“I can’t believe that you’re allowing this to happen, Deacon.”
“It’s the Princess, Mav. She loves all of this shit. Always has, no matter how hard we tried to beat it out of her growing up,” I tell him, shrugging in acceptance, thankful that we didn’t succeed.
“Yeah, but she also likes cool stuff. Like sports. Indie couldn’t do a hockey-themed party?” he snorts, mildly disgusted.
Shaking my head, I slap him on the back and walk away, heading into the house. Let him tell Indie he doesn’t like the party. I’d have one less brother, but it might be worth it to see how that whole conversation plays out. I’m not even sure what the theme is supposed to be. There’s lace. A lot of lace and feathers…and leather? All over my house. How the fuck does she come up with this shit? Not that I’m complaining. It’s actually really sexy. I don’t have time to explain that to my dumbass brothers though.
I bound up the stairs two at a time, needing to get ready for this party. I hope like hell that I’m able to stay cool. Today is not the day for me to beat the shit out of Frankie’s douchebag boyfriend. It’s getting harder and harder for me to see them together. I’ve always struggled seeing her with other guys, but I couldn’t do shit about it. Not without coming clean about how I feel about her, so I’ve just learned to grin and fucking bear it. Well, that noise is getting old and I’m getting sick as fuck of fighting the urge to claim her ass.
I’m not weak, but this thing with Frankie has me frustrated as hell. I’ve been a total prick to be around lately and don’t have time for any of the bullshit right now. I’m leaving for my next series of fights and the Elite Warriors Federation doesn’t give a fuck if I have sand in my vagina over a woman or not. I am a professional MMA fighter and they expect me to act like it. I can’t afford any distractions right now—not even the Princess, who is a huge distraction.
Striding into my bedroom, I go straight for my music system, firing it up and setting it to shuffle. I enter the bathroom knowing Indie is going to be pissed. I’m sure my playlist isn’t what she had in mind for her little sex-themed party.
Jumping out of the shower, towel slung low on my hips, I head back into my room and the walk-in closet, rubbing another towel over my head, drying my hair. After being in the military and told that I had to wear my hair short, I’ve rebelled since I was discharged and now wear it long. Even though it’s kind of a pain in my ass, especially in the cage where fuckers like to pull it like a bunch of girls. I pull a pair of boxer briefs out of my dresser, slip into them, and finish dressing before throwing my boots on. I see that Frankie is at it again when I open the vanity drawer.
Shaking my head, I grab one of the pink hair ties she has replaced my black ones with, yet again, and shove it into my front pocket along with my phone. Checking my watch, I realize that guests are probably arriving and head to the safe in my office to grab Frankie’s present. I look in the bag with the two blue boxes that I picked up earlier in the week and smile as I flick the light off and head downstairs. Indie is at the landing, stabbing her fingers at the panel that controls the sound system.
“What are you doing, woman? Why are you being so rough with my shit?” I growl at her, swatting her hands away.
“The DJ is trying to set up and do a sound check but all anyone can hear is your shitty music!” she shouts.
Glancing down at the bag I hold, she jerks her chin in my direction.
“Is that her gift?”
“Yep.”
“You gonna show me?”
“Nope,” I say as I walk past whistling.
“Are you wearing that? You know he’ll be in a suit, right?”
I don’t even bother looking down at my worn jeans and plain, black Henley. I don’t need to dress up in a fucking suit in order to look good or impress anyone. Who the fuck wears a suit to an outdoor party at the end of May anyway? Douchebags, that’s who.
I keep walking but yell over my shoulder, “You say that shit like it matters, Jones!” Running a hand through my still-damp hair, I flex for her, causing my shirt to strain against the muscles rippling beneath. “Doesn’t matter what he wears. I’ll still look better.”
She rolls her eyes, shaking her head in exasperation. Laughing, I wink and make my way outside.
