SUMMARY: Nessa wasn’t looking for love, neither was Joe, but when you know, you know.
*DISCLAIMER: This is a multi-part series. I do not own any of the characters in the writing except for the OCs. The book uses actual names of wrestlers. Josh is Jey, Jon is Jimmy, Trinity is Naomi, Joe is Roman. The book is not realistic and does not take place during real events, but some actual events (matches, storylines) could pop up in the story eventually. I DO NOT GIVE ANYONE PERMISSION TO TRANSLATE OR REPOST MY WRITINGS ANYWHERE. THAAAAAANKS. *
PAIRING: Roman Reigns x Black OC
TROPE: Love At First Sight
WARNINGS: Language
WORD COUNT: 2.3K
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER FIVE
Nessa felt like shit, figuratively and literally. She blocked his number once she got home from Joe's hotel. Vanessa didn't want to see any texts or get any phone calls from him. She felt guilty enough for ghosting the man. Seeing or hearing anything from him would only make things worse.
She sat on the shower floor, letting the water pour over her head. She tightly wrapped her arms around her legs, her eyes shut while she focused on breathing. The warm steam from the water comforted and relaxed her while she attempted to take her mind off what she had done. Unfortunately for her, she was failing miserably. Though her night was drunken, she could remember every bit of that evening.
She could feel his hands on her body--all over her body, memorizing every dip and curve she had. Despite being pounded by the water from the shower, her skin still tingled in places he touched. Images of his face contorted in bliss, flushed pink cheeks, and sex-clouded eyes filled her mind. Oh, those eyes. Those eyes, hands, and perfectly pink and swollen lips kept reeling her in each time she thought she finished. How many times did he make her come last night? She lost count after the third time.
His voice echoed in her mind. Just like that, he praises. How do you want me, he asks. You feel so good, he tells her. The huskiness of his voice would send shivers down her spine. He somehow managed to make his already deep voice sound even more resounding. The way he spoke sometimes sounded animalistic. There was a growl with certain words, especially when he would say her name.
Vanessa brings her right hand up to her ear. She swore she could feel his ragged breath on her skin just then. The tremble in his voice and the moans he let out were things she never heard before with a man--at least not with any man she's ever been with. Joe was vocal, but this wasn't a bad thing. She enjoyed that he talked her through the things they did. He made her feel in control at times, powerful even. She learned something new about herself, a new kink unveiled.
Joe Anoa'i left quite the impression on this woman. Well, he did promise to make the evening unforgettable for her. Now look at her, dickmatized on the bathroom floor. Maybe she was overreacting about sleeping with the man. She needed this. She needed to be unwound and loosened up. She hadn't had sex in a year! She would never mention that out loud, though. It was bad enough that Isabel looked at her as if she grew three heads every time she remembered that her best friend was practicing celibacy.
Everyone needs to have sex! She'd exclaim. There are health benefits to it! She'd add. She would ramble on about it being a natural stress and pain reliever. Did you know sex can cure a migraine? Te lo digo, Nessa, es bueno para la mente, el cuerpo y el espíritu--Yes, yes, she knows.
Despite her newfound guilt, she felt refreshed when she woke up this morning. Her body wasn't sore. It didn't hurt when she walked. She felt pretty light on her feet. It could have something to do with the fact that Joe stretched her--Alright, that's enough. Vanessa reaches to turn off the shower. The warm water ceased, and cold air rushed to sheathe her body in goosebumps.
She pushes herself off the floor, a small sigh leaving her body as her joints pop with the movement. She steps out of the shower, snatching the towel that hung just above her head on the shower curtain rod. She wraps it around her body, exiting the bathroom. Instead of drying herself off, she drops onto the bed. Her eyes would meet the ceiling as she sucked in a tired breath. Vanessa brings her hand to her face, allowing her palm to drag down it. Her arm would then fly out to rest against the bed, hitting her cell phone. She turns her head towards the direction of the phone, flipping her hand over to grab it.
The light turns on on the screen, displaying the time to her. It was now ten o'clock exactly. She watched her phone screen as if she was expecting a notification to appear. One would never come, though. Unblock Joe's number, commands a voice in her head. Unblock his number and text him. This voice wasn't thinking about her at all; at that moment, it was thinking about what Joe could do for her--what Joe could do to her. Look at her, acting like a touch-starved woman--Well, she was, but she refused to give in to those temptations again. Nessa did it once--er, twice...three times last night, but never again. She had a moment of weakness. Yeah, that's what she was going to go with.
Texting that man after sneaking out while he slept and blocking his number would be foolish. He'd probably call her every name under the sun if he had the chance. Vanessa couldn't say she doesn't deserve it. She was a jerk and entirely too old to be doing this. She drops the phone back onto the bed, her eyes falling shut as she does so. "Stupid, stupid, stupid." She mutters to herself. Vanessa rolls onto her stomach, burying her face deep in the comforter she laid upon. She draws in a deep breath before letting out a muffled scream against her bedding.
Why was she even this torn up over ditching a guy? People did it all the time. They hook up, and they go their separate ways! It's not like she was ever going to see the guy again. Joe lived in Pensacola, nearly a ten-hour drive from Miami. The chances of them ever running into each other again were slim. There was no need to feel embarrassed or upset, but for some reason, she was. These can't be her feelings; maybe they were his. Soul ties are a thing, or at least that's what she read somewhere once before.
She lifts her head from the mattress, her eyes searching for her phone again. Once she locates it, she snatches it from its spot on the bed and opens her browser. How to get rid of soul-ties, she types into the search bar. Several links would appear on the screen before her, her eyes quickly skimming over article previews. "Addiction?" She whispers to herself, her brows furrowed. "The fuck..?" She turns off the screen of her phone once more. Perhaps she's being dramatic.
These feelings she felt are temporary and eventually will be a thing of the past. Hopefully, in about a week or two--or four, things will be alright again. Joe Anoa'i is a complete and total stranger to her, someone she met less than twenty-four hours ago. There was still plenty she didn't know about him despite getting to know the man last night. She learned normal, surface-level things about him; fun facts, if you will. It wasn't enough to pine away over. He was still a stranger to her.
Nessa pushes herself off the bed, now walking to her closet for undergarments and clothes. She couldn't sit around the house, no, not in this state. Vanessa needed to get active and move around. Sitting at home would do nothing but make her mind drift off to the events of last night, and the last thing she needed was to think herself into a horny slump. Maybe a jog will fix this. Yeah, she'll go for a jog.
Joe turns onto his side, his arm stretching out to drape over something that wasn't there. His dark brows knit together in confusion as he allowed his hand to glide over the empty spot next to him. The sheets were cool to the touch, meaning his bed was empty. He forces his eyes open, his semi-unconscious suspicions confirmed almost immediately. Nessa was not next to him. He lifts his head from his pillow, glancing around the room in a half-sleep daze. "Nessa?" He calls out groggily.
He'd get no response back. Joe becomes still, his breathing quieting as he listens for movement. The suite was silent. He moves onto his back, his eyes finding the high ceilings cast in a dim white glow from the light outside. Alone was not how he imagined his morning would begin, but that seemed to be his reality.
BUZZ! BUZZ! BUZZ!
Joe sighs at the sound of his phone ringing from the nightstand. The timing for a phone call couldn't be more perfect. He lifts his head, reaching out to snatch the phone from its spot. Without checking the Caller ID, he swipes to answer the call. "Hello?" He says.
"I thought your ass was never going to answer," Josh says from the other side of the phone. "Ay, you good?" Joe scoffs slightly at the question. He was something. He hadn't determined how he was feeling just yet.
"Yeah, I'm good." He lies.
"You sure?" Jon chimes in, now leaning into Josh's phone. "Because the damn plane was supposed to leave thirty minutes ago, and your ass ain't here."
Joe's brows furrow slightly at Jon's words. "What're you talking about?" He asks. Slowly, he pushes himself up in bed, allowing his hand to prop him up. His hair would fall around his face, dry curls caressing his cheeks.
"You late, fool!" Jon exclaimed.
"Ay, Paul over here tweaking, Uce. You in trouble." Josh sings.
"Yeah, I ain't ever seen him this red before. Boy, that man is hot." Jon sings. Joe throws back the covers from his body, standing from the bed. His joints would pop as he stretched, a sigh leaving his lips as he did so.
"Is that, Joe?" Paul says in the background. "Let me talk to him." Joe rolls his eyes, his head moving in a circular motion as he does so. He didn't have time for this.
"Nah, it's our dad, Wiseman." Josh lies. "Bruh, bring your ass on." He says lowly to Joe through clenched teeth. The call will end, sending Joe back into silence again. He tosses his phone on the bed, his eyes taking in the room around him.
"Ness?" He calls out again. No answer. The bathroom door was open; the small room shrouded in darkness. He'd grab a handful of sheets, pulling it from the bed to wrap around his waist.
Thin, white cotton sheets skimmed delicately against the marble floor as Joe approached the staircase. He stops at the top and peers over, hoping to see the beautiful woman from last night down below, but she is nowhere to be seen. He spots his clothes draped along the back of the couch, but hers, which once laid alongside his, is now gone. Joe's head turns slightly, his eyes finding the morning sky outside his windows. Vanessa had snuck out before he woke up. Has he ever had this happen before? No, no, Joe couldn't recall. Maybe while he was in college, but after? No, he couldn't say he has.
Like he said earlier in the night, he wasn't interested in hooking up with her, and what happened between them was not planned. He just wanted to spend his last night in Miami with her. One thing led to another, and they ended up in bed together. Getting her there was not his intention at all. Hopefully, she doesn't assume that was what he had planned with inviting her here. His mouth would twitch to the left as he sniffled. Now that he thinks about it, maybe that's why she snuck off.
Again, that wasn't his intention, and he thought he did a good job assuring her he wasn't one of those guys. Did he slip up at some point last night and say or do something that might've thrown her off? He recalls the night just as he remembered it best. They talked, swam a little, and lastly, came back here. Nothing happened between the roof and the bedroom, he thinks. The wine they had wasn't too strong--at least not strong enough to hinder his ability to remain courteous.
Joe's gaze lowered to the floor, his shoulders rising with the breath he was taking in. He was feeling plenty of things right now: embarrassment, disappointment, confusion, and maybe a little anger. The anger is what confused him, though. Vanessa was essentially a stranger--why is he upset that she left?
Try to call her, a voice says to him. No, shoot her a text instead, it backpedals. He shakes his head at the thoughts. No, both options were heavily confrontational. He didn't want to come off weird to her, but then again, it was probably too late. Joe lifts his hand to his forehead, pushing his hair back against his forehead. He shuts his eyes only briefly. "She's just a girl." He mutters, lifting his head. For some reason, those words sounded untrue--coming from his mouth. Was it a false statement?
It doesn't matter--he'll get over it eventually.
Joe slowly turns, now sauntering towards the bathroom. He needed a shower. Vanessa's actions had left him questioning himself again. Was it the sex? His brows would knit together at the thought. It couldn't have been. One thing he knew for sure was that he was damned good at that. His mind would drift off to last night again.
Joe thought they had spectacular bedroom chemistry. He and Nessa left not a single part of that bed untouched. How they managed to stop themselves from going longer than they already did was beyond him.
His hand skims the wall, flicking on the lights within the bathroom. He'd come face to face with his reflection in the mirror, finally seeing his disheveled appearance. His hair stood wildly on his head, his curls defined in some spots and tangled in others. He looked well-rested despite getting hardly any sleep at all. The flight to Texas would be irritating with how the twins said Paul was acting. With how Joe felt, Paul might get some of that attitude back.
He should've left yesterday when he said he would.
SUMMARY: Nessa wasn’t looking for love, neither was Joe, but when you know, you know.
*DISCLAIMER: This is a multi-part series. I do not own any of the characters in the writing except for the OCs. The book uses actual names of wrestlers. Josh is Jey, Jon is Jimmy, Trinity is Naomi, Joe is Roman. The book is not realistic and does not take place during real events, but some actual events (matches, storylines) could pop up in the story eventually. I DO NOT GIVE ANYONE PERMISSION TO TRANSLATE OR REPOST MY WRITINGS ANYWHERE. THAAAAAANKS. *
PAIRING: Roman Reigns x Black OC
TROPE: Love At First Sight
WARNINGS: Language, Smut, 18+, NSFW
WORD COUNT: 2.5K
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER FOUR
The doors to the loft suite that Joe was staying in swung open to reveal the damp pair. Nessa enters before him, her eyes immediately shifting to the high ceilings above them. Her lips part, and she lets out a breath. “Wow,” she starts. “I have never been in a hotel room this big before.” She says, turning to face the large man behind her. He was dumping their clothes onto the L-shaped couch in the center of the suite. “Calling this a room would be an insult, right?” She asks, getting a chuckle out of him. “This is like a condo.” She corrects herself.
