24

Portia
“Nathan will work for me,” Callahan says, interrupting that train of thought.
“What?”
“Nathan. He’ll train to become a soldier.” He looks back at me.
“He’s fifteen. He hasn’t even finished high school.”
“He’ll live in my house. Be educated. Have time to prove himself trustworthy. I won’t kill a kid, Portia. And from what I can tell of the boy, he could use a father figure.”
I snort. “Like you’re a good influence?”
“Better than your brothers or uncle.”
“That’s not a very high bar. He’s too young, I don’t want that.”
“I’m not asking your permission. I’ve already spoken with him and he’s very enthusiastic.”
“What? When?”
“Early this morning.”
“You mean he knew when I came to visit him?” He didn’t say a word.
“I made him swear not to say anything.”
“Let me guess, a test of loyalty.” He slows the boat as we near the port and I stand, walking over to him. I guess he told me his plan out on the water so I wouldn’t attack him. I don’t quite my feet under me.
Callahan nods, pockets the key and climbs out, then extends his hand to me.
“I’m fine. I’ll get out on my own.”
“Don’t be stubborn.”
“I’m fine.”
“It’s the only way, Portia.”
I shove his hand away. “No, it’s not. You can let him go. That’s another way. He won’t come after you and you know it.” I look at my options, reaching for a pole for balance. But the wake of our security detail’s boat catches me off guard, making our boat bob wildly and sending me toppling.
I scream, anticipating the splash of cold water or worse, the crashing of my face against the pole. Just as I feel the scrape on my forehead, strong hands grab the back of the coat I’m wearing, lifting me, setting me on the dock. The coat slips off my arms. I stumble when he releases me, so he catches me again, this time keeping hold of me.
“Jesus Christ. Are you hell bent on falling in?”
I’m panicked and can’t answer right away.
He must see it on my face because he exhales, shakes his head and pulls me close.
For a moment, I think he’s going to hug me. To comfort me. And I’m not sure what I’d do if he did that.
But he stops just short.
He pushes my hair back from my face, brushes his fingers over my forehead. “Just a scratch.” He holds me at arm’s length, squeezing my biceps. “You’re too fucking stubborn for your own good. You could have knocked your head into that pole.”
I touch the spot that feels a little tender, but my fingers come away clean.
“I don’t like boats.”
“I wouldn’t put you on it if it wasn’t safe.”
“It clearly wasn’t safe.”
“It was fine. You decided to be an idiot.”
“I’m not an idiot. You just told me you’re recruiting my fifteen-year-old cousin to become a soldier. What kind of life will he have? I wanted to get him out of it, not embed him more deeply into it. It’s not fair, Callahan. Not for him. Just let him go. Even if you keep me. Let him go.”
He doesn’t answer right away and for one millisecond I wonder if he’s seriously considering it. But he gives a shake of his head. “I can’t do that, and you know it.”
“Sir,” a voice interrupts and I look up to find three SUVs lined up with men beside each one.
“Be right there, Dante,” Callahan says, handing him the discarded coat.
Dante walks away and Callahan turns to me. He wipes away the tears that I’m not sure are falling because of my near surprise swim or my getting. upset about Nathan.
“You’re all right. You’re safe.”
I shove his hands away. “I’m not upset because I don’t feel safe. I haven’t been safe in ten years. I’m upset because nothing will change. I’m upset because maybe it would have been better if you’d just had my uncle pull that trigger two more times.”
I don’t mean it. Why did I say it?
“Dead is never better, Portia. Never.”
“I mean, ultimately, that’s what’s going to happen to the only family I’ve got left. To my cousin. To me.”
“God you’re fucking dramatic.” He pulls me toward the second SUV.
“Fuck you.” I resist all the way, and no one does a thing. Not one of the men gathered here. Not that I expect them to.
He sighs, wraps his hands around my waist and lifts me into the backseat. He rests his hands on my thighs and even for as high as the vehicle is, I still have to look up at him.
“Isn’t it better than locking him up in that cell?” he asks.
I try to shove his hands away, but just then he cocks his head, glances down.
Shit.
He must feel the file I strapped to my leg. It seems so stupid now as he pushes the dress up a little on my thigh.
“What have we here, Little Kitten?” He takes the file out of its makeshift strap constructed out of hair ties and tests the point. He looks at me, eyebrows raised, then turns to the man behind him. “We’ll need a minute, Dante.”
“Yes, sir,” Dante says, turning his back as Callahan climbs into the backseat and closes the door.
I fold my arms across my chest.
“What did you think you’d accomplish with this?”
“I don’t know, poke an eye out maybe?”
He smiles.
No, it’s more of a smirk.
He sets the file aside but before I can even register what’s happening, he flips me face down over his lap and smacks my ass so hard I cry out in shock.
“You need to learn to behave,” he says, adjusting my position, tucking me closer to him and smacking my other cheek.
“Ow! Let me up!”
“Not happening, Little Kitten,” he says just before flipping my skirt up. He stops short the instant he does, sucking in a breath. Because I’m not wearing underwear. I didn’t have any.
“Let me up!” I reach back to at least cover my butt and he grabs both wrists in one hand.
“What’s this?” he asks, laughter evident in his voice.
“I didn’t have underwear, you jerk! Let me up!”
He tsks and when I kick my legs, he shifts his to trap them between his thighs.
“We’ll put panties on our shopping list,” he says calmly before spanking me three times. “Although I’m tempted not to.”
I crane my neck to look up at him. He’s trying hard to keep a serious expression on his face. “Stop it. I mean it. And this is in no way funny.” My face feels hot.
“It’s funny from my vantage point.” He raises his hand to smack again and I squeeze everything tight, my eyes, my fists, my butt.
“What do you want from me?” I call out as I process the sting.
“Well, I’d like to turn your pretty little bright ass red for starters.”
“You’re a fucking Neanderthal.” I try to kick, but it does no good.
“And you have a very nice ass, Portia.”
“Fuck off.”
“Look at me.”
“No,”
“No?” He smacks again and tears sting my eyes. Then he starts rubbing my butt in lazy circles and my wires must cross because all I should feel is pain. Pain and humiliation and brutal injustice. But his hand on me right now, him holding me like he is, that’s not all I feel.