King of The Bronx: A mafia romance, page 1
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2020 by K.D Clark
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review.
First paperback edition August 2020
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King Of The Bronx
by K.D Clark
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ALSO BY K.D CLARK
Merciless Queen
Twisted Judgement
Fallen Judgement
Apprehension
Admission
Savage Spades
Dirty Empire
King of The Bronx
Chapter One
Raven
I knew something was wrong the moment I put my key into the lock of the front door. It was dead silent on the other side. Usually at least a couple of the girls were awake by now, getting ready for the long night ahead. The door creaked as I opened it. As I took a step inside, glass crunched under my boots. I followed the trail of glass to a broken vase a couple feet in front of me. The front desk was in complete havoc. Papers were flung everywhere, and the few decorations I had were now laying on the floor in pieces. The couch, where men waited for their turn, was flipped upside down. The pillows were thrown astray. I shut the door behind me and continued into the room. All the girls’ rooms were upstairs except for Natalie’s room, which was to the left of the welcome desk. I turned to run up the flight of stairs to check on the girls when he came around the corner.
“I was wondering when you’d show up.” His voice sent chills down my spine. I snapped my eyes shut, hoping this was all a bad nightmare and he would disappear. “Turn around, beautiful. I want to see that face.”
My stomach turned, but I did as he asked. The Irish solider stood a few inches taller than me. His arms were covered in thick black hair, and his gut protruded over his belt buckle. He looked like our average client. He ran a hand over his greasy beard.
“You’re late on your payment,” he said, taking a step closer to me. I took a step back and he paused.
“Don’t be scared, Princess, I—”
“Where are my girls?” I snapped, cutting him off. There wasn’t any noise coming from upstairs, and that’s what scared me the most. I’d vowed to keep the girls at the house safe and so far, I was doing a shitty job at it.
“The girls are fine. I took one for myself, but the rest are upstairs being good little whores.”
I squeezed my eyes shut again, willing the tears away. I didn’t want to guess which girl he had taken for himself. Just because they worked in a brothel, everyone treated them like they weren’t human.
When I opened my eyes again, I jumped at how close he stood next to me. I squared my shoulders, trying to appear strong. This man wanted me to be scared of him, but I couldn’t give him that satisfaction. He reached his hand out, almost like he wanted to tuck a loose strain of hair behind my ear. I quickly slapped his hand away. His yellowing teeth showed as he smiled.
“I like when they fight back. Gives me more of a challenge.”
“I’ll have the money next week,” I said. Anything to get this fucker out of the house. I needed to check on my girls. The silence from the floor above us was louder than the man’s voice.
“You said that last week and guess what? No money.”
He was right. The brothel wasn’t exactly doing as well as I thought it would. Not when I refused to cut the girls’ pay. They were the ones doing all the hard work. I wasn’t going to be like other owners in the area and degrade the women. I’d been in the same situation before once in my life.
“I will have it this time,” I gritted out between clenched teeth.
“You know there is another way to pay,” he said, taking a step closer. He smelled like garlic and grease. “You could earn at least half of the payment.”
My stomach turned, and I thought I was going to be sick. I tried to step back but hit the bottom of the stairs.
“Tell Niall to give me another week. I’ll bring the money personally to him,” I said, even though the thought of walking into the Irish bar terrified me. I had to keep the Irish away from my brothel. I hated when they showed up like this. If I’d known when I took over the brothel that the Irish were involved, I would have never considered it. I wish I could go back in time and fix my stupid mistake.
“You know, if you’d just let us sell some of your whores, it would cut down your loan by—”
“No,” I snapped. It was sick to think about the things men like this did to women. Human trafficking was one of their main sources of income. I wanted nothing to do with it. They’d offered me a position multiple times to oversee the sex trade, but that was too repulsive and low. Even for me.
“Looks like you have bit of a soft spot for your whores, don’t you?” He was teasing me like a lion playing with his food before eating it.
“Looks like you have a soft spot for women who’d rather choke on their own vomit than sleep with you.”
His teasing smile dropped, and his eyes turned dark. His hand smacked against my face so fast, I barely had time to register the pain. My legs gave out, and my back hit the bottom step on the way down.
“One month. Niall is feeling particularly generous. If I come back, we will take all your whores and sell them across the ocean, including you, to men who make me look like a saint.”
The tears threatened to spill from my eyes, but I kept it together, not wanting this man to see me weak. Men like him didn’t deserve my tears. He kicked a piece of glass before turning around and walking toward the door.
“You should probably get this place cleaned up too. It’s not a good look.”
