A/N: Thank you for all the love and support for this story. Thank you to our amazing prereaders and beta-we couldn't do it without them.
On to Edward's crazy brain...
Song(s): Stricken by Disturbed
EPOV
Madonna mia! Last night with Bella was one of the best sexual encounters I'd ever had, and we didn't even technically fuck. I never experienced this sort of connection with any other chick before, and it was throwing me for a loop.
I can't believe I stayed the night at her crib. I never did that shit. Like ever. But there was a pull holding me there. This broad was turning me upside down. After I got mine, I wanted to stay instead of abandoning her. I actually liked holding her. I actually liked her. Period.
Something about Bella just fucked with my head and my cock. She was like a drug to me—her smell, her feel, her taste. I had to bite my knuckles to stifle a moan. I mean, I was walking down the street with Blondie, and he didn't need to know anything about my personal life.
"Got laid last night?" The fucker had the audacity to ask a question, breaking me out of my reverie. What was he—a human lie detector?
"Nice hickey, man." Fuck, I'd forgotten about that shit. It was like Bella wanted to mark her territory. Not that I wasn't enjoying it. "You like the rough stuff even in bed? What do you do, twirl your gun around for the chicks?" Alistair babbled, itching his nose. Maybe he was getting sick.
I shot him a death glare and continued heading toward Little Odessa. These Russian motherfuckers. I swear if one of them didn't get clipped today, it would be a miracle from God.
"Was it Bella?" Blondie sing-songed, practically skipping down the street. He was going to get us both iced today if he didn't stop with his bullshit.
I shoved him hard. "Keep her name out of your mouth."
"Oh, is she your soft spot? The one to melt your cold unbeating heart?" Asshole snickered, walking ahead of me.
I guess he was trying to outrun me, as if he could. "Keep your shit up and I'll kill you right here. Aro can go to hell," I shouted as Blondie crossed the street right before the light changed, leaving me on the opposite corner. Sure, I was a hitman of sorts, but I wasn't a jaywalker. Even I had some morals.
As if he somehow heard me cursing him, my phone buzzed in my pocket. When I pulled it out, I saw Aro had sent me a text. "Meet me at the club at 3PM."
Shit! What the hell did he want to talk about? Shitbag better not have ratted on me.
I raced across the street and rammed right into the jackass who had become the bane of my existence. "Whatcha do? Tell Aro I'm giving you shit?" I questioned, shouldering him.
"Nah, I don't talk about you when I speak to Aro," Blondie said, smoothly. If he was a liar, he was a damn good one.
"You better not snitch." I walked ahead of him. I was his superior, and he needed to learn his place once and for all.
"Yeah, yeah, or they get stitches. You know, EC, you're becoming more and more predictable." He chuckled, lighting a cigarette. "I hope you're more spontaneous in the sack, or else Bella's gonna get bored." Alistair side-eyed me. Like he knew anything about women. Pfft! I'd be shocked if he ever had a girlfriend.
We walked up to a nondescript bakery. From the outside, it looked like an ordinary shop, but really it was a front for X and yak. The Russians had deals with half the clubs in Manhattan, and we were trying to poach them from the red mob.
"You know you need to shut the fuck up in there. My life is just getting good. I don't need to get popped because you don't know how to act," I warned and reminded him to check his nine.
Once we were situated, we entered the bakery, and the peon behind the counter must've known who I was because he ran into the back to get Vlad.
Vladimir Romanoff was a higher-up in the Russkaya. He used to be second-in-command, but after getting pinched and doing a prison stint for five years, he lost his merit. I thought he was on a "break," but you never knew with these guys. Even after tailing these motherfuckers for months, I couldn't figure them out. They were erratic, downright oobatz, and just plain hostile.
Vlad stumbled out of the double doors, probably drunk. Very professional, Vlad. As much as they loved to get lit, it shouldn't fool you—they were scary fuckers. If Blondie thought I was ruthless, he'd seen nothing yet.
"Well if it isn't Mr. Cullen. You don't have any of your other associates doing your dirty work today?" He hissed, in a thick Russian accent, chewing on tobacco.
"Hello to you too, Vlad. Lovely weather we're having, right? Now, do you have my shit?" I muttered. I knew full well he didn't. The Russians had used our turf a while back for some of their unfinished business. They were supposed to pay us a renter's fee for that shit, but they still hadn't, and I was here to collect.
