Conquered by the Mafia Boss

The dingy, shitty bathroom only has a cheap screw and a hook to look at, but it’s amazing how much safer I feel. Even though it’d only take one kick to blast open the door.

The light flickers on and I notice the gash on my knee, bleeding freely into my jeans. I reach out to grab a handful of paper towels, but the roll is empty. So is the toilet roll. Great.

There’s another line of blood on my hand, right where Dad’s bullet split my skin open.

He didn’t mean it.

He couldn’t have.

Bullshit, you know he meant it.

My mind buzzes with a strange numbness as I turn the faucet on. The icy water stings my hand, and fresh blood spills from the wound. I splash some on my knee, gritting my teeth as I clean the dirt away.

What just fucking happened to me? Did my father really try to blow my head open, or did I imagine all of that?

“Did you see a girl?”

Jesus Christ, I’m so lost in my own head that I didn’t hear anyone come into the bar. I know that fucking voice. My heart jumps into my throat as if I’ve been shoved to the edge of a cliff. I flatten myself against the wall as his heavy boots stomp through the bar.

I inhale my breath, knowing that any second now, he’s going to give me away.

“Non.”

“You better not be lying to me, asshole.”

The footsteps travel down the length of the bar, blood pulsing in my ears as his steps creak closer to me.

Don’t go in the bathroom.This content belongs to Nô/velDra/ma.Org .

“The president is looking for her.”

“She’s not in my fucking bar.”

I marvel at the bartender’s irritated voice and wonder why the fuck he’s protecting me. It’s probably just his hatred of the MC.

He knocks his fist against the bathroom door. “Hey. Open up.”

Oh fuck.

I look around for something in this shitty bathroom to use as a weapon, but it’s completely bare.

“I can hear you breathing. Don’t make me break down this door.”

Fuck off!

“Leave my fucking customers alone, damn it!”

“Shut up, old man.”

I inhale a sharp breath as another pair of footsteps walks into the bar. Is it him? Please, God, let it be him. A smooth voice makes my heart stop.

“Is there a problem here?”

I hear the biker’s leather squeak as he turns around. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“You better watch your fucking tone when you’re talking to me.”

A beat of silence.

“I’m looking for the president’s daughter. She ran off.”

I bite my fist as Johnny speaks in a lilting tone. “Has she?” I can just see the smirk on his face.

“You know what I think?”

“I don’t give a shit, actually.”

“I think that girl is in that bathroom, waiting for you to pick her up.”

“Maybe. Maybe I need to take a piss, and you’re in the way. Maybe go fuck yourself.”

The bartender mutters a threat. “I’m calling the police.”

Johnny’s voice growls in response. “You do that and I’ll fuck you up.”

“When Carlos finds out you fucked his daughter-”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I can hear that little bitch in there!”

“I don’t hear jack shit, and you’re starting to piss me off.”

“This is no coincidence.”

“Are you calling me a liar?”

The man’s tone wavers. “No.”

Johnny’s joking voice addresses the bartender. “I think he’s saying that I intentionally banged the president’s daughter.”

“Well-”

“Why don’t you get the fuck out of here before I kill you?”

Another beat of strained silence hangs, and I’m on the verge of shouting a useless warning.

“All right, Johnny, I’m sorry.”