He left out the door, and as soon as it shut, I allowed the tears to roll down my cheek. I’d give myself five minutes—that’s all—and then I needed to handle business. I hiccupped as I cried, all the emotion coming out like a tsunami that had been held back by a dam. My cheek burned from his slap, and I knew there was probably a bright red mark across my face. I hated the Irish more than anything else. They were terrible people who got off on threatening the small Irish community. I wiped my face after a moment and stood. I readjusted my T-shirt and ripped jeans, hoping to regain my composure before facing the girls. The women in my brothel had gone through enough in their life, and guilt swirled in my stomach at the thought of putting them through more trauma.
I climbed the wooden steps to the top floor. It was hotter up here than the rest of the building. Ten bedrooms were upstairs, and none of them had doors, just a sheet that hung over the doorway. If a man got too handsy, I wanted to make sure the other girls could hear it. This also made sure he wouldn’t try to lock the door.
“He’s gone,” I said to the empty hallway. The women came out of their rooms and instantly gravitated to me.
Erica got to me first and engulfed me in a big hug. The smell of sweet lavender filled my nose. It was Erica’s favorite scent. She said it kept her relaxed.
“Are you okay? I’m so sorry, Raven.” Erica wore a silk nightgown with a robe over the top, despite the fact that it was three o’clock in the afternoon. They were all probably still asleep when he’d busted in the front door and started destroying things.
“It’s okay. He’s gone. We’re okay.”
“He’s going to come back,” Erica said.
I swallowed the lump in my throat. I couldn’t let him come back, not again. I had to have the money this time. I just had no idea how I was going to get it. I looked around at the girls. I counted nine. They were all women of different shapes and sizes, most coming from the same terrible background I’d come from, and many from foster care or abusive relationships with nowhere else to go. At least here, they had a roof over their heads and money to earn so they could buy the things they needed.
“Where’s Evelyn?” I asked.
“In the bathroom…he came up here earlier,” Erica said.
I walked past the girls to the shared bathroom at the end of the hall. I knocked on the wooden door, aware of the eyes on my back.
“Evelyn?” I asked. The door opened, and Evelyn stood there with a towel wrapped around her body. Her blond hair was wet and stuck close to her face. She was the smallest of the girls. She’d lost a lot of weight after getting into some bad drugs a while back, but I had a strict rule: No drugs or I’d kick you out. Evelyn had sobered up quickly but hadn’t gain any of her weight back. My eyes instantly zoned in on the red mark around her neck.
“Are you okay?”
Evelyn nodded. “Yeah, he has a little dick.”
I smiled and pulled her in for a hug. “I’m sorry—”
“It’s fine, Raven. It could have been worse—we’re fine. The house is still standing. It’s okay.”
*****
It took two hours to clean up the mess in the lobby area. I bet it only took a matter of minutes for him to completely destroy it. I sat at the front desk, going through paperwork. I had eaten with the girls in the kitchen after they cleaned up, but I needed to focus on the money. All I had was a month to get the Irish the money I owed them. $30,000 dollars. I was surprised that Niall even let the paymen
“Are you okay?” Erica asked as she walked toward the desk and leaned against the front.
“Just trying to figure out where to get this money from,” I said, leaning back in the chair and putting my hands on top of my head. I needed to think. There was only one person I knew who might loan me the money, and even that was a stretch. The door chimed as a man walked into the house. Erica stood up straight and pushed her chest out. She was naturally pretty with silky black hair and a lean body. Small freckles covered the bridge of her nose and her cheeks. It gave her that young and innocent look. It hadn’t taken much for her to get a few regulars.
“How can I help you?” Erica asked her voice low and sultry. The man smiled at her. He was dressed in a business suit. I wondered if he was stopping by before going home to his wife. The man took out a wad of bills and set it on the desk. They always paid first before going upstairs with the girls. I grabbed the money off the desk and counted it before nodding at Erica. She grabbed the man by the hand and led him up the stair, swishing her hips as she did. I counted the money again, set aside twenty-five percent aside, and then rubber-banded the rest together. I wrote Erica’s name on the first dollar and set it in the safe under the desk. At the end of the night, I’d give each girl their money. They trusted me to be honest and fair, and I wasn’t going to betray that trust no matter how much trouble I was in. If I was in a different part of the country, I probably could have saved up the money to pay the Irish by now. But the rent in New York was so high, I didn’t have much leftover for myself.
The night went on, and more men came into the brothel. Usually, one of the girls was downstairs, and they could lead the men to their bedroom just as Erica had. At one point, a couple men waited on the sofa across from my desk for their turn. I had become desensitized to the reality of what was going on at the brothel. Some people might call the women whores, but wasn’t it really the men that were the gross ones? They paid to have sex with someone, not even caring about the potential to catch STIs. Men were pigs. The men that came in with nice clothes and watches, I could only assume that they had wives and kids at home. I imagined their wife finishing up dinner while her husband finished up in one of my girls. That’s the part of the job that grossed me out, not what went on upstairs. I kept track of the women each time they came down to grab a new client. If one of the girls was up there too long with a man, I’d go check on her.