Joe glances briefly at the floor, an award-winning smile on his lips. “It can be whatever you want it to be,” He says humbly. “Room works.” He assures her. Vanessa turns away from him once more, now walking over to the wall of windows that overlooked downtown Miami. Reflections of lights below filled her eyes, brightening them more than ever. For the first time, she felt like a tourist in the city she’s known her entire life. It’s the same one she’s known for thirty-two years. Same buildings, same lights, same trees, same ocean, same night sky, but here, with him in this room, it felt different. Something felt different.
And he’d agree.
The dazzling smile he wore so perfectly melted as he watched her. He's now putting one foot in front of the other. He felt great turmoil as he slowly walked toward her. Though his mind was sure of what Joe was about to do, his heart was beating out of his chest. His head filled with the thunderous rhythm of his heartbeat, but the vigorous flutter made him feel like he was having an out-of-body experience. Perhaps he was.
Silence makes Nessa anxious, and it’s quiet behind her—a little too quiet. She turns, meeting his gaze for only a moment. His large hands were on her face, pulling her in for a grand kiss. Slowly, she sucked in a breath, her body finally catching up to what was happening. Her lips would move against his in that same passionate manner from before. Her hands find the center of his chest, her nails curving around the mounds of his collarbones as she felt him out. Her fingers curl against the thickness of his throat before her left arm takes the lead and wraps around his neck. His warm hands moved from her face, his knees bending as his palms quickly found the flesh of her under thighs. He hoists her up into his arms, her legs wrapping around his thick torso with ease.
Her right-hand travels up his shoulder and down his back, capturing water droplets. His skin was feverish compared to the icy touch of his wet locks against her skin. Despite the contrasting temperatures, goosebumps developed, stimulating her.
Joe swayed slightly with this kiss, his equilibrium getting the best of him. He felt as if he was teetering on the edge of a cliff, ready to fall into the unknown. He takes two steps forward, pinning the woman in his arms against the glass behind her. She breaks the kiss, a loud gasp leaving her lips as she arches off the chilled surface. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He apologizes frantically. His brown eyes were wide with guilt. He takes a few steps back from the glass. “Are you alright?” He asks.
“I’m fine,” she promises. “It just…startled me, that’s all.” She laughs slightly.
“Okay.” He nods once.
Silence fell on the pair as they searched each other’s eyes. Their chests quickly rose and fell as they recovered from that head-swimming kiss. Vanessa brings her free hand to his cheek, her thumb brushing over his cheekbone. Who was this man that had this beguiling hold on her? She tucks her bottom lip between her teeth. God, how can one man be so attractive, and what could he want with me? She thought. “Can I be honest?” He asks as if he could read her mind.
Without a word, she nods, her eyes venturing down to his full lips. His lips appeared swollen and perfectly pink. “Would you…” He drifts off. Asking for sex was always awkward for him. “I mean, if you’d like?” He finishes. Consent was the number one rule of the game with Joe. He would do nothing she didn’t want him to do. If she just wanted to kiss all night, he would do that with no questions asked, no pressure given, but if she allows him to do this, he’ll make it an unforgettable evening for her.
He didn’t have to finish his words for her to know what he was asking. He wanted her, and the feeling was mutual. She could feel her temperature rising by the second, the fever that Joe was feeling transferring to her. She’d release her bottom lip from her teeth, her body nearly screaming at her to allow him to put out the blaze that he started.
Slowly, she leans down, letting her lips hover over his. “I’m here, aren’t I?” she murmurs. If it weren’t for the glasses of wine, she probably wouldn’t be here in this room. She’d be in an Uber on her way home by now, and he would have let her go. Liquid courage prevails for both parties. Nessa presses a teasing kiss to his bottom lip. “Take me.” She tells him, now gently kissing his top lip.
Joe elongates his neck, closing that toying gap between the pair. Their lips reconnect for the third time tonight, but only briefly. He reluctantly parted from her, his head turning as he did so. His eyes darted around the room as if he had forgotten where he was. Brown eyes landed on the stairs that lined the east wall, his legs carrying them over to it. He ascends the steps quickly, taking two steps at a time.
Nessa glances behind them, watching as they quickly leave the first floor. She giggles, her legs tightening around the man.“Slow down. I’m not going anywhere.” She tells him. Joe stops at the top of the steps, a huff leaving his lips. His heart had an extra reason to soar thanks to the weighted cardio he had just endured.
“I know, I know,” He breathes. “I’m just…” He drifts off when she pulls back to look at him. The moment their eyes meet, his thoughts leave. “Just…”
“Excited?” She finishes. He lifts his eyebrows at her, considering her word choice. He presses his lips together, pushing them up into his nose.
“Something like that.” He murmurs.
Vanessa unwraps her arms from his neck, her small hands resting on either side of his face. He is one beautiful man, she thought. Though she wanted to tell him that, her brain would stop her. Joe is well aware of his beauty. He wakes up and looks at himself in a mirror every morning. Women probably jump at the opportunity to have his attention, and men likely envy him. Joe was undeniably handsome—there was no denying that. “Something like that.” She repeats. Her thumbs would brush over his cheekbones briefly before she leaned in to kiss him again.
Joe could find his way to the bed now. It was a straight shot back, ten steps, and he would be there. One, he thought as he took the first step. He takes the next step, counting silently in his head with each step he takes. Nine, ten—. The front of his thighs hit the edge of the bed, informing him he had reached his destination.
He leans over and presses Nessa into the soft bedding beneath them, their lips still attached. His hands slide up the curves of her hips, his fingers wrapping around the elastic of her underwear. He breaks the kiss, standing from her. Joe taps her left hip, silently requesting to remove her undergarment.
Without a word, Vanessa lifts her hips, allowing Joe to remove the damp panty clinging to her skin. He balls up the article of clothing and tosses it over his right shoulder. His hand would move between her legs, finding her warm, wet center. In response, she shivers at the feel of his hand against her. Two fingers would slide along her folds before slowly pushing into her. She sucked in a loud gasp as she squeezed Joe’s hips with her thighs, her back slightly arching off the mattress. He presses his right knee into the bed, leaning over her again.
Joe would kiss her lips to her cheek, trailing along her jawline, before burying his face in the softness of her throat. His thick fingers move slowly within her, pulling a scant breath from her with each thrust of his hand. He hungrily kisses her neck, biting and sucking to create little markings on her throat.
Wow, they were really about to do this. Despite both previously deciding not to pursue this course of action, they ultimately ended up in bed together. Hypocrites. Drunken, lustful hypocrites. Oh well, this will be a problem for tomorrow if they want to consider it one. Either way, the pair would have to address it.
“Joe,” she moans, her hips moving against his hand now. Her breathing gradually became labored, her body feeling like a fire was consuming it. She was bound to orgasm soon. It had been so long since the last time she had even cared to be intimate with someone, and this feeling she was experiencing was not containable. His hand would quicken in pace, drawing her closer and closer to her climax. “Wait, wait…” she panted. She squeezes his hips with her thighs once more, her hips tensing as she does so. Toes would curl against the edge of the bed as Vanessa pushed her hips further into the mattress.
Her walls begin to spasm around his fingers as she cums. “God!” She exclaims, relaxing into the bed once more. Joe lifts his head from her throat, his dark hair covering their faces. Her chest rose and fell as she attempted to catch her breath. That was...wow. Their eyes would lock with each other only briefly. Joe removes his fingers from her, causing her eyes to flutter at the sensation. He brings his fingers to his mouth, slowly lapping her fluids from them. He maintained eye contact, humming at the taste while he did this.
That was the hottest thing she had ever seen before. Heat settled between her legs again, followed by a swelling pulse. Vanessa flips them over, trading places with the man now beneath her. She sits up in his lap, her hands grabbing the bralette she had on. She tugs it over her head, tossing it to the side to join her underwear on the floor.
Dark locks would perfectly frame themselves around his face as Joe stared up at the naked woman above him. His tongue would drag along his bottom lip at the sight. The growing bulge in his boxer briefs was aching to be free from its fabric confines. His hands would find her thighs, his thumbs caressing the skin beneath the pads.
Nessa reaches forward, her hand wedging between the bed and the back of his neck. She pulls the man up to her, their lips colliding in a ravenous kiss. Joe wraps a strong arm around her waist, lifting off the bed slightly. His other hand was peeling the elastic band of his underwear down, freeing his lower half from the piece of clothing.
Without hesitation, Nessa reaches down between the pair. Her hand wraps around the shaft of his cock, positioning it at her entrance. She breaks the kiss, a shaky breath leaving her mouth as she lowers herself onto him. "Fuck," He breathes. Their foreheads gently pressed against each other in response to the feel. There was a moment of silence, broken only by the sound of soft panting as she started to move her hips.
Her head drops back, exposing her throat to the man beneath her. His warm breath tickled her neck as his lips grazed its surface. Joe shudders slightly before allowing that muscle within his mouth to taste her skin. Though they just left a saltwater pool, she was surprisingly sweet on his tongue. At this moment, he decided to make it a mission to taste every inch of her tonight.
And so he did. It was an unforgettable night indeed.
As if someone shouted at her to wake up, Vanessa's eyes opened suddenly. Her gaze meets the high ceilings above her. She blinked a few times before slowly turning her head towards the figure she was lying in bed with. Joe was sound asleep beside her, his hair shielding his face from sight. Her eyes widened as she quickly looked away from him.
Oh God..., she thought, bringing her hand to her face. She pinches the bridge of her nose, gently shaking her head in disappointment. May the morning after regret commence.
Carefully, she begins to remove herself from the bed. Joe's arm was draped across her body, holding her in place like a clip. Delicately, Nessa grabs his forearm and lifts it, careful not to disturb him. She gradually shimmies from the comfort of the bed. Once out of his arms and the bed, Nessa skims the room for her underclothes. She spots them on the opposite side of the room.
She turned her attention back to Joe, watching him as she quietly made her way over to her bra and panties. She leans down slowly, her hands quickly snatching up the undergarments. Her heart beat thunderously in her chest as she peered behind her for the stairs. She descends them backward, keeping her eyes on the man sleeping peacefully in the bed on the second floor. Once he vanishes from her line of sight, she turns and rushes quietly down to the first floor.
It has been years since the last time Vanessa had snuck out of a stranger's home. Seriously, it was a sport she ditched after college. Once her feet touched the first floor, Nessa put on her underwear. "What the fuck did you do?" She whispers angrily to herself as she moves through the living room.
There was a dull aching behind her eyes from the alcohol she consumed the night before, and all the natural light pouring into this room was not helping her. Her clothes were draped over the back of the enormous couch that centered the room. She grabs the hoodie and sweatpants, quickly putting them on. Her phone was still in the deep right pocket of her pants. She fishes it out, immediately opening the Uber app. She needed to get out of here fast.
Her shoes were on against the wall next to the door. She slips them on, reaching for the door shortly after. With one last glance at the suite, she vanishes beyond the door.
A/N: AHHHHHH IT HAPPENED! THEY FINALLY HAPPENED!!! There was so many people who wanted this to happen in the last chapter, but I had plans! Plans that involved writer's block for several weeks at a time lmao. I won't lie to you, I been getting my ass kicked mentally for like a month now. Hopefully, everything will start looking up soon. Don't worry, it's just work that's got me drained.
Shout out to one of my friends for spamming me with nothing but Roman pictures for 5 hours to force me to finish this lmao
authors note: so....i like cliched shit, so there's some of that here. hope it's not too much. this one is also very heavy at points, so please read the warnings, but it def has its moments that help progress the plot. also, the book referenced is a real work that we often use in therapy with survivors of sexual trauma. an excellent, powerfully healing read. i own neither the book nor the excerpt used.
if any cw/tw’s are missed, please let me know, and i will add them!
cw/tw: references to csa, aftermath of csa, character being triggered, scene of violence/torture, fluff, angst, language, and suggestive themes
song inspo: ‘looking through your eyes’ by leann rimes
masterlist
words: 12k (i clearly don't know how to stop. it is what it is)
It's out of our hands
We can't stop what we have begun
---Leann Rimes
“Clarke.”
There’s a heavy sigh followed by continued writing, icy blue eyes focused on the report before her instead of the irksome man before her, no doubt giving her those ‘fuck me’ eyes that would be an HR nightmare if HR actually did any fucking thing at this precinct.
She finishes her quote before asking with all the intentional disinterest, “what do you want, Reed?”
His question, as well as his intrusion by her desk, is expected. “why aren’t you joining the rest of us for the luncheon today?”
It’s none of his business, and Danica has no issues telling him that in intentionally vague terms. “Got somewhere to be.”
Finally looking up, she sees Reed’s gaze go cold. “Where?”
Danica drops her pin and answers in the sweetest yet nastiest voice she can muster before 10am. “Not that it’s any of your goddamn business, but the Miller girl is being released from the hospital today.”
Reed is just as confused as he is stupid. “Who?”
