Son of a Mobster (Dangerous Devotions Book 1)

CHAPTER TWO

 (Jessie)

I had to hit something. Hard. I struck the heavy punching bag with enough force to rattle its chain, but I no longer saw the bag. It became moments and memories swimming through my head in all directions with no single thought holding my focus.

A left jab, right, and another left.

Images flashed in a poisonous stream, hurling me back in time. The sounds of the squealing tires and shattering glass echoed in my ears, reminding of a crash that stole my parents, leaving my life as crumpled as the pile of metal remaining in that intersection.

With a small jump into the air, I swerved my hips and extended my leg in a circular motion, attacking the defenseless object.

There was no one to blame, they had told me. My father was preoccupied. He ran a stop sign, but I could never hold him responsible because it was a criminal by the name of Adrian Gianetti that had consumed every moment of his life.

Kick! Knee!

Punch!

My wedding stolen!

Kick!

A year without seeing my fiancé!

Jab! Elbow! Punch!

So much sadness with no hope of happiness, that mobster had teased, dangling peace just in reach, only to jerk it away with brutal indifference.

Punch! Punch! Jab!

I slung a wild arm at the bag. My fist slipped causing me to stumble and fall on my bottom with a hard thud. I dropped my back to the floor. My chest heaved in and out, my shoulders rose and fell while I sniffed back tears and ran a wet glove across my brow.

The wedding dress I never got to wear. The dozens of flower arrangements that withered and died before they could line the aisle. And I was happy – so happy – why did it always have to be me – why was my happiness always destroyed? Personal thoughts were my worst enemy, drowning me in confusion, anger, and pain.

I snarled through clenched teeth and struck the gym's mat-lined floor with both fists, then stood watching the sand-filled bag swing to and fro, mocking me. I resumed my stance, bounced on my back heel and quickly lifted my knee to strike the leather repeatedly.

"Hey," A deep voice and a hand on my shoulder startled. I spun with a right jab, intending to injure the intruder, but he was quicker.

He caught my wrist, reversed my position and placed a large forearm across my throat. "Don't swat at the messenger, sweetheart."

"You're a long way from home, Jackson," I spat and twisted my body.

He released his hold, propelling me to the mat.

The leather-clad Jackson Callaway watched me rise with a smirk, without lending a gentlemanly hand. I shot him an angry glare and dusted off my jogging pants. I had been thankful for the solitude, happy that no other guest occupied the facility at Diamond Cove, but like a thief, Jackson had stolen it.

"I was sent to collect you." I had never heard him speak in a tone that wasn't a growl. I hated his intrusion and the way he thought he knew me. "Better move, Cupcake. Time is not your friend at the moment."

Instantly annoyance faded. Without question, I took only enough time to collect my backpack from my bungalow before jumping on the back of his motorcycle. That man wouldn't be there to give me good news, so I had to assume the worst.

I watched the small island as the distance between it and the boat widened. Beau Reve was so beautiful. The sky was almost always that perfect shade of blue there and the scent of its many wildflowers sweetly perfumed the air. It was known as an island within an island. A remote place where people came to escape, but I guess that's just for people with little to worry about. My troubles had tagged along like an unwanted stowaway.