teenage, trash fantasy', his description, not mine. He'd told me that I should be reading the likes of The Great Gatsby, Nineteen Eighty-Four, and To Kill a Mockingbird, all books he knew nothing about, since his idea of good literature was Sports Illustrated.
My reflection in the vanity mirror wiped the smile off my face. My rose-coloured lippie had indeed attempted to escape my lips, making a beeline for my chin. I licked a finger and ran it under my mouth. One would have thought that by the year 2002 they'd have invented a lipstick that would stay put, but no, it was a constant battle keeping it confined to one area. Or maybe I was just useless at putting it on. Regardless, I applied a fresh layer and smacked my lips together, fixing the problem—for the time being. Happy with the result, I slipped my lipstick away in my tan-coloured satchel and smoothed down my long blonde hair, which I'd freshly dyed to get rid of my naturally mousy-brown colour.
Eager to get the day started, I got out of my yellow Volkswagen, taking in the vibrant surroundings. Wera High was so much livelier than the middle-class and posh schools I'd substituted at in London. The South Auckland kids were louder, bigger, scruffier, and more disorderly. They were streaming onto school grounds, cutting across the road, car park, and grass, one even kicking down a 'No Walking On Grass' sign as he headed for a two-storey, cream-coloured building with a green roof.
I slung my satchel over my head, resting the strap across my soft pink blouse and the leather bag on the hip of my darker pink skirt. I went to head for the same building, which held the principal's office and the staffroom, but quickly flattened my back against my car as three boys bowled past me, almost taking me out. They sprinted across the grass, with a monster of a boy leading the way, his wide shoulders deserving their own postcode.
I shook my head and turned to go, spinning around as a yell rented the air. On the far side of the lawn, the three boys were pushing and shoving another boy, as well as throwing punches at him. Their victim looked like he was struggling to fend them off, his arms and feet moving fast in self-defence. Then the big boy hit him from behind, knocking him to the ground.
I ran for the fight, yelling at them to stop. My right heel clipped a raised patch of grass, almost sending me falling onto my face. I briefly flailed, but righted my footing in time and continued on, closing in on the fight. Two of the attacking party took off as I neared them, while the bigger one remained. He started kicking the fallen boy, one boot connecting with his crotch. The boy cried out and curled up into a foetal position, clutching himself below.
I shot in front of the thug as he raised his boot again. "Stop!" I shouted, holding out my hands.
He lowered his foot, his expression an angry mask of brutality. He had a crooked nose, square jaw, and a prominent brow, his number one haircut finishing off his tough-as-nails look. He was also very tall, well over six-foot, dwarfing my five-foot-three frame. I swallowed and took a step back, realising the danger I'd unwittingly put myself in. I'd read about teachers getting hurt in South Auckland schools. Only the other day, one was knocked unconscious at a school that was barely five minutes from Wera High, and here I was on my first day, jumping into a situation where I couldn't possibly defend myself.
"Go to the principal's office," I said, trying to sound assertive, although I felt anything but, especially with this colossus sneering down at me.
His angry gaze shifted to the fallen boy. "You're so pathetic you need chicks to save you now. Just stay away from mine—"
"I don't want your sloppy seconds!" the boy yelled on the ground, the kid obviously having a death wish.
Fury flashed across the other one's face. The headline FEMALE TEACHER HOSPITALISED DEFENDING STUDENT jumped into my mind. Desperate to diffuse the situation, I whipped out my mobile phone. "I'll call the cops if you don't leave now."
The thug tensed. "You should stay outta other people's business, lady."
"It is my business when you fight on school grounds," I said, trying to sound authoritative. "What is your name?"
"None of your biz, bitch." A second later he was gone, disappearing inside the school building. I exhaled a breath I hadn't realised I was holding in, relieved that I hadn't gotten killed before the bell had even rung. Behind me the injured boy moaned, pulling my attention back to him. He was still curled up and clutching his crotch, using curse words that would make a sailor blush.
I squatted down and placed a hand on his arm. "Are you all right?"
He mumbled something I couldn't discern. He had his face turned towards the ground, his black crop of hair speckled with flecks of grass, mud, and a small twig.
I pulled out the twig. "Do you need help to get up?"
"I said, fuck off!"
I whipped my hand back, shocked by his vicious response. "There's no need to swear at me, I'm just trying to help."
"I don't need your help." He turned around and sat up, his angry gaze going to mine.
I froze, taken aback by his appearance. He was...
Dark eyes stared back at me, framed by even darker lashes, which matched his wavy black hair. He looked Italian or possibly Brazilian, his olive-skin and sculpted face reminding me of a famous male model I couldn't remember the name of.
The boy's glare dropped. For a moment he appeared as struck as I was, then he brought a hand to his brow, breaking the connection. He wiped some blood off it, drawing my attention to a small gash above his left eye. I quickly pulled open my satchel and searched for a tissue amongst the mass of receipts, finding an unopened packet. I removed a tissue and applied it to his wound.
The boy grabbed my wrist, freezing me in place. "I'll do it," he muttered, taking the tissue out of my hand. Letting go of my wrist, he placed the tissue to his brow and pushed to his feet, grimacing as he straightened. His other hand went to his crotch, reminding me he'd been kicked there.
I rose up too, feeling small in comparison. Even though he wasn't as big as the monster that had attacked him, he was still close to six foot. His arms were also defined, the material of his grey short-sleeved, button-down shirt straining against his biceps.
I cleared my throat. "I'll take you to the sickbay," I said, feeling ashamed for ogling a schoolboy. Though, he looked like a senior, which meant he was either seventeen or eighteen, which wasn't that much younger than my twenty-four years.
He shook his head. "I'll be fine." He swiped up his bag, which was covered in writing reminiscent of graffiti. There was also a gang patch sewn into the black canvas. My husband had been concerned when I'd told him the position was in South Auckland. After watching the film Once Were Warriors, he seemed to think he was an expert on the area, calling it gangland territory. I'd teased him mercilessly over it, since he'd never even been to Auckland, let alone New Zealand. He was from London. I'd met him while on my OE—an overseas working holiday. We'd been together for a good four years, married for one of those. He was due to follow me in a few weeks, his documentation taking longer than we'd anticipated.
Brushing himself off, the wavy-haired boy headed for the main building, discarding me like the tissue I'd given him. I ran after him, holding down my knee-length skirt so it didn't fly up.
"I think I should take you to the sickbay," I said, speaking to his back.
He kept on walking. "I'm fine."
"No, you're not; you should get a bandage for that cut and check your—"
He came to a sudden stop, almost causing me to crash into him. I took a step back as he turned to face me, his glare making me take another one. "You better not say balls," he said.
I snorted out a nervous laugh and waved a hand at him. "Don't be ridiculous, I was referring to your other injuries."
"The only thing injured is my pride, so just leave me the hell alone. I don't need chicks fighting my battles for me," he said, his accent sounding Maori, not Italian or Brazilian—like he looked.
He turned back around and awkwardly ascended the stairs to the main building, the kick below obviously still hurting, which was no doubt why he was being so grumpy with me. I followed him into the corridor, where other students were milling about, talking, stuffing their belongings into lockers, and generally being noisy, the bustle reminding me of the London Underground, just more suffocating. The smell of teenage sweat, cologne, perfume, and even mud permeated the air, along with the heat their bodies were generating, making the corridor a rather unpleasant place to be on a hot summer's day.
I pushed past some students, not willing to let the boy get away from me. My husband described me as a pit bull when I was determined to do something, biting in and not letting go until I got my way. "You could at least tell me your attacker's name," I said, doing my best to keep up with him, the crush of students impeding me. "I have to report this."
He shook his head. "Not happening."
"It is, so I need his name."
He stopped in the middle of the corridor and turned to face me, giving me another annoyed look. "Cut me some slack, lady. I don't wanna start off the year in the principal's office, defending myself, when this isn't even my fault."
"You won't need to, you're the victim."
He grimaced. "Don't call me a victim, I don't appreciate it." He turned to go.
I shot in front of him. "I still need to know the boy's name."
"You don't give up, do ya?"
I shook my head, just as determined to get it as before, if not more.
He exhaled loudly. "It's Ronald McDonald, but if I get called into the principal's office I'll deny it. I'm not a nark."
I scowled at him. "Do I look like an idiot to you?"
His annoyed expression dropped, the first sign of a smile pulling at his lips. "Do ya really want me to answer that?"
My scowl grew. "Don't be cheeky. And you can't seriously expect me to believe that boy's name is Ronald McDonald."
He blinked, then let out a burst of laugher. "That is his name. His father's a big fat cunt who loves McDonald's. Though, we usually call the prick Ron, Ronnie, or Happy Meal. We also call him Burger King or Wendy's when we really wanna piss him off."
"Are you playing with me?" I asked, not sure whether to believe him or not. Although he sounded genuine, I couldn't fathom someone naming their own child after a clown.
He shook his head, his smile drawing my attention to his mouth. He had the most perfectly shaped lips, with a full bottom lip just made for nibbling on. His smile grew into a cocky smirk, alerting me to the fact I was staring.
I ripped my eyes away from his mouth. "What about you, then?" I asked, again feeling embarrassed.
"If you wanna know more 'bout me, I'll meet up with you after school," he said, appearing highly amused. "My number is—"
"I don't want your number, just your name?"
"It's Dante Rata." He blew me a kiss, then spun around and disappeared into the mass of students.
I glanced back at the teacher, thinking she was hot as fuck. Just a pity it hurt to look at her, my balls whining like a bitch. It felt like Happy Meal had left his boot-print on my gonads and all because I'd been nice to his girlfriend ... by letting her suck my dick. I'd gate-crashed a party with two of my mates. She'd been there, minus Happy Meal's ugly mug. Before I knew what was happening, I had a stomach full of vodka and my pants around my ankles, with my dick down her throat. I hadn't even remembered going into the bedroom with her. If anything, I swear I'd gone in there alone to sleep. But since she'd already gotten me hard, it was a no-brainer to let her finish the job, plus she was hot.
Just not as much as that M.I.L.F. of a teacher, that was, if she was even a mother, because that tight little bod didn't look like it had shot out any bambinas. I grinned, finding it amusing she'd gotten all hot and flustered over me. I wondered how old she was. Early twenties at a guess. I'd cream my pants if she ended up being one of my teachers, because it would be so much fun to wind her up. But I didn't get that kind of luck. I either got old hags, fags, or guys with Hitler complexes, like my drama teacher.
I pushed through the sickbay door, aware I could've let her bring me here. I just didn't want to. It was humiliating enough that she had to save my sorry arse from Happy Meal and his halfwit friends; I didn't need anything else from her. I could get to the sickbay all on my lonesome without some M.I.L.F. holding my hand like I was a primary school kid.
The nurse looked up from her desk as I entered the room, disappointment thinning out her lips. She was a large fifty-something Tongan woman, with a thick head of hair and čokolada skin.
"Already, Dante?" she said, slipping out from behind her desk. "The bell hasn't even rung."
I shrugged and lay down on the single bed. My torso felt like Mike Tyson had used it as a punching bag—with knuckle dusters on. "Can I have an icepack?"
"Say please."
"Pretty please with whipped cream and a cherry on top."
Smiling, she grabbed one along with the first aid box. She passed it over and sat down next to me as the bell rang. "Why can't you keep out of fights, Dante?"
"If I did that I wouldn't get to see your beautiful face."
"Shush, Romeo." She was used to my sweet-talking, but she still smiled as she cleaned the cut above my eye. I lifted up my shirt and placed the icepack against my ribs, although I wanted to stuff it down my pants to take away the ache from Happy Meal's kick.
The nurse's eyes widened. "Dante! What on earth!"
I looked down at my ribs. My torso was covered with blotchy red marks from Happy Meal's and his mates' boots and fists.
"I've had worse," I muttered, laying my head back down. "And at least my stomach will look pretty in a day or too. I like purple and yellow."
Her face hardened. "This isn't a joking matter. Who did this to you?"
I shrugged, not interested in dobbing in Happy Meal again. I shouldn't have even opened my mouth to the blonde teacher, but she wouldn't shut the hell up. She was like a rabid little dog that wouldn't stop yapping until I gave her what she wanted. I just hoped she didn't blab to the principal, because I didn't need that do-gooder interfering in my business. I could deal with Happy Meal all on my own.