"Cut the cute shit, mудак." Vlad spat, grabbing some kind of pastry off the counter and shoving it into his mouth. The kid working looked like he was going to shit his pants, so did Blondie, but that wasn't anything new. "We are not paying."
"Oh Vlad, Marcus will not be pleased about this," I scolded, reaching behind me for my Glock. As quickly as I grabbed my piece, he had his pointing in my direction as well. The little shit behind the counter ducked down. I chanced a glance back to my own personal shitbird, and he actually found his gun and was pointing it in the right direction. Thank God for small miracles.
"You can't shoot us without causing a war." Vlad smirked, again with that thick fucking accent. How could I take him seriously?
The yak and shit were in the back, so I scoped my pathway out and shot above where Vlad was standing. I didn't care to shoot him, but I did startle him enough to change positions. "Hold 'em off," I commanded Alistair, who was shooting his gun and had created a barricade between Vlad and me by causing a painting over Vlad's head to fall.
I slipped into the back, spotted an empty bag on one of the tables, and grabbed enough yak to compensate for the money owed along with a little extra to cover a vig. My Glock was steady in my other hand as I slung the duffel bag over my shoulder. Hopefully my partner in crime won't ask too many questions about the contents of the bag.
"Run," I shouted to Alistair, turning to cover him as he slipped out the bakery door. Vlad leaned down to refill his magazine, and with that, I was out. "Bye, Vlad. See you soon." Jesus, now I sounded like Blondie.
Once we were safe in my whip and had pulled away from the bakery, Alistair cackled. "I can't fucking believe we did that. Did you see his fucking face?" Blondie threw his head back, laughing like the psycho he was. "What's in the bag?" he asked, once he'd composed himself.
I shook my head. "None of your damn business." I continued driving until Little Odessa was far behind us. Fucking Russians.
Now I was going to get stuck in friggin' traffic with the chatterbox going a hundred miles a minute while the car barely went five miles. Oh joy.
"Why can't I come with you to see dear old Aro?" Blondie said, lingering inside the car, refusing to get out. I wanted to reach over, shove him out the car, and slam the passenger door in his face, but I was trying to be nice. He did have his first shootout today after all.
"Fuck you! This is a one-on-one. Get your own goddamn meeting." I may have pouted a little. Having to deal with this asshole every day was really messing with my head. I expected him to continue to whine, but instead he climbed out of the car silently and slammed the door. What a fucking woman!
It still confused there fuck out of me how a low man like Alistair could afford such nice digs in this luxury building.
I was hardly slumming it in my brownstone, but I worked hard for every cent, and even then, I still rented despite my doing well. I didn't need to start buying shit and having more questions thrown at me. Nah, those banks don't mess around—they gotta know the last time you took a piss before they considered giving you a mortgage. God forbid I paid cash. That'd be practically a red flashing light for the IRS to come investigate me.
I turned onto 68th street and headed down to Aro's club in Manhattan, Kitty Klub. It was a higher-end strip joint where most of Aro's meetings took place. He wanted to appear cool and fresh, and he also liked the ass he got from his workers. That was where I disagreed with Aro—mixing business and pleasure. Don't get cooz from the same place you get your cash.
Walking into the club, I was greeted by a blonde bimbo with fake tits up to her ears. Madonna mia. Who the hell did her boob job? Were they blind? I shuddered and walked past all the pussy on display. If I wanted pussy, I could just call Bella up. We were probably past the foreplay stage at this point, and she'd let me hit it again. Maybe I could walk through the fucking door instead of climbing up to that fucking window. I still can't believe she made me do it—or that I actually did. If she didn't like my cock so fucking much, I'd think she was trying to kill me. To be honest, fucking around with another chick no longer had an appeal to me. The one time I had tried since I started fucking Bella, it had paled in comparison.
Cazzo, maybe Blondie was rubbing off on me. I shuddered again. I don't know what was scarier: being like Blondie or the bimbo's jacked-up titties.
Ignoring Wonky Tits, I made my way to the corner of the club and Aro's private table. This angle gave him a bird's-eye view of the entire scene. Peeping Tom fucker.
