When dealing with a person like Roan, it becomes difficult to extract the truth from the myth. Suffice to say, he came into the world with the sort of reckless confidence that placed all who he encountered at risk. His tremendous aura of inner power imbued him with a presence that could suffocate. Everyone was aware of him, whether they liked it or not.
This fact was painfully obvious as he sat at a card table at the Regency Hotel, slouching with a bowler cap over his eyes and an endless stream of smoke crawling out from his mouth. Every person in the crowded hotel bar stole furtive glances at him, and not a few bubbled over with conflicting emotions.
One of those people was Cru, who sat with him and a few other Brooklyn hot shots at a poker table. Cru despised Roan with a sweet bile bred of jealousy and fear. His only contentment was the secret he had; a secret that hid on the tip of his tongue as he watched Roan with throbbing envy. He told himself he was just bidding his time for the big reveal, but the truth was he was afraid, and that made him hate Roan all the more.
Across the room another conflicted soul rose from her table, her thickly-lashed Spanish eyes trained on Roan. She wanted him, but she despised him for not wanting her back. Part of her said to leave, to let him be and not abase herself further, but the greater part was drawn to him like a deep pool on a hot afternoon.
"Hello, Roan," She said when she reached his side.
"Mani," he said, not even moving his head in acknowledgement. Emmanuelle burned.
"So, now you send me children, huh?" She demanded huskily.
"I thought you liked fucking children," Roan replied, alluding to the fact that he'd had her at the ripe old age of twelve. He didn't lift an eye from his cards and spoke in monotone. He honestly didn't give a fuck.
On the other side of the table, Cru had perked up. Everyone else had gone silent. "What children?" Cru asked.
Emmanuelle was glad for the encouragement. "Some little "Speck" or something," she said.
"Spot Conlon?" Cru asked, unable to conceal a metallic edge from his voice. An edge that caused Roan to look up from his hand suspiciously. But Cru's adrenaline had him now. Emmanuelle shrugged. "Yeah, Spot Conlon is Roan's little protégé. He's fucking his way up in Roan's gang."
"He just licked my balls the one time. And he did a damn fine job of it too," Roan replied through puffs of smoke as he motioned to a man with a moustache to lay out the river.
"It wasn't you I was talking about," Cru replied darkly.
Roan's head darted up, and Cru felt his adrenaline suck from his body in one foul swoop. "What the hell are you talking about, fuckface?" Roan demanded. Cru's mouth had gone dry. He moved his lips. He felt small and scared, and that made him angry.
"One of my boys followed your little bitch to the docks and saw her sucking Conlon's face. Is that how I get out of paying dues, too? By fucking your little whore?" Cru screeched.
Roan's fingers flew up Emmanuelle's thigh and he grabbed the pistol she kept on a holster between her legs. He shot Cru in a place that would make him regret the things he'd said. Roan stood up, leaving his winnings on the table because anyone with half a brain would have to choose a coffin before they touched them. He tossed the pistol back at Emmanuelle and approached Cru, who was screaming on the floor. "Why don't you fuck her now?" He demanded, kicking him to make sure he'd got the job done. Then he strode out into the night amid a stifling silence.
Spot Conlon was lying on the docks above the East River. On cold night like this one, the breath of the river coursed through your body until you felt like you were part of it. He felt a tingle up his spine as a stray breeze washed over his balls. It made him think of Ugly. She was kind of sexy and so forbidden. When she'd shown up at the docks the other day, she had just been so beautiful. Before that, she had always had this tough exterior. But that day, she had just looked so vulnerable. Her face had been so open, washed of any façade. She was like this sad little angel, held captive by a wicked king, and Spot Conlon was just the knight to rescue her. And hopefully overthrow the king in the process, Spot thought with a dreamy smile playing on his lips.
dun dun dun DUN! Things are coming to a head, so place your bets now! Sorry if the cards are stacked in my favor. ; ) Raise you hand if you know the answer…
Did you realize that there are two references to Spot's balls in this chapter? And I think they're pretty gross.
You may have noticed that Roan has a little bit of a temper. Unfortunately, Anger Management classes were not de rigeur in the early 1900's. Will Roan direct this blind rage at Spot, or is it reserved for sniveling secondary characters? Opps, I just exposed my own weakness. Call censorship. And look for my rewrite in which Roan kills all major characters, himself first.
Is anyone else questioning Spot's motives? I think he's a suspicious character, quite mysterious...
So, to recap, Roan's angry, Spot's horny and I'm sleepy. Reviews pleasant dreams!