When He Desires: A Dark Mafia Romance (Fallen God Book 1)

Given it’s Sunday, I’m surprised to find the couch in the living room empty when I wake up the next day around nine a.m.

There’s a note on the fridge in the kitchen. Picking up some things from Home Depot. Should be back in the afternoon.

I make myself a cup of green tea—just one—and sit down at the small breakfast table.

I owe him an apology, along with an explanation.

Going to The Junction was supposed to take my mind off things. Instead, I just created another problem for myself.

Uncle Lyle saw me getting all cozy with Rowan. Which means he’s going to come knocking soon enough, demanding to know what happened between Brett and me.

My godfather isn’t a good man, and the last thing I want is to put Rowan on his radar, the same way I’ve already put Rowan on Brett’s.

I still can’t believe Brett sent that cop to harass Rowan. What was he thinking? It’s starting to feel like him wanting me back has little to do with any feelings he might still have for me, and everything to do with his ego. He should know I’ll never take him back after he cheated. Status, looks, attraction—none of it matters if a person isn’t honest with me. I thought Brett knew that, but maybe he didn’t think the rules applied to him.

It’s ironic how the town’s golden boy turned out to be a lying piece of crap, while Rowan—the town’s player—is far more decent than I pegged him to be.

Cocky—sure. Smug—at times. Smart assed—definitely. But it’s starting to seem more and more like armor Rowan wears to hide what’s really inside.

I’ve only scratched the surface with him…and I want to go deeper. Even though the smart thing would be to keep my distance so that I can keep my head on straight when we take our fake relationship act on the road.

I take a sip of the tea.

How is he going to react when I tell him my godfather is a member of a biker gang?

I should have told him earlier. Right after he asked me to be his fake girlfriend, so that he knew what he was getting as part of the deal. Maybe if he knew where I come from, or how most of the town sees me, he’d rethink linking himself up with me.

The fact that that day was pure chaos is a convenient excuse for why I didn’t say a word about it, but deep down I know it wasn’t just that.

A part of me relishes the fact that Rowan doesn’t know my history the way the rest of the town does. That he doesn’t look at me and immediately think “that’s Rhett’s daughter.” I’ve rarely gotten a blank slate like that with anyone in my life.

But now that has to end. I have to tell him everything. Otherwise, I’m not being fair to him.

I eat a light breakfast and then go over to my house with the intention of sorting through the things that were damaged in the fire.

There’s got to be at least a few things in the living room that I might be able to salvage. The fire didn’t quite reach the side of the room across from the bookshelf where the TV is, so I start there.

It’s funny how I spent months telling myself I needed to toss out all the little knickknacks collecting dust on the shelving around the TV, but now they feel precious. I clean the soot off the small animal figurines I used to collect as a kid and carefully wrap them in newspaper before putting them away in a cardboard box.

The DVDs are warped from the heat, so I toss them in a garbage bag.

In the drawer below, I find an old metal cookie tin filled with artwork—mine and Maxton’s—from kindergarten.

God, it would have really sucked if these were destroyed.

I spend a while going through them and get a bit sentimental. I can remember drawing some of these. Neither Maxton nor I had any art skills whatsoever, but Mom always made it seem like we were bringing home Picasso masterpieces.

There’s a family portrait. Stick figures, of course. Mine is just me, Maxton, and Mom, but Maxton’s version from two years earlier has our father in it too. He’s outlined in a harsh black. Maxton even drew a vest on the stick figure.

Dad always wore that vest. He was proud of it. The large center patch on the back meant he was a full member of the Iron Raptors, and his enforcer patch meant he had a high-ranking position in the club.

Anger slithers through my belly. He cared more about that fucking vest than he cared about his own kids.

In the bottom drawer of the TV stand, I find a picture frame with a photo of him. It’s the only one I kept after I threw out the photo album Mom kept by her bedside with photos of them together before Maxton was born.

I didn’t like those pictures. I didn’t like seeing her smiling beside him. It felt like watching her get conned. She must not have known his true nature when she got pregnant with Maxton. And afterward, even though my father never wanted a family—definitely not the obligations that come with it—he refused to let Mom go. He’d come to visit every few weeks, just enough to keep her hooked on the small bits of attention he showed her.

