The Proposition 2: The Ferro Family (The Proposition: The Ferro Family)

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2013 by H.M. Ward

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form.

Laree Bailey Press

First Edition:
Dec 2013

ISBN:
978-1-63035-011-6

Bryan stands there with his jaw hanging open and those narrow, green eyes blazing. Fury and shock do
esn’t look good on him. The emotions contort his beautiful face, marring the smooth lines of his skin and making him look years older.  His fingers ball into fists at his sides, but he blinks once and the reaction subsides. There are many things that I don’t know about Bryan Ferro, but I do know this—he sucks at keeping things hidden. His thoughts dance across his face now and again, which is why he’s leery of me.

Turning
abruptly, Bryan presses his fingers to his right temple. His voice comes out like a growl. “I told you to leave.” His shoulders are strained, every muscle is tight to the point that I can see the curves of his body under that dress shirt. He flexes the hand that’s by his side before slipping it into his pocket. Bryan may be able to hide everything from everyone else, but not from me.

“Yeah, I heard that part.” I act like I don’t care, lay back on the carpet
, and tuck my hands behind my head. The floor is soft and fuzzy. Lifting my knees, I let my gown fall around my ankles and scrunch up my feet to feel the soft pile between my toes. The carpet in my old room felt like a potato sack compared to this stuff. Even though Bryan’s irate, I’m smiling. The little voice in the back of my head tells me that I’ve lost my mind. I answer back that I never really had a firm grip on it anyway.

Bryan
can see my reflection in the mirror, but I can’t see more than his back and the way he grips his head like it’s going to explode. Is he that furious with me? I can’t fathom his anger, but it pours out of his mouth again, barbed with thorns this time. “If you can’t understand the terms of this agreement, then I’m afraid we don’t have one.”

“What?” I sit up an
d pivot around so I’m facing his back.

Bryan turns and the tension that’s plastered across his face is horrible. I meet his gaze, but I can’t hold it without wanting to fix whatever’s doing this to him. All the pictures in the press show the version of Bryan that I knew—light and carefree—but
this man is neither of those things. Something is crushing him from within and tearing him apart. His body is shaking, he’s so angry. He tries to take a deep breath, but it just makes his face pinch tighter. “You heard me. If you don’t do things my way, I’ll ruin you. This is not my way, and you damn well know it. Get out.”

He doesn’t yell, but
his words make me shiver. There’s no warmth, no compassion. Maybe I don’t know him anymore and he’s right. Pressing my lips together, I swallow my retort, but it swells inside of me and fills my chest. I manage to get my heels back on my tired feet before standing. I walk over and grab my purse.

I should leave.
The little voice inside of me chants like a pixie with a pleasant voice,
Yes, go. Do that. Now.

My eyes are locked on the door like it’s the pathway to Hell. Something about leaving right now feels wrong, but I can’t put my finger on what’s holding my
feet in place. Damn, it’s the thoughts that I’m holding back. They’re trapping me here and I can’t move. It feels like swallowing vomit and I can’t do it. I’m brain damaged, but I can’t be something I’m not.

Spinning on my foot, I
cross the posh carpeted floor, and walk over to him. Bryan doesn’t turn to look down at me. Instead, his hands are gripping the top of the bar like he wants to rip it out of the wall. His back is curved and his head is hung between his shoulders like he’s trying not to tear me apart. Another woman would have run by now, but I’m the dopy one that walks closer.

“
I’m a fool,” I say while looking at my shoes, and laugh lightly. It’s the kind of sound that has no joy and reveals a tortured soul. My eyes lift to his shoulders. I stand there for a moment waiting for him to turn, but he doesn’t. Bryan doesn’t speak or lift his gaze. He remains hunched over the bar like a troll.

I continue,
“Seeing you tonight was terrifying and wonderful. It conjured memories and feelings that I’d long forgotten. Writing about it is one thing, but seeing you again is beyond words. I’m sorry I hurt you, even though I don’t understand what I did. I’d fix it if I could. I’d…”

Why am I doing this? I’m begging to his back and the man doesn’t even have the decency to turn and face me. I suck in and straighten my
spine. “People make mistakes, Bryan, and it appears that my biggest mistake was meeting you.”

Fury
floods through me as I rush across the room. I grab the doorknob and don’t look back even though I feel his eyes on me. Screw him. I’ve lived through worse. I chant those words over and over again, because I have. After scurrying down the hallway, I press the down button at the elevator bank over and over again, wondering why I’m so upset. After a moment, I feel the thought prick my eyes and take hold of my throat and I know exactly why I’m so upset.

