He so mean to everyone else but once his go the bedroom heâs all subby for you đŠ
holy shit bc mafia sub tom is everything like đľâđŤđľâđŤ
having him eat you out while you wear the same expensive heels he bought you and youâre digging them in his back âsuch a good fucking boy, making me feel so so goodâ
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summary: your original task was to satisfy your midnight cravings. what you find is something you donât quite expect. based on this ask.Â
warnings: minor hints of violence, mentions of stalking, language, and SMALLÂ nsfw bc its mafia!tom what do you want from mE
authorâs note: havenât written for tom in a while and this request spurred up some thoughts lmao. ALSO i tweaked this a lil bit hope u donât mind :)
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everything residing inside the proportionally small bedroom was brought to life in almost an instant. with a single yank, the curtains covering the glass windows gave way to a clear view of the moon, allowing its illuminating rays to seep through. the outline of a messy, disheveled bed was puzzled together, with accompanying piles of clothes scattered across the room. a pair of slippers waited patiently next to the door for their owner to retrieve them, and with the sudden entry of glimmering light, it wouldnât be long until someone did.Â
it had all started with a simple rumble of your stomach. there wasnât much to it, nor would you have ever thought it would escalate this bad. you had been given quite a luscious meal, large enough to get you through the night without residual hunger. so, the idea of skipping dessert altogether seemed appropriately reasonable. however, as the night wore on, you began noticing a distinct noise deep in your belly. you ignored it at first, but as soon as youâd permit your eyes to close, the feeling returned more painful than before. now, here you were: on a mission to indulge in a much-needed snack.Â
you should at least have a bite, he had told you. you might regret it if you donât. it had been silly of you to have denied his suggestion. he had meant well by it, too-always had, and most likely always will-but now the thought of possibly being caught by him doing exactly what you had refused to do was awkward. the spoon in your hand was already digging into a scoop of ice cream amidst this ludicrous internal conflict of yours, and as soon as the rich flavor of chocolate reached your senses, everything troubling you faded away. should listen to him more often, you pondered.Â
 the old-fashioned clock hanging from above the fridge appeared to stop clicking with each mouthful of the decadent dessert, and if the man who had offered you a home in his luxurious estate teased you for this later, you simply would not care. after a particularly large bite though, an echoed grunt sounded in the next room, causing you to set the nearly empty jar on the counter. whoever that was-they sounded angry. your curious mind prompted your feet to move cautiously across the cold tiles with no regard to the possibility of it being an intruder. it seemed as if tonight you were on a quest to find something-anything-that would give you a thrill. yes, if someone was in fact in his home, and if by chance you were the one who discovered them, it wouldnât be so exhilarating. yet, as your feet traversed further into the dark halls, and your brain continued joining dangerous situations together, you mindlessly wandered into something damn near close to threatening.
âtom?â a faint, quivering voice questioned. an innocent, ignorant little mouse caught in a trap. a pair of eyes shot up to meet your horror-struck features, taking in every possible detail they could make out through the obscurity of the room. then, he smiled. a small, deceiving curve of his lips made your heart jump hurdles, and right now, it was difficult to pinpoint whether it was fear or something a little more than infatuation.Â
âdarling, iâm so glad you decided to join us.â the dark-suited man stood up straight, a hand extended towards you invitingly. by now, it was evident that tom never asked politely, never offered anything to anyone; he just took whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. which is why his rough palm had now enveloped your tiny one. he adjusted the cushion behind you so you could have a seat, advising you that your line of vision had to be vast if you were to see what came next.Â
âwhat-no! who the hell is that! why is he-oh god-why is he tied up!â a meek attempt at rising up from the couch was ceased by a strong pair of hands gripping either of your thighs. it shouldnât have provided you a passive wave of goosebumps on your skin, not from something so minimal. he felt them, too; the rush of your skin and how it was suddenly so cold, and now it was damn near-boiling. his orbs were obsidian, a single glare from them mixed with the timidness of your own. âiâm sorry. can you just tell me, please?â you amended weakly.Â
âoh, honey, you donât have to be sorry.â a gentle stroke to your hair was followed by a reassuring grin. tom tugged a loose strand of your behind your ear before turning to the side, nudging to the half-beaten person in the middle of the room. âbut he does.â
with the light adjusting accordingly now, the features of this stranger didnât seem to be so unfamiliar anymore. upon closer inspection, the realization hit you like a blow to the chest. âoh my god, is that-â
âthe fucking man whoâs been bothering you? yeah, thatâs the one.â it came out of tomâs throat as a growl, every word dripping with disgust at the mere acknowledgment. âshouldâve talked to me about it-put an end to this son of a bitch sooner.â the grasp on your fragile legs turned tighter, your mouth falling open at the flutter of pain that came with it. âclose your pretty little mouth before i forget we have company, baby.â
in an instant, he wasnât centimeters close to your face anymore; his hands no longer held your aching skin, but rather the other manâs throat. a whirlwind of threats, punches, and blows encaptured your entire focus, and to say it didnât entice you (among other things) would be a blatant lie. fully prominent on tomâs neck, the darkened profile of his snake tattoo maneuvered with every searing hit he made. the moon-the very same one you saw only minutes ago-casted a shadow on his rings, and the one youâd caught yourself staring at one too many times glistened back. perhaps this was your own personal heaven? or were you possibly in a drug-induced coma; the man looking at you once every few seconds with a mischievous glint in his eye a mere conjuring of your brain?Â
a command was given, and an obedient man went on to lift your stalkerâs limp form from the chair. you had almost missed it, given your disorganized (and very much hormonal) state of mind. tom came to rest beside you once he gave instructions to another one of his men, a leg crossing over the other as his arms snaked around the couch. he didnât say anything, regardless of how intensely you were looking at him. all he did was relax, or appear to be, while his men scurried to obey their boss. a few seconds later, one of the few you recognized handed you a tub of ice cream, red velvet flavored this time, and a clean spoon. a look of confusion spread on your face, unbeknownst to just about anything you believed to be certain. all tom did was laugh at your concern, assuring you he wouldnât bother you with witty remarks if you satiated your craving.Â
âwait, how did you know i was eating some in the first place?â you ask mid spoonful. you miss the drop of creamy texture that starts to drizzle on the side of your mouth, but tom sure doesnât. with a slow, swift movement of his hand, his thumb is wiping it off before putting it into his mouth.Â
âdarling, you may think i know nothing when it comes to you, but i know everything.â
Summary: Beware of those with soft lips and guns at their hips.Â
Pairing: 1920sMafia!Sebastian Stan x Reader, 1920sMafia!Tom Holland x Reader
Words: 2.5K
Warnings: cussing, violence, mentions of smut
A/N: If you have any requests, my ask is always open! Thank you for reading!
âThere's no surrender
And there's no escape
Are we the hunters?