At least Brett wasn’t my dad. Yeah, he’s a cheat and a liar, but he’s not a damn criminal.

I put the photo of my dad back in the box and get back to work. I’m just about to wrap things up when I hear the sound I’ve been anticipating all day.

The deep, throaty roar of a motorbike.

The engine’s growl crescendos as it approaches and then settles into a steady rumble as the rider idles at the curb. I wipe my soot-stained hands on an old towel and do my best not to let my nerves show as I make my way outside.

I knew he’d show up. I’m prepared.

Uncle Lyle, clad in a black leather jacket, cuts the engine, and the sudden silence feels almost startling. With him is a man—Steely—another old friend of my dad’s.

They dismount their bikes.

Uncle Lyle doesn’t say a word as he walks over. There’s an unreadable expression on his weathered face, and it sends prickles down my spine.

“Blakey girl.”

The smile I give him is forced. “Is everything okay?”

His eyes darken on me before he glances over his shoulder at his friend. “You hear that? Is everything okay? Like I’m some fucking stranger.”

Steely chuckles while my palms break out in sweat. I never know what will set him off.

“It’s been a while since you came by. I thought maybe something happened.”

“Don’t play dumb. We both know you’re not. And I don’t need an excuse to come by and check on you, do I?”

“Of course not.” My tone is conciliatory. I’ll say whatever I need to if it’ll get them to leave before Rowan comes home.

He runs his fingers through his silver-streaked hair and drags his gaze over my body. “Come here. Give your godfather a hug.”

I feel sick as I force myself to step into his open arms. He holds me close and tight for a few long moments, his hands drifting over my back and settling too low. My nostrils fill with the putrid scent of cigarettes and gasoline. Behind him, Steely smirks.

“I shoulda come by sooner.” His voice is low in my ear. “I haven’t seen you since the funeral. Thought you’d keep yourself out of trouble, but looks like I was wrong.”

Whatever trouble he thinks I’m in is nothing compared to the trouble his reappearance will no doubt cause. Nothing good comes from men like him and my father.

I hoped that if I left Darkwater Hollow quietly, he’d forget about me.

“What happened with the house?” he asks, finally letting go of me.

“There was a fire.”

“Where are you staying then?”

“With my neighbor.”

“Your neighbor? That guy I saw you with last night?”

“Yeah.”

“Huh.” He drags his palm over his chin. “Heard you and the boyfriend broke up. So what was that last night? You on a date?”

What do I say? Lying will only delay the inevitable. The whole town’s supposed to believe Rowan and I are in a serious relationship, which means Uncle Lyle will find out soon enough.

“Yes. Rowan and I are seeing each other.”

He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I went to Frostbite the other night. You weren’t there, but Brett was. When we talked, he seemed sure you two will work things out.”

God damn it.

I wrap my arms around myself. “I don’t know why he thinks that. It’s over.”

“You should give the mayor’s boy another chance. Or is he not good enough for you?”

Did Brett ask Uncle Lyle to talk to me about this?

He wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t. He knows I can’t stand Uncle Lyle.

But the two of them have always been a touch too friendly for my taste.

A slick grin unfurls over Uncle Lyle’s face. “It’s good to stay close to people who’ve got power, Blakey girl. You don’t want to get on their bad side.”

My thoughts race. If Brett asked that cop to stop Rowan, why am I so sure he wouldn’t enlist my godfather’s help as well?

My stomach churns. This is a fucking nightmare.

“I’m thirsty,” Steely says.

My eyes snap to him. He arches a brow, like he’s expecting me to do something about it.

Dad was like that too, barking out his needs and expecting Mom to take care of them with a smile on her face.

“There’s some lemonade in the fridge. Would you like some?”

He nods. As I walk inside Rowan’s house, I hear him say, “The ass on that girl. That’s the eighth world wonder, right there.”

Disgusting. He probably thinks I can’t hear him.

“Watch it,” Uncle Lyle says. “The only person who can comment on her ass is me.”

Bile rises in my throat as a memory flashes inside my mind.

A hushed conversation in the kitchen. The words I overheard.

“I’ll take good care of her, Valerie. She can finish up with school first. That girl won’t need to struggle with a man like me by her side.”