His obtuseness shouldn’t surprise nor irritate her, but it does. She remembers every single case she’s ever worked, and she’s certain this one will always remain at the top of the list. No matter how far she gets into her career. “Solana Miller. Xavier Miller’s daughter. The home invasion—”
“I know.” Reed’s almost relaxed, nosy disposition has entirely shifted. “Captain said the case was closed. Kid doesn’t want to press charges.”
“That kid is fucking traumatized. Don’t put that on her. Xavier is the one refusing to let us proceed.”
Reed leans forward, harshly whispering, “keep your fucking voice down, alright? Miller is…..he’s not someone you want to piss off. If he says we don’t run it, then we don’t run it, got it?”
“And who the hell is he to decide how the law works?” Clarke is also leaned over her desk, almost a month worth of pent up frustration with the lack of justice bubbling to the surface. “You read that medical report. You were on the scene. You don’t beat a grown man the way they beat that little girl. She could barely fucking walked. Dragged herself to a neighbors to ask for help. It’s a miracle she’s still alive.”
“But she is, okay?” He’s also matching her energy, just as passionate about blatant injustice as she is for said justice. “The best thing to do for that kid is to let her go home, heal, and move on with her life.”
And that’s the part that almost breaks her, that almost makes her shift from her role as an advocate to the survivor within that so deeply identifies with Solana.“You really think it’s that simple? Like she can just go back into the house where she was raped and almost killed and pretend like nothing happened?”
“No, I don’t know, Clarke, and quite frankly, I don’t care. I’m moving on and picking my battles wisely.” His voice switches to something ominous. “And if you knew what was good for you, you’d move on too.”
Aware of the underlying implications of his warning, she calls his bluff, “you threatening me?”
“Believe it or not, I actually do like you, Danica, but you’re playing a dangerous game.” Reed’s voice lowers again, and Danica almost feels like he’s trying to be genuine. “I know you’re still new around here, so let me give some free advice. Xavier Miller is a dangerous man. He’s got friends in places you don’t want to find out about. Leave this alone before you’re the next mutilated body we find floating in the river, alright?”
________
Danica Clarke has always been stubborn, a trait she’s certain will lead to her demise, but if this is the route that brings her to said demise, she’s okay with it.
Danica waits in the doorway, aware of how knocking can be alarming. She waits and assesses for the moment Solana’s gaze is close enough to where she won’t be as startled. “Hey there, pretty girl….”
Sure enough, Solana jumps a bit, and Danica is pleased to see the swelling on her face has gone down tremendously and the bruising has started to fade to an almost flesh toned color. She looks less at death’s door than the first time Danica was introduced to the 12-year-old.
“Can I come in?”
As expected, Solana doesn’t say anything, just nods quietly.
Danica moves to sit in the chair on the side of the bed. “Heard you were getting released today….” Danica studies Solana carefully, adding kindly, “may be kinda nice to have a change of scenery.”
Solana remains quiet, but Danica has been around enough survivors, remembers her own survivor story, to know that nothing feels nice or good in the immediate aftermath. There’s just numbness and pain. No in-between.
“I’m so sorry there’s nothing more I can do to help you, Solana. I really am.” And she means that with every fiber of her being. “You didn’t deserve this. You deserve justice, and I wish there was more I could do, but….my hands are tied.” Danica’s only been at this precinct for less than six months, and while asking to be transferred won’t be a good look when evaluations roll around, she doesn’t give a fuck. She can’t serve with bastards who would let sick fucks like Solana’s attackers walk around freely.
It’s too repulsive.
“But, I do…..I want to give you something.” Danica reaches into her backpack and pulls out something she hasn’t had to look at in years. A book, thick, with yellow, paperback binding. The edges are a bit worn, and certain parts are highlighted, but it’s still just as powerful nonetheless. “When I was….a little younger than you, I was raped too.” Danica sees Solana’s gaze lift up, surprise and shock written on her face. “And it wasn’t until I was a freshman in college that I started to heal and finally process what’d happened to me.” Danica’s lips press together. “The counselor I saw in college, she gave me this book, and it changed my life.”
Solana looks down, reading the title, typed in big, black letters: The Courage to Heal: A Guide for Women Survivors of Child Sexual Abuse.
“I wanna read something out of it for you, if that’s alright?” Consent, especially now, is everything, so Danica waits patiently for Solana again to nod, permitting her permission to read.
With a deep breath to also prepare herself for revisiting the past, she begins reading a passage that Solana can see she has highlighted.
“I know you're in a world of pain, but that pain will lessen. At the beginning you can't see that. You can only see your pain and you think it will never go away. But the nature of pain is that it changes— it changes like a sunset. At first, it's this intense red-orange in the sky, and then it starts getting softer and soften. The texture of pain changes as you work through it. And then one day, you wake up and realize that life isn't just about working through your abuse; it's about living, too.”
Danica looks up to see Solana sniffling, wiping at her eyes. She’s tempted to reach and take her hand, but she also knows better, knows that the last thing this child wants is to be touched.
“I want you to have this, Solana. I want you to take it, and when you’re older, when you’re ready to reclaim your voice, and you will, I want you to read every word in here. From cover to back cover. You’re gonna be okay, sweetie. You don’t feel it now, but you have to believe it.” Her eyes gloss over. “Don’t ever stop living, Solana.”
“Solana.”
Flashbacks and memories from that time of her life don’t happen often, and it’s an intentional thing on Solana’s part.
She doesn’t like thinking about that part, but this certain memory has now revisited her a total of three times now. Twice in a dream and now in the middle of a conversation with Bayley and Naomi.
That…..that can’t be a coincidence.
“I’m sorry.” Apologizing seems like the most appropriate thing until Naomi shakes her head.
“Roman said we’re not supposed to accept or condone you apologizing for anything, so imma pretend like I didn’t hear that, sis.”
Roman….
He confuses her.
He’s certainly unlike any man she’s ever met. And though that number is far from generous, he’s still the anomaly.
After essentially rejecting what was an….interesting, unfamiliar, different experience between the two of them, she expected him to be upset. To be frustrated. To be absolutely all over her baggage. To ignore her.
But, that’s not what happened, none of that has happened. Instead, he’s carried on like nothing happened, like she didn’t run away from him in near tears.
Like they didn’t….like they didn’t almost have a moment.
He’s stayed true to his word in that he’s met her every day after work in the week that’s passed. And while the first day was awkward, mostly on her part, they’ve fallen back in that same confusing yet peaceful space.
Confusing yet peaceful…that seems to be the theme since the day she said “I do.”
It’s not uncomfortable nor unpreferred over where she came from.
It’s just…..different.
“Oh—okay.” Solana doesn’t know what else to say but notices that Naomi looks like she has something else to say but is hesitant. “Is—is everything okay?”
That seems to be the door that paves the way for said conversation. “I’ve been thinking. You’ve come a long way. Like, you’ve really got the basics down, all the defensive positions, even fluidity of movement.” It’s leading up to something, Solana is certain of this, but it also means a lot to her that Naomi believes she’s progressed. Doing well with this or even retaining Naomi’s training is something she never saw for herself. “I want to advance you to learning attacks. Solana’s stomach starts to tighten. “With weapons.”
And there it is.
Solana winces. “Weapons?”
Bayley sighs, joining in to help Naomi present her case. “We wanna teach you how to use knives.” Solana’s stomach tightening quickly morphs into twists and knots. “Hear me out, please. I know….I know that’s gotta be a sensitive thing for you, and I totally understand why, but knife fighting is a really great skill to have, even if just to have one on you at all times and know how to use it if need be.”
“And let’s be honest, Roman isn’t going to let anything happen to you to where you would need it, but still.” Something tells Solana Naomi isn’t wrong about that. That neither woman is wrong in what they’re saying, but just the conversation brings back flashes of that night, the night that left the physical and mental scars she still bears now.
Bayley offers a sympathetic smile. “Just think about it, okay?” Solana can do that. She will do that, just….maybe not right now.
And she doesn’t have to because Roman and the twins suddenly enter the gym space. Solana’s stomach tightens seeing Roman shirtless, a sight that’s happened a couple times now, and each time doesn’t seem to make it any easier on her nerves. If anything, it gets worse.
“Whassup, ladies.” Jey greets, clapping his hands as he asks, “ya’ll ready for tonight?”
“Tonight?” Solana speaks up, not directing her question to anyone in particular, but Bayley is the one to answer. “What—what’s tonight?”
“Night of Champions.” She then goes on to explain. “It’s one of our annual wrestling events. Naomi and I are competing.”
Curious, Solana turns to Roman. “Are you fighting?”
Jimmy, however, is the one to answer. “Soso, Big Dog don’t do these events no more. Not very often anyway, but he’ll be there.”
“Can I come?” Solana directs her question to Roman, knowing that it will be his call. He eyes her unexpectedly.
“You want to?”
She nods, referring to the group. “I—I wanna see them fight.”
It also feels like the right thing to do, to support the two women who’ve been nothing but supportive of her since day one. Even Jimmy and Jey with their often inappropriate comments about her body and continuous praise over her cooking abilities. It’s still always been very respectful in a strange sort of way.
Roman steps towards her, and Solana finds that it takes a concentrated effort to keep her eyes on his and to not gaze downward. Him being shirtless before her doesn’t help with the attraction she’s still trying to wrap her head around and navigate.
He lowers his voice, asking, “you sure?”
She’s confused only for a second when she remembers why he seems to be ensuring this is what she wants. This will be the first time Solana has returned to the Warehouse since Grayson and Austin’s attack, since she caused a whole scene that resulted in the whole damn place being shut down and Roman sending a grim message to all.
For a second, she backs away, retreats from her initial desire. Briefly tells herself that this isn’t what she wants, but that other distant voice in the back of her head, not as present or loud, seems to win the battle this time around.
“Yes,” is the final answer she settles on. “I’ll be fine.”
Roman nods, informing. “We leave at 6:30.”
Solana starts to wonder about what this night could entail when Jey suddenly expresses, “It’s kinda nice outside. I think I’m gonna go for a swim. Get in that aquatic cardio.”
Jimmy also cosigns this after sharing a quick kiss with Naomi. “Oh shit, yeah, lets’ do it
Roman is instantly annoyed, asking with all of the exasperation. “Don’t ya’ll have a pool at your houses?”
“Yeah, but yours is nicer.” Jimmy answers like it’s the simplest thing in the world. He then looks over at Solana, asking, “you joining us, Soso?”
And that, not the idea of returning to the place where she was almost attacked, is what brings on the heavier anxiety. Once upon a time, Solana loved the pool. Swimming with her mom on hot, summer scorching days used to be some of her favorite memories. Now, those memories are plagued with flashbacks of being held under water, a form of torture implemented by her brother.
“N–no.” Solana catches Roman’s gaze on her, the way his eyes dip to her running her fingers against the sides of her workout pants. “I—ummm—I’m going into work for a little bit today, so I should get ready to go.”
Roman speaks up first, skeptical. “I didn’t know you were going in today.”
“I have to take care of something.”
Solana being vague is new, it’s unfamiliar, and it doesn’t feel the best to lie to him in a sense. Even if it’s less a lie and more a vague answer.
There is something she needs to take care of. She just has no desire or even ability to tell him just what she needs to take care of, because that would mean she has to tell him the why, and that is something she’s never discussed with anyone and has no desire ever to.
________
Dear Mom,
I’m sorry I haven’t written you as much. Life has been….very confusing and different, but not bad. I think….I think I like living here.
I like Bayley and Naomi. They’re so nice to me. I think you would like them too. Bayley is Mexican, so we talk in Spanish sometimes, and I love that because it reminds me of us, mama, all our conversations and writings.
Jimmy and Jey, Roman’s cousins, make me laugh. They’re also nice to me, and they really like my cooking, your cooking. I still use a lot of the recipes you taught me.
I finally have a dog, mami! Her name is Dulce. She’s so sweet and little and adorable. Roman got her for me.
Roman…
He’s not what I expected. I don’t….I don’t understand why he’s nice to me. Cause that’s what it is. That much I’ve finally realized. He’s….nice to me.
I’ve never had a man be nice to me.
We had….something happen a week ago. I still don’t really know how to describe it, just that he was touching me, not even inappropriately. And I think…..I think I liked it, but then I got scared because it was like….it was like it wasn’t him touching me. It was them.
And I….I hate that. I hate it because it’s miserable feeling this way. Wanting something but not wanting it. Being scared of something but wanting it. Desiring to be close to someone but not wanting that either.
I feel so torn sometimes.
I’ve been thinking a lot about that book the detective gave me after it happened. There’s gotta be a reason I kept it all these years. I think….I think I want to read it.
I don’t know what to expect, and I’m nervous because I don’t like thinking about it, but I can’t, I don’t, want to keep living like this.
I can’t.