"I really wish you would stop fighting," the nurse said, cutting through my thoughts. Since I'd started Wera High two years ago, I'd been in and out of her office more times than I could remember.
She pushed to her feet with the first aid kit. "Will you be all right to go to class or do you need me to phone your father?"
"I'll be fine after a few minutes," I said, definitely not wanting the second option. My dad would bitch and whine if the nurse pulled him out of work, even more so since it was my first day back at school. Or worse, he'd probably beat the shit out of Happy Meal, which wouldn't end well, since the prick's father was the president of the Devil's Crew, a bikers' club that constantly clashed with my father's gang.
The bell for the end of tutor class rang, signalling that I needed to get to my first lesson of the day: Drama. I thanked the nurse and left the sickbay, doing my best not to walk like I'd just had my balls crushed. I lifted my chin in friendly hellos at people I knew, giving a couple from my gang handshakes, all the while pretending that I wasn't hurting like a eunuch who'd just had his nuts waved in his face. I wondered whether word had spread about me losing the fight. It didn't matter to people that I'd been up against three good fighters or that I'd been sucker-punched from behind. All that mattered was that I'd lost. I just wasn't willing to act like I had. Get your balls handed to you and you still had to walk like you could crush someone else's. Appearance was everything where I lived. It wasn't about fancy labels, it was about putting on a tough front, proving you were worthy of wearing the patch. That was what counted, no matter how much it hurt.
I stopped outside my drama class and opened the door, just enough to stick my face through. It looked like I was the last one to class. My classmates were sitting in the centre of the floor in front of our drama teacher. We didn't have desks for drama, only a small stage and props.
I shouted, "Here's Johnny!" doing my best Jack Nicholson impersonation.
Mr. Aston jumped a mile. He spun around, giving me a hundred-watt glare. He had reddish-brown hair and was built like a brick shithouse, with a chimney stack that constantly blew. Though, despite his solid build, he obviously couldn't fight for shit, since his busted up nose had more curves than Happy Meal's girlfriend.
Mr. Aston shouted at me, "Get in class!"
I didn't know why he was so angry, considering I was only acting, and it did say 'Drama' on the door. I kicked the door open the rest of the way and sauntered in, lifting my chin up at him. "G'day, Mr. Aston, miss me?"
He continued to glare, looking like he'd pulled the short straw with getting me in his class again. "Cross me and I'll slap ye with detention for the rest of the week," he snapped. He sounded like a Scotsman who'd lost his balls to New Zealand, his accent a watered-down version of Billy Connolly's, minus the sense of humour.
I resisted the urge to imitate his accent, wondering whether I could get through his class without receiving detention. He probably had a whole bunch of blue slips already printed out with my name on. The guy couldn't stand me; thought I was an arrogant prick. He was right, but I thought the same of him, just didn't get all red-faced over it. He really needed to chill the fuck out, because he had some serious anger management issues. If he hated teenagers so much why did he become a teacher? It was like working at a brothel and being allergic to condoms. Or being a nymphomaniac and signing up to a nunnery. Why would you put yourself through that?
He continued jabbering on about what he expected from me and how important Year Eleven was. I had to bite my tongue to keep a straight face, especially since I could hear my best friend sniggering on the floor behind me.
Mr. Aston finally finished his lecture. "Now, remove yer shoes and sit down."
I kicked off my boots, sending them flying to where everyone else's was. The array of black shoes and sandals were spread out next to the door, the drama teacher preferring the rank smell of foot odour to a little dirt on the carpet.
I sat down on the carpet by my best friend. Jasper was as tall as Happy Meal, just fat, the dude always smelling of meat pies and Coke.
Jasper held out his hand. I grabbed it and did a fancy two-tiered handshake, pumping our fists together at the end, our gang's full greeting. We'd been best mates since we were little kids, going to the same kindergarten, primary, intermediate, and now high school, minus the short period of time when I got expelled and was forced to go to Claydon High. After that dive expelled me too, I headed right back here, the principal making an exception for me. I knew why he let me back in. It was because he felt like he owed my family since he'd done fuck all for my oldest brother, who'd almost killed himself in a suicide pact while he'd been going here.
Mr. Aston's voice cut through my thoughts about my brother. He'd started calling the roll. When he got to my name, I held back from being a smart cunt and just answered with a "Here." In return, I got surprised looks from half the class. They'd probably expected me to say something stupid, but I didn't feel like it right now, my aching balls still distracting me.
I gently adjusted my crotch, noticing Phelia Lamar, a.k.a. Happy Meal's girlfriend, ogling what I was doing. She was a Māori chick with the coolest afro hair, which was all fuzzed out in the old seventies style. She also had big tits and the shiniest, juiciest mouth that was made for sucking cock. Just a pity she didn't know how to use it well, because she sucked in more ways than one.
She sidled up next to me. "Hi, Dante, you wanna come over to my house after school?"
I gave her an Are you fucking kidding me? look, definitely not interested. I didn't care how hot she was. There were plenty of other good-looking chicks I could get without having to deal with jealous boyfriends.
She screwed up her nose, probably realising why. "What Ronnie did to you wuzn't my fault." Her gaze moved to my brow. "And you only got a scratch," she said, reaching out to touch the bandage.
I jerked my head away. "Don't touch me."
"Oh, c'mon, babe, don't be angry with me. We had fun, didn't we?"
"We had fun. Past tense."
She pouted at me. "It doesn't hafta end. I've broken up with Ronnie."
"He doesn't seem to think so."
"Well, I have. I wanna be with you."
I went to tell her that I didn't feel the same way, but got cut off by Mr. Aston.
"One more peep oot of you, Dante, and I'll slap ye with detention so fast ye won't know what hit ye," he said.
I shot Phelia a glare, annoyed that she'd caused me more trouble. She gave me an apologetic look.
Mr. Aston resumed what he'd been talking about before Phelia had interrupted him. "We're going to start off doing Space Jump," he announced, which was an improv game. "Ye're going to act oot a scene from something ye did during yer holiday break. Ye'll get a minute each. So, everyone up."
All the students pushed to their feet. Half the class who knew the game froze into a pose. I was tempted to face Phelia and freeze doing a cock-sucking action, but decided not to antagonise Mr. Aston further, because I kind of liked this game.
"Phelia," Mr. Aston called out, "go first."
Within seconds, she was dancing around me, which was what she'd been doing at the party before she'd sucked me off.
Mr. Aston finally called out another name, stopping Phelia in her tracks. She froze in a dance pose, allowing Mr. Aston's niece to take over. The red-headed girl started pretending to swim. She had so many freckles on her face I had the urge to get a pen and play dot-to-dot. I smiled, wondering whether her body was covered with them too. I could spend a whole afternoon joining them together, then have a different kind of fun afterwards. Her eyes flicked over to me, giving me the same look the hot blonde teacher had. I winked at her, causing her face to go bright red. She quickly looked away and continued with her act until her annoyed-looking uncle called out my name, probably noticing his niece was eyeing me up.
Jasper started sniggering, fully aware of what I'd done over the summer holidays: selling drugs for my cousin and getting laid continuously. Though, I did visit my grandparents for Christmas, where I went surfing with my oldest brother and uncle. But pretending to surf for the drama class was lame in comparison to imitating sex, which... Fuck it, it was worth getting detention just to see the look on Mr. Aston's face.
I cupped my hands in front of me, pretending to hold someone's head and started moving my crotch back and forth, going, "Yeah, baby, take that cock. You know you want it. Yeah, yeah, ye—"
Before I could get the last yeah out, Mr. Aston grabbed me by the neck and hauled me to the door. He yanked it open and shoved me into the corridor, yelling, "Detention for the rest of the week!"
The door slammed in my face. I stood in my socks, listening to the class erupt into a fit of laughter on the other side of the door, Jasper's laugh the loudest. Next thing, the door burst open and Mr. Aston threw my boots and bag at me, thankfully not hitting me in the balls in the process. Everything landed at my feet with a resounding thud.
"Principal's office. Now!" he roared, slamming the door in my face once again. On the other side he boomed at the class, "Be quiet!"
I smiled and shoved my feet into my boots, not needing to fix the shoelaces since I never undid them. Instead of heading for the principal's office, I aimed for the exit, intending on sitting out the back of the gym until the bell went. Mr. Aston never checked to see if I'd gone to the office, something I'd discovered last year. He probably didn't care if I went or not, just that I was out of his class.
As I passed another classroom, a loud wolf whistle pierced my ear. I backed up and looked through the small square window in the door, instantly recognising the hot blonde teacher. She was standing in front of a class of Year Tens. One of the boys was whistling at her while his mates sniggered next to him. She fired back a retort I couldn't hear, but whatever it was, it shut the boy up faster than my cock in Phelia's mouth. A second later, I realised she'd be taking my English class.
A big smile spread across my face, the day suddenly getting a whole lot more interesting. I resumed walking down the corridor, looking forward to English for the first time ever.
After the bell had rung, I headed to my maths class, one of my least favourite subjects. As soon as I entered the room, the teacher told me that the principal wanted to see me. I trudged to Principal Sao's office, annoyed that Mr. Aston had finally checked up on me. I wondered whether it was one of his New Year's resolutions to make my life miserable.
At the end of the corridor, I turned right and entered the reception area, taking a seat on the navy-blue vinyl couch. The secretary looked over her desk at me with a slight shake of her head. She was an old bird in her sixties, with dyed blonde hair and a lady-boner for pearls. She gave me one of her disappointed looks, like she'd expected better of me, which always floored me, since I spent half my time here.
She indicated for me to go into the office. "He's expecting you."
I pushed up from the couch. "I bet he is," I mumbled under my breath, again cursing Mr. Aston for finally doing his job.
I opened the door and entered the bland room, ignoring the painting on the wall, knowing it off by heart. It depicted two boys walking into the sea, one of them my brother—who'd painted it. It always reminded me of that fucked up year Ash had tried to kill himself, a year I wished I could wipe from my memory.
"Please take a seat, Dante," Principal Sao said, indicating to the chair in front of his desk.
He was sitting in a swivel chair, looking at me with a serious expression, probably wondering how he could save me from myself. I slumped down into the cushioned seat and looked out his window, wishing I'd stayed in bed.
Principal Sao pushed out of his chair and walked around to me, seating himself on the edge of his desk, blocking my view of the window. He was a big Samoan man who had a penchant for smart suits. Right now he was wearing a navy-blue one, with a purple and white striped tie over a white button-down shirt.
He started talking, making me think of the actor who did Darth Vader's voice, just without the breathing problem. "I was very disappointed to find out you were fighting with Ronald again," he said.
Surprised by his words, I didn't reply, all thoughts about Mr. Aston ratting me out gone. How'd he know? It hit me a second later. The blonde teacher had dobbed me in. I grimaced, now annoyed with myself for giving her my name, not to mention Happy Meal's.
The principal continued, "It's the first day of school and you two are already at it. I told you last year I won't stand for this nonsense anymore. If I have to, I will suspend you, Dante, regardless of the connection I have with your family."
Pissed off he was blaming me, I sneered at him, wanting to tell him he had no connection to my whānau. He wasn't family, he wasn't even Māori. He probably thought that since he was Polynesian he could identify with me. He couldn't identify shit, because he hadn't pissed blood from being beaten so hard, hadn't had to deal drugs just to pay the bills, or gone hungry because his father took too many sick days due to being mentally ill. Instead, he was what my Tongan mate called a Pālangi Poly—a white Polynesian, who'd probably grown up in East Auckland instead of Wera's streets.
He shook his head at me. "I wish you would stop fighting everyone, Dante. You need to learn to walk away."
I remained silent, wondering how the hell he expected me to walk away from being jumped from behind. Then again, he was probably trying to get me to blurt out it wasn't my fault, twisting things to get me to talk.
He narrowed his eyes at me, giving me one of his this-is-serious faces. But it wasn't a serious matter to me. The beating Happy Meal and his mates had handed out was nothing in comparison to what my stepfather had done to me. This was no more than a paper cut, something I'd forget about once the bruises disappeared. But what my stepfather had done ... I could never forget that. I just wished I could.
Principal Sao sighed. "I can't help you, Dante, if you don't talk to me."
"I don't need your help," I finally said. "I need to be in class," because it's better than being here.
He indicated to the door. "Okay. Go."