At 5 a.m., we shut down for the night. The house was open seven days a week from 4 p.m. to five a.m. We don’t take holidays off, and Christmas was usually when we were the busiest. Men got lonely during Christmastime when they didn’t have any family. I locked the door, said good night to the girls, and walked home. I chose to keep my apartment close to the brothel so that I didn’t have to take the subway and I could pop over if there were any issues. I crossed my arms over my chest as the wind blew, lifting up my hair. The sun was just starting to rise, and the streets were almost quiet. The smell of food lingered in the air, and my stomach rumbled. I turned the corner in the opposite direction of the apartment and walked into the empty diner. The bell rang as I opened the door.
“Hey, Raven,” the skinny boy at the counter said as he closed the cash drawer.
“Hey, Jeff. You’re here early.” I took a seat at the counter.
He shrugged. “I got suspended from school, so not much else to do.”
I reached over the counter and grabbed his chin. I turned his head so I could see the bruise on his cheek. It was an ugly mix of green and purple. “Fighting again?”
The boy smirked. “Gotta hold my own out there.”
New York public schools were notorious for being rough. I knew because I’d gone to public school too. It was either fight or get chewed up and spit out. Most parents sent their kids to private schools, but that could get expensive.
I shook my head. “Where’s your dad?”
Jeff pushed his shaggy, brown hair out of his eyes. “Ran to the store real fast. You hungry?”
“Starving.”
Jeff turned away from me to grab some ingredients out of the fridge in the back room. He carried all the items to the front and got to work. He didn’t need to ask what I wanted.
“Busy night?” he asked after a moment.
“Jeff…” I warned him.
“What? I’m just asking. Usually, customers like to talk about the rough day they had at work.”
I rolled my eyes. Despite my best efforts, Jeff knew what I did for work. I’ve been coming to the diner long enough that things slipped out, and the curious kid put the pieces together. I just hoped he wasn’t going around and telling his friends at school. “How about you worry about getting yourself back in school?”
He threw a patty on the grill before washing his hands, then turned to look at me. “I still have a year left. I’ll figure it out. So about the girls—”
“That’s enough, Jeff.”
He shook his head with a smile on his face and went back to making my food.
After I finished my burger and fries, I walked to the apartment. The streets were now full of people rushing to get to work. The cafés were packed with people eager to get their morning coffee. It was my favorite part of the day because I could go inside and sleep while the rest of the world spent their day in a cubicle.
Chapter Two
Raven
“Raven! I’ve missed you.” Toby came around the bar to engulf me in a hug. I inhaled his scent of cologne and whiskey. He was the closest thing to a brother I’d ever had. We’d stayed in the same foster home for three years, the longest time I’d been in one place. We stayed in touch, like real siblings. He was much taller than me, and we had completely opposite features. While I was short with long red hair and bright blue eyes, Toby stood well over six feet with short blonde hair and green eyes. He was skinny as a kid, but once he became an adult, he hit the gym on a regular basis. He’d filled out admirably, becoming muscular in all the right places. I doubted he had any trouble getting women at bars. Toby went down a much easier road to business ownership than I had. I pulled back from the hug and tousled his short hair. He swatted my arm away.
“Stop trying to embarrass me,” he complained.
I laughed. “That’s part of the fun.”
The bar was mostly empty because it was still early. Only a couple men sat at the end of the counter, and it looked like they’d been there most of the day.
“Let’s get a booth. You want a drink?” he asked.
I shook my head. “No, thanks. I gotta work tonight.”
He smiled and led me over to a red booth in the corner. The one thing I loved about Toby was that he never judged me. He knew the business I ran, and although he had taken a different route in life, he never made comments about me.
“So what’s up?”
I took a deep breath trying to find my nerve. “I need to ask for a loan,” I blurt out as fast as possible. It was like ripping off a Band-Aid. I wanted to get this over with quick.
Toby’s smile fell into a deep frown. “The Irish bothering you again?”
I nodded.
He ran a hand over his face. “Shit. How much?”
I picked at the loose nail polish on my fingernail. “$30,000.”
His eyes widened, and he ran a hand across his jaw. “How the fuck do you owe them $30,000?”
“I don’t know, Toby. I don’t even know how much the balance is on the loan.”
I’d bought the brothel from an old friend for $10,000. I’d saved up for years to be able to buy it. What my friend didn’t mention was that he was deeply in debt with the Irish mob because of it. My “friend” was smart though and skipped town before I could kill him myself.