________
When Solana asked to attend Night of Champions, she was thinking it would be similar to WarGames. A foolish assumption. It is in the sense that the arena area is packed, not a single seat unoccupied, the boisterous sound of loud chatter and music serving as a backdrop against said chatter. That’s all the same and unchanged.
What is different and what Solana should have thought about was the fact that the two women who made her feel so comfortable last time won’t be there this time, because they’re competing. And so are the twins.
And Nicki is apparently upset with Jey—a recurrent theme, it seems—so she also won’t be present.
That leaves one person.
Roman.
Solana didn’t think about the fact that she’d be seated with Roman. It’s not as nerve-racking as it could be, as it probably would have been almost three months ago when this whole new, unexpected chapter of her life began.
But, it’s still a bit anxiety inducing.
She doesn’t miss how Roman’s grip on her hand remains firm on hers from the moment he helps her out the SUV, his eyes again taking her in the same way he did when she met him back in his office to tell him she was ready to go.
Solana initially felt unsure of herself given the fact that Naomi and Bayley could only pick out her outfit, shoes, and accessories for the night but couldn’t actually help her get ready given the fact that they were competing. Solana struggled to navigate her hair, as always, pinning it up on her head, and her makeup definitely isn’t as nice as the night of WarGames, but it mostly covers up her facial scar, and that’s all that matters.
Still, she must not look completely awful because Roman did not hesitate to give her a slow one over followed by a muttered “damn” and more vocalized, “fuck, you look good.”
She’s starting to lose count of how many times he’s said that now, and each new occurrence still gives her the same butterflies as the first time.
Roman escorts them to their seats, the twins and Paul already being present. Jimmy is the first to speak, whistling loudly.
“Damn, Soso. How we supposed to fight and you distracting us looking all fine and shit?”
“If you want to live and make it to the actual fight, you’ll shut the fuck up.” It’s hard for Solana to tell just when Roman is being completely honest with his cousins or just deadly honest with his cousins.
This is one of those moments.
“Thank you.” She doesn’t know what else to say, what kind of response is appropriate to something that isn’t as so.
Roman then motions for Solana to sit down and easily props his big body down in the seat right next to her. Their arms are nearly touching, but she tries not to think of that. Tries to distract herself by asking the twins, “shouldn’t you be in the locker room?”
“Naw, we fight toward the end of the night, so we like to assess with Roman till then.”
“Assess?”
While Jey was the one to provide the initial answer, Jimmy handles the clarification. “You gon be a member of the Warehouse, you gotta earn that shit. That means doing your thing in the ring. You ain’t cutting it, you out.”
Solana nods, quietly. It makes sense. Roman seems like a man with high standards. “So…you all have the final say?”
Jimmy takes a sip of his beer, shaking and nodding his head toward his cousin. “Naw, that’s all Big Dog.”
Solana glances at her husband who’s focused not necessarily on the conversation at hand but the preparation for what’s sure to be an eventful night.
“If you don’t mind, My Tribal Chief is trying to focus here.” Paul’s voice, equally nice as it is nasty, reminds her of his presence. For some reason, she’s surprised by said presence, though she shouldn’t be. It’s clear the Wise Man is an important asset to Roman.
“Whassup, my dogs!”
Just then a lanky man comes over to the group. He’s wearing a black t-shirt that says ‘honorary uce’ and has wild red hair that looks like it hasn’t seen a brush in weeks. Solana takes a second to look at him, finding him strangely familiar. It’s then she realizes that he fought with Roman, Solo, and the twins during WarGames.
He goes for some kind of special handshake with Jimmy, then Jey, and finally Roman who looks like he’s contemplating murder rather than wanting to return the greeting. He quickly plays it off, “that is well—okay my tribal chief, and—wow—” Him turning to Solana, finally noticing and acknowledging her, is an experience for the both of them. She notices his initial gaze sets on her chest which is uncomfortable but not entirely unexpected given the style of her dress. Still, she shifts in her seat, uneasy with the attention. “Those are—-ummm—” His eyes go wide, as he moves to backtrack on an obvious Freudian slip. “I mean, it’s uh, very nice to meet you, ma’am, or Mrs. Reigns, or your highness. Whichever you prefer is a-okay with—“
“Sami.”
His shoulders hunch and head drops in shame, like he already knows what’s coming. “Yes, Tribal Chief?”
“Go sit somewhere else.”
This Sami person doesn’t even hesitate, confirming he already knew he fucked up in the less than five minutes he was present. “Yes, my Tribal Chief.”
Solana watches, still partially confused but also kind of amused as he wastes no time in departing.
Paul then leans over, chatting away, “I told you, my Tribal Chief, I never liked Shmuel. He’s always been so beneath you. I understand he makes easy collateral, but—“
Roman sighs loudly. “Wise Man.”
“Yes, my Tribal Chief?”
“Go join Sami.”
“But……” Solana looks over at Paul. His expression is one of devastation, like he’s just been told he had six months to live. “I—I always sit with you for Night of Champ—“
“Wise Man.”
Paul swallows. “Yes, my Tribal Chief?”
“I’m not gon tell you again.” Roman finally looks over at his closest advisor, forcefully enunciating and instructing, “go.”
Similar to Sami, the Wise Man walks off with his tail between his legs, leaving just Solana, Roman, and the twins.
She has no idea where Solo is.
“See, now you ain’t even have to do all that, Big Dog. You be getting yourself all upset over nothing. You need to start doing some deep breathing or shit, then maybe you could get off them high blood pressure pills.”
It’s that last part that Solana zones in on, that makes her turn to Roman, “you have high blood pressure?”
He lifts his eyes, dismissing, “it’s nothing.”
“Can’t—can’t that be dangerous?” It’s not necessarily a question she needs him to answer. Solana is well read on a variety of subjects, especially subjects pertaining to physical health. High blood pressure can mess with a lot of things, a lot of organs. Eyes. Brain.
Heart
Jimmy is the one to chime in, asking with that typical tone of humor. “Soso, you do know what he does for a living right?”
But, it’s hard for her to find said humor when all she’s thinking about now is how certain meals she’s prepared for him could maybe not be the best for his high blood pressure. How she could be exacerbating that.
Feeling pressured by her inner monologue, she offers, “I can change how I cook for you.” And she can. She probably will, making a mental note to peruse through her mom’s recipe books that would be more aligned with the type of diet he probably needs. “I know there’s certain things you probably shouldn’t eat—”
“Solana.” He interrupts, but it’s not with that same irritation he had towards Sami and Paul. “I’m fine. My numbers weren't that bad. The doctor is just being over cautious.”
She wants to believe him, wants to not be as…bothered by this as she is, but something tells her Roman isn’t unlike most men who downplay these sorts of things.
Letting the conversation go, her determination to help him maintain his health remains.
The conversation shifts to a dialogue between the twins and Roman, the three men conversing in Samoan. She doesn’t mind this, as it also allows her the space to catch the gaze of Bayley and Naomi who look freaking amazing in their gear.
“Soso.”
“I swear to God, if you call her that one more fucking time—”
“Yeet,” Jimmy says it too, like it’s as basic a word as they come. “Our motto.”
“I—” Honesty is a bit easier with her husband’s cousins. “N–no.”
“Man,” Jey makes a sound with his teeth and jumps right into the explanation. “It’s like a way of life. Like, you yeet when life going good—”
“—when life going bad.”
“—or when you leaving.”
“—or going.”
“It’s a way of life.”
Jimmy and Jey playing off of each other for their presentation is entertaining, at best, but it doesn’t leave her any less confused than she was just a minute ago.
“I—I still don’t get it.”
And that, for the first time, is when Solana hears Roman laugh. It’s not something she ever thought possible, but it’s there, his handsome face turned into an amusing expression as he expresses vindication. “I told you it was fucking stupid.”
“See, I thought we was close, Soso. I thought we was becoming family and shit, but I see you a hater like your husband.”
At that, Jey punches his brother on the arm, reminding with a rough mutter, “man, she be cooking, don’t be fucking up our good thing.”
“Aww shit.” Jimmy quickly moves to backtrack. “I mean, I could see your point.”
Conversation continues as such until the start of the night, Solana watching as the three men around her easily shift into an almost business mode. Their gazes are almost intense, watching closely as matches begin.
Solana partially expected to have to sit and remain quiet for the evening, but certain moves, similar to what Naomi and Bayley have taught her, catch her attention. And it must show, because Solana finds herself occasionally being asked by Roman if she has any questions or if she understands why a fighter did a certain mood.
Some she can answer. Some she cannot.
So she asks him.
And he answers all of them, clearly, concisely, in a way she can understand.
If Roman is irritated by any of her questions, he does a damn good job not showing as such. And to her credit, she does her best to take a guess vs asking outright with certain things, pulling from her time with Bayley and Naomi.
And in certain matches, she’s fully immersed in watching their expertise that questions aren’t even a thing. Like the tag team match between two of the most beautiful women she’s ever seen, Jade and Bianca, as Roman called them. Same with Naomi and Bayley who independently show her a side of their ruthlessness she figured existed but hadn’t seen firsthand until tonight.
“Do you all learn how to fight when you’re kids?”
“More or less,” Roman answers, and Solana has a hard time not staring, not being caught up by how handsome this man really is. “This life….it’s kill or be killed. So to not be killed, you learn how to fight. How to survive.”
Survive…
Solana has such a complicated relationship with that otherwise simple word.
“How come….how come you don’t fight as much?” She’s wondered about this, come up with speculation but would like to know for certain, especially as he seems to be in a relatively decent mood.
Like most things, he keeps his answer nice, simple, and vague. “I don’t have anything to prove to anyone.”
“Did–did you?” He looks over at her, and warmth rises back as she tries to clarify. “At some point, I mean.”
Again, it’s a one-worded response. “Yes.”
She’s not entirely sure just what he’s saying ‘yes’ to, but a full blown out explanation was never expected. He doesn’t seem like the type. But something more would have been….nice. Granted, Solana realizes she’s probably pushing her luck in asking all these questions anyway and sits back in her seat, relegating herself to focusing on the current match.
The chill of the arena makes its reminder yet again as Solana crosses her arms over her body, trying to warm herself. The man beside herself notices this, accurately assessing, “you’re cold.”
True to her nature, Solana shakes her head, downplaying the fact that she is very much cold. “I’m fine.”
Downplaying or being outright dishonest is clearly something Solana would do well to push away, because it seems like this man is capable of seeing right through any and all lies.
Roman shifts forward in his seat and removes his jacket, reaching it to her. “Here.”
Rejection would be rude. It would also make her feel even more bad than she already does at inconveniencing him. Still, her options are really singular, meaning there are no others. Only one.
Mustering a small smile, she accepts his objectively kind gesture, sliding her arms through and adjusting as best she can given their size difference. Warmth overcomes her as well as the scent of his collage, something masculine, almost minty. It fits him.
Silence befalls them for a comfortable while before Solana excuses herself to use the bathroom, Roman only nodding in acknowledgment.
It’s in walking down the hall that Solana sees Jade and Bianca chatting away, admiring their championship belts. The taller of the two, Jade, happens to glance her way and smiles, exclaiming, “Girl, you are wearing the hell out of that dress!”
“Absolutely killing it,” Bianca also compliments, her smile just as genuine and affable.
Solana is certain she’s just staring dumbly for a good couple of seconds, because such a compliment from two objectively stunning women towards her was the last thing she expected.
Descending off her shock, she offers an equally genuine smile and expression of appreciation. “Thank you so much.”
The compliment keeps that smile planted on her face. It’s so unexpected but deeply appreciated.
Solana dries her hands and tosses the used paper towels in the trash. It’s a brief glance at herself in the mirror that serves as the start of the slippery slope, landing her back in a brief state of uncertainty. The dress is so revealing, much more revealing than anything she could or would ever wear. But it’s hard to think or sit too much in that discomfort when the night has consisted of several compliments. Sami, Jimmy, Jey, now Bianca and Jade. Not to mention the biggest one, or maybe the one that gives her the most butterflies, coming from Roman.
“Fuck, you look good.”
Her smile shifts from something more silly to something a bit more bashful, her cheeks warming at someone as handsome and powerful as Roman Reigns thinking that she looks good.
Thinking that she’s beautiful.
A toilet flushes from the only other taken stall, and the door opening reveals the perfect reason why Solana should have just went straight back to join Roman instead of having a mental discourse in the bathroom.
Samantha’s long, shapely legs are the first thing Solana notices along with the way her dress melts to her toned, curvy body. She looks good, and she has to know that she looks good. A woman like her probably has men lined up by the dozen, Roman being at the front of that line.
Samantha’s dark lips form into a smirk as she walks over to the sink. “Surprised to see you tonight.” She moves to wash her hands. “After that not so little incident a while back, I figured that was the last day you’d step foot in here.”
Solana swallows. She’s managed to not think about that day since it happened. Samantha bringing it up is definitely salt on an open wound. “I—umm.”