I pushed up and headed for the door.
"Dante," he said.
I placed a hand on the door handle and looked back at him, waiting for him to get whatever he wanted to say off his chest.
He pushed up from the desk, giving me one of his soulful stares, something that I felt he'd copyrighted just for me. He knew too much about my family, things I didn't want anyone to know. It just made me feel even more uncomfortable around him.
"I know you believe that everyone thinks you're a bad kid, someone who'll end up in jail," he said, "but you're not. Deep down inside you're a good kid, who would do really well if you just applied yourself instead of creating your own personal warzone."
I snorted out a laugh.
"This isn't a joking matter, Dante. This year is important and I want you to treat it as such. Stop looking for fights and concentrate on your school work, because if you applied yourself you'd pass."
I snorted out another laugh. "I'm gonna flunk. All my teachers know it."
"It's only you who thinks that."
"Tell Mr. Aston that."
"Okay, he's the exception. But if you just concentrated you'd do well, especially in English and Music. You have a stunning voice and are great on the guitar and drums. You're also a wonderful poet. You could get into university if—"
"I'm not goin' to university," I cut him off, not interested in his fantasies.
His shoulders slumped, the man appearing to deflate at my words. I didn't know what he expected from me, especially since he knew no one in my family had ever amounted to anything, other than ending up in the newspapers for committing some sort of crime. Or worse, being a statistic like my mother, my stepfather having murdered her.
Wishing I wasn't his pet project, I disappeared out his door and headed back to my maths class. As I walked down the corridor, my mind shifted to the English teacher, angry with her for ratting me out. I'd planned on going light on her, just a bit of teasing and flirting, nothing serious, since I liked the idea of having something pretty to look at during class. But now there was no way I was going to play nice. And like with any other rat, she was going to get what was coming to her.
Links to
Saturday, June 11, 2016
Promo Stars: Invite ♥ Blog Tour ♥ Broken English by Marita A. H...
Promo Stars: Invite ♥ Blog Tour ♥ Broken English by Marita A. Hansen...: You are invited to join us for the Blog Tour of Broken English by Marita A. Hansen Aug 2 - Aug 8 #Taboo Literary Fiction.
Wednesday, October 28, 2015
I want to tell you a bit about my new series LOVERS & SINNERS. Although it isn't My Masters' Nightmare, it does continue from it, so you will be seeing many of the characters from that series in it. In the first books the story will follow Sasha (the Russian guard originally captured by the Donatelli in the early episodes of MMN) & Andriena (Camila's sister). This story is set in the Black Palace, so you will get a lot of the Black Russian. Camila and Matteo are also in the novella, but sorry, ladies, Jagger isn't. You will see him again in book two.
Anyway, this series is based on couples, where each book will follow one set (with only their points of view). You may have noticed that Sasha & Andriena has a #1 under their title. That's because their story won't finish in book 1, it'll just be the beginning. They may get 3 or 4 novellas, but I could also give them more down the track, after I give some page time to others, like Jagger & Camila. The Black Russian and the Black Widow may even get some novellas, or possibly The Black Widow and the male FBI agent she likes. And yes, I could even give some to Frano & Rita, though, I kind of want to give them their own separate series, but if I don't get the time to do that, I'll pop some stories about them in LOVERS & SINNERS.
In regards to Matteo, you'll also be seeing him in the Santini twins' books, since Dominic takes a liking to him :) And maybe you'll even get Dominic in LOVERS & SINNERS. We'll see.
BUT, for now the focus is on Sasha & Andriena, so clear your schedule, because it's due out NOVEMBER 24!
GOODREADS LINK: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/25228535-sasha-andriena-1
Anyway, this series is based on couples, where each book will follow one set (with only their points of view). You may have noticed that Sasha & Andriena has a #1 under their title. That's because their story won't finish in book 1, it'll just be the beginning. They may get 3 or 4 novellas, but I could also give them more down the track, after I give some page time to others, like Jagger & Camila. The Black Russian and the Black Widow may even get some novellas, or possibly The Black Widow and the male FBI agent she likes. And yes, I could even give some to Frano & Rita, though, I kind of want to give them their own separate series, but if I don't get the time to do that, I'll pop some stories about them in LOVERS & SINNERS.
In regards to Matteo, you'll also be seeing him in the Santini twins' books, since Dominic takes a liking to him :) And maybe you'll even get Dominic in LOVERS & SINNERS. We'll see.
BUT, for now the focus is on Sasha & Andriena, so clear your schedule, because it's due out NOVEMBER 24!
GOODREADS LINK: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/25228535-sasha-andriena-1
Wednesday, June 3, 2015
BEHIND THE SECRETS (Behind the Lives #4)
After writing BEHIND THE SECRETS I am determined not to let my mafia stories, regardless of sales, determine when I publish the next Behind the Lives installment. It was like going home with Behind the Secrets. I know exactly what to write, things come naturally, I don't even have to think half the time, whereas with the mafia ones I feel like I never get things right, have to constantly question what I write, never know how people are going to react. I Love You, Salvatore is the only exception for the mafia stories, because I wrote that exactly right. Whereas My Masters' Nightmare made me pull out my hair and the Santini Brothers makes me question my writing constantly. The Santini Brothers is now driving me nuts like My Masters' Nightmare did, lol. I get so many conflicting reactions, people absolutely loving it to the opposite end. I do get different reactions with Behind the Lives, but for some reason I don't care smile emoticon I know the culture, I don't question things, I write that series for me and have a staunch group of readers who love it and understand the characters like I do. I really do love writing Behind the Lives, again, it's the only series I can call my baby. If you read only my mafia stories you should really give Behind the Lives a go. I know it's gangland and street type writing, but the characters are so realistic and captivating, with many influenced by real people, even some lines said are real. It may be safer for you to start on book 2, Behind the Tears, since the first book, Behind the Hood, will evoke extreme reactions. I've had people absolutely love Behind the Hood and continue with the series, but I've had people hate it because of Tama, but decide to give the second book a try and absolutely love that one since the main characters are nicer. Basically, if you dislike Behind the Hood it doesn't mean you'll dislike the rest of the books, but if you dislike Behind the Tears the series isn't for you, since this book reflects the follow up ones. Also, if there are any New Zealand sayings you don't understand, PM me, I'll be happy to explain them. I've done my best to make them understandable in the story, so it should be okay. Anyway, off to edit more of BEHIND THE SECRETS, which is being sent to my editor next week smile emoticon
Tuesday, May 5, 2015
Behind the Secrets (Behind the Lives #4) - Progress
Below is BEHIND THE SECRETS' progress, so you know I'm not getting distracted by other books :) I will be publishing it next. Sorry, I don't have a date yet, but will let you know when it's been set.
1 I've currently written just over 35, 000 words.
2 I wrote about 3,000 words today. I have been known to write considerably more than this when I'm on a role, so don't worry, it's rolling along well.
3 As said yesterday on my Facebook author page, Saul will be getting a viewpoint. I just wrote two of his chapters today.
4 Current viewpoints:
5 Two new characters have been included into the Behind the Lives family:
- L (Llewellyn from the Graffiti Heaven series).
- Sarah. She's a police officer who works with Saul.
6 Beth and Corey's mum has a more prominent role in Behind the Secrets, but becomes a major character in its sequel, where she gets her own viewpoint.
7 I'm not sure whether Kara will get a viewpoint in Behind the Secrets, but she is definitely in the book and is important to the storyline.
8 The central character is Beth, who will be on the cover. Don't worry if you don't like Beth, no one liked Tama either and he was the central character for book 1 :D
9 Tama does show his face again, along with Josie (Beth, Naf's, and Corey's cousin).
10 The most comical scenes are when Sledge and Corey are on the same page :D Sledge is hilarious. He has absolutely no filter now, due to the damage the bullet caused. So, be prepared for some very funny conversations, where he says the most embarrassing things, leaving Corey red faced.
11 Of all the books, this one will appear tame, until you hit the major shock, which will leave you screaming at your kindle or paperback.
12 Groan, I should go and draw the cover. Bye!
1 I've currently written just over 35, 000 words.
2 I wrote about 3,000 words today. I have been known to write considerably more than this when I'm on a role, so don't worry, it's rolling along well.
3 As said yesterday on my Facebook author page, Saul will be getting a viewpoint. I just wrote two of his chapters today.
4 Current viewpoints:
5 Two new characters have been included into the Behind the Lives family:
- L (Llewellyn from the Graffiti Heaven series).
- Sarah. She's a police officer who works with Saul.
6 Beth and Corey's mum has a more prominent role in Behind the Secrets, but becomes a major character in its sequel, where she gets her own viewpoint.
7 I'm not sure whether Kara will get a viewpoint in Behind the Secrets, but she is definitely in the book and is important to the storyline.
8 The central character is Beth, who will be on the cover. Don't worry if you don't like Beth, no one liked Tama either and he was the central character for book 1 :D
9 Tama does show his face again, along with Josie (Beth, Naf's, and Corey's cousin).
10 The most comical scenes are when Sledge and Corey are on the same page :D Sledge is hilarious. He has absolutely no filter now, due to the damage the bullet caused. So, be prepared for some very funny conversations, where he says the most embarrassing things, leaving Corey red faced.
11 Of all the books, this one will appear tame, until you hit the major shock, which will leave you screaming at your kindle or paperback.
12 Groan, I should go and draw the cover. Bye!
Sunday, May 3, 2015
BRANDO (The Santini Brothers #2) Sample Chapters
The Santini Brothers Series #2
by Marita A. Hansen
Publication Date: April 27, 2015
Death and sex on two legs ... BRANDO is coming for you.
Dark, brooding, and one hell of an asshole, Brando walks through life taking what he wants—and who he wants, whether they like it or not. And he wants Ivy, the second in command of the Vipers—a team of female assassins. Having been owned before, Ivy tries to resist Brando, who is just as deviant as her former master—a notorious human trafficker called the Black Russian. But after discovering Brando's devastating past, she sets out to get to know the real man behind the beautiful face: a tortured soul with secrets to die for.
WARNING: Sexual Content
The Santini Brothers #2
Marita A. Hansen
17 Years Ago
Church. Again.
It always bored Brando to tears. He wasn't looking forward to listening to Padre Antonio's long-winded sermons, telling everyone they would go to Hell if they didn't adhere to his strict moral code. At least the twins would entertain him. Brando walked down the aisle, spotting his twelve-year-old brothers bringing out chalices to put on the altar. Vinnie and Dominic were dressed in red and white, looking like angelic altar boys ... although Brando knew they were devils in disguise.
As Brando followed his family into the pew a row from the front, Vinnie placed his chalice down on the altar and looked Brando's way. Grinning wide, Vinnie pointed at Brando, then stuck his nose between two fingers, basically calling him a pussy. Brando flicked him the finger, making Vinnie laugh.
"Vinnie," their mother snapped. "Stop clowning about."
Vinnie smiled at her sweetly as if to say, 'I didn't do anything wrong', then went to stand by his twin and the organist.
Shaking her head, their mother settled into the seat, smoothing a hand over her dark blue skirt. "That boy will be the death of me," she muttered.
Brando sat down next to her, his parents and siblings filling up the long wooden pew. His family was the biggest of the Five Families—the Mafiosi who ruled their island, which was situated off the southern coast of Italy. His mother had created a dynasty, giving birth to ten children in ten years—although she didn't look like she'd even had one. She had the figure of a runway model, something she'd been before marrying his father. From Paris to London, she'd walked the high-fashioned catwalks, gaining a name for herself, her stunning violet eyes her trademark.
His father's booming voice traveled down the pew, pulling Brando's attention away from his mother. He glanced past her and his numerous siblings, spotting his father talking to his oldest brother. His papà was the Don of the Santini crime family. And he looked every inch a leader. The man exuded power: from the width of his shoulders, his commanding height, and the hard look in his steel-blue eyes. He was what a Don should look like—deadly. Although his father wasn't all about the job, women his old man's true passion. He was known as the lothario Don, something that caused numerous rows between his parents.
His father said something to Ricardo—Brando's oldest brother. The harshness in his old man's eyes softened, his love for Ricardo inherent. Brando looked away, wishing his father showed him love, instead of treating him like an inconvenience he wished would disappear.