Aro sat back in the booth, his hand gripping a crystal tumbler as he surveyed the club, his eyes shifting from side to side as he checked on every aspect of the operation. When I was in front of him, he raised an eyebrow, set his glass on the table, and stared at me head-on. "I take it things are settled with the Russians and you're here with what's owed me?"
I set the bag down on the table. "Vlad's been handled," I greeted, with a smirk, sitting down. As I did, I got a side eye from Gary, one of Aro's capos that he had running shit upstate on the daily. Fucker had balls eyeballing me but he was smart enough not to say shit, and he turned his attention back to the girl shaking her ass on the stage. He adjusted himself, and I don't think I'd seen anyone look more desperate. He looked like he was about to come in his pants, and I swore he had drool pooling in the corners of his mouth. I thought Aro was bad, but this stunad fucker looked like a forty-year-old virgin, actually in his case fifty. He was not aging well.
"What the fuck? You killed him? EC, you want a war with the Russians? I told you to just rough up the joint. Fucking shit. Marcus is going to ice me and you." Aro groaned, panting as he gripped the table for dear life. He looked like he was going to shit himself.
"Relax. No need to have a fucking coronary. I didn't clip nobody. They all live to drink vodka another day," I mumbled, not happy about not getting to paint the walls in their blood but I followed my orders. For the most part.
"Cazzo, thank you Jesus." He did the sign of the cross. Aro looked like he was ready to get on his knees and pray. Gary still hadn't stopped ogling the fucking broad on stage.
Sure, the Russians were scary fuckers, but if you were a boss, you shouldn't be a fucking pussy. I wondered what Marcus would think of this shit.
"So seriously? Why can't I kill Blondie?" I blurted. I just had to know why Blondie was so special that he required his life to be guaranteed.
Aro shook his head and muttered something in Italian that I didn't quite make out. "EC, you've always been good about the no-questions thing and just getting the job done. This is one of those times when I need you to just do what I say and not worry about why. Maybe one of the most important times to literally turn the other cheek. You don't need to like him, but I need you to tolerate Alistair," he warned, taking a sip from the tumbler in front of him.
"Is he even Italian…" I started, seeing if I could get any breadcrumbs out of Aro. Gary's eyebrows went up to his forehead. He kept all Aro's secrets. Those two were as thick as fucking thieves.
"Edward, don't fucking test me. He's…important. Not a hair on his head is to be fucked with," he warned, lightly smacking my cheek. I hated when Marcus and Aro did that shit. Such degrading pieces of shit.
He used my full name, which was a warning to me and my family. My alter ego so to speak and anyone associated with him.
I gulped, hearing Aro's no-nonsense tone, and thought about tossing around Alistair for my own personal enjoyment. If Aro knew half the shit I put that kid through just today, he'd have my ass.
One thing I did know was that Blondie was loyal. He hadn't said jack about me giving him shit or else I wouldn't be sitting here. I owed him a coffee or some shit.
The waitress, Heidi I think her name was, finally came to take my drink order. She had pasties covering her nipples, and Aro gently rubbed the area around one of them as if he was teasing to rip it off. She must have been a great actress because she actually looked like she was enjoying his groping. Just as I opened my mouth to order, attempting not to throw up while doing so, Aro held up his hand and said to Heidi, "He's not staying. Right, EC?" He was goading me, waiting for me to take the bait.
Aro motioned for his bodyguard, Stefan, to take the bag into the back and escort me out of the joint. So this was what it felt like to be in trouble. I guess this was why I never asked questions.
I stood up from the table, not bothering to say bye to Gary, who now had a different broad sitting in his lap. Christ, these horny assholes. Who was I to judge? A week ago, I was one of 'em. I said bye to Aro, and he waved me off.
"Goodbye, EC. I'll be in touch," he called as I walked away.
I hopped in my whip and headed home. So much for getting some dirt.
Bear knocked my freaking fresh muzz all over the kitchen floor. That cost twenty dollars for the little container. Bear didn't get the memo that muzz was sacred shit.
Fuck it. I could just put it on Alistair's plate. He wouldn't know the difference. As I scooped up the cheese, I looked around my kitchen, paranoid that Aro had me under surveillance.
I was making the fucker—I mean, guy—eggplant parm. Yes, I knew how to cook. I hated the taste of the shitty takeout half the time, and I couldn't go over to the crazy ward for dinner every night, so I'd learned to cook.