I
t’s possible that things are flipped around, and that I did not know the real Bryan Ferro—that the one from all those years ago, the one I slept with, was the fake.

I can’t go home and face Neil, so I call Maggie. She answers on the third ring. I’m walking on the street in front of the hotel with my phone pressed to my ear. It’s late and dark. Avoiding the shadows, I walk closer to the street than the hotel.  “Maggie.” I try to hide the strain in my voice, but she hears it. We’ve known each other too long.

“I’ll take his balls off. What the hell happened? Where are you?” She pelts me with questions until I can finally get her to shut up.

“I need a place to crash. I can’t see Neil right now and I have nowhere else to go.”

Maggie goes quiet. “What’s mine is yours, you know that, but I’m not sure you’ll like it.”

“Anywhere is better than here or with Neil.” I feel the warble work its way up my throat. Tears are coming, and from the feel of it, there’s going to be a tidal wave.

“Sure, of course. I’ll be there in five.” Maggie’s line goes dead and I tuck my phone into my purse.

The city moves around me, but it feels like I’m in a bubble. People pass on the sidewalk, but I fail to notice them. I pace, lost in thought, clutching my purse close to my body. The night air has that scent that is distinctly New York. I breathe it in and when I turn on my heel, I nearly slam into someone. The guy is a wall of brown and black. His coat smells like stale cigarettes and mothballs.

Before I have time to figure out what’s happening, h
e grabs my purse, then places his hand on the center of my chest and shoves, hard. I scream and stumble back as my bag is ripped from my hands. The guy whirls around and is ready to take off, but I’m not about to lose that pocketbook. I’m fucking broke. All the money I have is in there.

Before I know what I’m doing, I take one of my heels and hurl it at his head. It connects and then drops to the sidewalk. A few people stop to watch, but no one does anything
—typical New Yorkers. Everyone wants to see, but no one helps.

At that point everything happens in slow motion. I’m on my feet even though I don’t remember standing. One foot is frozen, standing on the
cold cement, while the other is still shoed. The thief lifts his hand to the back of his head and pulls it away. He glances at his fingers, his dark eyes taking in the sticky red blood on his hand. The edge of my heel connected with the back of his scalp, and must have nicked him.

My heart stops as the guy turn
s toward me. His eyes have a crazed look and his shoulders shake like he’s going to rip me in half. “You.” He says it like it’s my name and he loathes me.

The man steps toward me and says it again, but his hands slowly drift upward,
as if he’s going to strike or strangle me. I gasp something, but it doesn’t come out before I take a step back, terrified. My pulse roars in my ears as I look around for help, but don’t see anyone. The crowd has walked off, or maybe I walked away. Where’s a cop when I need one?

The rest happen
s frantically fast. Someone screams—me—as the man reaches for my neck. I drop, but he catches my shoulder. He shakes me hard, making my neck snap back and forth as he screams in my face. “You little bitch!”

The rest of his words turn to buzzing as he shakes me harder. I’m aware of the wind, the night air, and the man’s strangle hold on me. At some point,
his hands slide up to my neck. I claw at his hands and try to yell, but nothing comes out. I don’t understand why no one sees us, why they just let this thief hurt me.

Swinging
my legs, I kick at him, but it does no good. I’m not strong enough. I’ve tried everything I know to do and nothing works. The man hurls me around and slams my back against a brick wall. The cold jolts me and I wonder how we got to the alley next to the hotel, but those thoughts cease when I see the look in his eyes. An evil smile appears across his face as he tears the shoulder of my dress. The fabric comes away in his hand and lets the dress slip a few inches.

I open my mouth
to scream, but his filthy hand covers it, sealing in the sound. His hand gropes me, feeling my breasts as he whispers in my ear all the horrible things he intends to do with me. “Then, I’ll take my knife and—” His nasty words stop immediately after the sound of wood snapping.

Just as suddenly, t
he hand on my neck is gone and I gasp in a shaky breath and look up. It’s too dark to see, but there’s a man in a tux advancing on the thief. He throws punches over and over again until they’re at the back of the alley, trapped by a brick wall. The thief is battered and bloody, but he doesn’t stop fighting. Neither does the man in the tux. He throws punches like a boxer, so much so that it’s hypnotic to watch. When that knife comes out, I expect things to turn in the thief’s favor, but they don’t. The man in the tux disarms the jackass and takes his weapon. It happened so fast that I can’t tell how it was done. The man in the tux draws back his arm like he’s going to push the knife through the guy’s chest.

“Stop!” I call out before I realize what I’m doing. One of my hands is holding up my dress at the
bustline and the other is barely touching my lips. I can’t watch the guy die, but I can’t look away either.