The organist started playing, the music reverberating around the stone walls and stained-glass windows, the colorful saints watching over the congregation. After a few chords, the twins started singing, sending chills up Brando's arms. Everyone in the church went silent as they sung The Lord's Prayer, Vinnie and Dominic's perfect harmonization giving the impression that one person was singing the song.
"So beautiful," his mother said, her voice thick with pride, Vinnie's indiscretion all but forgotten.
The song merged into another hymn, his brothers nearing the end a few minutes later. Their voices went up higher, captivating the congregation. They slowly brought the note down, holding it near the end. As their voices petered off, the sound of footsteps resounded throughout the church. Brando looked over his shoulder as a priest walked down the aisle—a new padre he'd never seen before. The priest passed him, the swoosh of his black garments almost eerie in the silence that filled the church, the man capturing everyone's attention.
Brando's eyes followed the priest as the man walked up the two steps to the altar. At the top, the Padre turned around to face the congregation. Although his black hair had flecks of gray, he looked to be in his mid to late twenties, his face smooth and attractive. He was also big—about six foot of packed muscle. Brando had never met a priest who looked like he could bench press two-hundred pounds, the man definitely unique. And those pale blue eyes ... they reminded him of the Donatelli, who were nicknamed the Blue-Eyed Devils.
"What's Michael doing here?" his mother murmured. "He's supposed to be in Africa on a mission."
"Who's Michael?" Brando whispered.
"The priest. He's Don Donatelli's half-brother. One of the twins."
Brando smiled, thinking it was appropriate that his twin brothers were altar boys to another twin.
The priest started talking, his voice deep. Brando listened, hoping Padre Michael was more interesting than the last priest.
And he was.
Brando was so wrapped up with the man's stories about Jesus and his disciples that when the end of the mass came he was disappointed. Padre Michael didn't give long-winded sermons like his predecessor; instead, he talked about the history of Catholicism, something that fascinated Brando. He loved anything to do with history. At one stage, he'd wanted to go to university to study it, but his mother had vetoed his wishes, saying he had to work in the family business, which he hated. His father always gave him the most boring office jobs. He didn't want to be stuck in an office like a secretary. Women did that, and he was no woman. If he had to work for his family, he'd much rather assist in the gunrunning side of the business, or even better, to follow the soldiers around, helping them collect money by strong arming the clients. Now, that was cool. But his father had refused his request, saying he was too pretty to scare anyone, and that the clients would more likely laugh in his face than give him money. Brando breathed out, wishing his father would trust in his abilities. He was doing well in his combat class and even better at the gun range. He had the best aim, his brothers unable to compete with him. He never missed a mark, and could even hit the target blindfolded. He had an instinct when it came to shooting, guns another extension of his body.
His mother indicated for him to get up. "Follow me; I want to talk to the new padre."
He stepped out of the pew and followed her to the priest, while the rest of his family headed out of the church with his father ... except for Alessandro. His ten-year-old brother ran after their mother as though he was still attached to her by an umbilical cord. Brando's youngest brother was small for his age, looking like a seven-year-old more than a middle school kid. Alessandro had been born premature, which was why their mother doted on him more than the others, often coddling him to the point that their father complained she was turning him into a sissy.
They came to a stop in front of the priest, who was growling at Brando's twin brothers. Vinnie and Dominic turned to look at their mother, their smirks vanishing in an instant, her glare fiercer than the toughest Don.
Brando's gaze shifted to the priest, who was staring at him. People always stared at him. Although his father had called him pretty, he wasn't, he was beautiful. He had high cheekbones, dark-olive skin that hinted at a Moorish heritage, hair blacker than onyx, and golden eyes with flecks of brown. He hated his appearance, especially when people said he was too beautiful to be a boy. Instead, he wished he looked more like Ricardo. His brother had a masculine jawline and fierce eyes, not features made for a fashion magazine.
"Buon giorno, Padre Michael," his mother said, wishing him good day. "It's so nice to see you taking mass. Will this be a permanent arrangement?"
The Padre's pale gaze shifted to her. "I will be taking the early Sunday and Saturday masses so that Padre Antonio can rest more."
"Well, he is in his seventies. Anyway, you're a wonderful speaker. Your sermon was very engrossing. I was sad when it came to an end."
"You're too kind." The Padre glanced at the twins, who were now pulling faces at each other. "I wish I could say something nice in return, but unfortunately, I'm very unhappy with these two little devils."
"Why? What did they do?"
"I caught them drinking the sacramental wine before mass."
Brando's mother gasped. "Padre Antonio allowed them to get away with far too much. I hope you can whip them into shape."
The priest nodded, his pale eyes moving back to Brando. "And who is this young man?"
"My third eldest—Brando."
The Padre's eyebrows shot up. "He doesn't look like a Santini, he looks like a D'Angelo."
"He takes after his great aunty."
"Very much so. He's a replica of her son Davido. How old are you, Brando?"
"Have you ever been an altar boy?"
"When I was younger."
The Padre glanced at the twins again. Dominic was picking his nose, while Vinnie was blowing kisses to a girl standing by a pew. The Padre shook his head, then refocused on Brando. "Would you be able to help me on Sundays? I don't think these two will be of much use. They're fantastic choir boys, but not so much altar boys."
"Of course he can help," his mother cut in. "While the twins..." she growled, capturing Dominic's and Vinnie's attention. "You two, stop that nonsense."
The twins went still.
She turned back to the Padre. "Please give them another try. I'm sure under your hand they will do better."
"I'll give them one more chance, but if I catch them drinking the wine again, they will be gone."
She nodded. "I'll make sure they don't touch it."
"Bene. Though, I would still like to have Brando's help. Maybe he can lead them." He returned his attention to Brando. "Would you be able to do that for me?"
Brando nodded, not really interested, but if his mother wanted him to help the priest, he would.
"Fantastico. Can you be here an hour before mass next week? I will run through everything you need to know."
The twins started whining about it being too early.
Padre Michael turned to them. "I don't need you two until right before mass. I just have to show your brother what to do." He turned back to Brando. "So, can you come early?"
Brando nodded again. The priest thanked him, then said his farewells and left, instructing the twins to follow him. The twins did, imitating the man's walk, making Brando laugh.
His mother shook her head. "Buffoons." Her attention shifted to Brando. "If you whip those two into shape and make the Padre happy, I'll allow you to follow the soldiers around on their collection days."
Brando straightened, her words capturing his full attention. "I will."
"Good boy. It would be a nice change to get on with the Donatelli for once. I would very much like to settle the unrest between our families. The Padre's brother is giving us trouble again, trying to impose upon our territories. Maybe if you please the Padre, he will put in a good word for us."
Brando agreed, willing to do anything to make his mother happy—and his father, because if he could help with appeasing the tensions between the two families then his father would have to notice him.
He smiled, knowing the Padre was going to change his life.
Present Day
The soldier's car turned left, heading off the main road. Brando continued trailing the man, keeping a safe distance behind so Miko didn't see him. He'd been ordered to tail the soldier after Miko had bought a new car, one that was far too expensive for his salary, suggesting he could possibly be working as a spy. Brando had questioned Miko about it, the soldier claiming he'd acquired it with gambling wins. He'd appeared to be telling the truth, but Ricardo, who was both Brando's brother and Don, wanted it verified after a servant had betrayed them. The man had planted bombs in their house, which had led to the death of a family member. Because of it, Ricardo was taking no risks, wanting everything double-checked to make sure there weren't any more traitors amongst them.
Miko took another left, disappearing down a muddy road, which led to the gypsy village. Brando wondered whether Miko had won the money there, since the gypsies provided gambling services as well as fortune-telling and prostitution.
Brando followed, veering right a minute later. He parked behind a derelict barn half a mile from the gypsy village and climbed out of the car. He popped open the trunk and searched through his collection of disguises, looking for something that wouldn't stick out amongst the gypsies. His hand brushed over a threadbare shirt with tassels. He removed his silk shirt and pulled it on, the front gaping open, revealing his darkly-tanned chest. He slipped on a male beaded necklace, settling it on his chest, then changed his pants into a worn-out pair of leathers. Once done, he grabbed a mirror and checked his appearance. He ran a hand through his black hair, the slicked back look not fitting where he was headed. He messed it up, knowing he was still going to be noticed; his features too beautiful. Although he was similar in coloring to the gypsies, their dark looks originating from the Balkans, his golden eyes were too unusual, along with his model-like features.
He slipped on a pair of dark sunglasses and a hat, solving the problem, then headed down the dirt track to the village. Brightly painted gypsy caravans lined the Mediterranean Sea, adding more color to the countryside. The intricate caravans were all shapes and sizes, the mobile houses works of art. They were lined up in rows, with narrow alleyways running between them. Several cars were parked on the outskirts of the settlement, the vehicles belonging to the gypsies' clients.
Brando walked past the soldier's car, keeping an eye out for Miko. A group of small, scruffy children shot past him, chasing a skinny dog. On his right, in front of a caravan the color of the sky, a male gypsy was sitting behind a table, dealing cards to a group of middle-aged men in suits—none of which were Miko.
Brando continued on, dropping his head as two colorfully dressed gypsy women walked his way. They headed past him, too caught up with their conversation to pay him any attention. He raised his gaze, hoping to find Miko quickly, because he wanted to get back for the twins' gig. Vinnie and Dominic were playing at the family's nightclub, their rock act his taste in music.
A flash of black caught Brando's attention, making his head whip around. His eyes shot to a tall figure disappearing behind a red caravan. The man was dressed in black priest's clothing, his muscular physique far too familiar. He had only met one priest with a physique like that...
Padre Michael Donatelli.
He'd heard that Padre Michael was a prisoner of the Black Widower, a sadist who took pleasure in torturing men. But, maybe he'd escaped and was hiding out with the gypsies.
Brando ran after the man, his assignment completely forgotten. No, he didn't forget, he just didn't fucking care, his need for vengeance overwhelming everything. When he'd heard about the Padre's capture, he'd been happy. The bastardo deserved to be tortured ... or killed for what he'd done to him. He'd almost killed the man on two occasions, but had restrained himself, knowing the consequences would've been dire for his family. But now the Donatelli family was all but destroyed, there would be no consequences, only sweet revenge.
He rounded the corner, seeing a flash of black disappearing around another corner. Brando sprinted between the caravans, turning in the direction the priest had gone. Again, he saw the black cloth veer around another caravan. It was as though the devil was dangling his prize just out of reach, taunting him with something he could never have...
Even more determined, Brando picked up speed, running between the bushes and the caravans. He took a left into another alleyway, this one a dead end. He came to a halt, surprised to find nothing but empty space. He bobbed down and looked under the caravans, a few of the big wheels high enough for someone to crawl under. He was greeted with nothing, the grass undisturbed.
Pushing up, he turned to the red caravan and peered through its window, the brightly colored room empty. He checked through the window of the next caravan, finding a young couple making love. He wondered whether he'd imagined the priest, the bullet in his skull at times causing him to hallucinate. He'd tried to commit suicide almost two months ago, but his mother had knocked the gun, stopping the bullet from hitting him full on. He'd pulled the trigger after discovering he'd been the result of an affair, and that his real father was someone he'd killed in a hit gone wrong. Though, it hadn't been the only reason he'd tried to commit suicide. He'd been wrestling with suicidal thoughts ever since he'd gone to help the Padre that fateful day seventeen years ago, something he wished he could wipe from his memory.
But now he had a slew of reasons to live for, one of them his job, the other a woman, someone he hoped would be going to his brothers' gig tonight. He kicked into gear, wanting to get back on track so he could see her. He would find Miko, verify the man was telling the truth, then head back home and enjoy the remainder of the day, preferably ending it with the woman of his dreams riding his cock.
A beautiful female gypsy stepped into the opening, making him stop. Recognizing her, Brando quickly dropped his head. It was Gemma Balak, one of the twins' exes. She had a scarf wrapped around her head, its tassels hanging above her stunning green eyes. The rest of her long black hair hung loose, the curls spilling over an embroidered green blouse, which stopped an inch above a flowing skirt, revealing a sapphire stud in her navel.
"No use hiding your face, Brando," Gemma said, her accent Slavic. "I recognized you instantly. You glide like a demon."
Sneering, Brando raised his gaze. "I won't ask how you are, since I don't give a shit."
Her green eyes flashed at him. "Ever the charmer."
