Mafia King's Contract Breeder
Chapter 7 The Catch

Chapter 7: 7 The Catch

Lara POV

There had to be some kind of catch to this deal.

I sat in Rob’s office for too long after the man left.

The room felt different without him in it. Smaller, somehow — which made no logical sense, because he had made it feel crowded and he was gone. But there it was. The space he’d occupied near the desk had gone back to being just space, a patch of thin carpet between the filing cabinets and the chair, and it looked emptier than it had before he’d stood in it.

"Who is that guy?" I asked Rob.

The manager had returned to his desk after the client left. He was doing something on his computer with the air of a man who had decided to be very busy.

To my question, he only shrugged without looking up.

If he knew, he had clearly decided he was not going to be the one to tell me.

"Not for me to know, is it?" he said. "Are you working tonight?"

That was all he cared about.

"No," I said, the contract burning a hole in my pocket. "I need– I need some time to think."

I didn’t go home.

I found a late night diner on the outskirts of the Red Light District with a waitress who poured me a cup of burned, filtered coffee. I sat and turned the contract over and over in my hands, until the edges of the page began to curl.

I read the whole thing back to front.

The legal language was dense and precisely chosen, every clause closing off an avenue before you’d thought to look for it. But between all of it, the terms were black and white.

Full control of my body. His to use when he wanted, how he wanted.

After delivery — because the contract said delivery, not birth, which was a choice of word I kept snagging on — full surrender of parental rights. No contact. No visiting. No further compensation sought or requested, in any form, for any reason.

In return: all expenses covered while I was his. Accommodation. Nutrition and medical care — there were three subclauses about the medical care, very specific. And the full payment, the number with all its zeros, delivered upon completion of the contract.

Upon delivery, the contract said.

My mind was still worrying.

My heart already said yes.

And my pussy definitely liked the idea of opening up for that delicious cock again.

As fucked up as this idea was, some sick part of me felt— flattered.

The night we spent together must have made an impression on him, at the very least, for him to be asking me for a contract like this.

And for me? Even if it was totally irrational, my gut feel said that this was a man I could trust with my limits. I licked my lips remembering how it had felt when he was bouncing me on his cock.

Until you have given me a child, you belong to me.

And in order for him to put a baby in me, Mystery Client would have to fuck me senseless...up against a wall...spread out over his bed...maybe he would like to tie me up again and play some dirty games...

I slipped my hand between my legs and stroked, trying to sooth the aching heat that flared to life when I began to think about the Mystery Client.

Across the diner an old grandma turned her head this way and coughed.

Shit! I had to quickly turn away, hoping that she hadn’t seen anything.

Really, what the hell do you think you’re doing, Lara?

I put my head in my hands and groaned.

Maybe I should talk to someone about this.

Chloe would surely tell me not to do it. But that kid is a total wet blanket, much as I love her. She doesn’t know about the real world yet.

Mom? I don’t even know if she would care. She’s never bothered to ask about my work for three years, and that can’t be because my claims of being a bartender fooled her. All she cares is that I keep bringing money in.

My friends? Well.

The contract sat in my lap with its confidentiality clauses — subclause 4(b), subclause 4(c) — and I thought about Candi at her mirror, repairing her eyeliner. Hey, you know that client who completely destroyed me last night? He wants to keep me. Not exactly a sugar baby arrangement, more of a — well, it’s got subclauses.

I laughed under my breath, and clutched the handle of the coffee mug like the last thread holding me to sanity.

Having a child I would never get to know was a big deal.

I tried to hold the thought, to look it full in the face the way it deserved. The way the women in movies held their midriffs and gazed into the middle distance. But I couldn’t properly imagine it — the future version of this that involved a baby, a real one, a person. It kept sliding away from me like a word you couldn’t quite recall.

What I could imagine was the flat in South Hartlow. The specific one, even — I’d walked past it on the good street, the one with the elm tree at the pavement edge, and seen the to let board and done the mental arithmetic and let myself want it for exactly thirty seconds before I’d walked on.

I let myself want it again now.

Compared to the parents that I was born with, I was sure that being the heir to a filthy rich father would give the baby quite a head start in life.

I looked down at the contract. The page was soft now, the edges gently furred where my hands had been. The zeros were still there, patient and unmoved, saying the same thing they’d said an hour ago.

For once in your life, use your brains, I told myself. How can I make the best out of this situation?

One thing was clear, I couldn’t just accept. No. I had to at least bring out the negotiation tactics. Make sure that this deal was worth my while.