The doorbell rang, and I jumped. Blondie—Alistair was here. I should've taken something to relax. Fuck me, I was not this worried around chicks. Why was I worried about being nice to Aro's little bitch boy? Perfect example of what I shouldn't say out loud in case Aro bugged this place.
I threw the dish towel over my shoulder and went to answer the door. I did the sign of the cross, hoping God would save me from myself and this shitty idea I had of playing nice to Blondie. Fuck! I mean, Alistair. I had to remember to call him by his name from now on.
"Sir, hey!" Alistair smirked, leaning against the doorframe. He just had a face I wanted to punch.
"Hi. Err, you can call me EC, kid," I gritted out, through clenched teeth. Jesus Christ, this was going to be a long night. "Come in." I gestured inside my brownstone.
Alistair's facial expression grew weary. "EC, I don't fucking know what game you're playing, but I really don't wanna get popped. So if you're gonna take me inside and kill me, can we just talk about shit tomorrow? In public, in broad daylight preferably?" he practically pleaded. Maybe I should see if he'd beg.
No, my life literally depended on not killing this little shit, so if I was gonna be stuck with him for God knows how long, I might as well try to get to know him and 'tolerate' him like Aro ordered. Hence, my brilliant dinner idea.
"Blon—Alistair, I'm not going to kill you." Today, I added mentally. Spending this much alone time with him might actually make me rethink whether or not I had a death wish. "Come in, I made eggplant parm."
His eyebrow quirked and he took one step inside before pulling his foot back out quickly. I looked at him like he'd lost his damn mind, and he said, "I was just making sure you don't have the place boobie trapped." He chuckled and walked into my crib.
Bear ran past me and tackled Blondie to the ground. At least he agreed with me. What a good judge of character. "EC, help." Alistair yelped from the hardwood floor.
I bit back a laugh and reached my hand out to help, while holding Bear back.
"That's some good guard dog you got there," Alistair commented, trying to catch his breath. I opened the sliding doors to the backyard and ushered Bear outside.
"Go sit in the dining room, and I'll bring dinner out to you. There's garlic bread and meat and cheese on the table for picking," I muttered, as I slid into the kitchen. I slammed down the pot of sauce. Fucking asshole. I can't believe I had this fucking idea. I punched my kitchen cabinet.
Compose yourself, motherfucker. You've been in worse situations, I tried to tell myself. When I tried to think of one, I came up dry. Even that one time I got shot in the shin wasn't this painful.
I brought Alistair's plate out to him and extra sauce for dipping. Then I went to get my plate, which didn't have any of the muzz that fell on the floor. I smirked as I reentered the dining room and took a seat across from him.
Alistair sat there, staring at me.
"What?" I spat. I caught myself and tried to smile, but it came out as a strained smirk, making me look like I was pushing out a shit.
"Well I don't know if you're trying to poison me," Blondie murmured, looking at me like a helpless lamb. "Taste some, so I know you didn't." He held out his fork for me.
Fucking asshole. I don't want to eat fucking muzz that fell on the floor. I must have worn my feelings on my face because Alistair dropped the fork and wore a smug look, thinking I attempted to poison him.
Shit, I couldn't have him go back to Aro spewing this shit. I grabbed the fork off his plate and shoved the food in my mouth and quickly swallowed it.
"See, no poison." I took a deep breath, rubbing my chin. I was really trying here.
I started eating my eggplant parm, and as I took the next mouthful, I glanced at Alistair.
He was sitting there, his food untouched. "What? What now?" I whined. It was like he wanted me to fucking kill him.
"I'm allergic to eggplant," Alistair admitted, sheepishly. I dropped my fork onto my plate, looking at him, restraining myself with all my might. I ran into the kitchen and opened my cabinet to take out a glass for water, and instead of filling it, I threw it into the adjacent wall.
I picked up the dish towel and screamed into it. "Fucking piece of shit. Cocksucker. Whore bastard."
A moment later, I heard Alistair whisper, "EC, is everything all right? Hey, do you mind if I smoke in here?"
A bang throughout Bay Ridge could be heard.
Translations:
Mудак - Russian for asshole
A/N: What are everyone's thoughts on Blondie? He's personally my favorite character (Sam) lol! Please review and let us know your thoughts!