Or are we the prey?â
âHey darling,â You murmur as you enter Sebastianâs office, adding a little extra sway to your hips. His mouthed turned up in a smirk, nearly hidden behind his steepled hands that were resting against his lips. His eyes tracked your movement before angling his chair towards his desk.Â
You learned forward, wrapping your arms around him from behind. One hand slid just beneath the opening of his buttoned shirt. You could hear Sebastian hold his breath as your lips found his neck. Your lips were light, almost teasing as you left each kiss.Â
âAnd what do I owe this pleasure?â He rasped out before quickly clearing his voice.Â
âChris came by and told me you needed to see me.â You mentioned as you moved around to lean against Sebastianâs chair.Â
He hesitated.Â
He never hesitated. He always went into everything with his whole heart or nothing at all.Â
Sebastianâs throat bobbed as he turned his chair to face his desk, causing you to have to stand up to avoid falling over. His fingers scrambled for the brass box that sat in the left corner of his desk. âSebâŚâ You tried to catch his attention, but he was set on grabbing one of the neatly placed cigarettes from the box. He shut the box with a loud clang, echoing in the silent room.Â
He yanked the lighter out from his suit jacket pocket that was draped on the back of his chair. He stumbled to get the lighter to ignite. Flick. Flick. Fli-the flame finally decided to stand tall enough for Sebastian to light his cigarette.Â
âWhat arenât you telling me, Seb?â You muttered, suddenly thankful that you were able to have control over your voice, because inside your body was bracing for impact.Â
He didnât have a chance to answer and you didnât know if he took that as a blessing or a curse as the door swung open, slamming against the back wall. Chris filled the doorway, not paying much heed to our privacy as he lumbered in. Sebastian would never take crap like this from anyone except for Chris and possibly you. He had a standard to uphold around here, but Chris never cared for logistics.Â
âSomeone a tad bit stressed?â Chris chuckled to himself as he sauntered straight to Sebastianâs desk and took one of the infamous cigarettes from the brass box. He knew Sebastianâs notorious habit of smoking when stressed.Â
Sebastian rolled his eyes, trying his best to ignore his second in command. âDonât mind if I doâŚâ Chris mumbled with the cigarette dangling from his lips as he bent over the desk to retrieve Sebastianâs lighter.Â
Flick. It lit in one try.Â
âSo, whatâs the verdict?â Chris asked after a stream of smoke left his lips. He sat himself on the arm of the armchair that stood to the left side of the desk, which was part of Sebastianâs ensemble of a large office. He had a sitting area to the left of his desk with two armchairs and a lamp. Bookcases lined the far walls making the room feel more like a library or study. You would never guess what kind of business Sebastian was in by looking at his office.Â
You furrowed your brows, not sure what he was referring to.Â
âChr-â Sebastian started, but was cut off.
âYou havenât told her yet, have you?â Chris asked in an accusatory tone. He pushed himself off of the armchair, proceeding to pace in front of the sitting area. Back and forthâŚback and forthâŚ
âItâs not just something I can jump into-â
âThe plan was supposed to be implemented this weekend.â Chris shot back.
âI know, but-â
âDo you even care about the business? We are sinking deeper and deeper each day, but you want to take your sweet ass time-â Chris rambled on stridently with his hands poised on his hips.
Sebastian cut him off, standing quickly, causing his chair to roll back, finally ceasing as it hit the wall. He slammed his hands on the desk, surprising all of us. âDo you dare to question my commitment? Do you honestly think for a second that I wouldnât lay down my life for what weâve built here?â His words came out quickly, like throwing knives with each of his words hitting some part of Chris that made him halt his tirade. âI am taking my time because I am not going to rush into this. I am trying to come to peace with what I am going to ask Y/N to do, but it makes me sick.â
Chris stood there almost helpless as he didnât have some snarky comeback. He let out a slow, lingering breath of smoke.
âGet out and leave me to handle this.â Sebastian ordered, and without a word, Chris followed his orders, not hesitating to shut the door with a bang.Â
The room was silent. No moving. No fumbling of papers. No teasing. No releases of smoke from smooth lips.Â
His whispers resounded like screams in my ears as they broke the silence, âItâs all gone.â
âWhat?â Your voice cracked as you finally found your will to speak.
âAll our money is gone.â He muttered bitterly before taking a drag from the cigarette that had almost reached its end. âWeâre broke.â
âHow did this happen?â Your tremulous voice echoed in the room, as you broke the pattern of whispers.Â
âHolland,â He replied in a disheartening, taut tone. âHe infiltrated the biggest deal that Iâve had in years and now holds power over our suppliers. They wonât deal to me and I donât have any leverage over them any more. He paid them off and is providing protection for them in case I retaliate. I spent thousands of dollars trying to make sure this deal went through and he took advantage of that.â
He took your hesitation to respond as a cue to continue, âHeâs smartâŚmore than I anticipated. I underestimated him and now itâs come back to get me. Itâs humiliating. He got the best of me when heâs barely in his twenties.â
âWhy donât you do what you usually do? Get a man on the inside, and destroy from within.â You muttered, trying to not let your fear seep into your tone.
âGot the news last week.â Sebastian talked under his breath as he slid a file across the desk to where you could see. You forgot how to breathe as you saw the pictures clipped to the file. You couldnât see the faces, but the ferocity of the pictures made your stomach queasy. Two men were pictured face down in various angles showing multiple gun shot wounds and non-self inflicted injuries. âHe knew we had people on the inside.â
You wanted to reach out to him. You wanted to tell him that you both will get through this, but you knew Sebastian wasnât one for wasted pleasantries. He didnât care for you to tell him, âeverything is going to be alright.â He wanted to hear the truth no matter what cost.Â
âSo where does that leave me?â You exhaled, struggling to keep your breathing even as your anxiety started to mount.Â
Sebastian wouldnât meet your eyes. Fuck.Â
âSebastian.â You tried to get his attention away from the butt of his cigarette that he was fumbling with. âWhat was Chris talking about?âÂ
His face paled the moment you said Chrisâ name.Â
âA plan was drawn up, but I wasnât the one to come with it. I tried to shut it down every time it was brought up, but I couldnât think of any other way. I just-â He cut himself off as he struggled to find the words that could match the war that was occurring in his head.Â
You finally found the will to move to him. You carefully moved to kneel in front of Sebastian, being mindful of your dress as you lowered yourself to the ground.He turned his chair to face you, not quite sure what to do. You grabbed his right hand, wrapping both of your hands around it. You hesitated before looking him in the eyes because it killed you how much the man before you was unraveling because of fear. Fear of failure. Fear of losing the kingdom he had built. Fear of losing you.Â
âSebastian, what do you need me to do?â You asked softly, looking into the storm swirling in his eyes. You wanted this to end. You wanted to take away this torture that he was going through.Â
âWe need you to be my eyes on the inside.â His voice was gravelly as he spoke, like he had to rip every word from every part of him that was telling him not to go through with this.Â
âWhat?â His words reverberated in your mind, not quite sinking in. This seemed like suicide. You werenât even sure you were capable of doing such a thing. You were Sebastianâs girlfriend, not one of his trained men.Â
âWe need you to get intel for us. Straight from his lips. He wonât be expecting it.â Sebastian still hadnât dared to look you in the eyes.Â
âExpecting it from a woman?â You asked cursedly.