“Nice dress. A lil snug though. Maybe go up a size next time?” Her voice, so sweet and sugary, is also venomous and knowing. “Or two.”
Solana’s hands naturally move to her stomach, forearms trying to block the part of her body she hates the most and is certain Samantha is primarily referring to.
“Sage, right?” She doesn’t give Solana a chance to respond. “Let me give you some advice. Woman to woman.”
Something tells Solana she’s not going to like this advice.
Samantha dries her hands and walks up to Solana. “I know you’re Roman’s wife, but you can’t seriously think that means anything to him, right? It’s just a title, and he’ll defend you only because it’s defending his pride.” Solana tries to not put too much into Samantha’s hurtful words, but it’s hard not to when Solana knows Roman continues to be intimate with this woman, even after their marriage. She can’t blame him for that, though, especially since he’s definitely not getting it from her. Still, it does sting a bit. “Trust me, I’ve known him very well since we were in high school.” Samantha smirks, chuckling. “So, I would know.”
“Bitch, you don’t know shit.”
The last voice Solana expected to enter the conversation was that of Nia’s. But sure enough, Roman’s’ cousin stands near the bathroom door, arms crossed over her body.
Samantha’s expression sours tremendously as she icily greets the other woman, bigger, stronger, maybe even prettier. “Nia.”
Nia ignores the greeting and comes to stand near Solana, immediately going in on the slender women. “If you know him so well and you supposedly mean that much to him, how come it’s not you with a wedding ring on your finger?” Solana says nothing, keeping her gaze down, but it doesn’t stop her from also thinking about that very valid question. Just why didn’t Roman marry Samantha? “Or better yet,” Solana glancing back up allows her to see Nia’s cruel smile. “Why is it Solana’s name he said when he was fucking you?”
What?
Solana is visibly shaken by that because where in the hell did that even come from? There’s no way that can be true. No way Roman could be in bed with someone like Samantha and say her name.
But Samantha is visibly disturbed, lip almost curling into an almost snarl as she spits, “fuck you, Nia.”
“I’d call you Solana too, so I don’t think you’d want that.”
Samantha storms out of the bathroom without another word leaving Solana alone with Nia, Solana who is still trying to process what was just said and finds herself asking Nia.
“Is—is that true? Did you—did you really hear about Roman—ummm—”
Typically, Solana would keep her questions in the safety of her mind, but this…..this feels almost impossible to not seek clarification on.
“You know he’s my cousin, right?” Nia looks visibly disgusted but still answers her question. “I would never make something up like that about family. Samantha is a blabber mouth that doesn’t realize she shares her shit with that dumbass best friend of hers, Tiffy, and the whole town knows.”
The answer is appreciated, but it still leaves Solana with so many questions.
“I—I don’t understand.” Again, it’s something meant to stay inside but manages to slip past the cracks.
“God, you are naive.” Nia rolls her eyes and explains while crossing her arms. “Sweetie, if a man is balls deep in Woman A and says Woman B’s name, Woman A is not who he wants.”
That seems almost inconceivable to Solana. For Roman to think she looks good and maybe even consider her beautiful is one thing, but for him to desire her in that way is something entirely different.
She doesn’t know what to do with this information.
“Don’t let that skinny bitch get to you.” Nia seems eager to switch the conversation to something different. “She’s a pussy. All bark and no bite. Remember, you have the ring on your finger. You just have to put her in her place one good time, and she’ll leave you be. And if not, let Roman know. He’d never hurt or kill her himself, but he’d definitely ask me to, and truth be told, I’ve wanted to snap that bitch’s neck since high school, so you’d be doing everyone a favor.”
Solana can’t allow herself, or maybe more so doesn’t have the capacity, to think about that right now. She’s still trying to get a grip on chapter one. Still, she offers a quiet ‘thank you’ to Nia, turning to leave when the taller woman says her name. Solana turns back around. “Yes?”
Nia sighs and rolls her eyes. “I know you think I hate you, but I don’t. I may hate how soft you are, but I don’t hate you.” Nia then smirks with an almost playful add on of, “I don’t care enough about you to hate you.”
________
As expected, Roman is immediately asking what took so long the second Solana is back in her seat.
Her excuse is weak. She tells him that there was a line, but it’s the best thing she can come up with on the spot. His expression is all the answer she needs that he certainly doesn’t believe her but will let it go.
For now.
The rest of the night seems to be more of a blur, Solana now more consumed with trying to wrap her head around this newest bit of information.
The twins end up finishing off the event with a brutal but successful match where they, as expected, retain their tag team titles.
Solana could see this, understandably, pleased Roman.
And outside of some constructive criticism towards Jey and Jimmy, Roman expressed his desire to leave as soon as they got cleaned up, which took less time than she expected. He’s guiding them, her, out to leave, her hand still in his, when a thickly accented voice calls the attention of the man beside her.
“Roman Reigns.”
Solana can barely turn around to the source of the voice when Roman’s muscled arm is stretched across her body, moving her behind him, his big body serving as an impenetrable shield.
Because of their height difference, Solana can’t see a whole lot outside of the instant shift of security and even the twins toward whoever this person is.
“How wonderful for you to bless us with your presence so soon after WarGames.” The man scoffs, clearly trying to bait Roman. “What is this, the second appearance in how many years? Hell hath fuckin’ froze over.”
Solana catches a brief glance of the mystery man and gasps. He has an imposing figure, similar to Roman but there’s something cold about him, something….sinister.
“How dare you acknowledge the Tribal Chief—” Roman lifts his hand to silence Paul.
Roman simply states, “talk.”
“You know what I want, Reigns.” Solana hears a footstep and notices how Roman makes a subtle movement that results in the twins also moving closer towards her, shielding her from this man. “You don’t deserve that title. You may have been a fighter then, but you ain’t now. You’re about the Bloodline, and I respect that, mate, but the Undisputed title deserves to be with someone who defends it more than once a fucking year.”
“So what, you think you the one who gon’ take it? Man, we outta kill your ass right now for talking out your neck like that to our Tribal Chief!”
Solana hates being unable to see Roman, to see his face, to be able to gauge and read his facial expressions. He’s an enigma of a man, typically oscillating between irritated, angry, and indifferent, but not having the option altogether to know where he currently lands is bothersome. Especially with what comes out of his mouth next.
“Do something.”
Solana freezes. That….that can’t be good.
“You standing up on me. You make a good tough guy face. Do something.”
Solana’s fingers tap against her side, that familiar knotting in her stomach returning. She glances over at Jey who seems to also be a bit confused by Roman’s response.
“Uce—”
Roman ignores him. “Go on. Pull it.”
Jimmy speaks up this time, rough voice quiet but urgent. “Roman, we got Solana here—”
“Come on. Make it happen. What’s different? Ain’t nothing changed. Think back to the last time you challenged me.” Solana hates when Roman moves away from her, because it means he’s a step closer to this man, this man who seems determined to pick a fight with the Tribal Chief and may get just that. “Think about it. I whooped you then. I’ll whoop you now.” Roman speaks with such a confidence about him, the most violent, straightforward promise of sure brutality she’s ever heard from a man. “Ain’t nothing changed.”
Solana isn’t necessarily thinking about what she’s doing when she suddenly moves herself in between Roman and this man who’s apparently hellbent on getting her husband riled up. It’s another unconscious act as she plants her palms against his chest, both relieved and nervous by how his gaze instantly drops to hers.
Solana licks her lips and finds herself pleading in an unexpectedly calm yet typically soft voice. “Let’s just go.” His initial expression of fury and simmering anger seems to lessen the longer he looks at her, and Solana adds on, desperately. “Please.”
This act of boldness is completely unplanned and entirely stems from Solana unable to stop thinking about how Roman being so upset all the time can’t be good for his blood pressure. It can’t be good for his health.
And for reasons she doesn’t quite understand, that bothers her. It concerns her.
Him not being healthy concerns her.
What does not surprisingly concern her is when Roman moves his hands down to her hips and almost gently moves her to the side, forcing her hands to drop. She expects him to lunge at the other man or to scold her for interfering, but he does neither.
He steps toward him and simply states with all the coldness, “you’ve got your match, but I set the date when I want it.” Solana’s more or less holding her breath, waiting for Roman to strike the man, or worse. “But know this, McIntyre, you step in that ring with me again, I’m not just ending your career this time, I’m ending your fucking life.”
Roman’s threat sends uneasy chills down her spine. There’s no mistaking Roman’s promise, something she’s certain he will be sure to fulfill.
He then takes her hand again and moves her to the side opposite of the man who looks like he hates Roman as much as Roman probably hates him. Solana is almost entirely eclipsed by Roman’s big body as he walks her past the ordeal.
The car ride is a bit uncomfortably silent, Solana recognizing that Roman is still seething from the exchange but most likely waiting until she’s out of his vicinity to express that rage.
But, it's when she’s walking back in the house after letting Dulce do her business that Roman catches and speaks to her.
“Solana.” He’s leaning back against the counter, big arms crossed over his muscular body. He’s so….big. “What happened when you went to the bathroom tonight?”
She can’t be surprised, can’t feel caught off guard by his question. It’s still not something she necessarily wants to talk about or knows how to discuss, but she’ll do the best she can.
“I ran into Samantha.” Taking a deep breath, she tries her hardest to keep it vague but still an acceptable answer. “I don’t—I don’t think she likes me.”
At that, Roman nearly growls, “what did that bitch say to you?”
Solana winces at his tone. “It wasn’t that bad…”
He’s quick with the dismissal and redirection. “That’s not what I asked you.”
“She just—she just talked about my outfit, that—that was it, because Nia came in there, and well, I don’t—I think Nia might hate her more than she hates me.”
Roman sighs, running his hand over his face. “I’ll handle Samantha.” Before Solana can protest, he adds, “Nia doesn’t hate you.”
This brings a small smile to Solana’s face. “That's what she said.”
Roman also looks slightly amused by this, studying her for a second. “Solana.” The surprises keep on coming, because he takes an unexpected turn in the conversation. “I almost lost my temper tonight.”
This….this feels true. His issuance of threats were delivered in an almost calm manner, but it was more deceptive than anything. Like a setup for violence that was potentially about to unfold if she didn’t interfere.
Still, nothing ended up happening, so it doesn’t make sense for him to act like it did.
“But, you didn’t,” she points out quietly, offering a bit of an olive branch. “And….you were upset.”
Solana would maybe argue that he’s always in varying states of upsetness, but that’s not the point of the conversation at hand.
“I have no shortage of enemies, Solana.” His voice takes on a darker, almost subdued tone. It makes her previously amused expression slip into something more somber. “But, I need you to know that I would never do anything that would put you in danger. Drew wanted to issue his challenge. That’s it. He wasn’t going to do anything, because he wants an audience for that. I had it under control.” Solana isn’t questioning that nor did she plan to, but Roman’s next question definitely takes her for a loop. “Were you scared?”
It’s a valid, understandable question that she didn’t think about until this moment. There was anxiety, maybe some element of fear but also concern, so she decides to play down the first two.
“I wasn’t scared.” It was more concern than fear, which, in her mind, are two different things. “Just….confused about what was happening.”
“That’s not what I meant.” His dismissal is nicer than what anyone else would receive. “Of me, Solana. Were you scared of me?”
Another valid question that she’s actually been thinking about on and off for the past few weeks. Solana would like to consider herself not naive to a lot of things about this life that she was born into. She knows that most of the people who surround her are killers. And Roman is no different. The king of that, maybe.
But…..
But, he’s done nothing thus far to make her ever believe she would ever be subjected to that side of him. If anything, he’s worked to stress and help her understand that she’d never be hurt by him. And adding up all of the things he’s done to support said message, Solana feels it only appropriate to be honest with him.
About more than just his question.
“When—-when the twins asked earlier today if I wanted to go in the pool, I got nervous because—-” Solana displays her textbook signs of discomfort with the stammering and playing with her fingers but still manages to get out what she wants to share. “Wes, he used to…..hold my head under water until I almost passed out.” Solana looks away for a second, shifting her weight from one foot to another. “That……that’s who I’m afraid of.” Solana manages to set her gaze back on Roman, almost confidently assuring, “I’m not scared of you, Roman.”
He steps toward her, and Solana’s eyes never leave his, mindful of the way his hand lifts, tensing when he rests it against her face, palming her cheek almost gently. Solana stiffens but easily shifts into something not calm but not on edge either. “You don’t have to be scared of him anymore, of anyone. I won’t let anyone else ever hurt you again.”
And for the first time, she believes him without the speck of doubt and uncertainty in the backseat. Solana has seen nothing from the man before her to indicate otherwise. She doesn’t know a lot of things regarding him, regarding them, regarding just why he’s so hellbent on defending her, but one thing she’s realized is that he’s intentional and determined with his dedication to protect her.
