Killer's Baby (A Bad Boy Mafia Romance)

1

Bea

I’m officially running for President.

My father’s crisp tone echoed on the other end of the phone line, and my heart sank. He’d been talking about this for a few months now, but I hadn’t realized just how serious he was about trying to become President of the United States. Considering how serious of a person he was, I should’ve known better.

So, he continued, before I could even get a word in, there’s a few things you’re going to need to do. Firstly, I know you said you had plans tomorrow, but you’re canceling them immediately. I need you at an afternoon event with me and your mother tomorrow.

Dammit. I wanted to slam my phone down with a satisfying clunk, but unfortunately, they didn’t design cell phones like that. Why did I even pick the thing up in the first place? I knew it wasn’t my best friend Claire, and the number had said ‘private’—which meant it was most likely one of my parents with yet another demand. Answering it had proven me right and killed my good mood, but I remained the image of compliance nevertheless. For some reason I refused to appear the angry child, even in the privacy of my own living room; even though my brain was now whirling with conflicting thoughts and emotions. If only one of the conflicts could be answered, then maybe I could start moving forward. If only life could ever be that simple...

But life was never simple when you were the Governor of Florida’s daughter.

That much I was certain of; that and the absence of any form of compassion or sympathy for the challenges I faced in fulfilling my role as an extension of my father’s public persona.

I finally spoke up to reply. But Dad, I already promised I’d go to my college fundraising—

He cut me off by clearing his throat, which meant ‘shut up’. Too bad. Your mother and I need you at the event for when I make my speech on the War on Drugs. You’ll be there.

It wasn’t a request, it was a command.

I sighed, wishing that I’d have the nerve to stand up for myself one of these days. Today wasn’t the day, it seemed. All right. I’ll cancel tomorrow’s plans.

Good. Anyway, we’ll be back home later tonight. Are you going out anywhere?

Yes, I’m going to see Claire, I replied.

Remember to feed the cat before you go. And if you and Claire go anywhere in public together, for the love of God, don’t do anything stupid and don’t embarrass me.

With that, he hung up, and I sighed again and went to feed the cat before checking my reflection and grabbing my purse. I headed to the front door, trying to get excited about my upcoming night out with Claire, but frustration continued to eat away at me until I had to stop to collect myself.

Other than Claire, my days were sorely lacking in any sympathy. But then again, why did I deserve any? My life hadn’t been poor and, I was fully aware, would be considered by most to be privileged. As a result, I was well-educated, a top law student at the University of Florida and firmly on my way to becoming a lawyer one day. There were millions of kids from my generation who had never had the resources or connections at their disposal to even consider pursuing such a career. I’d even been able to graduate high school and start college a year earlier than most people, seeing as I’d done so well at school, courtesy of the private tutors my parents had hired for me.

So, I really should’ve been grateful, and for the most part, I did act gratefully—just as I acted content in not slamming the phone down even though the only company present to bear witness to my hypocrisy was that of my own conscience.

But there was one thing I wasn’t entirely grateful for—my lack of freedom. Deep down, I’d always felt a yearning for independence and freedom of thought and behavior...and I knew exactly why. It was because all the aspirations I was pursuing actually had nothing to with my own heart and everything to do with the desires of my father. It was my father’s life that defined my path, regardless of my own personal happiness and yet, fake and stretched as I might’ve felt in matching up to his demands, I knew that he didn’t care about that at all. He didn’t place importance on dreams, but on obligation and responsibility. Whether to family, state, nation or religion; somehow he managed to live a life that matched up to them all. Fun and happiness didn’t feature within that vision, because such priorities would have been considered unfocused and impudent.

Yup, that was my father—Calvin Bentley, the 46th Governor of Florida. Otherwise known as the least fun man in the world.

He was a man of high title and status who took himself every bit as seriously as his country demanded and saw absolutely no distinction between professional and personal life, although I could attest that the difference between his public and private life was as clear as black and white. In public he was full of smiles, friendly and engaging, and in private he was strict and unforgiving, and smiles were not required—not when he was in the company of people he expected to do as he told them.

I was one of those people.

The State of Florida knew Calvin Bentley as someone who was tough on crime and fought energetically to lower unemployment. The Republican Party was proud of him and the Democrats in the State knew they were better off focusing on more winnable battles elsewhere. His public persona, as well as depicting him as smart and efficient, also stressed the fact that he was a family man—something that often required me to be standing beside him whenever a photo op meant my presence was considered to be propitious.