Sebastian paused before answering, knowing he should choose his words carefully, âWe hear that he only sees women as being useful forâŚcertain purposes.âÂ
âAnd how am I supposed to do this?â You wondered aloud.
âGain his trust. Do what you need to do.â Every word falling from his lips were clipped. Short. Not wanting to take the time to say more as this was taxing him more than he would ever wish.
You knew from the look on his face that if you said no, thatâd be it. You wouldnât have to do it, but what other option did you two have? Sebastian made sacrifices constantly to look after you and his men. He did everything to give you a life that you had always dreamed of. You had a home. He gave you access to an education. You had a purpose. Sebastian gave you opportunities during a time that wanted to keep women in the shadows. It was your turn to make a sacrifice for him.
âWhat about my gin?â You asked softly.
âYouâll still have time to perfect it. Weâll figure it out.â He murmured, running a soft hand through your hair before cupping your cheek. His look was too tender that you did not want to look away in case you missed it.Â
Breathe.
You would still be able to have more times when Sebastian would find you in your workroom, taste testing your creations. He would try to distract you by wrapping his arms around your waist and leaving soft, teasing kisses along your neck, hoping that he could catch enough of your attention for a few stolen kisses.Â
For almost four months now you have been working on creating a cocktail that you hoped would be made and sold across New York once it is released. Maybe one day it would find its way across the country and over seas. Your main roadblock was that you didnât quite have the equipment you needed. It was extremely hard to come by during the Prohibition and would be hard to keep a secret. You were limited to experimenting in the bathtub. Literally.Â
The bathtub was only supposed to be a temporary tool until Sebastian could get a large still brought in, but the chances of that were becoming slimmer. Bathtub gin was low quality and could never reasonably be sold on the market so you were blindly experimenting when you added the juniper berries and other botanicals. You werenât able to tell how it would taste with better quality tools so you were almost at a standstill.Â
Sebastian loved watching you work. He loved seeing you so passionate about having ownership over it. He couldnât wait for the finished product so he could have all of New York raving over it, raving over the empire that you both had anticipated creating. Sending you away was merely aâŚpause in these plans. Sebastian clenched his hands into fists as he questioned what the hell he was doing and what he was asking you to do. Is he seriously losing his mind?
You separated the torturous waves of thoughts that were crashing through Sebastianâs mind as you broke the silence, âIâll do it.â Your voice was so timid, you werenât sure if the words had even left your lips.
Sebastianâs expression wasnât readable, but you knew that he had heard you. His eyes were still darting every which way, not quite settling on anything. âAngelâŚare you sure?â His eyes softened as he called you his favorite pet name.He had called you Angel the night that you two had met.
âYou must be an angel, I reckon.â He had murmured as he moved a piece of hair out of your eyes.
âOh, you do?â You had slightly slurred, having enough alcohol in your system to hold your bearings, but enough to have the nerve to be running your fingers lightly over the back of his hand as it rested on the bar.
âYes, but I am still trying to figure out if youâve been sent down to save my soul or entice me to sin. With legs like yours, Iâve come to think it may be the latter. What do you reckon? Are you my guardian angel?â He pursed his lips, seeming happy with his response.Â
âWhy? Does someone need to be saved?â You asked, before taking a sip of your glass of wine.
âYou could say that, Angel.â He matched your move as he brought his glass of gin to his lips.
You met Sebastianâs eyes, âYes.âÂ
His lips trembled ever so slightly as he brought your hand to his lips, sealing the deal.
Blow a kiss, Fire a gun: Teaser Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3 Pt.4 Pt.5 Pt.6 Pt.7 Pt.8 Pt.9 Pt.10 Pt.11 Pt.12 Pt.13 Pt.14 Pt.15 Pt.16 Pt.17 Pt.18 Pt.19 Pt.20 + NSFW Alphabet with Mob!Tom
Run to me: Prologue - Read on wattpad!!
Chapter Summary: Things can change within an instant, all it takes is a trigger or the click of a button.
Warnings:Â Chapter contains OCD disorder, signs of PTSD and an asshole boyfriendÂ
- There are a lot of dad/mafia series, so if this seems similar to yours then message me for credit.
Words: 5K
I APOLOGISE IF THE READ MORE DOESNâT WORK ON MOBILE!
Little sounds could be heard, the small âPitter Patterâ of feet- miniature feet, almost smaller than your hand in fact. Rosie comes running in, a picture in hand and collection of crayons in the other and a wide smile adorned her features. She had your smile, most definitely, creases forming beneath her eyes and teeth showing through her parted lips.
She wore a pair of comfortable leggings, a yellow shirt overtop and a pair of fluffy socks- her favorite ones with the blue polka dots. You almost wanted to applaud her for the outfit, picking the whole thing out herself after demanding she dress herself.
âIâm starting school soon mum, I can do it myself!â
Youâd easily admit that the small girl was growing up too fast, but that was probably only due to the fact that she no longer allowed you to carry her around in public (despite the odd occasion, of course), and kisses at the kindergarten gate were rare and you savoured them when you could. Now she was dressing herself, some days in almost every color of the rainbow and some, like today she went for a more subtle outfit.
You were grateful that Rosie still allowed you to do her hair, the long, brown curls that frizzed up when you brushed them hung in a simple ponytail today, little brown baby hairs stuck out wildly, hanging in gentle coils.
Something told you that there was another reason as to why the girl was so independent. Maybe it was because some days she found herself clambering up at the beat of her purple alarm clock, finding you still dead asleep in the double bed (sometimes with your boyfriend- the man she didnât like) and manage to grab herself a bowl of cheerios.
Rosie would stand on the very tips of her toes to grab a bowl, little fingers wrapping around one of the plastic ones. (one had barbie on it and one had a frog- She favored the barbie bowl) The child was careful not to make too much noise, never knowing whether or not her mummy had enough sleep the night before or if she was up late again. Sheâd grab the glittery stool, dragging it over to the pantry where sheâd reach in and grab out the container of her cereal of choice as well as a food item her mum wouldnât approve of that early in the morning.
Rosie would sit at the counter with a pencil in one hand, spoon in the other and color away, ignoring the little droplets of milk that landed on the paper and spotted her work. Sheâd wait for you to run in, hair strewn around and a panicked look on your face as you cursed and stressed. Sheâd giggle from her place at the counter, already excited to show off her first artwork of the day while you struggled to even make her lunch.