This is similar, very similar, too similar to that night where her fears got the best of her, where she was unable to overpower the discomfort and fear. But, this isn’t that night, and Solana doesn’t feel that building dread in the core of her stomach. It could be the fact that it’s only one hand on her, cupping her face. Nowhere else.
It could even be a very early sign that maybe, just maybe, that book she was given so long ago really does have the healing properties someone from so long ago once promised.
There’s even her conversation with Nia from earlier that sits in the back of her mind, the undeniable confirmation of Roman’s attraction to her. Enough to where he would say her name during that.
Whatever the case, she doesn’t move away, just nods quietly, slowly moving away from him.
“I’m—I’m gonna get ready for bed.”
Roman says nothing, also nodding as acknowledgment, watching as Solana grabs Dulce and disappears out of his sight but not the front of his mind.
________
The Reigns estate is as spacious as it is grandiose. There are several ways and paths to reach a destination.
So, Roman doesn’t have to pass Solana’s room to reach his bedroom. There’s an alternative route in coming from where he was working, but he decides this specific way for reasons he’s not entirely sure of.
It ends up being a good decision because it’s in walking past her door that he hears low scraping against said door. Instantly, he knows it’s Dulce clearly needing to go outside. And she confirms as such with her soft whimpering.
Rolling his eyes, Roman opens the door just enough for Dulce to run out, stopping when she sees it’s him. He glances at the bed to see Solana sleeping, open book on her chest, indicating she fell asleep while reading.
Dulce whines again, and he chides quietly, “be quiet before you wake her up.”
Dulce’s ears go down as Roman picks up the puppy that’s still too little to walk up and down the steps, hence needing human transportation. It’s annoying, but he brings her down the steps and out the backyard.
Settling her down, he instructs, “go on. Do whatever you gotta do.”
He’ll give the dog some credit where credit is due. She’s far more obedient than he expected for a puppy, because in less than 10 minutes, she’s emptied her bladder and is being carried back to Solana’s room.
Roman is careful to lay her little ass back in her bed, aware of her bristle looking legs that would probably break with one bad drop.
Rising back to his full height, he catches Solana turning on her side, the shift in position causing the book to slip and almost fall out the bed, but Roman is fast, catching it before the crash and potential disturbance can wake her up.
Naturally, he glances at the front cover, noticing the age of the book. But the aging look doesn’t mean shit to him when he sees the title and a piece of paper that clearly has Solana’s handwriting. He doesn’t read that, wanting to respect her privacy, but he definitely reads the title, and it instantly shifts his entire mood.
The Courage to Heal: A Guide for Women Survivors of Child Sexual Abuse
It shifts his mood from his default state or irritation to quiet rage.
There’s only one reason she would be reading this book, working out of this book. And it’s not that he didn’t already know she’d been violated in one way or another. Her medical records confirmed as such.
But, he was thinking she was a teenager, not any better, but definitely not a fucking child.
Someone hurt her when she was still a child, a literal goddamn kid, and this is something Roman cannot find it in him to avoid investigating. He’s always been a man uncomfortable with unanswered questions, and there are no shortage of them in regards to Solana. Not that he would ever put her in a position to answer them. No. He wouldn’t do that to her, would never make her share something like that with him.
But, he does know someone else he can demand answers from.
Two people, actually. One of them being shit out of luck after narrowly avoiding Roman’s wrath from earlier today in learning that he fucking tortured Solana.
Roman carefully places the book on her nightstand and makes sure Dulce is still in her bed on the other side of Solana’s before quietly closing the door.
Roman is down the hall, powerful strides taking him to his room as he pulls out his phone, dialing the one person he knows for a fact will answer his call at any time. Hitting dial and switching it to speaker, Roman tosses his phone on the bed to get dressed.
Sure enough, he answers on the second ring.
Roman jumps right into it. “Meet me at the Miller house. Get your brothers.”
Solo only pauses for a second, answering in that stoic voice, “we’ll be there in 30.”
Not good enough.
“Make it 20.”
________
As expected, Roman is met at the Miller house by his cousins, all three.
Slamming the car door shut, Roman hears Jimmy yawning loudly. “Man, why the hell is we here?”
Ignoring his older brother, Solo straightens his stance and informs, “I had Pearce disable the security system.”
“Good.” It’s the fact that Solo already knew to do so without being told. Moments like this is when Roman knows he made the right decision promoting and moving Solo up the ranks. He’s more than proved himself.
“I have questions. Miller has answers.” Roman’s answer there is intentionally vague. Solana’s trauma is no one’s business but her own, and just because he is also aware doesn’t mean he needs to broadcast it. “And Solana told me today her brother used to waterboard her.”
“Waterboarding? Like actual fucking torture?” This information seems to awaken both the twins, eliciting angry reactions. “What the fuck is wrong with his ass?”
“We killing them, right?” Jey, forever the hothead and also relatively equal with Roman in terms of how quickly he travels from zero to one-hundred, is the first to ask the most obvious question.
“No. Not tonight. That would be too easy.” And it would. Roman meant that shit when he said he wanted their asses to suffer. “But that doesn’t mean we have to make living easy for them.”
They don’t deserve to live, let alone living easy lives. Not when they’ve done everything seemingly possible to make Solana’s miserable.
Roman then looks towards the twins, instructing, “take care of the brother.” It’s not a necessary directive, but he doesn’t hesitate to add, “make him fucking suffer.”
He then motions for Solo to follow him, the men headed toward the house as Roman swears out loud, “Xavier is mine.”
Roman steps back as Solo waits zero time in shattering the large window in the living room, providing an entrance for the men. Roman grabs his gun, nodding for the twins to move first, followed by Solo, each man armed with a gun. It’s unnecessary, Roman is certain as they’re more likely to find father and son in the midst of illicit acts vs prepared for the onslaught headed their way.
Up the stairs and on the second floor, Roman quietly motions for them to split up, Solo and the twins to the right while he moves to the left, the most likely location of the master.
Solo seems to give him an uneasy expression, but Roman simply nods and heads toward his target.
Xavier is his.
The combination of the brothers works just as Roman predicted, them successfully locating the brother’s bedroom, confirmed by his horrified shout of ‘what the fuck!
It’s followed up with a shout of pain and Jey yelling “Get your bitch ass up!” and “Solo, fill up the tub!”
Pleased, Roman is standing directly outside of Xavier’s door when the older man rips the door open, face contorted in a mixture of shock and anger. That quickly morphs into fear when he realizes just who is responsible for this attack.
Roman brings the gun across upside Miller’s head, watching the man fall down and writhe in pain, holding his hand against his now bleeding head.
Undeterred, Roman reaches down, yanking the man up by his neck as he jolts his body against the nearest wall. “We need to talk.” Straight to the point and not in the mood for any bullshit this fucker may try to spew his way, Roman demands, “I want to know what the fuck happened to my wife.”
And there’s a brief but telltale sign that Xavier knows exactly what he’s referring to without Roman even needing to elaborate.
That only pisses him off even more.
Still, Xavier stutters, shaking his head, “I—I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Roman gives a bitter smile, shaking his head and scratching his beard. It’s the last thing he’s certain Xavier sees before Roman again has him up by the collar of his pajama shirt.
“You really want to play these fucking games with me?” It’s a no. It’s a hell no, but Xavier insulting Roman’s intelligence by lying to him indicates the opposite of no. So, Roman will treat him as such. “Who the fuck touched Solana?”
His question is followed up by screaming coming from down the hall, the beautiful sound of a piece of shit getting exactly what he deserves.
“What? Ain’t so tough now, little bitch! Like to beat on women but a pussy when it comes to fighting another man!”
And while it could bring a smile to Roman’s face, Xavier looks horrified in hearing Jimmy’s taunts. Instantly, he’s pleading, pathetic and pitiful, “pl—please.”
“I’d torture and kill that bitch right in front of you tonight if I could.” It pisses Roman off to no end how this man can care so much about his demented son but not give a flying fuck about his innocent daughter. “Now, answer my fucking question, who touched Solana?”
Again, Xavier decides to test Roman’s patience, offering unasked information. “She—she was a virgin before she married you.”
“I don’t give a fuck about her being virgin or not!” She could still be a virgin and have been touched. But truth be told, that shit’s never mattered to him anyway. Virgin or no virgin, it’s always been an irrelevant deciding factor to who he took to bed. “Tell me what happened to her or I’ll blow that bitch son of yours fucking brains out right in front of you—”
Roman pulls the gun from out of the back of his pants, knowing full and well that while he would love to empty the entirety of it in the scum before him, it’s better served torturing him in another sort of manner.
Mentally.
And it does the trick.
“Alright, alright!” Xavier finally caves, sweat bubbling across his wrinkled forehead. “She was raped, alright? Two men broke into the house when she was 12 and attacked her. Beat her real bad. They—they never found them. Okay? That—that’s the truth. That’s what happened.”
No. Not fucking okay. Nothing is fucking okay. Roman wanted answers, felt like he needed them, but knowing the truth, it doesn’t do shit but paint his vision red.
He knew something happened to her.
He just didn’t know how bad.
Raped.
Beaten.
Twelve.
And then another thought hits him, the absolute terror on her face that day when she was faced with what should be the most simplest thing for a person: going into their childhood bedroom.
Roman remembers her fear, the dried blood, the scratches on the wall.
It all makes sense.
She was attacked in her fucking bedroom.
The thought of a child being hurt at all has never sat right with him, but to be hurt in that way. As a child, and for that child to have been Solana.
He’s fucking breathing rage.
“Where the fuck were you, huh?” Roman jerks his body back against the wall, half ready to break this fucker’s neck. “Answer me!”
“I wasn’t home!” Xavier’s sweating has progressed into droplets from his forehead onto the bridge of his nose and shirt. “I—I was out on a fishing trip with Wes.”
A fishing trip…..
This man was out enjoying fucking nature with his dimwitted offspring while his daughter was at home alone fighting for her fucking life.
“You left a 12 year old home alone?” It keeps getting fucking worse. “How long was she alone!” Roman is fully prepared to risk snapping this motherfucker’s neck when he spits out a desperate answer.
“A week. It was just a week.” And if it makes a fucking difference, he desperately adds on, “I—I’d done it before, and she was fine.”
Xavier is either stupid or very stupid, because Roman can’t conceptualize how this imbecile would think the additional information makes it any better.
Solana was hurt.
She was hurt in the worst way possible, and it’s all his fault.
With all of the aggression in his body, Roman throws the piece of shit across the room, intentionally aiming for the glass coffee table that instantly shatters under the weight of his fat ass.
Without a second of fucking hesitation, Roman fires two shots directly into Xavier’s body, one in his right hand and the other in his left foot. Xavier’s shouts of pain do little to dull the unadulterated rage coursing through Roman’s body.
Shouts morph into tiny, pathetic whimpers as Roman slowly walks through the broken glass, tossing his gun to the side as he pulls out the brass knuckles in his back pocket.
“I told Solana I wouldn’t kill you until she gave me the word, and I’m not going to take that from her.” He crouches down besides the now crying older man, crying in the way Roman is certain Solana did when she was alone and helpless. His fury is practically bubbling over now as he coldly vows, “but that doesn't mean I can’t make your life a living fucking hell until then.”
________
Roman walks back into the house with a weight he can’t shake, even with the brutal carnage he unleashed on the Miller household, leaving father and son on the brink of death. That type of violent release typically abates his anger, and it did diminish a lot of it, seeing that piece of shit pummeled into a bloody, broken mess.
But Roman is still plagued with thoughts of the hell Solana endured living in that household. To be attacked in that way in her own home, in her fucking bedroom, it makes Roman want to get right back in his SUV and carry Xavier and his equally piece of shit over the doorstep of death.
But, he couldn’t do that to Solana, take that away from her. He’s just the executioner in this situation. He’ll let the day of reckoning be determined by her because that’s the least she can get.
Coming straight back home, Roman didn’t bother to stop and get himself cleaned up. His guards have seen much worse, and Solana is asleep, so that’s not a concern either.
But, it is a concern because in an almost scene of deja vu, Solana is most certainly not asleep. She’s sitting on the sofa, Dulce right beside her when she hears his heavy footsteps.
Roman doesn’t have time to say anything, too stunned by this happening yet again, even later than he’s returned before.
Why is she up?
Solana jumps up off the sofa and is suddenly standing across from him, her face painted in what’s obviously a moderate to tremendous amount of worry and anxiety.
But, she isn’t looking at him. Not really. She’s more so focused on the blood stained and splattered clothes that adorn him.
“You’re hurt…..” He’s heard her say it the last two times they were in this type of situation, eerily similar in a lot of ways, but this time….this time is different.
It’s different because she rushes over to him, her hand floating over his chest, one place, two place, another place. Like a plane trying to find a safe space to land, she’s unsure where he’s hurt and clearly overwhelmed by it all.
And then he sees it, the blurry overlay of water over her eyes and the slight tremble of her lip.