What I also knew, which the cameras failed to pick up on, was that being a ‘family man’ meant adopting a stern and pushy approach towards my every move. From my perspective, this had often felt like a contradiction, but I knew my father didn’t think so. If he was hard on me, it was because he wanted to make the perfect young lady out of me. If he controlled my every move and decision it was for my own good.

Or so he said.

Personally, I thought it was bullshit, but I’d never had the guts to call him out on it.

In comparison to me, my father hadn’t grown up with any privilege. The young Calvin Bentley had been raised in a poor but hardworking conservative household. Taking family and public persona seriously had proven integral in turning around their fortunes, and he wasn’t about to turn his back on everything he had accomplished just because his daughter wanted to feel a bit more like a normal child. As far as he was concerned, his status and future were not to be risked if his daughter had difficulty grasping the life lessons he preached to her without having lived to experience them. If my lack of understanding meant grounding me or restricting my access to the outside world via the phone and internet, even at the age of twenty-one, then he would do so.

You might wonder why I didn’t just tell him to piss off...and the reason for that was that he’d never had any problem with raising a hand to me when he felt I’d done something wrong, and there wasn’t much I could do about it. I mean, I suppose I could do something drastic like call the police, but they sure as hell weren’t going to arrest the Governor of Florida for giving his daughter a supposedly ‘well-deserved’ slap in the face. He hadn’t done it in a long time, but the threat was always there, hanging over my shoulder, and I’d never had the guts to stand up to him and tell him to never touch me again.

Neither had my mother. She’d always cowered to him and let him treat me however he wanted.

The public didn’t know about that part of my upbringing, and I’d never challenged him about it, because no doubt he would claim that true all-Americans would approve of such severity where it was necessary. Just as they approved of his campaign to bring back the electric chair for capital punishment, rather than messing around with supposed half measures like lethal injection.

I might have harbored no secret desire to tear the world apart as a result of my upbringing, but I still failed to avoid a growing resentment that age and maturity had done nothing to distance me from my father’s grip. Efforts to grow my circle of college friends had been limited as a result, and I’d begun to look upon every execution of duty as time that was stolen from me. Spending my life in someone’s shadow meant I was nothing more than a specter in pursuing whatever existence it was that might be equally as precious to my own sentiments —not that I’d really gotten round to defining what they were.

I wanted to exercise a degree of personal freedom before arriving at such a choice. Until then, my thoughts, feelings and character couldn’t really be described as such. The very phone call I’d just wanted to hang up on was yet another short notice summons to attend a speech, meaning I would have to cancel all my plans for tomorrow. Plus, politics was about to become more important than ever before because the speech—although being used to highlight the War on Drugs—was also part of a campaign for my father’s long-rumored Presidential candidacy.

Soon the whole world might want to concern itself with the name and reputation of Calvin Bentley, and I was about as likely to shake off his overbearing presence as the government was to hand all the land back to Native Americans.

There was nothing I could do but grit my teeth, turn up and do as I was told like a good little daughter, but feigning acceptance did little to restore my good mood. With sunken shoulders and far-away eyes, I left the house behind and started my car. Having envisioned putting on one of my favorite bands and singing all the way there, I completed the half-hour journey to the sound of car engines only, feeling helpless to shake off a withered demeanor even though I was all dressed up to look like I was having a good time.

On arriving at Claire’s house, I was greeted by the sound of music and singing coming from inside. My friend didn’t have any problems letting her hair down, and as I stepped inside, I noticed she was already a little tipsy on wine.

Come on in, Florida’s future First Lady! she said, in spite of the fact that she knew being part of a growing political dynasty was the stuff of nightmares to me.

You’ve started without me, I see, I said, managing a smile. It was hard to stay in a bad mood around someone as effervescent as Claire.

I was seduced by the call of a fine bottle of red, Claire said in a dramatic tone. I was a helpless victim, as I will be later to the spunk-filled dynamo who takes me in his arms and asserts his manhood.

I wasn’t completely sure she was joking, and I spent a couple of moments trying, but failing, not to wish to add an active and casual sex life to the list of freedoms I felt I missed out on as the Governor’s only daughter.

After welcoming me inside, Claire signaled that I should pour myself a glass before disappearing into the bathroom to finish her hair and makeup. Despite the alcohol flowing through her bloodstream, she hadn’t failed to notice that I wasn’t quite in the same party spirit as her.