Your hands would tremble, eyes racing around the room before falling onto the little girl in the seat and youâd remind yourself that you had her- you had someone to live for and you had to take deep breaths and watch your thoughts and-
Rose stares up, expression that of a dog getting a belly rub as she waits for you to take the artwork from her hand and react positively as you always did. Maybe youâd even hang it up on the fridge like last time! So she was shocked when you took her hand in your own, completely missing the piece she held in her hand.
âWhat happened to your hands?â You ask, concern lacing every word. The small girl doesnât answer, she canât even look at you and whether it was out of shame or embarrassment- you couldnât be too sure. Her deep, brown eyes were fuzzy however from shock, not expecting you to notice the damage. âRose?â
Her little hands, merely half the size of yours yet somehow chubbier were bleeding, not a lot but little beads sat around the red marks. Two sickly crimson scratches sat on the backs of each hand. It looked as if sheâd done it herself, even with her nails a little longer then stubs that you mentally noted to deal with later.
âI was itchy.â She mumbles. You pick the girl up, placing her onto the kitchen table where her eyes immediately fall to the easter egg shaped jar filled with cookies that youâd only stocked up last night. Somehow she knew what day was shopping day, and shopping day meant cookies that she could easily ween around of you.
âWhatâve I said about scratching yourself too hard?â You sigh, the morning already going off with a bang. Life was never dull or slow with a child around. To say that you were always on the edge of your feet- mind always reeling with âto doâsâ and âmust rememberâs!â Was an understatement. When the little girl didnât reply, you answered for her. âWe need to sort this habit out.â
Rossie sniffles gently, the hand you werenât examining reaching out to drag over the cookie jar. âCan I have one?â
âYou can have one later.â You say, knowing full well that sheâd try and wriggle her way out of that whether it was pulling out the puppy dog eyes, the tears or just straight up steal one when you were out of the room. âStay still, Iâm gonna grab the bandaids.â
You turn around, reaching into one of the cabinets to find where the bandages were. You knew that Rosie preferred the Hello Kitty band-aids, usually peeling the wiggles oneâs of within only an hour or fiddling with the bland, murky brown oneâs too much. She adored the way the pink and white ones looked.
Your hand finds the brightly colored box, pulling it down and turning around to see the girl already reaching into the jar, her chubby fingers trying to slip a sweet before you could catch her. Rosie thought that maybe sheâd get away with it this time if she was quiet enough, taking a treat or two and stuffing them in her pant pockets to eat later when her mother was busy, or in the back seat of the car on the way to kindergarten. Maybe sheâd even eat them at kindergarten tucked away in the back of the play shed where no one could take her cookies from her.
âWhatâs the rule?â You scold, digging into the almost-empty packet to pull out the last few bandages, wishing youâd bought more yesterday.
Her head snaps up, brown curls that were tightly pulled into a ponytail bouncing around, falling over her wide eyes, a look of pure guilt crosses her features. You just had to crush her thoughts, staring down with a disappointed glint in your eyes making the girl pout. What you wouldnât tell Rosie was that there was already two cookies tightly wrapped in glad wrap and hidden at the bottom of her lunch box.
The cookie slipped between her fingers and back into the jar, crumbs and the remains of chocolate chips remain and yes, she was already thinking about licking all of it off the second she got the chance. âNo sweets before ten.â
âMhm.â
You take one of the bandaids, ripping the paper packaging off and take the sticky strip out. The right end stuck to your finger for a small moment, before you move to stick it over your daughter's wounds. The ones that were right over last weeks, little scars and picked scabs still remained.
âNo! It hurts.â Rosie complains, whipping her hand away almost as fast as sheâd offered it in the first place. âDonât touch,â she grumbles, a pout forming. She stuffs her hands into her chest, hands turned away.
âItâs not going to hurt, Rooâ A sigh escapes your lips, followed by a frustrated groan when Rosie flicks you a wicked glare. She was never a happy person in the morning. âLet me do this or itâll get infected.â
She wiggles back, clothed bottom sliding against the bench. âI donât care if it gets intec-intected.â
âInfections hurt a lot more than what youâre feeling now.â You screw your face up in distaste, watching Rosieâs face remain the same. âThey smell too.â Rosie gawks, mouth open only slightly as you speak. She was listening intently but also wanted to pretend that she wasnât, so began to play with the hem of her t-shirt, the bright yellow distracting her from the sting in her hands. âInfections mean hospitals.â
âHospitals mean lollipops.â She still looked down, voice sounding muffled and words slightly shrewd. The little girl wanted to stick her tongue out at her mother, feeling as if sheâd found a loophole in the situation but you thought otherwise, all while trying not to stare at the clock that continued ticking- every moment gone was another one that youâd be late to work and sheâd be late to kindergarten.Â
âThey also mean needles.â Â Â
That got her attention. Hesitantly, your daughter holds her hands out, legs outstretched on the kitchen table and you try and ignore the fact that this was the third time this month that youâd been in this situation. She stares carefully, eyes watching your every move like a hawk would its prey. She was ready to pull away at any moment, to tell her mother off for pressing too hard on the wounds despite your attempts to be as gentle as possible.
It was eerily silent as you applied the band-aids, Rosieâs eyes drawing between your actions and the still full cookie jar, her mouth only watering at the sight despite the fact that she had a piece of jam on toast only half an hour earlier. That was until she winced slightly, squeezing her eyes shut tightly and refusing to look.
Your eyes, however, were fully trained on the girl's hands, making sure that you applied each band-aid with caution to her already sore hands. A part of you wanted to tape a pair of gloves to her hands or wrap them in bubble wrap but that thought was completely unrealistic. You stuck your bottom lip between your teeth in concentration, working until her hands were now a mess of pastel pink and slightly creepy looking cats that stared up at you with pestering eyes.
âDone?â Rosie asks, still not opening her eyes.
You laugh, âDone, baby.â She opens her eyes slowly, squinting as she looks down at her hands to see that there were three band-aids, the little white cat covering the dorsal side. âIâm proud of you.â You give her a small peck on the check, the little girl screwing her nose up at the action. âNow, try not to make it any worse at kindergarten today, can you do that?â
The little four-year-old was confused, wondering why it was such a big deal but nods anyway. That seemed to be enough for her mother who picked her up, planting her back onto the wooden flooring where she was minutes earlier.
The second her mother looked away she stuck her fingers into her mouth, the taste of chocolate and little prickles of cooking crumbs making her taste buds tingle in delight despite the minty undertone.
Itâd been years since youâd seen him, only hours since you thought of him and minutes since a fresh wave of guilt had hit, knocking you back down into the rubble and grime. It was all symbolism, really. A key selection of words that youâd chosen to describe how it felt to not only be away from the man you once loved but to live with the guilt of what you did every day. Every. Damn. Day.