Two hours later, the DJ has all of Frankie’s favorites playing. Some of it I love, some I tolerate, and some makes me want to put a bullet in my brain. The Princess has really eclectic taste in music—probably because she’s a dancer. Not a stripper, but an actual trained dancer. She did teach a pole dancing class at the gym for a while though, which I found to be fucking hot as hell. She’s amazing -- she has a studio in the gym our dads own, teaches classes, and even competes, though not as much as she used to.
Looking around at all of the milling guests and the ones still arriving, I still don’t see Frankie. Mav and Sonny are at the bar that’s set up on the patio, talking to Indie and one of her friends that I’ve met but has one of those names that you can never remember. I make my way over to them and ask, “Where’s the Princess?”
“Apparently, Annnddrreewww had something important come up at the office. Some hush hush important client or some shit,” Indie snarls.
Seething in anger, I begin to shake, “Fuck that! Fuck him! It’s her birthday, this is her damn party!”
I grab my phone from my pocket and toss it to Indie. “Call Frankie and tell her I’m on my way!” I turn but before I get very far Indie grabs my arm and holds up her hand to shut me up when I go to speak.
“Slow down, hero.” She places the phone in my hand but doesn’t let go, forcing me to stay put. “I already called and she’s on her way now. That was about five or ten minutes ago, so she should be here any minute.”
Slipping my phone back into my pants, I try to reel in my aggravation. I fucking hate this guy!
“God, he’s such a fucking tool,” Sonny says, before he takes a pull from his beer.
Everyone nods in agreement, but I don’t say anything, just grab my drink from the bartender and break away from the group and head back toward the house. I want to be the one to greet her when she arrives.
The kitchen door opens and I see her. She stands there before me and takes my breath away. Jesus fuck. I stop my advance and take her in. She’s fucking gorgeous. Her long, blonde hair is pulled to the side in some fancy ass braid which falls over her shoulder. Icy eyes done up with dark makeup, making them look smoky, almost as if they’re glowing, blue flames. She has this short, gray dress on that hugs every single one of her curves. And my girl has curves on her tight little dancer’s body. I don’t know what the material is, nor do I give a fuck, but it looks soft and drapes off of her shoulder. The way it hangs leaves the skin there bare, with glimpses of her tattoo playing peekaboo.
Continuing my perusal, I let my gaze linger on the hottest set of legs I’ve ever seen. For someone that’s only five-foot-two, her legs are unreal. On her tiny feet are light pink, fuck-me heels that make my dick instantly hard. I’m so fucked. Bringing my gaze back up, I rest on her face,
“Hey, Princess! I was getting worried about my birthday girl,” I tell her, not acknowledging the prick standing beside her.
“I know. I should’ve called, Deacon, but I didn’t think we would be this late,” she says apologetically.
Not even glancing at him, I gesture with my head.
“Come, give me some love.”
Arms open wide, I smile when she lets go of Andrew’s arm and walks right into mine. Wrapping my body around her tiny frame, I look Drew right in the eyes and smirk. I pull back just far enough to grab her wrist, making sure that he’s watching as I bring it up to my mouth and place a kiss there.
Take that, fucker.
I watch him watching us for a second longer. To say that he is pissed would be putting it mildly. My smirk morphs into a smile as I look down at my girl. “Happy birthday, Frankie,” I say, squeezing her tighter to me.
“Thanks, Deacon. I really am sorry that we’re late,” she says in that throaty, sexy as fuck rasp of hers.
“No worries, babe. It’s your party and doesn’t start ‘til you get here, yeah?”
I loosen my hold on her, allowing her to step back next to Andrew, who immediately pulls her into his side making the muscle in my jaw tick. I still haven’t said shit to him. I guess he’s a bigger man than me though because he’s the one to finally break the silence.
“Yes, I apologize. I had something that couldn’t wait come up at the office and it took longer than I would have liked. I’m in the middle of a very important case.” Glancing distastefully around the room, he continues in that pompous ass voice of his, “Thank you for throwing this party for Francesca. I have been so busy at work lately that there was no way I would have been able to throw something together.” The condescending tone he uses makes me want to break his fucking face.