Roman steps towards her, trying to be respectful of the distance between them. Her discomfort with touch makes all the sense now. “Please don’t cry.” And this is yet another new, unfamiliar, unexposed territory for him, seeing her so distraught at her belief that he’s been hurt. The way that the thought alone clearly wrecks her.
Roman quickly notices the changing of her breathing pattern, heavier, rhythmic almost.
“Shit…..”
Roman has heard this song before.
Realizing this is a matter of de-escalation, he does what’s needed in the moment and brings his hands to her face, cupping her face.
“Solana, breathe, baby.” The term of adoration isn’t even something that really registers with him at the moment, not an intentional addictive or something he gives two fucks about in this moment, really. He’s solely focused on settling the woman in front who’s on the brink of a panic attack.
He can’t see her deal with that again, especially now that he knows just why she had the first one.
Roman has no hesitation in pushing away loose strings of her hair, never once taking his focus off her. “I’m fine, Solana. I’m not hurt. It’s not my blood.” Recognizing she clearly needs to see it, he moves back to lift and toss his shirt on the floor. “See?”
And that seems to do something for her, something to help settle the panic.
Roman watches her and forces himself not to think about the heat that fills him at her hand on his chest, over his heart. It’s all so innocent. Recognizing her breathing has settled into something less alarming and more familiar, he moves his hand over hers, reiterating once more, “I’m fine.” He waits for her to finish taking a deep breath to ask, “why are you up?”
This has to be the third time Roman has come home at an ungodly hour to find her waiting for him, and he’s trying to figure out what the real reason is.
She licks her lip, clearly working her way up to a response. “Dulce had to…..had to use the bathroom, and I saw you weren’t here, and you didn’t answer my text.” Roman curses himself. He was so caught in his uproar that he didn’t even bother checking that thing, never expecting for Solana to be the missed notification on his lock screen. “I just…..I wanted to make sure you were okay.” Roman has heard this part before and tries to navigate how he wants to push back on his belief that it can’t be just that, but Solana surprisingly beats him to it. “I get….I get worried when you’re not here at night and—-and I can’t sleep until—-”
“Until I’m back….”
He has a good guess why. She was attacked in the middle of the night, and he’s also pretty certain he remembers reading that the attack that killed her mother also happened at night.
“Solana…..” For the first time in a while, if ever, Roman is active in his attempts to explain this to her as gently as he can. “What I do…who I am…I can’t always be here.”
“I know,” she sniffles. “I’m sorry—I don’t mean to bother you—”
“You could never bother me, okay?” He wipes away more of her tears, hand back to cupping her face, realizing she’s not going to pull away from him this time. He takes full advantage of that. Roman moves his other hand to the small of her back, holding her against him. It’s not missed upon him how she also brings her other free hand to his chest. “But, I always make it back, alright?” She nods, as he runs his thumb over the apple of her cheek. “Can’t no man put me down.”
She smiles, a little laugh that does more to him than he’d like to admit, that he feels comfortable with. And this settles him. It settles him more than nearly killing her dad and brother for hurting her, directly and indirectly, did.
Solana nods, murmuring a quiet, “o–okay.”
He’s studying her. Closely. Maybe more than what’s necessary. It comes from a place of concern, and he’d admit as such. “Are you good now?”
She nods again, and he believes it enough to let her go, watching her start to walk away when he’s caught off guard again because of her body, so soft and warm, against his again. Her sweet perfume filling his senses, her arms around his neck.
She’s hugging him. Solana is actually hugging him. He can’t remember the last time someone did that shit.
But he doesn’t waste a second of time accepting her embrace that seems to end just as quickly as it began. He can’t be surprised or upset. This is big for her, obviously, and he would never push her past her comfort zone, but he also can’t deny that the absence of her in his arms is noticeable.
And uncomfortable.
Solana murmurs a rushed goodnight and grabs Dulce to head back up the stairs, Roman eyes never leaving her until she’s completely out of view.
Roman stands there for a few good minutes, unsure of what just happened, working to process the same unfamiliar feelings that coursed through him the last time they had a moment like this. It’s the same as before, just ten times stronger, more intense, more consuming.
Unsure of a lot, two things he knows for asbolute fucking certain:
He’s going to find Solana’s rapists and make them pay for every sick fucking thing they did to her.
There’s not a fucking force on earth that could take this girl away from him.
SUMMARY: Josh and Alina are great friends most days. Other days, they want to tear each other apart. Some days, they’re in love with each other, but neither of them will admit it.
*DISCLAIMER: This is a multi-part series. I do not own any of the characters in the writing except for the OC. The book uses actual names of wrestlers. Josh is Jey, Jon is Jimmy, Trinity is Naomi, and Alina is Alina. The book is not realistic and does not take place during real events, but some actual events (matches, storylines) could pop up in the story eventually. I DO NOT GIVE ANYONE PERMISSION TO TRANSLATE OR REPOST MY WRITINGS ANYWHERE. THAAAAAANKS. *
PAIRING: Jey Uso x Black OC
TROPE: Friends to Lovers
WARNINGS: Language
WORD COUNT: 2,635
PART SEVEN (2)
PART EIGHT
Alina was sprawled across the couch downstairs, her phone close to her chest. The sound of ringing is heard throughout the living room while she waits for someone to answer her call. Word of the fight between Theo and Josh had gotten out, and Tasha was possibly upset about it. The last thing she wanted was for her best friend to be mad at her. “Hello, the person you are trying to reach is…” Says the voicemail for the third time. Alina sighs softly. “...please leave a voicemail after the beep!” It finishes, followed by a beep.
“Hey, Tash…” She starts, exhaustion was evident in her voice. Alina was restless, and after the news broke, she spent the entire night tossing and turning. She couldn’t go to sleep without talking to her friend. It was now nine in the morning. “I, uh, Cassie told me you found out about last night and…” She pauses for a moment. “...I just wanted to explain what happened and apologize to you and Mike. I don’t want to do it over text or voicemail, so…” Her lips would twist to the side as she sucked in a heavy breath. “...call me when you can. I love you. Bye.” She’d end the call, allowing the phone to slide out of her hand and onto the cushion beneath her.
None of this would have happened if she had never taken Josh out there to the men. None of this would have happened had she been honest with Josh about Theo. No fights would have broken out, no tears shed. Alina wouldn’t have embarrassed her best friend at her wedding and made everything about her. They should be talking about how beautiful the bride and the wedding were! Instead, they’re talking about Alina’s ex and boyfriend rolling around in the dirt over her.
The tired woman pushes herself up and off the couch, walking towards the kitchen. She should make breakfast for her and Josh and try to get her mind off the issue. He was still fast asleep when she left the room a few hours ago. She expected him to remain asleep for a few more hours. “Alexa, play music.” She says, dragging herself over to the fridge.
“Now Playing: My First Love by Avant featuring KeKe Wyatt on Spotify,” Alexa says. The song begins to play softly. Alina scoffs slightly, glaring over her shoulder at the little speaker on her countertop. The irony of this song playing first.
“Alexa, skip song.” She says, forcing it to stop the song and play something else. She needed something lively, something to wake her up.
“Now Playing: Outstanding by The Gap Band on Spotify,” It responds. The first few notes would come in, making her nod slightly. She turns her attention back to the open fridge she stood before. Her eyes scan its contents before snatching up the carton of eggs she bought a few days ago. She also grabs a roll of turkey sausage and a jug of milk. Alina steps back from the fridge, closing the door with her foot. She moves over to the stove, placing what she grabbed on the counter beside it. She’d turn and walk to her pantry, now hunting for pancake mix.
Alina hummed along to Charlie’s melodic singing, her body swaying as she opened the door to her pantry. Her eyes skimmed the shelves before finding the box of pancake mix she was hunting for. Lina snatches it from the shelf, returning to the stove. From the cabinet, she’d grab a scale and two bowls; one for her eggs, the other for her pancakes. Down below, she’d grab a large spoon and a whisk. “Girl, you knock me out.” She sings softly to herself.
Every few moments, her body would scream at her to go to sleep, but she was pushing through it. It was too late to go to sleep. She had things she needed to complete today. She had to pack for the road. Alina and Josh will be on the road for a while now that she’s gotten all her vacations out of the way. Leaving Atlanta was always so hard for her when she came home to visit, but this time around, she was ready to go. If she could, she’d leave tonight. Too much happened this weekend, and it was all her fault. In the midst of her mixing the pancake batter, she pauses. She drops the wooden spoon into the bowl and leans onto the counter. She closes her eyes, allowing herself only a few seconds to rest her eyes.
Arms would wrap around the woman, causing her to jump slightly. Josh places his head on her shoulder, his eyes closing as he buries his face in her neck. She’d close her eyes again, tilting her head against his shoulder. They’d remain like this for a few moments, enjoying the silence between the two. His body was warm, comforting to her forever. “You alright?” He asks. Alina places her hands over his. Her body relaxes more into his, prompting him to lift his head. She didn’t know, but he caught her leaning over the countertop. They’d sway from side to side slowly to the music playing on the speaker now.
“I should be asking you that.” She says tiredly.
“This isn’t about me.” He argues. “You’re the one snoring in a bowl and shit.” He says, making her giggle. Alina lifts her head, her eyes open once more. She glances around before grabbing the spoon she dropped back into the bowl.
“You weren’t supposed to be awake yet.” She informs him, yawning softly. “I was going to surprise you with breakfast.” She confesses.
“Breakfast ain’t gonna get done at this rate.” He says, stepping back from her. His back would touch the island behind him, allowing him to put all his weight on it. Alina moves to the stove, turning on the eye closest to her. Josh continued to watch her movements, his brows slightly furrowed. “When did you wake up?” He asks now.
“Yesterday.” She mumbles.
Josh smacks his lips at her answer, shaking his head. He approaches the stove, moving her from it. “Girl, take your ass on somewhere.” He says, earning sounds of disapproval from the woman.
“Jey,—.”
“Christine.” He says, calling her by her middle name. She pauses, her mouth now agape. “Yeah, now chill on that Jey shit.” He says, glancing over at her. “I’ll make breakfast. Go sit down.” He says, shooing her away. He grabs the bowl next to him, pouring perfect pancakes for the two of them. She moves over to the island, pulling out one of the barstools to sit in. She climbs up onto it, now resting her head on her arms. She watched Josh move around the kitchen, grabbing extra pans for the eggs and sausage. He was moving a helluva lot faster than she was.
Of course, he is. He was well rested, and Alina was running on fumes. “I don’t think you’ve ever cooked for me before.” She notes.
“That’s because you won’t let me.” He says, flipping three pancakes. He grabs four eggs, cracking them open one at a time. “I’m a pretty good cook.” He informs her. Breakfast wouldn’t prove anything for him. He’d need to cook her dinner one night. He pats out sausage patties, dropping them into another hot skillet on the stove. “You gonna tell me why you haven’t slept?” He asks, moving over to the sink to wash his hands. Alina inhales deeply, finding little energy to explain what’s happening.
“Tasha found out about all the shit that happened yesterday.” She says. “She’s not happy.” Josh grabs two plates from the cabinets, turning to place them on the island in front of her.
“Did you talk to her?” He asks. Alina shakes her head, burying her face in her arms. She’d attempted to call her three times this morning and left a handful of texts. So far, her phone hasn’t lit up with a text or call from her. Part of her wants to think she’ll call when she’s ready or has time, but the other part doesn’t think she’ll hear anything from her—at least not until after the honeymoon. “Give her some time then.” He says, turning to the stove once more. He flips over the sausage, turning off the other eyes for the eggs and pancakes.
Alina lifts her head, her eyes finding Josh’s back. “I ruined the wedding.” She says.
“You had nothing to do with what happened.” He assures her. “You didn’t make your ex act like that. He did that shit on his own and got his ass whooped for it.” Josh still felt some type of way about that fight. Theo was lucky he had people around. And Theo made him bleed? Yeah, he had a receipt coming next time he saw his ass. Something tells him that the wedding won’t be the last time they see each other. He’ll phone God for another round if he has to.
“That was my fault.” She says. “I shouldn’t have—.”
“Lina, we done talked about this already.” He says, his voice raising slightly. He turns around, placing the skillets on the island top before her. “Don’t piss me off.” He warns, shooting a brief glare in her direction. She’d smile slightly at his warning. He begins to plate their breakfast for the morning, humming softly to the song on the speaker. She sits up, now shifting her weight onto her right elbow. She silently watched as Josh finished filling her plate with food.
“How’s your eye?” She asks. There was a knot and bruising on his eyebrow where Theo hit, but not much swelling. Did he have a headache; absolutely, but that was nothing Tylenol couldn’t fix.
