Daddies Brat

Katriona

Is the gun for me?

Sunlight gleams off silvery metal and I know this is where I die. A bullet between the eyes in broad daylight. A mob hit on his own daughter because I don’t fit into whatever compartment he wants to shove me inside of.

A gruff, “Marcus,” stays my execution but I can see the sheer disappointment in my would-be killer’s eyes from his boss’ order.

Well damn. Cold-hearted much? I guess I have my answer.

I swallow past a dry throat.

“Sorry, maybe some other day?” I play off my nerves with sarcasm but inside I’m shaking worse than a needle from an eight-point-five on the Richter Scale.

Muscles takes his hand away and sprints to the driver’s side of the car. He’s barely behind the wheel when the motor purrs to life.

“Have it your way. Don’t say I didn’t warn you, you fool.” My father nods to Muscles I guess in what is sign language between assholes and they’re gone.

Like an idiot, my feet stay glued to the sidewalk as the mysterious car with dark, tinted windows rolls by moments after my father’s car leaves the curb.

Back inside my apartment, I fix the door the best I can on two of the three hinges and bolt it closed. I make a mental note to pick up a door cam on my next day off.

My last name might be Kane, but that is as close to wealthy and privileged as I’ll ever get. My father made sure of that. Before I could properly find my way in a world full of bad guys, the man who knocked my mother up disowned me-us-and I’ve been fighting for my place on this earth ever since.

Not stuff happy reunions are made of.

Ask anyone and they’ll agree he got the better end of the stick. A great handful of years with a beautiful woman at his beck and call while my mother paid the ultimate price of death trying to raise a child on her own when he tired of family life.

It’s painful to think that my mother was no more than a plaything so easily tossed aside by the high and mighty William Kane.

What a joke.

I doubt my mother even earned an afterthought from him. I know I didn’t. For reasons beyond my understanding, she didn’t see it worth forcing him to support a child he didn’t want.

Both were wrong and I am left living with the consequences of their actions.

After my mother passed from complications of the heart a little before my fourteenth birthday, I bounced around from one home to another until I finally took my fate into my own hands, and skipped out on my last foster home at the age of sixteen. Back then I thought I knew everything.

I used to believe in fairy tales and happily ever afters. After she passed and I came of age, I searched him out. Worst decision ever. My heart still feels the pain of his second rejection.

The reunion left me with a bad aftertaste and I don’t think he thought twice about me the second his door closed on my retreating back.

Fast forward three years and I admit, my hands are shaking at the fact he knows where to find me.

Freshly showered, I step out of my busted door and make sure Muscles with the bruising hands didn’t change his mind about doubling back and shoving me into the trunk of the limo after all.

Finding no one, I lock my apartment and tuck my head into the biting spring wind. I step off the curb and hail a cab. All the chaos left me almost an hour late for work. My mind ping-pongs between the fear of getting fired and the fear of Kane’s words.

As much as I hate him, I’d be a fool to ignore his words. Like I need another thing to worry about. I want to scream my frustrations into the fading afternoon. Tired didn’t begin to describe the utter bone-deep feeling of fatigue that burrows deep into my body from others trying to control my life.

I forgave my mother for her choices. But my father? No. He doesn’t get a free pass.

I refuse to be anyone’s plaything, someone who can be used up and tossed aside.

I sling the strap of my bag over my shoulder, false pride leaving a bad taste in the back of my throat.

True, I didn’t make it much farther up the food chain than she did. I make my way in the world skimming by in the shadows. I might not sell my body as she did, but it’s not much better. I live it up as a glamorous waitress at one of the most private clubs known in Chicago. Where politicians and aristocratic monsters rub elbows on any given day of the week.

Club Lex, where shady deals are made by shadier people.

I swear it should be their slogan. Thank God I don’t much care whose name is on my paycheck that is for damn sure.

Walking into Lex is a bit like stepping into an alternate world when one false move on my part and I might not come back.

Owned by Chicago’s most powerful man-Sylan Ward. Alpha, badass, arrogant and all male. Just the name has my skin heating. The dark-eyed, muscular mobster knows how to wear a killer three-piece. Ruthless and unforgiving as the winter is cold. Brutal to the core and as deadly as a hidden rattlesnake in tall grass.

And just as gorgeous.Content is property © NôvelDrama.Org.

So are his two partners. Grey Hudson and Drake Montgomery.

All my father’s enemies.

All three run their operations with a steel grip and iron-clad rules. Nothing in this corrupt town happens without their approval.

In my time here I’ve come to learn they are three of the most gorgeous cutthroat motherfuckers who frankly scare the hell out of me. And most shockingly of all, they have one guilty pleasure many would call a weakness-sharing their women.

Other than that, I haven’t quite figured them out yet. What makes them tick, I mean. Why they do what they do. Perhaps I never will. Doesn’t matter really. But deep down, I can only imagine what it would be like to be a woman standing among them receiving their full attention.

An abrupt heat flares across my skin at the idea.

Not that any of that matters. All three have hawk eyes that never miss a detail. That is what matters and why I keep my head tucked. They get what they want and for that reason alone I work hard to remain anonymous.

I pocket my paycheck and focus on the plan which is getting as far away from anyone who knows the name Kane as I can get. Rio for starters and then maybe the beaches of Spain.

Both are places I can stretch my wings, take surfing lessons, operate some small mom-and-pop ice cream shop. Sell coconut juice for God’s sake. Anything that would take me away from the bitter cold of this city and I’m not talking solely about the weather.

As the taxi driver rolls to a stop outside of Club Lex, I pay my fare and shove the day’s ordeal from my mind. Standing outside the luxurious palace with its spires and plush black carpet, it’s like moving from one world to the next and my mind shifts from the nobody Kat to the flawless Katriona who makes sure wishes come true for the patronage within these walls.

Sex, drugs, alcohol. It’s all on the menu. Six days a week I make sure everyone has fresh drinks and that the right girl meets up with the right client. And for the exclusive members of the Attic, I escort them to the third floor. A section of the club so hush-hush even I wonder of its existence, though I’ve seen the steel door that sections it off from the rest of the club.

And I tell myself every night that I don’t need to know what goes on in the Attic. Stay with your easy shadow work and then go home, is the motto I repeat nightly.

My phone pings and I pull it out of my bag.

Nikki pops up with a message written in all caps:

HEADS UP, TRIO JUST WALKED IN AND THEY LOOK PISSED

Shit. The trio means all three owners. But that’s not right.

Another ping.

They’re asking for you. Do I stall?

I take in a harsh breath and clutch my phone tighter. Sweet Jesus, what would they want with me? I contemplate resigning on the spot. No one ever wants to be on their radar. My thumb hovers over the reply button as I consider my options. If I want Rio and freedom, I need money. Simple mathematics.

My blood chills. They weren’t due at the club for another week. Like clockwork. They never change their routine. What is going on tonight? Not even Mercury in retro had this kind of power to stir up chaos.

On the nights they make their rounds at the club I keep my head down. Apparently, I really suck at the whole stay invisible thing. I don’t advertise I’m the daughter of a rival slash mobster for obvious reasons.

I work hard at being just another girl serving drinks. Lots of people share my last name. They probably just want to see their employee. Get a personal feel for the people they pay.

My inner voice of reason screams for me to run and not look back.

I hit reply and shoot out a quick ON MY WAY.