There was a list of things that you did, in no way are you playing victim nor plan to. You left days after his best friends death, days after his house had been the location of a hostage situation and days after he ultimately broke. The price of that? Post-traumatic stress disorder to the nines.
You didnât just leave. You left with his child- his daughter who was now four and had no idea her father even existed and you had absolutely no idea if he was still okay if he was safe and still involved in the mafia or not. Knowing Tom he most likely still was. He may have still been as greedy as ever, taking in all of the power he could with open arms and a deep, grey heart.
The small, apartment door opens. Wood creaking lowely making Rosie snake around your leg, little fingers in her mouth as she licked off any trace of what could of been. It was only open for a split second but you managed to catch a whiff of the cool air, all of the warm air that had been building up in your apartment for the last half hour creeping through the cracks.
âMornin, sweetheart.â His voice is thick, gruff and a sound you definitely didnât want to hear this early in the morning. It was only nine am, wasnât that a little too early for him?
âMorning.â You find yourself muttering, hands racing around the kitchen to find everything youâd made for Rosieâs lunch without her letting go of your leg, the small girl was clinging to you like a monkey, something she only did every so often.
âWhat have you two been up to?â He asks, looking directly down at your daughter. She doesnât reply, her lips remain in a visible purse. âI asked a question, darling.â
Rosie looks up at you, then back at Aiden who was waiting for an answer. âI drew mummy and me and watched SpongeBob.â
The little yellow sponge that lived under the sea was Rosie's ultimate favorite. You could find her watching that show every chance she had, giggling away as the characters made stupid jokes that you wouldâve once laughed at. Maybe it was because of that show that she asked you for a fish for Christmas and had even tried washing her own dishes with the cleaning sponge under the sink, drawing a small face on it last time she got her hands on a black marker.
Aiden creeps closer and you pat Rosie on the shoulder, instructing her to run off to her room or to the living room, assuring her that thereâd be a good tv show waiting for her on the television and she seemed hesitant, but noticing your hard face unwraps her arms and sprints off to her bedroom, hopefully to shove a pair of shoes on before youâd be running drastically late once more.
Aiden speaks up first, his black ruffled hair hanging in messy strands that bounce around as he moves closer. âSheâs doing it again.â
âI know.â You reply curtly, not wanting to talk about the issue that had become Rosieâs nature.
âYou really should keep a closer eye on that girl, sheâs destructive. Itâs a bad habit.â Aiden was indiscrete about directing the blame towards you, disgusted gaze staring you down.
Anything was better than arguing. Take the comment and change the situation.
âYouâre early today?â You hum gently, getting the bright pink school bag and making sure everything was inside, including the stuffed bear. You swore the girl hadnât gone a day without that bear ever since she started kindergarten and now, since she was so close to starting school you wondered what would happen to it. Whether the toy would continue to lay at the bottom of her bag or go back to its place at the end of the single bed.
âIâve got a meeting.â The man almost huffs, looking down at his phone before shoving it into his back pocket. He walks over to the fridge, grabbing out a bottle of cider from a few nights earlier and takes a large gulp, a few drops staining his lips. âSoon, actually. Just thought Iâd stop in before heading over.â
âMeeting? You never have them.â You point out, a small smile forming but beneath that was nerves. The forever feeling of uneasiness. âIs everything okay?â
âYeah, its all fine. Just meeting with the big boss, you know. Need to go over the stats and things.â
You move over to the sink, the tub already full to the brim. White bubbles floated around the top, bouncing around the few dishes that still sat. There was Rosieâs plate, a mug of discarded orange juice and your coffee mug- despite the fact that youâd been strictly told to stay away from caffeine.
âThe bills come today.â You sigh. A wave of stress and nausea washing over you as you think about the pile of letters thatâd be waiting in your slot later that day. Your hands sink into the tub, suddenly engulfed in the warmth.
âWhatever, I can see to them.â He offers, no hesitation as one of his hands go around your waist as you lean against the counter, cool material flush against the flesh of your back that had managed to peek out of your t-shirt.
You tense, muscles stiffening at the sudden contact. âYou donât have to, you got them last-â
He chuckles. âI have more money than what I know to do with, youâve got nothing.â While it was a nice offer, his comment made you grit your teeth, the fact was all too real. Laced between a fake kindness and generosity was intimidation. Maybe it was sick and twisted. "Without me, you and her would both starve- you'd be living in the streets."
There was no spark between the two of you, nothing at all in the last year that youâd been together. It was a two-sided, unspoken thing, really. It was bad and it was dirty and made you feel like the upmost crappiest human being on Earth.
You almost shiver as his hands wrap around you, the familiar- yet hated feeling making your heart miss a beat. Your hands falling to the sides of the bench where you find yourself gripping the edges. âOkay, yeah.â
There was no point in fighting the matter because speaking back meant arguing, something you couldnât deal with. Arguing meant voices that bounced off of walls, bright, sickly red faces and glass hitting walls and tears, lots of them.
âDo you have therapy today?â His stubble hits your cheek briefly, little prickly hairs making goosebumps form on your arms but there was a small possibility that was out of pure discomfort.
âThatâs Tuesdays.â You remind him, noting that it was in fact Thursday. The words were actually hanging up on the wall calendar behind you, if it werenât for that then you would have sworn it was Wednesday.
âOh yeah, forgot.â Your boyfriend mutters, phone vibrating in one hand while the other remained around you. He unlocks it, eyes hardening but you donât get to see the name on the phone, nor what the text was before a small curse exits his lips, phone shoved away as quick as lightning. âFuck.â
âWhatâs wrong?â You ask.
Aiden was quick to reply, the hard glare changing to a sickly smile. âNothing, nothing. Just the boss.â
You nod, hands playing with the water and bubbles collecting on the palms of your hands instead of actually doing the dishes. It was hypnotic, really. The water moved so calmly, little swirls and shapes forming with each stroke of your hand.
âHey, what time does Rosie have to be at kinder again?â
You look up at the clock hanging on the pale kitchen wall seeing that it was in fact, getting late. By this point, you should already be in the car, an excited child in tow but she was still in her room tugging at her shoelaces, trying to figure out how to work them with her tongue sticking out of her mouth carefully.
âShit! Rosie, weâre gonna be late.â You call, panic setting in all of a sudden. You try to pull away only to be pulled back into his chest, arms remaining tightly around your waist and you find your breathing getting caught in the back of your throat between a quickly forming lump.
âKiss?â
Spinning around to your waiting boyfriend, you give him a small peck, warm lips meeting his chapped, still icy cold from the cider ones. They tasted of apples and it reminded you of summer. âGood Luck at the meeting and say hi to Avery for me!â
It was fair to say that this was nothing like your relationship with Tom. There was no spark, no looking forward to what would happen next or desire to be near each other. On one end you felt that you needed him around. Without him, you and Rosie would sink and on the other you wondered if maybe it was partially a punishment, your sick mind making you think that you deserve this for the lives lost on that torturous day.