Turning away, I lead us through the house and toward the party. Stopping on the patio I turn back to them.
“Yeah, well, we can’t all be a prosecutor for the D.A., can we? No worries though, I wouldn’t have let you anyway, Drew.” He hates when I call him that, which only makes me use it as often as possible. “This is a tradition and you don’t fuck with tradition. I’ve been throwing Frankie her birthday party for as long as I can remember. Wouldn’t have it any other way,” I say as I glance over at Frankie and wink before I swing my gaze back to his beady, hate-filled eyes.
I love to remind him of my place in her life every chance I get. Meeting his cold stare unblinkingly, I convey my message, That’s right, asshole, you may be here with her, but make no mistake about whose girl she is. He breaks eye contact and I smile.
Point one for The Hitman.
Sitting at the bar, where it appears my brother has taken up residence, I take stock. The party is going really well -- they always do. Frankie loves everything that Indie has chosen, just like she does every year. If there are two people that know her, it’s me and Indie. There is no question that she would like anything that we put together. I did however hear Drew say something about it being crass or risqué or some shit like that. Fucking prude. He probably fucks with his socks on and the lights off. Fuck. I don’t even want to think about it.
I look over at Sonny drinking his bottle of Furious. “What the fuck does she see in that guy?” I ask, shaking my head in confusion.
“I don’t know, brother. She’s never really had a type. Even still, he’s definitely not right for her. Indie said that Frankie told her that Drew hates her tattoos. Wants the Princess to get them removed—even offered to pay for it,” Sonny conveys, tossing a handful of peanuts into his mouth.
“You’re kidding me, right? She’s not going to do it, is she?”
Chewing thoughtfully, he swivels his stool in my direction.
“I don’t know. I don’t think so. Indie said that she flew off the handle at Frankie, was telling her what bullshit it was and all that. Frankie said that she’d think about it. Indie thinks that he’s trying to mold her into some country clubber so that she fits in with his associates down at the State Attorney’s office or something.”
That pisses me off on every level. I’ve been the one to take Frankie for all of her ink. It’s our thing and some of my fondest memories. I have more of my body covered in ink than not, and so many of them have something to do with her or a memory that includes her. When she told me that she wanted some work done, I jumped at the chance to share that bond with her. Now this asshole wants to erase it like it’s dirty or something? No fucking way! Not on my watch!
I’m lost in thought when I see Andrew make his way to the DJ and say something to him. The DJ nods his head and pulls out a mic, handing it to him.
What the fuck is he doing?
When the song ends, the DJ waves his hand as if to say “All yours.” Drew clears his throat, thanks the DJ, and starts talking.
“Francesca, can you please come up here, darling?”
“Darling?” Really? I hate this motherfucker. I. Hate. Him.
All I can hear is the blood pounding in my ears, drowning out everything around me. My eyes following her every move, I watch Frankie glide up to the stage. As soon as she reaches him, he takes her hand and smiles at her. Then he drops to one knee.
What the holy fuck is going on right now?
I don’t even realize that I’ve taken a step toward them until I feel both Mav and Sonny press their hands to either side of my chest and push back a little. I don’t acknowledge them, or anyone else for that matter. I just stare at the train wreck in front of me, feeling my heart race, threatening to beat right the fuck out of my chest. I can see his lips move, imagine what he’s saying, the promises, but I can’t actually make out the words. Still, I hear nothing but the sound of my own blood, a deafening roar through my head, and to myself I just keep repeating, “Please don’t say yes. Please don’t say yes.” I see her nod her head yes and watch him slip the ring on her finger, stand up, and wrap his arms around her, kissing her. I’m not sure whether I want someone to kill me or I want to be the one doing the killing. No, I know what I want. And it’s not his pretty boy ass standing next to her, where I should be.