Removing his sunglasses, he headed for her.
Gemma took a step back, the woman unable to hide her fear, but to her credit she didn't run. "Why are you in my village?" she asked.
He slipped his sunglasses into his pocket. "Not for you—obviously."
She grimaced. "You could at least be cordial towards me; after all, we were intimate once."
"No, I just wasted perfectly good sperm."
Her hand whipped out, slapping his face. Before her palm had left his cheek, he grabbed her by the neck. Clamping his other hand over her mouth, he pushed her up against a bright red caravan. The woman started flailing about, trying to get free.
He pressed his body against hers, stilling her. "I could snap your neck in a second, witch, but I didn't come here for you. So don't strike me again or I might forget why I'm here. Acknowledge me with a nod."
She nodded.
"Now, I'm going to remove my hand from your mouth, so don't scream or I will kill you." He freed her mouth, but kept the other one on her throat, giving it a slight squeeze to scare her more. She gasped, making him smile, her fear turning him on.
"You're evil," she said, swallowing against his palm.
"Then why did you fuck me, puttana?" he said, calling her a whore.
"You cast a spell over me, dhampir."
Smiling wickedly, he flicked one of his pointy incisors with his tongue, knowing it would get a reaction. As predicted, her eyes shot to his mouth, the woman shuddering in fear. She believed he was a child of a human and vampire—a dhampir in her native Slavic tongue. After she'd slept with him, she told him he'd enthralled her with his demon magic, making it impossible to resist him. He'd replied that she was a two-timing puttana who didn't deserve his brother, and to shove her superstitious mumbo jumbo up her ass.
He moved his mouth to her neck, scrapping his teeth up her flesh, playing on her irrational fears. Goosebumps rose across her flesh. He nipped her skin, making her gasp.
"I should suck you dry," he said, amused as she whimpered. Obviously, Vinnie had fallen for her looks, because she didn't have a brain cell in her pretty head. "But, I'm sure you'd taste bitter." He sucked her earlobe into his mouth, giving it a slight nibble. "Sì, definitely bitter."
She started breathing heavily—fear, hate, and even arousal mixing in together. "Let me go," she croaked out.
"You didn't say that when you moaned underneath me, saying my name, not my brother's." He ran a hand over her full breasts, making her gasp again. "Are you excited? Because your nipples are hard." He tweaked them.
She gasped again, her eyes going round. "I don't want you, dhampir. Let me go."
"Oh, you hurt me so," he said, sarcastically. "I thought you loved me."
"I only love Vincenzo."
"What about your husband?"
She went silent, her eyes glossing over with tears.
He sneered at her. "Once a cheater, always a cheater."
"You approached me, not the other way around."
"You were just a job. I was paid to seduce you to make sure you stopped seeing Vinnie."
A tear spilled over, getting caught in her long eyelashes for a second. It dropped down, followed by more.
"Your tears won't work on me."
"Why are you so cruel?" she sniffled.
"As you said, I'm a demon."
"You deserve to die for what you did to me. You stole my virginity and lost me the love of my life."
"You gave me your virginity freely. That is what lost you my brother. If you hadn't cheated on him, I wouldn't have forced you to walk away."
"I made one mistake, which you used against me. I couldn't bear my Vincenzo finding out. I wanted him to remember me with love. And he was the one who was having second thoughts about getting married—not me!"
"Only because my mother was constantly badgering him to break it off with you. In the end he decided to defy her, but you refused to see him."
"He was going to risk everything to marry you, even his inheritance and being with his twin."
"But, you said you'd tell him I cheated if I saw him again."
"I would never have told him, he wouldn't have forgiven me."
Her face fell. "I could've stayed with him?"
"No, I would've killed you if you tried, and my mother would've paid me to do it. She knew you were trash. She was the one who paid me to find out if you would cheat on my brother."
Gemma's eyes widened. "Your own mother told you to seduce your own brother's woman?"
"Why would she do something so cruel? I told her I loved Vincenzo with all my heart."
"You must have a small heart considering what you did with me."
"That wasn't my fault, you seduced me."
"Vinnie wouldn't have seen it that way. All he would've seen was betrayal. He would never have forgiven you. He would've moved onto the next puttana in a second, knowing you were nothing but a lying fuck. Oh, that's right, he did move on. A day after you refused to see him he went to a whorehouse and fucked up a storm."
"You're lying!"
"Maybe, maybe not, though I'm sure you've heard about his addiction to one-night stands. I've lost count of how many women I've seen him with. Only the other day, I walked in on him with two women. You should've seen what they were doing to him—"
"Shut up!"
"Why? I thought you'd want to know how the love of your life was getting on," he laughed, "or who was getting on his cock."
"You're a cruel bastard!"
"At least I don't pretend not to be—unlike you, puttana. You act like a victim, yet I remember you calling out my name as you came around my cock. I also remember you kissing me all over my face, telling me I was so, so beautiful, and, oh yeah, you sucked on my cock like it was your favorite lollipop."
"I hate you! I hate you!"
"The feeling is mutual." He pushed away from her. "I hope I never see your face again, Gemma, it makes me sick."
She started screaming at him in her Slavic tongue. Ignoring her, he headed around the corner, knowing she was probably cursing him. But it wouldn't work, because the priest had cursed him a long time ago, with something no gypsy could top.
Brando walked through the village, no longer concerned with concealing himself. Gemma was probably running to her husband, telling Milan Balak he was here, and if the idiot was stupid enough to attack him, he'd gun the scum down.
He started peering into windows, trying to find the soldier. Gypsies stopped to look at him, a few whispering in their Slavic tongue. He stopped outside the window of a circular caravan, finding what he was after. Inside the room, the fat soldier was having sex with a puttana, the sight not a pretty one. Disgusted, Brando turned away from the window, annoyed the afternoon had been a write-off. He'd confirmed nothing, meaning he had to continue following the soldier until he got what he needed: absolute proof that Miko was clean. Maybe he'd just cut to the chase later and torture Miko into giving him it. He could tie him up in his whipping room and make him talk. No one would hear Miko's screams since the place was soundproof. He dropped the idea almost immediately, knowing Ricardo would say no. Pity, he could do with letting off some steam.
"Leave our village peacefully, Brando," a deep voice said. "Or I'll make you suffer for touching my brother's wife."
Brando turned around, finding Drago Balak glaring at him. The oldest of the Balak brothers was an impressive-looking man. In his mid-thirties, Drago had curly black hair and olive skin, while the kohl smudged under his eyes made him look menacing as well as exotic. Brando knew the kohl was used for the man's work. Drago was a lion tamer, his attire suggesting he'd just returned from the circus. He was dressed in leather pants and a billowing white shirt, which was cut low, displaying a powerful chest. Brando's eyes moved to Drago's hand, which held a whip. Drago let the whip unwind, the leather strip tumbling to the ground.
Brando smiled. "I prefer women to whip me."
Drago shook his head. "You're sick."
"I don't deny it." Brando lifted up his shirt and placed his hand on his gun, which was sticking out of his waistband.
Drago started winding his whip up. "I want no trouble, Brando."
"Tell your brothers that." Brando's gaze shifted to four men, who were heading his way—one of them Gemma's husband, who looked like a younger version of Drago. Brando smiled at them. "Ciao, Eenie, Meenie, Miney, and Mo, how are you doing?"
Meenie went for him. Drago turned and shoved his youngest brother back, almost knocking him over. "Don't be stupid, Milan, he'll shoot you. Look where his hand is."
Milan, aka Meenie, pointed a finger at Brando. "He assaulted my wife! She has bruises on her neck."
Brando cupped his crotch. "Only because she deep-throated me."
"Liar!" Milan went for him again.
Drago shoved him back harder. "Back down, Milan!"
Milan's dark eyes flashed; his glare now on his brother. "He touched my wife! My wife!"
"And if you want to touch her again, you'll back down. Brando will shoot you."
"You bet I will." Brando yawned. "Can I go now? You're boring me."
Milan pointed a finger at him. "Come near Gemma again and I'll slice your throat open."
"Looks like your puttana of a wife doesn't give you any, because you're such an uptight bastardo."
"She is not a whore!" Milan yelled, his face going beet-red. "Keep your filthy lies to yourself and don't come back. You're not welcome in this village."
"Then, I guess I better pay you now for Gemma's blowjob." Brando pulled out a coin from his pocket and flicked it at Milan.
Three of the brothers went for Milan, grabbing him before he could attack Brando. Laughing, Brando turned away, waving as Milan yelled louder, promising him death. Footfalls thudded behind him, making him glance over his shoulder.
"Why are you following me, Drago?" Brando asked.
"I'm escorting you out. I also want to know why you're in our village. Are you after Gemma again?"
"I'm not interested in her, never was."
"Then why did you fuck her all those years ago?"
Brando stopped in his tracks. "How do you know about that?"
"I know everything that happens in this village. So, are you here for her or something else? And tell me the truth, because if she's lying to my brother, I will kick that whore out of this village regardless of what Milan wants."
"I was following one of my famiglia's soldiers, making sure he's not a traitor. I ran into Gemma by accident."
"Which soldier?"
"A fat fuck who wears suits too hot for the climate."
"That sounds like Miko."
"Sì. Has he ever won money from gambling here?"
"Why should I tell you anything? You disrespected my brother and his wife."
Brando pulled out his wallet and flipped it open, removing a few hundred dollars. "I will pay you."
Drago held out his hand for the money.
Brando moved it out of the man's reach. "Information first."
"No, the money first."
Brando stuffed the notes back into his wallet.
"He comes here a couple days a week for whores and gambling," Drago said, still holding out his hand. "Though, I don't know whether he's won anything. If he has, it probably wouldn't be much since most of the gypsies who run the gambling are tricksters. He'd have more luck at the casinos than here."
Brando pulled the money back out, handing over one of the hundred dollar bills. "Does he have much money with him?"
"I assume he does, since he's able to pay for the young prostitutke. They cost more than the older ones."
"How does he pay?"
"Cash, obviously. We don't use electronic devices here."
Brando held the rest of the money up. "Contact me if you find any useful information on him. I want to know where he's getting the money from, whether it's via gambling or elsewhere. I will pay you well."
"I'll get one of the prostitutke to talk it out of him. We're able to get a lot of information from pillow talk. If I discover anything I will arrange to meet you elsewhere. And, don't go near Gemma again. Milan loves her."
"His love is misplaced. That puttana told me only a few minutes ago she only loves my brother."
Drago frowned. "Is this the truth or are you causing trouble again? And be honest."
"It's the truth. She's still hung up on Vinnie. If I were your brother, I'd leave her..." Brando smiled, "...in a grave."
Drago shook his head. "You're evil."
"That's what she said."
"Leave now."
"One more question."
"I saw a Catholic priest here. Do you know who he is?"
Drago grimaced. "Why would a priest be here? They think we're a scourge on the earth."
"They're worse scourges than you lot."
Drago's eyebrows pulled together. "Don't you have a brother who's a priest?"
"Sì, he's a devil too."
Drago shook his head. "You're the devil, not the holy men."
"They're not holy, they're murderers and pedophiles."
"You obviously have issues." Drago turned around, muttering, "Don't come back."
"Don't plan on it," Brando said. "Unless I feel like fucking your mother."
Drago spun around. "What did you say?"
"I love you." Blowing Drago a kiss, Brando walked off, thinking he needed better medication, because his hallucinations were getting worse. Drago was right. There was no way a priest would walk around a gypsy village full of whores, and especially not the Padre. The only woman the vile bastardo didn't hate was the Virgin Mary, the man a warped fucker.
Willing all thoughts of the Padre out of his head, Brando strode down the mud track, heading for his car.
Ivy pulled on her Viper outfit, which consisted of black skin-tight pants, an even tighter black top, and a black leather jacket. She knew she had one fuckable-looking body, but it wasn't why she wore the getup. The poured-on clothes allowed her to move with ease, and as a Black Viper—a trained assassin and spy, she didn't want anything that might hinder her in a fight.
She slid a knife inside her right boot and a gun in her jacket, grabbing an extra clip for good measure. Pocketing it, she headed to the mirror, quickly pulling her dark brown hair up in a ponytail. Once done, she smudged some black kohl under her dark eyes and smacked on some lipstick, not bothering with any other makeup, her tanned complexion flawless.