You look a little glum, she called from the bathroom. Is there something on your mind?

Oh, just the usual, I replied, as I half-filled a glass with the last remaining contents of a bottle of red. Claire wasn’t easy to keep secrets from, so I didn’t bother trying to deny my foul mood.

Your boss still patronizing everyone?

Him? Absolutely, he’s got a problem with all the younger staff, like he’s desperate to stop us taking over the world or something.

She was referring to my voluntary intern work at a women’s legal aid office. It came as part of my first-year law thesis study, and I’d initially been excited by the prospect of doing something a little more grounded before discovering that the man in charge was a complete and utter douchebag.

It seems his unhelpfulness has somehow leaked into my thesis. Yesterday my advisor told me it needs redoing, I continued. Not quite up to scratch this time.

You’ve got time to redo it though, right?

Yeah, but that’s not why I’m in a crappy mood, I said. That’s all because of my father.

What a surprise, she replied with more than a tinge of sarcasm in her voice. What did he do this time?

I filled Claire in about the speech tomorrow and the short notice, which meant that I would have to be careful how much I drank tonight, or else I’d get scolded by the media for looking like a hungover sloth in front of the cameras.

Never mind him, Claire encouraged, joining me to finish the last of the wine. Just think how pissed he’d be if he saw you dancing with all the cute guys we’ll have surrounding us in a couple of hours.

All dancing around you, more like, I replied. A Governor’s daughter comes with baggage—let alone a possible future President’s.

Claire rolled her eyes. Oh, shush. If you look the part, that doesn’t hold guys back. You just have to smile a little and push your tits out, that’s all it takes.

I arched an eyebrow, and she smiled and continued. Remember when we first met and you were that uptight little virgin? God, you were so stiff I honestly thought you’d been raised in some weird cult.

"I wasn’t that stiff."

Beatrice, you were stiffer than the average teenage boy at a topless beach.

Claire!

She stuck her tongue out. See? You’re still a bit stiff.

Claire was teasing, and suddenly I was trying and failing not to smile, knowing she was right. If I hadn’t met her, I’d never have come out of my shell, not even a little, and I’d still be a completely innocent virgin. Even though I was still trapped in somewhat of a bubble by my father—and still a bit stiff and uptight, as she’d said—Claire had helped me gain a small amount of freedom and confidence; enough to give me the ability to go out and have some fun occasionally.

That’s more like it, she said, returning the smile with glee. "Trust me, Tantra Nightclub is the place to be at the moment."

Yeah?

She nodded. Yup. And if there’s one thing you need right now....it’s to go out and get good and laid!

I giggled at that. I was lucky to have a friend like Claire; her enthusiasm was infectious and even had me wondering if there was some sexy guy waiting to sweep me off my feet tonight. I had no idea how such an addition to my life would fit in with being the daughter of a Governor, though...unless fools in love really did let the heart rule the head.

I guess only time would tell.

2

Damon

Dressed in a stylish black suit, with one hand on the wheel of my Ford Mustang and a gorgeous blonde escort beside me, I supposed that I really looked like a living, breathing Florida cliché. On my left were the sandy beaches, bikini babes and surfer’s waves that made Miami such a draw to people from all over the world, and on my right, just past the blonde locks and blue eyes that kept flicking my way suggestively, there was the city. It seemed to be bulging with possibilities, whether for law-abiding citizens or for a guy on the wrong side of the tracks.

A guy like me.

A guy who killed for a living.

The escort looked at me again, batting her eyelashes. Ever had a BJ while you’re on the road? she asked.

I glanced over at her as she waited for a response with an arched brow. No, I replied. That wasn’t true, but I didn’t want her to think I had any interest in her doing it.

My associates in the Caruso mafia family would likely think of me as crazy for not reveling in such a moment and failing to take advantage of the escort girl’s willingness to blow me right here in the car as I drove, but she was nothing but a cover for me, and there was other business at hand before I could even think about getting my dick wet tonight.

At least that’s what I was telling myself for now.

I guess the truth was that I wanted none of it. Not only this, but I was beyond caring how much of an oddball my alternative lifestyle choice would make me appear to those I had spent years amongst, building up a reputation that was respected and valued. My reputation had been crucial in keeping me alive, considering that I’d started out working for a rival crew and, if judged to be expendable, would’ve been shot in the back of the head and dumped in an alligator-infested swamp without so much as a second thought. Without my reputation, I wouldn’t even have been important enough for wise guys to shrug and