âWill do.â Your boyfriend mutters, already reaching into the cupboards to look for something to eat.
-
Tom
âRecent statistics show crime rates dropping in Kingston as police keep an extra eye out. Drug busts are the lowest theyâve been in years and theft is at a minimum. The level of-â
Tom sits at his desk, pen tapping away impatiently. Things had been oddly quiet lately and to say that the mobster was itching to get his hands dirty was an understatement. Today seemed to be the day, with a meeting only hours from now he was determined to shed a little bit of blood and quite frankly, paint the walls red.
A firm expression settled on his features as, the annoying sounding of Sam playing some phone game could be heard over the tapping of feet, but the game was easily more annoying. It sounded like a metal spoon hitting a hardwood floor over and over until ultimately heâd lose yet another round, a grunt leaving his lips as he tried again with no success.
Much to Tomâs pleasure, Harry sat quietly. For once in his damn life, the mobster thought.
Silence was good, it allowed the most important thoughts to flow freely without being interrupted. Tom often found himself thinking about his next move so that he could continue to stretch his empire, to dig up more gold whether that came in the form of the secrets of those that despised him so the mobster could ruin them or actual, hard as wood gold.
Itâd truly been mere hours since Tom had last thought about his past, the recurring thoughts that circled his brain like a merry go round. Tom thought about her and how the last time he saw her she was empty, merely a body with no soul because he fully believed that she lost any ounce of light the day she was threatened and held at gunpoint. She lost any sign of life the moment a man- a good man at that, bled out at her feet.
He thought about how her soft giggles used to fill the naked silence and wondered if she still did that, laughed when times got tough because humor was an awfully fun coping mechanism, but one thatâd tear you apart eventually no matter how many times he warned her. Okay, maybe he was a little bit of a hypocrite.
He remembered just how the bed never used to feel as empty as it did now, even with Tessa snuggled up to his side and how it never used to be as cold. Maybe Tom sometimes imagined her snatching the blankets away at half three or the little snores thatâd slip out as the sun began to rise. Those little snores that used to wake up him, but he never once complained.
He was haunted with the ghosts of his past and he couldnât shake them off no matter how hard he tried, despite the fact that he was still angry beyond comparison. Angry at the world- angry at fate and angry and himself.
Tom was holding a grudge, sure. One that wouldnât settle. At first, Tom had been upset, he mourned and grieved the loss of his best friend and his wife. He had tried to drink himself silly going through limitless amounts of brandy and a sickly amount of cigarettes. And then he went livid.
All Tom saw was bright, hot red and directed all of his anger into his work instead of himself. It was probably the best week the mob had in years. He was demanding, making people drop to their knees in pure fear and no one- Not a soul dared to defy him again. Especially when they found out what happened to Nick.
Something Tom couldnât get over, however, was what Harrison would think of him now. Heâd be shaking his head, disappointment evident on his features. Â The best friend always wanted more than death and gore but Tom had slipped down the wrong path, fallen waist deep in trouble.
âHave you decided how youâre going to deal with Wilson?â Harry snaps his brother out of a trance all while looking through the personal folder. In it contained all of the information the Hollands had on the dealer they were about to mess with, everything from each one of his addresses to the trouble he caused ten to twenty years ago. Also, just enough information to get him jailed for life if the guy ever decided to cause any trouble.
To put it simply, his name was Aiden Wilson. A long-term client of the mob and one that hadnât been paying what he owed to the brothers. Certified sleazebag.
âNot yet, I have got a few ideas though,â Tom replies.
Harry hums, eyes scanning the folder before a thought come to mind. He almost pushes it away, thinking the hunch was merely that- a hunch, but he manages to remember one thing has father taught him before running loss. Never take chances.
âCan you check his bank records real quick?â Harry leans forward in his seat. The boy kicks his legs off of the table and wheels around in the spinny chair so that he was able to see everything Tom was doing on the computer.
âWhy?â Tom questions, still working his magic to access each one of the man's bank records from over the last twenty years in only seconds.
âI just want to check something.â He murmurs, squinting at the screen. Tom swore that he was going to pay for Harry to get his eyes checked sooner or later.
Tom clicks around and ultimately the page overflows with recent purchases, money going in and money going out. The guy seemed to be earning more than enough money so why wasnât he paying his fair share to Tom? As if Tom wasnât angry enough.
There was, however, one big transaction going through around once a month, a few smaller- yet still fairly large ones in between. Wilson was sending money through to someone, pretty large amounts.
âWhat the fuck?â Tom muttered, eyeing the odd transactions. âWhat do you think this is?â
âProstitution?â Harry asks, not putting it past the guy.
âNo way, he wouldnât pay through eftpos.â Tom points out. His mind was reeling with possibilities but none seemed to make sense. âThose sums are pretty big.â
âHere, check where the moneyâs going.â Harry pointed and Tom complied.
The brothers werenât expecting to find anything big, maybe something to add to the pile of dirt they already had. They had enough, clearly, but what was a bit more?
âYou have to be fucking-â
âWhat is it?â Harry asks. His eyes hadnât landed on the name that was so clearly on the screen, in solid letters, teasing and taunting Tom who grits his teeth out of pure frustration.
Y/N Y/L/N
Your name sat on the screen in big, bold letters and Tom had to blink to make sure he was seeing correctly, thinking for a moment that it actually was your name. There were probably many women in the world with the same name as you, more than youâd imagine but an address sat underneath and it only confirmed his suspicions. That name, that damn name made him feel too many things at once- a wave of emotions he didnât even want to think about hitting him like a bus going full speed.
Tom felt like he was invading, breaking his long-kept promise as he stared at your address on the screen. All of the information he needed to get back to you was right in front of him and it only made him angry, hand tightly curling around the mouse.
The sudden urge to chuck the computer across the room became too much, invading his already fuzzy mind and he didnât exactly care about the fact that you were closer then heâd expected- well, of course he did, but then and there he wanted to know why he was seeing what he was seeing.
âIt canât be her-â Harry began, eyes squinting in slight disbelief.
âSame name, same fucking city.â Tom growls, face growing red hot. âItâs her.â
It was only then that Sam looked up from his game, knowing who it was without needing to ask. Maybe it was twin telepathy or maybe the two brothers were just completely obvious. But Sam knew and he could practically feel his oldest brothers anger radiating throughout the room.
âWhat are you going to do?â Sam tucked his phone away, discarding his game of helix jump after being stuck on the same level for the last half hour.
âText Wilson, tell him to come to the warehouse instead,â Tom instructs, his grip now almost suffocating.
âTom-â Harry tries to say, voice cut off by a furious Tom.
