Sold to the mafia

Isaac

My bare feet tread the cold porcelain tiles of my state of the art kitchen floor. The steel gleams with the bright morning light streaming through the large floor-to-ceiling windows on the far wall of the breakfast nook. My house may be quiet and empty, but it’s luxurious and fitted with every upscale feature I could find.

Modern, and sophisticated. It’s exactly what I wanted.

The coffee maker is already going and the sounds of steaming water get louder as the addicting scent of fresh ground coffee fills my lungs.

I cover my yawn and then stretch my arms above my head, feeling the stiff muscles ease. My flannel pajamas hang low on my hips as I crack my neck. Same shit, different day, but I’m ready for the excitement of the club. I’m determined to look into recruitment and go through candidates. I’ve been talking to Madam Lynn, hinting at the fact that I’m interested in finding a potential Slave.Exclusive © content by N(ô)ve/l/Drama.Org.

She hears me, but I have no idea if she’s really listening.

The door to the fridge opens with a small hum and I crouch down to grab a pepper and a few eggs for my morning omelet.

I love cooking. It’s the one thing my mother used to do for me. Before things changed, she always cooked me breakfast. Even after things changed… for a little while.

I shake off the memories threatening to suffocate me and crack the eggs on the side of a bowl, whisking them as I try to ignore the memory of her laugh. She had a beautiful laugh, my mother. The sounds changed as she did. They were once light and airy, but they changed to a rough voice that cracked when she spoke. In the end, I didn’t even recognize her.

I turn on the gas burner and let the pan heat as I grab my cell.

I work at Club X and its safety is my priority, but my security business is still private and taking inquiries.

I put the phone on speaker and listen to the voicemails from yesterday. I rarely get a call for RP Security. That’s what we were called before transferring to the club. R and P, for Rocci and Payne. Zander and I still own the firm 50/50, but we hardly ever take clients. It’s simply not worth it. Well Zander never took clients. He’s a silent partner. Still, it’s not worth it.

I listen to a message from a man wanting a security detail at an exclusive getaway trip for him and his mistress as I dice up the pepper and half of an onion. I shake my head, deleting it and not even thinking twice about calling him back as I toss the knife into the stainless steel sink.

That’s not what my business is for. I started it myself around the same time Lucian quit college and created his company. It wasn’t long before I followed suit. The three of us were inseparable, and in many ways we still are. Zander footed the bill for both Lucian and me. He’s good for fronting money in exchange for stocks, and not doing any of the work. Hiring Joshua as my right hand man took the business to the next level and turned it high-end.

But I’m not interested in being a lookout while a cheater gets his dick wet.

I created this business for one reason. My mother’s laugh echoes in my head again as I watch my breakfast cook in the pan. I’m losing my appetite more with every second that passes.

Murder. Vengeance. I needed the man who killed her dead.

She may not have been a real mother to me in the last two years of her life. The alcohol she used to numb the pain of losing my father overseas eventually turned to coke. Holding me close and crying on my shoulder because she missed my father turned to beating me because I reminded her of him.

She was responsible for her actions. I know that. But he didn’t help. He made them worse.

Jake Shapero. Her boyfriend who got her addicted to harder drugs and led her down the path that ultimately destroyed the mother I once knew.

Also, the asshole who broke my jaw because I dared to talk back. I flex my jaw at the memory as I use the spatula to lift the perfect omelet off the pan and onto a plate. I have no desire to eat it at this point, but I still add salt and pepper and sit at the table. Routine is important.

I close my eyes, and he’s there. It wasn’t just one punch, but I didn’t see him. As I covered my face with my forearms, I saw her in the background. Sitting at the table, bent over and wiping the coke from under her nose, not even bothering to show emotion.

That’s not what made me want to kill him. That’s not why I got into this business.

When I was fourteen, I watched him kill her. It was the culmination of two long years of abuse and neglect, night after night. I watched him hit her; I watched him strangle her. He didn’t see me there, and I’d longed stopped defending her. A broken jaw, busted ribs, and beatings from both of them for interfering taught me to stay away.

I hadn’t realized he was actually killing her. I couldn’t believe she was really dead, even after she fell to the floor and his anger changed to fear as he shook her.

I watched him, and did nothing. The guilt weighs heavy on my chest as I take a bite of the tasteless eggs. Hating the memory.

I was tortured for years while I lived with my distant Aunt Maureen. She’s much older than my mother, almost like a grandmother. She gave me a good life; she took care of me as though I wasn’t troubled. But I never forgave myself.

How could I?

I never wanted to go to college, but Aunt Maureen made me. I was happy to keep her preoccupied with me being in college while I learned more useful skills. Meeting Joshua and Zander was the best thing that happened to me in college. I learned how to track down targets, how to hack into databases and effectively get someone’s records and backgrounds.

That someone being Jacob Shapero.

I wasn’t surprised to learn he was in prison for assault and battery, as well as possession. I had to wait over a year. A year of growing my security business with Joshua and making it legit. Thanks to Zander, a silent partner, we had the funds and clientele to make it exclusive. But every day was just one step closer to my goal. The night he was released, I waited for a sign of activity. I had ten close contacts’ phones monitored. And he made the call not fifteen minutes after leaving the station. The second night, I crept into his deceased grandmother’s house and shot him in the back of the head. Waiting that long fucking killed me, but I had to do it right. I spent years preparing, and it only took two days to see it through once I had the opportunity.

I have a lot of connections now, six years later. Many powerful and also corrupt people, due to this clientele and because of the deals I’ve taken. It’s not about the money. It’s about making things right. The business is legit, although some of my methods toe the line. Occasionally I break the law to obtain information. That’s the business I run. We call it security, but we’ve been known to do things a little less legal.

I haven’t taken a private client in a long fucking time. It’s been years. The club takes a lot of my time and if there’s a client in need, I hand them off to someone who’s qualified. The money’s good, and the business is streamlined.

Sometimes I wonder if my focus on routine and careful practices, my seclusion and most notably my past, are why I am the way I am. Why I thrive on privacy and control. Not in everything. Just things that matter.

In relationships, especially.

I need complete control. I need trust so deep that she’ll give herself to me completely.

I’m not interested in normal. I’ve had a few relationships, but none that meant anything to me. None that lasted very long.

The two M/s relationships I’ve had in the club didn’t last long either. Neither of them gave me what I needed. And they sure as fuck didn’t need me. They wanted the relationship as a way to give up control, but not because they needed to; they just didn’t want responsibility. They didn’t want the other aspects of being a Slave. Neither lasted more than a few weeks. I want someone who needs me. I’m desperate for it.

I know what I want from my partner is fucked up. I want her devotion, and her only desire to be to please me. I want more than I deserve, but I’ll provide every want, every wish, every need. In exchange for her worshiping obedience, I’ll give her the same in return.

I don’t want a safe word, I don’t want negotiation and compromise. I demand complete submission, and nothing less.

It’s fucked up, but I want it. And I’m tired of waiting.

It’s Lucian’s fault. Him wanting a Submissive and buying one on the spot is what’s fueling this need. I know it is. I’m pissed. I’m jealous. It was so fucking easy for him.

I’ll never have that.

What I crave is too rare. Too depraved to be so easily found and taken.

I don’t know why, and I don’t give a fuck. But I’m ready and tired of waiting.