I was fifteen. I sat on the stairs and listened.

I didn’t think Mom would defend me as fiercely as she did. I loved her, but I also spent my teenage years and onward wishing she were different. Wishing that she would stand up for Maxton and me. Wishing that she would tell our deadbeat dad not to come around anymore. But when it came to Uncle Lyle, she snapped. The sound of her slapping his cheek rang clear in the air.

Then there was another sound. Hard and dull.

After he left, I went down to the kitchen. My mom was dabbing a paper towel against her bleeding lip.

I lock the memory away, pour two glasses of lemonade, and bring them outside.

The ugly scar just beneath Uncle Lyle’s Adam’s apple bobs as he drinks. He must be pushing fifty now, just like my father would have been if he were still alive.

Instead, he was murdered at thirty-six by a rival gang member. I was twelve. Maxton, fourteen. Mom never recovered from the loss. I still think the cancer started because of it.

They hand me their empty glasses.

We’re done here. What else is left to be said?

Leave.

Just then, I hear the roar of an approaching engine. Rowan’s truck turns onto the road.

Shit.

Uncle Lyle and Steely watch Rowan pull into the driveway, their expressions deceptively neutral.

Frustration wraps around my throat, cutting off the air. I should have tried harder to get them out of here. Rowan’s not the kind of guy who’s easily intimidated, and that’s a bad thing. He should be scared of these guys.

The truck’s engine turns off. Rowan gets out, his movements as smooth and sure as a panther, and slams the door shut.

He walks over, his gaze skating over me briefly before he pins his stare on Uncle Lyle and Steely.

When he stops by my side, I’m flooded with a weird combination of anxiety and relief.

I feel safer with him here.

But it’s not his job to protect me from these men.

The two sides assess each other. Rowan’s taller and more muscular, but his physical advantage is no match for the gun my godfather always carries tucked into his belt.

An ominous grin spreads over Uncle Lyle’s face. “What’s your name, fella?”

“Rowan Miller. And you are?” There’s an undercurrent of steel in his tone.

“Lyle. This is Steely.”

“Can I help you gentlemen with something?”

Uncle Lyle tilts his head, scrutinizing Rowan with a piercing gaze. “Blake and I were just catching up on old times. You treating my Blakey girl well?”

“He is, Uncle,” I say.

“You better treat her with care and respect, because you know you’re just borrowing her, right?”

Ice slithers down my veins.

Beside me, Rowan grows very still. “I intend on keeping her.”

Uncle Lyle’s smirk falters for a moment. Like Brett, he’s not used to people holding their own around him.

I shoot a discreet glance at Rowan. He doesn’t look like himself. His normally relaxed demeanor has shifted to something far more intense. The lighthearted twinkle in his eye is gone, replaced by a cold, hard stare. His broad shoulders, usually casual and at ease, are now rigid with barely contained tension.

A shiver coasts down my spine.

When I look back at Uncle Lyle, even his expression is a bit unsettled.

But he laughs it off. “You hear that, Steely?”

“Yeah,” Steely drawls. “You’re new here, aren’t ya?”

Rowan’s jaw firms. “I guess I am.”

“Then we can’t hold your ignorance about the way things work around here against ya.” There’s a dark glint in Uncle Lyle’s eyes. “You’ll learn.”

A drop of sweat slides down my back. God, why didn’t Rowan drive home just a bit slower? I could have gotten rid of them.

I need to do something to deescalate the situation.

I inch myself in front of Rowan, hoping Uncle Lyle will think twice about hurting him if he’ll have to go through me. “Thank you for checking on me, Uncle. It was good to see you.”

Rowan’s hand appears on my shoulder. He tries to push me aside, but I plant my feet and refuse to move.

Leave. Please, just leave.

At last, Uncle Lyle takes a step toward his bike. “I’ll see you around, darlin’. Soon.”

I force a smile. “Stay safe.”

As their bikes rumble to life and drive away in a cloud of dust, I let out a shaky breath. That could have ended badly if Rowan had said one more wrong word.

But he doesn’t look relieved as he turns me around with a firm grip on my shoulders. If anything, he looks pissed.

“C’mon,” he growls. “We’re going to go inside, and unlike last night, you’re going to give me an explanation.”