She headed out of the room she shared with her sister. She veered left down the passageway, aiming for D's room. They had gotten a job protecting the Santini twins. The two men were booked into playing a gig at H20, the hottest nightclub on the island. She knew why D had volunteered for the job. Her fellow Viper was hot for Vinnie, one of the twins.
She knocked on D's door. The Santini Don had given the Vipers the lower west wing of the house to live in. They'd moved in after the Santini family had been attacked, so they could help protect them as well as receive help in return. Ivy and her sisterhood of Vipers wanted to take down their former employer, the Black Russian having massacred a number of them.
D answered her door. The African American, Puerto Rican was practically a stunt double for Rosario Dawson, the two looking eerily similar. She was wearing bright red lipstick, black vinyl pants, and an electric-blue top. She'd also straightened her curly hair, the brown locks now reaching her ass.
"Ready to roll?" Ivy asked.
"Most definitely." D closed the door behind her. "I'm really looking forward to this. Thanks for letting me come."
"My pleasure." Ivy followed D down the passageway, her eyes going to the Viper's ass. She laughed, "What are you wearing?"
D spun around. "What do you mean?"
"It looks like you're wearing granny-knickers under your pants. I can see the outline. If Vinnie sees it, he'll laugh more than hit on you."
D's face flushed. "Give me a minute, I'll change. Meet me out front." She took off back down the passage, disappearing into her room.
Ivy continued onwards, stopping in the foyer as the front door opened. Brando stepped inside, the man capturing her breath. No matter how many times she saw him, she couldn't get over his beauty. And God, he looked even more delicious than normal. Instead of his usual suit, he was dressed like a gypsy. He was wearing a loose shirt and tight black pants, making his bulge stick out. She wanted to kneel down in front of him and take him right there and then into her mouth, not giving a shit about who saw. But she wouldn't, because, although he looked like heaven, he was hell on two legs.
He gave her one of his wicked grins; those two pointy incisors making him look villainous. "Buona sera, Ivy," he said, saying good evening, his Italian accent smoother than melted chocolate.
She remained silent, not knowing what to say or do.
"Not going to speak?" he said, smiling wider. "But then again, I do tend to render women speechless."
She snapped out of her dumbstruck state, and went to move past him. She didn't want to be near him, since he always created conflicting emotions in her. One second she wanted to suck him off, the next she wanted to stab his eyes out.
She stepped outside, stopping as he brushed a hand over her ass. She spun around, finding him staring down at her, his golden eyes intense.
"I was going to ask if you wanted to come to my room," he said, brushing his hand over her breasts.
She smacked it away. "Don't touch me!"
The first time they'd met, he'd ordered her to take her clothes off, then had fucked her without caring how she felt, just taking what he wanted. The next time he'd seen her, he'd whispered into her ear that she was his property. She'd been owned by one man before: the Black Russian, and that bastard had brought nothing but pain and suffering to her life—and Brando would do the same.
He stepped closer, making her back up fast, almost causing her to fall down the steps.
"Back off!" she snapped, considering hitting him. The man didn't know the meaning of sexual harassment—or more likely didn't care.
"Why are you denying me?" he asked. "I know you want me."
"No, I don't."
"Such a liar." He grabbed her shoulders, leaning in for a kiss.
She shoved him away. "I'm not yours to do as you please," she growled.
"Oh, but you are. So stop fighting me, we both know you want to fuck me."
"You're full of yourself."
"And for good reason, I'm gorgeous." He reached out to touch her breast again.
She smacked his hand away. "Stop it!"
"You're lucky I like you, Ivy, otherwise I'd hurt you for daring to hit me." He sneered. "Though, I might not be so nice the next time you do it."
"You tried to touch my breast."
"It's called a tit," he said, emphasizing the word, "and it belongs in my mouth." He smacked his lips together.
"And your cock belongs in a guillotine."
He laughed, his golden eyes lighting up. "Such a mean-spirited women. Maybe that's why I like you so much: you're just like me."
"I'm nothing like you. I don't treat people like shit."
"Some people would disagree with that."
"Name them."
"Kennedy," he said, mentioning one of the Black Vipers she didn't get along with.
"She's deserves it, so you can't use her as an example."
"Okay, I concur, you're all sweetness and sunshine."
"Don't make fun of me."
"I was being nice for once, and if you want me to be nicer, how about you give me a kiss a day to ward my nasty personality away."
"You have got to be kidding?"
"Try me."
She shook her head.
"What are you so scared of?"
"I don't trust you."
"It's just one kiss."
She breathed out. "Will it get you off my back?"
Knowing it was a bad idea, she still nodded, just wanting him to stop bugging her. And, in all truth, she wanted to kiss him and if he believed it was under duress, she could walk away without Mr. Arrogant thinking he'd won her over.
He leaned his head down to her, the man so much taller. He cupped her face, his eyes beyond beautiful, their golden hue captivating to look at. She stared into them, forgetting to breathe. He leaned even closer, his cruel lips pressing against hers. His tongue pushed inside her mouth. The next second, she was up against the wall, his mouth ravaging hers. His hands moved to her breasts, pinching and pulling at them, making her libido flare out of control. She grabbed his ass and pulled him closer, knowing she was making a mistake, but unable to stop. He knocked her hands away and stepped back, leaving her breathless and confused.
A smile formed across his face. "I knew you wanted me." He laughed and made for the door.
A second later, realization struck her as he disappeared inside the house. The bastard had suckered her! She swore. Men had called her a cock tease, but Brando was a pussy tease.
Furious, she stormed back inside the house, wanting to rip a piece out of him. She stopped under the archway, seeing him disappear up the staircase, probably heading for his bedroom. She went to follow, but hesitated, knowing if he got her in there she'd be a lost cause. She'd probably end up with her ass in the air and his cock in her pussy, like the last time. No pleasure for her, only the bastard getting off, then telling her to leave. If that happened again, she was sure she'd attack him, the man a selfish asshole.
She spun around and headed back down the passageway that led to D's room, wondering why her fellow Viper was taking so long. She knocked on the door. It opened a few seconds later. D's best friend poked her head out, the blonde American woman giving her a sneer.
"What's D doing?" Ivy asked, crossing her arms over her chest.
"Changing," Kennedy said.
"It doesn't take this long to change a pair of panties."
"She wants to look her best for Vinnie, so wait, bitch." Kennedy closed the door on her face.
Ivy yelled out, "You're the bitch! And tell her to hurry the fuck up or I'll leave without her."
Kennedy poked her head out again. "Then leave, because she's my friend and you're not getting your filthy claws into her."
Ivy leaned her back against the passage wall, giving Kennedy a smile. "Not happening, bitch. I'll wait as long as she needs."
Kennedy glared at her, then her head snapped to her left. The wheelchair-bound Santini appeared around the corner. Bella stopped a few paces away from them, her eyes going to Kennedy. Like all the Santini, she was stunning. Though, her blue eyes and heart-shaped face were not only beautiful, but sweet-looking. Bella dropped her gaze and rolled her wheelchair past them. Kennedy pushed away from the door and started following her, the bitch in heat. Ivy had caught the lesbian Viper sitting on Bella's lap the other day, hitting on the poor woman.
Bella glanced over her shoulder at Kennedy, her eyes going wide. Kennedy grabbed the back of the wheelchair, telling Bella she'd take her wherever she wanted to go. Ivy shook her head, knowing that Kennedy didn't have a chance in hell with Bella, since the woman was straighter than Brando's fat cock.
Ivy breathed out, wishing she could get Brando out of her mind, the man already owning it.
"Get some freaking clothes on before Brando gets here," Vinnie said, walking into his twin's room. They shared a small house out the back of their family mansion. It was a place where they could play their music without the others bitching. There were a few rooms: a bedroom each, along with a storage room, a bomb shelter in the basement, an adjoining lounge and kitchen, and their soundproof music studio, where they were cutting their first album.
Vinnie's twin grinned at him. Dominic had a towel wrapped around his hips, his body still damp from the shower. Colorful tattoos covered both his brother's arms, the water designs on his left one standing out the most. He also had silver rings in his nipples, a pierced eyebrow, a small bullring in his nose, and a stud in his tongue, his twin having a piercing fetish.
"Why bother getting dressed when the chicks will only rip my clothes off," Dominic said, scratching his nuts through the towel.
"Just get some clothes on before Brando gets here or that sadistic bastardo will pistol whip you for making him wait."
Dominic dropped his towel, the Prince Albert in his cockhead making Vinnie grimace. His brother picked up a pair of jeans off the polished wooden floor and yanked them on. The jeans settled halfway down his bare ass, displaying too much of his front as well.
"Put on some boxers," Vinnie said, sitting down on Dominic's bed.
"Got none clean, forgot to put them out for the wash."
"Then at least wear a belt or a long shirt to cover everything."
The sound of footsteps approaching the room pulled Vinnie's gaze to the doorway. Brando entered through the opening, looking like a hitman—which he actually was. Their brother was dressed to the nines, decked out in a black suit and leather gloves. Under his jacket, he was wearing a white shirt and a holster, the latter holding a .22 handgun. He also looked freshly showered, his black hair still damp.
"We're going to the club, not a hitman's convention," Dominic said. "Change into some jeans or you'll stand out like Vinnie in a gay bar. Actually, that's not a good analogy, considering what he's wearing."
Vinnie pushed off the bed, wanting to hit his twin. "I don't look gay," he snapped, feeling insulted, "and you're the one who fucks anything with a pulse."
Dominic grinned. "I'm not the one dressed like one of the Village People."
"I am not," Vinnie said, his leather pants and black muscle shirt perfectly fine. "And what I'm wearing is better than your grunge-look," Vinnie's gaze moved to Brando, "and the Godfather outfit over there."
"I'm a bodyguard tonight, and bodyguards wear suits," Brando said, smoothing a hand over his jacket, which was probably Armani, maybe Versace, his brother having expensive tastes.
"We have enough soldati guarding us. Instead, we need you to go incognito. I want you to slip into the crowd to see if anything's happening that we need to be concerned about. I'm still getting stalker mail, plus the heavy-breathing phone calls have started up again."
"I don't own suitable jeans and my leathers aren't for going out."
"Borrow some of mine, then," Vinnie said, knowing Brando was referring to his BDSM shit.
Dominic sniggered.
"What's so funny?" Vinnie said.
"I wouldn't wear your clothes, you go commando."
"So do you."
"Only when I run out," Dominic continued sniggering. "The chicks keep stealing them."
Brando shook his head. "Just give me something clean."
"Give him that bright pink pair you have with the love hearts on," Dominic said.
Vinnie flicked his twin the finger, then turned to his drawer, pulling out some clean black leathers. He chucked them to Brando, along with a black Led Zeppelin T-shirt. Brando dumped the clothes on Dominic's bed and started undressing. He laid his jacket on the mattress and pulled off his holster, slipping his shirt off next. He reached for the T-shirt, the severe scarring on his back capturing Vinnie's attention. Long lines carved up his brother's flesh, Brando's obsession with being whipped beyond disturbing.
"Are you ever going to stop doing that merda to yourself?" Vinnie asked, using the word for shit.
"I rarely do it to myself," Brando answered.
"You ask people to."
"Everyone has their fetishes."
"Not self-harming ones that mutilate their back."
"You have tattoos—that's self-harming, and Dominic also has weird piercings, which I also consider self-harming."
"That's decoration. What you do is nasty merda, and it must hurt like fucking crazy."
"I like pain." Brando pulled the T-shirt on, covering his scars once more.
Vinnie shook his head. "You're a weird bastardo."
"I don't deny it." Brando stepped out of his pants and pulled on the leathers, the casual attire making him appear much younger than his thirty-four years, which was five years older than Vinnie and Dominic. Brando was too mo-fucking beautiful to be a Santini. Their mother had had an affair with a D'Angelo, most of the men from that family resembling male models. And Brando used his looks to his full advantage, picking and choosing whoever he wanted to fuck. Unfortunately, he had a bad habit of treating women like puttane, only using them for sex.
Brando smiled, though it wasn't a friendly one, especially when he showed his pointy incisors. It just made him look even more sinister. It was what had given him his nickname.
"Let's go, vampiro," Vinnie said.
"Stop calling me that," Brando grunted, giving him a scowl.
"Lighten up, man. You obviously need sex, 'cause you're wound up tighter than a nun's pussy."