âI told you to do something so fucking do it.â
PART 2
Remember that updates are partially dependant on your response (as well as my love for writing these) âĄ
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It was a bad day for Tom. First, they got his coffee order wrong. After leaving the coffee shop, he saw he got a ticket for parking his car in a no parking zone. Then he had to sit through a two hours long meeting held by Peter Pettigrew.
And now he had to listen to Gilderoy Lockart cry for mercy on his knees in his restaurant.
âI have two kids !â Lockart almost yelled, tears pooling in his blue eyes.
âNo, you donât.â Tom shut him up. He put his left foot on Gilderoyâs chest and put enough pressure on it for the latter to fall down on his back.
Tom took some steps forward, walking deliberately on Lockartâs right hand, breaking four of his fingers. The blond man cried out as he felt his hand being shattered. Tom reached the inox counter and loaded the gun laying on it.
âDo you want the painful or the painless way ?â He asked emotionless as he cocked his gun.
âSo dramatic.â
Tom spun around quickly. She was sitting on another inox counter a few meters away from him.
âYou⌠!â Riddle pointed his finger at her.
âOw. Right.â Agent 713 jumped off the counter and tried to get the wrinkles of her pants. âYou thought I was a hallucination. Happens all the time.â
She got closer to him and leaned on the oven next to Lockhart. Tomâs eyes shifted between the Agent and the man he was about to kill. âYou see her too right ?â He asked the latter.
Gilderoy nodded his head, unable to tear his eyes away from the beautiful lady in front of him.
âOf course he is going to say yes. Youâre about to kill him.â She stopped for a while. As she saw his puzzle look she added. âBut I am real.â
Silence settled for 10 seconds. The two of them staring at each other while Lockart kept whining on the floor. Tom finally decided on approaching her. As he stood centimeters away from her, he hesitated on what he was about to do. Agent 713 smirked, already knowing his next move.
âGo ahead. Do it.â She teased him.
He raised his right hand, the one not holding the gun and grabbed her arm roughly. She was indeed real. He could feel the heat of her skin and the pulse of heart underneath the pressure of his fingers.
She was indeed real.
âThe fuckâŚâ Tom said.
âWell now that we have established that, could you not do this ? Plus, I think it violates every hygiene regulation to kill someone in a restaurant.â 713 replied, a little disgusted.
âWhy wouldnât I do it ?â He retorqued, ignoring her last remark.
âEvery time you kill someone, a part of your soul is ripped apart.â
âStop with the bullshit.â
âOh no no, it is real. It is a fact. Everyone knows that. Well apart from you, apparently.â She put her elbow on the counter next to her and rested her chin on the palm of her hand. âYou shouldnât kill him.â
âWhy not ?â Tom almost yelled. Agent 713 put both of her hands up near her chest sensing he was getting angry. âHe took credit for what was not his.â He continued.
âAnd you think that this is a good reason for him to get killed ?â
She started to get on his nerves. âShut up.â He ordered her.
Tom had never killed anyone for no reason. But at this precise moment, he could have put a bullet between her eyes.
Riddle turned towards Gilderoy, cleared his throat and put the gun on his forehead. âWhere were we ?â
Lockartâs eyes widened and a pearl of sweat rolled down his forehead.
âPainless or painful way ?â Agent 713 mocked him behind his back.
âI told you to shut up.â Tom snapped.
âAnd I told you not to kill him and yet here we are.â She snapped back. âWhat good would that do ? You put a bullet in his head, you do the job and then what ? You go back to your sad apartment, get rid of the blood on your pristine white shirt, eat the Chinese leftover food youâve had in your fridge for the past two days now, andâŚâ
Her monologue got interrupted by the sound of his bullet leaving the gun.
âSorry I wasnât listening, what were you saying ?â He taunted her.
She gave him an exasperated look. âThe first ones are always the hardest. I show up, you donât believe I am real, you kill them. It is always the same. Then, as time goes by and you kill more people you see me each time and you finally realise that you are fucking up and that I am here to help you. So please do us both a favor and get to that part quickly.â
She was gone. Tom stood alone in an empty kitchen from a restaurant downtown with the corpse of Lockart, pouring blood all over the white tiles.
When she opens her eyes, all Marie sees is black. She takes a few minutes to get over the initial shock of what is happening to try and figure out how to escape. Nothing appears to be broken, which she is thankful for, but she knows sheâs going to have major bruising by the dull ache on her ribs and wrists, which seem to be tied up by rope.
Since she canât rely on her sight, Marie listens to her surroundings. She can hear the hum of what she thinks is a generator and the flicker of lights. Whatever is blindfolding her is really doing the trick because if there are lights on she wouldnât know. She tries to hear if there are any other people in the place with her, but canât hear any breathing beside her own. She doesnât know if thatâs a good or bad thing.
She wiggles her wrists around in an attempt to loosen the rope around them. After a few minutes of trying she gives up. The more she messes with it the tighter the rope seems to get around her wrists, digging more into the already sore flesh. She doesnât know how long she has been here and wonders how long she had been unconscious. Where are her friends? Where is Tom?
Thatâs probably the only thing she is certain of: that whatever is happening and going to happen to her is because of Tom. The last thing she remembers seeing before the darkness took her was a man, a very tall and muscular man coming towards her. The man had tattoos all over him, but the one that stood out the most was a tattoo of a flame on his neck. Why else would a man that looked like that come after her if he wasnât involved with Tom?
Remembering the man with the neck tattoo, she thinks she heard him say his name was Spitfire, but canât recall if that was something she actually heard or if it was a dream.
A couple seconds later she hears the click of a door and she holds her breath. Is someone coming? She tilts her head towards the area where she heard it and listens hard. She canât hear any footsteps and so she tells herself that she made it up. She relaxes back into the wooden chair and lets out the breath she was holding.
All of a sudden the sound of water being poured into a glass comes from the opposite side of the room where she heard the click of a door. She whips her head to the sound and it immediately stops. She holds her breath again and waits for another sound to come. Nothing does, only silence.
Someone is messing with her.
She is rigid in the seat, waiting for the next sound to come. Nothing does for a few more minutes. She is afraid to relax again, scared of what comes after she does. Her shoulders are sore though and she gives in to her bodies needs and relaxes. No sound is made.
A few more minutes pass by in silence and she has convinced herself again that she made the whole thing up. She is probably concussed from the hit she took when she was taken and other injuries during the time she was unconscious. She was also out with Alice and although she didnât have many drinks, it was definitely enough to make her body dehydrated.
She shakes her head, disappointed at herself.. If she makes it out of this alive, she is never drinking again.
âWhy are you shaking your head little one?â
The voice speaks from directly in front of her face and she screams. The man chuckles and she instantly recognizes it. The laugh is the same from earlier that night. His voice is that last voice she heard before becoming unconscious and she knows now that the voice wasnât from a dream. The voice belongs to Spitfire, the man with the flame tattooed on his neck.
She doesnât answer his question and he asks again.
âWhat were you thinking about Marie?â
Again she doesnât answer.
âI wonât ask again.â
No answer.
He slaps her.
She cries out in pain and the sting of his slap covers the whole left side of her face. She can feel hot tears fall down her face. How is she going to stay alive if sheâs this weak?
The man begins to collect the tears that are falling down her cheeks and she cringes away from him. He moves away from her.
âNow now little one, thereâs nothing to be afraid of. All you have to do is cooperate with me and everything will turn out fine.â
She doubts it. She knows even if she did everything he asked of her, at the end of this she will die. Knowing this, she relaxes again. She isnât going to speak to him, no matter what he does to her. Sheâs going to go down with dignity.
Because sheâs still blindfolded she canât see exactly where he is in the room, but she can still feel his presence, knows he is staring at her. She holds her head high, saying without words that she isnât afraid of him.
He laughs and suddenly she is blinded by bright light. She closes her eyes shut and waits a few seconds before blinking them open slowly. Once she is able to open them completely, she is met with the man who calls himself Spitfire.
âAre you ready to talk now?â
She huffs loudly and turns away from him.
âNow I know why Tom likes you. Youâre a feisty little one.â
At the mention of Tom, she turns to look at him. She raises an eyebrow cockily.
âOf course that isnât the only reason he likes you. Look at you, youâre so fucking sexy.â
She huffs in annoyance and turns her head away again while rolling her eyes.
âDonât look away from me again, Marie.â
She continues to look away.
âLOOK AT ME!â
Marie cringes but continues to not meet his eyes.
He storms up to her and harshly grips her chin and forcefully moves her head to look at him.
She spits on him.
He takes a second to register what she just did and after he disgustingly wipes it off of him, he backhands her with so much force that she falls sideways to the floor. She can feel a pain shoot up her left arm, but she doesnât have time to feel it because he kicks her in the stomach. He yells some profanities and leaves her lying on the floor as he leaves the room.
She sobs heavily, the pain even more excruciating since she is unable to move her weight from her arm or move into the fetal position for her stomach.
As she tries to catch her breath and stop her crying, she notices that the chair has broken and if she can wiggle her wrists just right she can free herself from the chair. She moves slowly, not wanting to cause any more pain than what she is feeling already.
A few moments later and she is free. She sits up and more pain shoots up her arm, making her lean over and vomit. She is sure her arm is broken and she still has to untie the rope. To make it easier for her to attempt to get the rope off, she decides to lay on her back and move her hands under her legs so they are now in front of her. The whole time she is holding her breath, knowing that if she didnât she would surely scream from the pain.
Once in front of her, she moves her wrists inward and begins to pull the rope loose. Luckily for her, the rope comes loose easily and quickly. Finally free, she stands up and feels a rush to her head. A wave of nausea hits her and she doubles over and heaves. Not wanting to throw up again, she slowly breathes in and out until the feeling is gone.
She walks to the door and slowly opens it. Halfway through opening the door creaks loudly and she cringes. She waits a few seconds, waiting for someone to catch her. After no one comes, she opens it all the way. Sticking her head out first to see if anyone is out there, she sees that there is no one.
The first thing Marie realizes is that they are in what seems to be an abandoned grocery store. The aisles and shelves are still in place, but there is no food. She canât recall any empty grocery stores near where they live, so she wonders where exactly they are. How far did these men take her? Will Tom find her?
She begins to walk to the other end of the store, knowing that the office of the store is usually on the opposite side of the entrance/exit. Once she gets into the middle of the store she turns down one of the aisles, not wanting to be easily seen in case someone goes to check on her. Seconds later, she knows she made the right decision when she hears Spitfire scream, âMARIE!â
She turns her head back to the sound and then immediately takes off. As she turns the corner she hits something hard. She stumbles back and in front of her is a very large man, even bigger than Spitfire. Before she has the chance to turn around and run away, the man raises his hand and pistol whips her.
She can both hear and feel the crack in her jaw and she falls to the floor. The man bends down and grabs her, lifting her effortlessly and putting her over his shoulder. She doesnât even attempt to get free, the pain too unbearable. She slumps and lets him carry her full weight.
They make it back to the room where she was only moments ago and she braces herself for the impact of being dropped. The man surprises her though and gently lays her down on the ground. He leaves without saying a word and she is once again left alone with Spitfire.
âWhy do you want to make this so difficult? You would be perfectly fine right now if you would just do what youâre fucking told,â he says as he glares down at her.
She doesnât speak and he sighs. He brings out his phone from his back pocket and dials a number. He puts it on speaker and she wonders who he could be calling. She is sure heâs the boss, but if heâs not sheâs terrified of what someone in charge of him is like.
The line rings and sheâs sure no one is going to answer when she hears his voice on the other end.
âDerek where the fuck is she?!â
Itâs Tom.
âTom, Tom Iâm here. Iâm okay,â Marie yells, speaking for the first time since she had been taken. She attempts to stand up to get closer to the phone, closer to Tom.
âShut up bitch, you lost your chance to talk,â Spitfire says to her at the same time he kicks her in the stomach, hard, and she falls back to the ground.
She whimpers and he takes the phone off speaker. She canât hear what Tom is saying anymore, but she can hear the volume in his voice. Spitfire laughs and puts the phone back on speaker.
âDerek I swear to every single God out there if you lay another finger on her I will rip every single one of yours off as slow as possible.â
âSTOP CALLING ME DEREK ITâS SPITFIRE YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE.â
Marie laughs. She knows she probably shouldnât because heâs mad and will take it out on her, but that is the funniest shit she has ever heard.
Right on cue, the man above her kicks her in her ribs, kicking so hard that her body moves back a few spaces. She curls in on herself, holding her hands around her side and even though she is in an enormous amount of pain, she continues to laugh. She is not going to let this wannabe tough guy who calls himself Spitfire win.
She has gotten under his skin and she knows that whatever is going to come next will hurt worse than any pain she has endured so far. Derek walks behind her so fast she doesnât have time to turn around and just as fast, kicks her in the back of her head. Her world goes dark and the last thing she hears before losing consciousness is Tomâs voice.
âHang on baby, Iâm coming. Just hold on for me.â
Mafia!tom really is adamant about keeping you out of his business and he doesnât want you to see anything he does but when heâs confronting one of his crew members about domestic abuse while you and Harrison are in his office his temper gets the best of him and he pulls out his gun and tells Harrison to get you out but heâs not quick enough and you hear a gunshot and youâre upset and Tomâs upset and heâs comforting you and promising vacations and handbags while his guys clean up the body
pls heâs never wanted you to see him like that but if thereâs one thing he wonât stand for itâs domestic abuse and his temper gets the better of him and heâs so upset you were there to witness it