Dominic sniggered. "I agree. You definitely need to get laid, bro, and since that Viper isn't willing to bend over for you, just fuck one of our groupies. Hell, don't smile and any female will bend over for you. Also, don't talk; you put females off when you order them around."
"I don't need advice on females from a fenucca," Brando said, slipping his gun into the back of his pants.
Dominic glared at him. "I'm not gay. I've told you enough times I'm pansexual."
"You've fucked men; that's gay."
"I fuck women more, so I'm not gay!" Dominic stormed out.
Brando sniggered. "He must have PMS."
Vinnie scowled at him. "Why can't you stop riling him? You know it upsets him when you call him gay."
"He calls you gay, and you're not, so I don't see the issue, especially since he is."
"He's not. Pansexuality isn't the same as being gay. He's into personalities, not what sex a person is."
"Sounds like a cover for being gay."
"Fuck, you're a stronzo," Vinnie said, calling him an asshole. "He. Is. Not. Gay. I see him with more women than men."
"Bi, then."
"Again, it's not the same. Bi's two sexes and he fucks anything: female, male, intersex, trannies, he doesn't care, so shut your mouth around him, and don't you dare mention anything to Mamma."
"Why hide it?"
"Because Mamma's homophobic, so stop talking about it." Vinnie grabbed his guitar and headed out, Brando shadowing him. He gritted his teeth as Brando continued to talk about Dominic's sexuality, probably because he'd told him not to. He kicked himself mentally for it, because if you told Brando not to do something: that was precisely what he would do.
They headed around the large neoclassical-styled house, the lights from within lighting up the surrounding darkness. Up above, a full moon stood guard over their enormous property, the dark waters of the Mediterranean Sea in the distance only just visible.
Vinnie was looking forward to the night. It was the first time since the beginning of the mafia war they'd been given permission to return to the stage. He'd missed rocking the club, getting the chicks screaming and breathing in the whole vibe of performing live. He wished he could tour, but he was locked to the island for the meantime—to his family. Still, it was fun to dream every time he played up on H20's stage, pretending he was performing in front of thousands of fans.
Vinnie climbed into the back of the armored vehicle, taking the seat next to his twin, who glared angrily at Brando as he climbed into the car. Two soldiers were sitting up front, while another carload of soldiers were waiting behind them—their bodyguards for the night. Although they'd eliminated one of their enemies, another lot were still on the loose, plus the fan mail Vinnie was getting had plunged into stalkerville, the last letter freaking him out. The letters had seemed harmless up until about two weeks ago. The fan had gotten mad at him for not replying, then yesterday she'd sent a kidnap threat, stating that she would chain him up if he didn't stop cheating on her, the freak having delusions he was her fiancé.
Something in his peripheral vision caught his attention, cutting off his train of thought. He peered past Brando, looking out the window as the driver started the engine. Two Black Vipers were descending the front steps, the female assassins residing in the main house. They were both wearing skintight clothes, the darker Viper capturing his attention the most. The porch light illuminated her features, the woman gorgeous. She was a mix of African American and Hispanic. She had long brown hair and the most stunning figure—all curves and a shapely ass he wanted to grab with both hands.
"You're drooling," Dominic said.
Vinnie turned to his twin. "I am not."
"Liar. Why don't you just fuck her and get it out of your system."
"I don't want to fuck her."
"Then I'll fuck her." Dominic started moving his crotch like he was having an epileptic fit.
"If you do that, I'll smash your face in!"
Dominic laughed. "I knew you liked her."
Flicking him the finger, Vinnie turned to look out the window again as the driver steered down the driveway, not interested in Dominic's teasing.
"I don't know why you're holding back," Dominic said. "I've fucked almost half of those Viper chicks, yet you haven't even touched one. What's your issue?"
"It'll be awkward the next day."
"Only if you're not upfront about it being no strings attached."
"It's easy for you to say. All the Vipers know if they fuck you they risk getting an STD, so they don't expect anything the next day."
"I get one case of gonorrhea and you never let me live it down."
"As far as I remember, you've had gonorrhea twice, crabs three times, and genital herpes."
"It wasn't herpes, it was chlamydia, and I'm clean now. No fun without a rubber."
Vinnie rolled his eyes, thinking Dominic should've protected himself a long time ago. It was just pure luck that the idiot hadn't contracted anything more serious.
The driver exited their property, the Mediterranean Sea looking like slick black oil under the night sky. A loud honk came from behind the car. A second later, the two Vipers zipped past on a motorbike: one driving, the other holding onto her tight. Vinnie watched them disappear into the dark, Dominic's words running through his mind. Maybe he should fuck D and get her out of his system. He just had to be up front about what he wanted—a one-night stand, nothing more.
His phone rang. He pulled it out and clicked it on, placing it to his ear. "Pronto?" he answered.
No one replied.
Again, no reply, only breathing sounds coming through the line.
He grunted, realizing it was his stalker. "Stop calling me. Also, stop sending me those freaky letters. I'm not your fiancé, I'm no one's." He hung up.
Dominic grabbed Vinnie's phone out of his hand and looked at it. "It's a different number. I'll try tracing it tomorrow."
"Why bother?" Vinnie said, taking the phone back. "You haven't had any luck tracing them before."
"They'll slip up eventually, then I'll have something to latch onto."
Vinnie slumped back into his seat. "I wish."
"Trust me, Vinnie, I'll catch the psycho."
Brando elbowed Vinnie, giving him a toothy grin. "Then I'll make her regret the day she saw you."
Vinnie smiled, Brando's expression snapping him out of his annoyance. "What are you going to do? Suck her dry, vampiro?"
"No, she can suck my cock dry before I slit her throat."
"You're a sick motherfucker."
Brando turned to look out the window, muttering, "I know."
Brando emerged from the vehicle, ordering the soldiers from the other car to move out of his way. He was here to protect his brothers, not to be protected. The soldiers stepped aside, not willing to challenge him. He scanned the club's front and the sidewalk, assessing any threats. People stood in a long line outside H20, many of them openly staring at him. He knew he was beautiful, that was obvious; he had to be blind not to acknowledge it. Though, some of the club-goers' stares held fear, because they knew he was Mafioso. It wasn't just the soldiers standing at his back: he had a reputation as a killer, many knowing he was a hitman.
He tapped on the car's roof, indicating it was safe for the twins to get out. More soldiers emerged from the other car, creating a barrier for his brothers to walk through. He'd wanted to take the twins around the back of the nightclub, slipping them inside without anyone noticing. But Dominic liked fanfare, his brother needing to breathe the adulation in more than air itself.
The twins emerged from the car, which set off the women in the line. The groupies ran for his brothers, screaming their names. The soldiers held the women back, giving the twins and him free passage to the club door. The bouncer stepped aside for them, bowing his head in respect, the club belonging to their family.
More screams welcomed them as they entered the club, the scantily clad women all reaching for the twins, wanting a piece of them. Dominic grinned, looking like he was about to come in his pants from all the attention. A woman in a dress three sizes too small, held out a marker for Dominic to take, saying something Brando couldn't hear. His brother reached past the soldiers and grabbed the marker, his grin widening as the woman pulled down her dress top. He scrawled his name and number across her bare breasts, handing the marker back once done. He flicked out his studded tongue at her, then resumed walking.
The soldiers continued to push the club-goers back, trying their best to protect the twins, although hands still snuck through. Vinnie let out a yelp, a female probably pinching his ass. A commotion broke out. Vinnie swung out at a man, attempting to punch him in the face. Brando laughed along with Dominic, realizing the man had done the pinching.
One of the soldiers dragged Vinnie's finger-happy admirer away, the man screaming his undying love for Vinnie. Another soldier pulled out a gun, making the club-goers back up fast, fear now replacing lust and fanaticism.
Dominic continued laughing over Vinnie having his ass pinched by a guy. Vinnie raised his fist again, looking like he was going to punch Dominic. He lowered it a second later, his eyes moving past Brando.
Brando looked over his shoulder at what had caught Vinnie's attention. The motorbike-riding Vipers were leaning against the bar, Ivy drawing his eyes to her. She was watching him, the memory of her lips against his making him ache below. The second in command of the Viper Sisterhood had a drink in her hand. She was standing next to... Fuck, who cared who she was next to; all he cared about was Ivy and what he would do to her. He adjusted his package, his cock already filling out, the woman a walking wet dream. He probably shouldn't have pulled away from her earlier. He just didn't like how she was playing him, making out as though she wasn't interested, because she sure as hell was wet for him, just didn't want to admit to it. Yeah, he knew she hated his personality, especially after he'd ordered her to strip so he could fuck her. She'd done it without complaint. It hadn't surprised him at the time, since most women stripped when he asked, but he'd thought she was a maid back then, not a spy. An enemy had hired her to kill his family, but unbeknown to the man, Ivy had her own agenda. She wanted an alliance with his family, so they would help her kill a former employer, which they'd agreed upon after the Vipers had risked their lives to save them.
A waving hand ripped Brando's gaze away from Ivy. A few feet away, a female was trying to get his attention, her waves making him wonder whether he knew her. He didn't recognize her face and he had a good memory. Regardless of how many women he'd slept with, he could remember each and every one of them; facial recognition part of his job.
He walked up to the woman. "What do you want?"
"You. I'm Fiore." She held out a shaking hand, the woman obviously nervous. It turned him on along with her looks, her dark hair and kohl-rimmed eyes reminding him of Ivy—just a less smoldering version.
Ignoring her hand, he grabbed her around the waist and lifted her off the floor, placing a hand under her ass to help hold her up. She squealed, her expression shocked. "No need to be scared, honey, I'm going to make your night." He gave her deep kiss, pulling back several seconds later. "Is that fine with you?"
She nodded, her face flushed, the woman no doubt still stunned by what he was doing.
He glanced over his shoulder at the soldiers. "Watch the twins; I'm going to be busy."
"We don't need watching," Dominic said. He walked off with Vinnie, who was throwing glances at the Vipers, the one standing next to Ivy capturing his brother's attention.
Brando carried the woman through the crowd, purposely passing by Ivy, intending on making her jealous. He was going to perform for the Viper, and anyone else who was inclined to watch. He had perversions—public sex one of them, and since everyone knew he was Mafioso they didn't dare stop him. Plus, it was his family's club, so he could do whatever the hell he liked.
He steered the Ivy substitute to the corner closest to Ivy and pushed her against the wall. The woman looked both excited and shocked, her eyes drinking in his face, not realizing how ugly his personality was, because if she saw how much hate he had inside of him, she would run screaming.
He lowered her to her feet. "Do you know me?" He ran a finger over her bottom lip, which was quivering. "Because you didn't fight me when I picked you up."
Still looking stunned, she nodded.
"Where from?"
"Here and-and around town," she stuttered.
"Do you know who I am?"
She nodded again, making him think of a bobble-head. "Brando Santini. You're famous."
He smiled. "That's the first time someone called me famous."
"Well, you are on this island. My friends drool over you. They will be so jealous of me."
He laughed. "Is that so?"
"Sì. I come to H20 hoping you turn up with your brothers. Some of my friends like them, but I prefer looking at you," she babbled, resembling the way the fangirls talked to the twins, the women often revealing too much in their star-struck state. "You are so beautiful. I used to have a picture of you as my screensaver until my boyfriend saw it." Her face dropped, the woman probably realizing she'd overstepped the mark.
Brando frowned. "How did you get a picture of me?"
"I too-took it when I saw you in the-the park once," she stuttered out.
"You're not stalking me, are you?"
Her eyes widened, fear now coloring them. "No, no," she said, shaking her head vigorously. "I was taking pictures of the flowers and you walked past. Honest, it was just a coincidence." She screwed up her face. "I didn't mean anything by it; it's just ... you're so beautiful and—"
"Calm down, I'm not angry."
She breathed out, looking greatly relieved.
He smiled. "So, how about you give me your email and I'll send you a naked picture of me to replace the old one."
Her eyes went big. "Really?"
"Yeah, so what is it?"
"You got a pen?"
"I don't need one; I've got a very good memory."
She rattled it off, also giving him her number. Brando committed them to memory, planning on doing a background check on her.
"You can call me anytime," she said.
"What about your boyfriend?" he asked, only wanting a fuck.
"Don't worry about that creep; I'm going to dump him."
"Bene. Now, no more talking, I want to kiss you." He pressed his lips against hers again. She kissed him back, the woman moaning against his lips. As they kissed, he pulled out a condom from his pocket, Vinnie's leather pants well-stocked. He unzipped his pants and rolled the rubber onto his hard cock. Once ready, he broke the kiss and spun the woman around. He pushed her dress up and yanked down her panties, giving her ass a slap for good measure. She let out a squeal, then went to say something, but he cut it off, clamping a hand over her mouth. He pushed her against the wall as she tried to turn around. "Calm down, sweetheart," he said, brushing his lips over ear. "You want me, don't you?"
She stopped struggling and nodded.
"Bene, and if you don't fight me, I'll make sure you come."
She started shaking.
"Dio, you're turning me on." He uncovered her mouth and moved his hand down her body, running it over her tits and stomach. The woman jerked as he touched her pussy, but didn't fight him. She was already wet, fear and attraction a powerful combination. He pushed his finger inside of her, the woman's shaking growing. "Again, there's no need to be scared," he kissed her neck, "as long as you please me."
She gasped as he shoved another finger inside, not being gentle about it.
"Are you going to please me?"
"Sì," she groaned.
"Aren't you worried about people watching you?"
She went stiff.
"It doesn't matter, because if I said strip, you would, wouldn't you?"
"Sì," she whimpered.
"I bet you masturbate to thoughts of me at night."
She groaned, confirming he was right.
"I bet you've dreamed of my cazzo pumping your figa."
She groaned again, her answer a breathy rumble.
He removed his fingers and took hold of his cock, penetrating her fast, the woman letting out another squeal. He placed a hand over her mouth again and brushed his lips over her ear. "You can squeal all you want, just remember where we are." He glanced to his side, smiling at a group of women at a table. They were watching him as though he was putting on a show just for them. He blew them a kiss, making a few of the horny donne giggle, then refocused on the woman he was imbedded in and started fucking her. She whimpered again, but didn't complain or try to stop him. He closed his eyes, imagining she was Ivy, someone he would fuck again—no matter what she said.
Because the Viper was his, whether she liked it or not.
"I can't believe he's fucking her in public," D said, her voice thick with disbelief. "You can see his ass moving." She looked at Ivy, her hazel eyes enormous. "He even has an audience. Those females look like they're lining up to be next."
Ivy gritted her teeth, wanting to kill all of them, most of all the one Brando was nailing to the wall. She forced her gaze away from him, willing herself not to hit the bastard for taunting her, because that was what he was doing. He was punishing her for not bowing down to him. And she wanted to punish him back, doing something that would anger him, but she had no interest in whoring herself like he was doing. Instead, she would snub him, not letting him know how much he was affecting her.
The sound of instruments being tuned thankfully pulled her attention to the stage, but not for long, because her gaze started wandering back to Brando, the man a magnet. She knew he'd picked that corner, knowing she would see everything. She just wished it was her he was fucking. She imagined herself in front of him, with his cock plowing into her, while his hands moved all over her body, those beautiful lips of his talking dirty to her. They curved up so wickedly, tainting his beauty with an evil air, but she still loved them, especially when he smiled at her as though he was imagining her naked. With one look he could make her feel both dirty and desired ... hell, he could make her wet just by saying hello.
She swore in her head, annoyed she was thinking about him again. She wished she wasn't attracted to him, although it was hard not to be with the way he looked. She willed herself to focus on the stage again, where one of the twins was tuning his guitar. The male was decked out in leather pants and a muscle shirt, looking every bit the rock star. She instantly knew which twin he was, because D was blathering on about how gorgeous Vinnie was. It was getting tiresome.
"I'm bored, let's go," Ivy said, needing to get away from Brando before she lost her cool.
"No way," D said. "Vincenzo's just getting started. And we have a job to do."
Ivy's attention moved to the surging crowd, who were trying to get as close as possible to the Santini twins. Vinnie started playing a rift on his guitar, his deft fingers flying across the strings. Dominic's voice came over the microphone a few seconds later. It was rich with a raspy edge to it, the man sounding sexy as hell. With him and his brother's good looks and talent, it made her wonder why they were playing in a nightclub when they were capable of commanding a much larger crowd. Her mind went to their mother, the barracuda probably the reason. The woman was a control freak, who was constantly keeping tabs on her children. It had been her who'd paid D and Ivy to watch the twins and Brando, making sure they were safe.
The fans started screaming, acting like the brothers were tattooed rock gods, which was why they weren't her taste. She hated tattoos after having to look at the Black Russian's face for so long. Her previous employer was covered from head to toe in black tattoos, his visage terrifying. And he was as deadly as he looked, which was another reason why she had to protect the Santini brothers. She needed them to help her destroy the Black Russian, the man having murdered her mother and oldest sister, along with a number of Vipers.
A woman reached over the stage, trying to touch Vinnie's foot, the guy oblivious to what she was doing. He was concentrating on his guitar, lost in the music, looking like it was giving him a high. The hard rock strains were filling the nightclub, pumping loud through the sound system.
Ivy's eyes roamed the crowd again, not liking the frenzy the twins were whipping up. The women all looked like they wanted to take a piece of Vinnie and Dominic home with them: an arm, a leg ... a cock ... fuck, the bitches would probably shred the brothers just to get one taste.
"I don't like this," Ivy said. "They're working those women up too much."
"That's because they're hot as hell," D replied.
"Which is precisely why they should have a barrier."
"The stage is high enough, and shut up, I'm listening; they're really good."
"You're not here to listen, you're here to protect them, so do your bloody job or next time I'll bring Cyn with me."
D's eyes snapped to her. "Don't you dare! Vincenzo's mine, and if Cyn touches him, I'll rip her uterus out through her mouth."
Ivy laughed. "Cyn's not interested in Vinnie, that evil bitch wants to taint Father Silvio. I saw her following the poor man around. So, do your job, or she'll be coming tomorrow night."
"Stop getting on my case," D snapped. "Brando and the soldiers are also here to guard them."
"Brando's more interested in fucking than doing his job, so quit arguing with me. The twins need to be protected. We can't have any of the Santini hurt; we need every one of them to take down the Black Russian."
D exhaled loudly, muttering, "Okay." Her gaze moved to the crowd. "Can't see anything; other than a sea of heads."
"I think it's stupid they're playing when the war is still going."
"They obviously think there's minimal risk, plus it's their club. They wouldn't let any Donatelli in."
"They could still slip in."
"Which is why they bring so many guards," D pointed to the corners of the stage, where large men in suits were standing, watching over the crowd, protecting the twins, "so stop worrying."
"I still don't like it. This is an unnecessary risk."
D pointed at Vinnie. "Look at his face, he looks truly happy. That is why they're here. Those two need music to breathe. They're stifled back at the compound. I haven't seen either of them looking this happy since we met them. Everyone needs passion in their lives. Music is theirs."
Ivy grunted, knowing D was right. The twins looked like they were in seventh heaven, the two obviously needing to perform.
A couple of women started talking next to Ivy, their comments catching her attention: "Lucky puttana, I'd love a piece of that honey. He's mouthwatering."
"I heard he's a hitman," the second one said.
"He can hit my pussy with his cock all he wants."
The women laughed.
Ivy's eyes followed their line of gaze, scowling at what she saw. Brando had turned the female he was fucking around. The bitch had her legs wrapped around his waist and her arms around his neck, kissing those cruel lips of his, his cock still imbedded in her.
Jealousy flared again.
And itching to kill.
She dug her nails into her palms to stop herself from reacting. She didn't understand why she wanted the bastard so much. She should like nice men, the kind who gave her gifts of flowers and chocolates, unlike Brando, who would grab his crotch and say he had a present for her. Who spoke to women like that?
That was who, and she needed to ignore him.
She forced herself to look at the twins again. Up on stage, Dominic had stopped singing and was asking the crowd whether they were having a good time.
"No," Ivy muttered.
D elbowed her. "Sssh."
Dominic continued talking, asking whether everyone wanted to hear Vinnie sing. The Barbies packed in like sardines started screaming, "Sì!"
He placed a hand over his heart. "Oh, you wound me. I guess I should leave, since none of you want me here."
The women started screaming for him, making him grin wide, the man obviously lapping up the attention, unlike his twin, who didn't appear to care for it. Ivy's gaze shifted to Vinnie, who was staring across at ... D.
Dominic thrust the microphone in front of his twin, snapping Vinnie out of the stare. Shifting his guitar to his back, Vinnie took the microphone and yelled into it: "How're ya doing?" The crowd screamed in response, surging forward even more.
Vinnie's eyes moved back to D, a smile lighting up his face. "I would like to dedicate the next song to someone who helped save my famiglia almost two months ago. Grazie, D, you're a sweetheart."
"The ungrateful bastard," Ivy muttered. "I saved his fucking family, not you, you barely did shit. He should give me the credit." She looked at D, whose mouth was hanging open. "Close your mouth before Brando sticks his cock in it."
D shut her mouth, her gaze not moving from Vinnie. He started singing, the song a love ballad, which pulled Ivy's attention back to the man, his voice impressing her. It was similar to his brother's, just not as gravelly, his notes purer. It was probably because Vinnie didn't smoke like his brother, who seemed to have a cigarette surgically attached to his lips.
"Oh, God," D moaned. "I want him so fucking bad."
"Then do him, because it looks like he wants a piece of you now."
D glanced at her. "Do you think so?"
"He just dedicated the song to you, didn't he?"
"But, it doesn't make sense; he's ignored me for so long."
"Men don't make sense, so go jump on his bandwagon and take a ride." Ivy tensed as Brando walked past her, running his hand over her breasts. He kept on walking, disappearing into the crowd before Ivy could react.
D's eyes moved to her in shock. "He just groped you. Aren't you going to do something about it?"
"Yeah, leave. Get a lift home with Vinnie, I've had enough. No amount of money is worth this shit." She took off, needing to get out of the club before she hit Brando—the man driving her insane.
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Ricardo (Senior) – The father of all but Brando. He's bedridden with an unknown illness.
Concetta – The mother of all but Valentino.
The Santini children from the oldest to the youngest.
Ricardo (Junior) – The 37-year-old Don. Due to taking an experimental drug eight years ago for his Intermittent Explosive Disorder (IED), he damaged his nervous system, losing ninety percent of the feeling in his body.
Salvatore – Age 36. A widower who recently lost his wife in a bomb explosion. He has two young children, Mia and Piero.
Valentino (Pirelli) – 35 and the love child of Ricardo (Senior). He's not acknowledged as a Santini due to being the outcome of an affair his father had with a prostitute. He grew up in a brothel and is a hitman. His wife was murdered by Landi soldiers due to being born into the wrong family. He has two teenage daughters: Mira (18 turning 19) and Siena (17).
Brando – 34, unmarried, a hitman, and the only Santini with golden eyes. The rest of his family has violet or blue eyes. His mother had an affair with Davido D'Angelo, someone Brando accidentally killed in a hit gone wrong.
Anna – 33 and married to Sergio Rosso. They have three young children: Bruno, Cara, and Lena.
Luciano – 31 and a widower with one child: Giorgio. He is still mourning his wife's tragic death from a car accident five years prior.
The Twins – Vincenzo (Vinnie) and Dominic – The rocker twins are 29. They are singers and guitarists in a hard rock band, which has a cult following. They are single. Dominic is also a finder—someone who locates people who don't want to be found. He's very good with electronics and is fond of tattoos and piercings. Vinnie is an explosives expert and only has tattoos, not sharing his twin's piercing fetish.
Silvio – 28. A Catholic priest who is plagued with guilt after causing the accident that killed his brother's wife and crippled his sister.
Bella – 27 turning 28. She is wheelchair-bound due to the car accident Silvio caused while driving drunk.
Alessandro – Age: 27. He is 10 months younger than Bella. He was born prematurely and wasn't expected to survive, but is now one of the strongest men on his island. He became famous after working as a porn star, his muscular body and sexual prowess gaining him a legion of fanatical female fans. He is also famous for his tattoos, which cover more than half of his body. His back ones were done to hide bad scars, which were inflicted upon him by kidnappers when he was fourteen. He also has multiple piercings, his Prince Albert and huge sexual appetite gaining him notoriety amongst the mafia community.
The Santini Brothers #1
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