“Fine.” He answers, moving around the island to sit next to Alina. It was nothing he wasn’t used to. Josh has had many cuts, bruises, springs, and broken bones. A black eye was nothing to him. He sits on the bar stool next to Alina, watching the tired girl as she stares at her food through low eyes. Slowly, she’d pick up her fork, now stabbing at the eggs. The poor girl was exhausted, and it was apparent. “Do you want to go to bed? We can save this for later if we have to.” He asks. She’d laugh once, shaking her head. “What do you want to do then? Because I’m not sitting here looking at you looking pitiful.” He tells her. If he has to call Tasha himself and talk to her, he will. Whatever it took to get Alina to not look like this anymore.
“I want to get out of Atlanta.” She confesses. After this weekend, Alina has had enough of this city for a while. The sooner she can leave, the better. Josh nods slowly at her request before glancing down at his food. He picks up a sausage patty and takes a bite of it.
“Road trip to Pensacola?” He suggests. It was a four-hour drive from Atlanta back to his city. He had no issue with the drive—he’s done it plenty of times. Alina, on the other hand, rarely traveled down there. She only went when they had shows in Florida. “We can stay a few days and fly out from there. Is that cool?” She’d shrug at his question.
“I’m fine with that.” She replies.
“Good, because I got some loose ends I need to tie up.” He says. Alina furrows her brows, looking at him. Loose ends?
“What are you talking about?” She asks wearily. Josh glances up at her, turning the sausage patty in betwixt two fingers up. He shrugs slightly. “What else have you done?” She asks, causing him to suck his teeth at her.
“Why you assuming I done something?” He asks. “I ain’t done nothing yet.” He assures her. Her gaze was unwavering while she watched the man next to her. He’d stare back, unblinking. “What?” He asks.
“Tell me.” She pleads.
Josh watches the woman for a second longer before tossing the little bit of sausage left in his hand into his mouth. He chews slowly, looking away from her before swallowing. “I…uh, was thinking about selling my house in Pensacola.” He confesses. “I spoke with a few realtors down there and plan on getting some quotes.” It was something he’s been thinking about for a while now. He was in Atlanta a lot these days, more than Pensacola. With each passing week, this place felt more and more like home. “I’m moving to Atlanta.” He says.
Alina playfully gasps at him, bringing her hand up to her mouth. “You haven’t lived in Atlanta this entire time?” She jokes.
“You funny.” He says, lowering his eyes at her. “Nah, but in all seriousness,” He starts. “I’m selling my house.” Once Josh is committed to something, there is no changing his mind. There are few pros and cons to his stubbornness, but that was because he led with his heart and never his head. When it comes to the woman sitting next to him, he did whatever he needed to.
“That’s quite the commitment,” Alina starts, glancing at her plate. She stabs a few pieces of scrambled eggs and shoves them into her mouth. She chews slowly, humming to herself. “What if we don’t work out?” She asks.
“You don’t think we will?” She looks up at him, inhaling deeply.
“We don’t know what the future holds.” She says. These are fears she had before they got together. What happened between her and Theo was the cause of her anxieties surrounding them, and seeing him this weekend did nothing but make it worse. What if they didn’t work out? They couldn’t be friends anymore; it’d be too weird. Not only would it be uncomfortable for them, but for everyone around them. She couldn’t subject Trin, Josh, and any of their other friends to what her college friend group got to go through with her and Theo.
“I don’t intend on ever breaking your heart, Lina.” He assures her. “Wasting your time is not the goal.” Josh was all in when it came to this woman. If they were playing a game of poker, he’d push all his chips to the center of the table. Josh reaches over, snatching up her hand. He brings it up to his lips, kissing her ring finger gently. Something about that action filled her with butterflies, chills rushing her body. She looks away from him, closing her eyes.
Girl, you’re exhausted. Gather yourself, she thought. Alina takes a deep breath, slowly pulling her hand from his grasp. “Have you looked at any places here yet?” She asks, changing the subject.
“I want you to pick.” He tells her. She lifts an eyebrow at him.
“You don’t want a say?” She asks.
He shakes his head, slightly fanning his hand at her. He hated house shopping. “Whatever the Missus wants.” Missus? As if he didn’t call her what he just did, Josh stands to his feet, grabbing his plate from the marble top. He reaches over for her plate as well. “You done?” He asks.
“Missus?” She questions. He ignores her, grabbing her plate anyway. “Josh.” She calls to him. He walks around her to the trash can, dumping whatever’s left on her plate. “You hear me.” She says.
“I’ll clean up down here. We leaving when you’ve finished packing.” He tells her. She scoffs gently, shaking her head. Alina stands to her feet, slowly moving towards the archway to the living room.
“You’re something else with yourself; I hope you know that.” She informs him, watching his back. Not once does he turn around to look at her.
A/N: Alright, so boom. Your girl had writer's block lol BUT ITS OKAY!!! I'M BACK!!! This was just something light. Story will pick up again soon I PROMISE.
About this Tasha situation though...what y'all think? Actually, what y'all think period lol I wanna talk about it.
summary: she’s got her eyes on the money, while he’s got his eyes on her.
word count: 3.1k
a/n: yall i’m a huuuge normani fan and when i heard this song, i was like oh bitch this screamssss private dance for your man. so i ended up with this! this will definitely be a multiple part series so stay tuned!
A nauseating deluge of Creed Aventus and Tom Ford cologne circulated through the atmosphere. Vixen’s. The neon sign above the stage so boldly revealed what the clients were there to spend their ‘hard earned’ money on. Some were fresh blood, possibly there to have a brief escape from their mundane lives. Or more frequently, engaged men grieving their final taste of true freedom, surrounded by friends that solemnly swore to never reveal the infidelities of the night. The most lucrative men, however, were few and far between. They would enter through the tall obsidian doors, eyes roaming through the crowd for one woman. Until then, they’d saunter to a concealed section towards the back of the club. Twenty dollar bills would fall to the floor, while two to three hand picked Vixens kept the charitable donors entertained while they waited.
She took one last look over her body. Heart-shaped lips rubbed against each other, their deep red color contrasting against her golden brown skin. Her hands ran through wavy crimson extensions, making sure they were secured properly to her head. Swarovski crystals embellished black patent leather that barely covered the most intimate parts of her body. A deep sigh escaped her lips, while a guttural, nagging voice played in the back of her mind.
‘I will not tolerate a whore for hire as my daughter.’
‘You will not be a part of this family.’
She shook her head, gathering her thoughts as she walked up to the closed curtain. A millisecond later, the announcer’s gruff voice boomed into the microphone.
“Gentleman, I introduce you to our main event of the evening. La charmante et mystérieuse dame en Rouge!”
Applause erupted from the crowd as the main lights dimmed, a single spotlight highlighted where the large fabric started to divide. Slowed music with hints of echoes and reverb flooded the speakers. Whistles traveled randomly throughout the club as she made her way to the center of the stage, her hands delicately grabbing the silver pole. She walked languidly in a circle, eyes meeting familiar faces. Many of her high paying regulars were there. Lustful eyes roamed the sparkling garment that adorned her. She relinquished control to the music that pulsated through her veins, her back pressing against the cold metal as she inched to the floor, legs spread and breast perched. Her routine was the same almost every night; The main dance, which differed slightly depending on the night, the walk through the crowd, and then the final walk back to the stage. She always managed to keep the same three marks: dance for a random table near the stage, give a quick lap dance to one of her regulars near the middle, then tease one of the moguls at the section in the back —just to keep the boss happy and well paid.
Each move was executed flawlessly. Jaws fell to the floor, pockets emptied by the second. Her fingers caressed the shoulder of an eager gentleman who trembled underneath her touch. A smirk spread across her face as she made her way to the back section, shoulders high while her heart raced in anticipation.
Inhale. Exhale.
Fifteen thousand. Almost halfway there. The internal encouragement briefly soothed her nerves. Seven inch heels clacked across the black marbled floor to the smooth, relaxed tempo of the music.
Three unfamiliar bodies lounged against the corner leather couch.
Two gazes lingered on her attire as she arrived in the middle of their section.
One clenched jaw almost went unnoticed.
An unwavering pair of dilated pupils stared at her as her hands traveled down the front of her body to her toes. Her derrière emulated ocean waves while she held her ankles. Two of the men, twins from what she observed, were dressed in fitted black crew necks, with black slacks to match. If it wasn’t for the stark difference in their hairstyles, she wouldn’t have been able to tell them apart. They followed the club’s protocol, throwing a few bills and keeping their hands to themselves. Their companion, however, wasn’t as enthusiastic. His hair was slicked back into a neat bun, all 42 muscles in his face were relaxed, perfectly unreadable. His hands were clasped together, his thumb traced over the 24 karat gold band that wrapped around his index finger, posture still and somewhat upright.
It threw her off, to say the least.
Her brows furrowed in confusion, shifting her attention to the stoic man. She walked around the small table in the middle of the section to stand directly in front of him. His eyes never left hers. Not when her palms pressed against his shoulders, cleavage spilling over the shiny black leather as she straddled his muscular thighs. Not when she slid a perfectly manicured finger underneath the thin straps on her shoulder, causing it to cascade down her arms. His composed demeanor did cease to exist, however, when the garment almost completely revealed her breasts. Large tawny hands flew to her chest, unintentionally cupping the soft mounds as he held the fabric against her.
“Get up.” His deep voice commanded firmly, loud enough for the tables nearest to them to hear.
A small gasp escaped her lips as she blinked, body frozen in place, completely taken aback. Her eyes scanned the crowd for security. The four men, gargantuan in their own right, didn’t dare move from their positions against the wall. ‘No touching the dancers.’ The sign posted near the entrance was as clear as day. It was then she became acutely aware of the entirety of her audience’s eyes still on her. The heart that raced in anticipation only a few minutes earlier now pounded in embarrassment. Small trembling hands pushed the stranger’s rather large ones away from her, pulling the bustier to its correct position. Her eyes met his again. Stunned. She swung her legs over his, quickly removing herself from his lap, hoping their small scene wasn’t too noticeable. As she turned to leave, a tight grip wrapped around her wrist. A thick wad of hundred dollar bills, folded neatly in a blue rubber band, was placed in her hand. She threw a hardened glare the man’s way as she left their section, trying to disregard the flames that blazed throughout her body.
Though she did her best to perform the remainder of her set unfazed, the crowd’s energy was drastically different than before. Multiple stares alternated between her place on the broad stage and the dim area where she once was. A few of her clients left before she finished. The other dancers whispered amongst themselves while she briskly walked backstage towards the locker room, barely making it through the door before a forceful yank pulled her back.
“What the hell was that?” A hoarse voice breathed down her neck, the acrid stench of cigarette smoke permeating her nostrils. She turned her face up in disgust before snatching her arm away from the gaunt man.
“Oh I’m sorry Vince, did my dance mess up your deal? ” She huffed sarcastically, taking a few steps to create some distance between them, before leaning against the blotchy wall in the narrow hallway.
“That was hardly a dance.” His chapped lips formed into a scowl.
Her shoulders shrugged carelessly. “No one told you to watch me so closely.” She bickered. “Besides, your sugar daddy told me to get off of him. Wasn’t my fault.” A small knot formed in her stomach as the stranger’s smooth voice replayed in her head. His firm touch still lingered on her skin. “How important is this one, anyway?” She inquired before thinking.
Vince never shared too much about his investors, all she knew was that a few of them would randomly show up at the club during the week. Vince would call herself and about four of the best dancers into his office to let them know that major clients were there, and that they needed to give them their utmost attention. Whatever they said, went, with no questions asked.
“His name is Roman Reigns. Just know that he could pay us very well.” Vince curtly answered, sparing the details about his arrangement with the extremely reticent man. She mindlessly toyed with the stack of money in her hand while Vince’s nonsense about the ‘importance of the elite clientele’ went in one ear and out the other. Wasting the little breath that he truly needed to save.
Long, grimy fingers snatched the roll of bills from her grasp. “Since you blatantly ruined what would’ve been the biggest investment for the club this year, I’ll take this for my troubles.” A smug smile spread across his face, and before she could protest, Vince’s hunched back turned towards her. Leaving her beyond infuriated and at least a thousand dollars short.
The longer Mr. Reigns and company resided in the back of the club, the more spectators decided to end their festivities early. None of her regulars requested their usual private dances, and almost all of her earnings came from hammered guests who’d try disputing charges with their bank first thing in the morning. She tried her hardest to secure new clients and avoid the trio for the remainder of the night, to both she had no avail. After admitting defeat to regaining the money Vince so graciously took from her, she took her final trip of the night to the locker room. It was almost empty, most of the other girls left once they got done performing. The highlight of the job, or the club really, was that no one’s shift needed to be longer than a few hours. Especially if they were highly esteemed. Fortunately for her, she was. Unfortunately, it had seemed some of her rapport was ruined due to her encounter with Roman.
Misplaced lipsticks and bobby pins were scattered everywhere while she sat at the extended vanity. She stuffed the gray duffle bag with drugstore makeup, heels, and her jewelry that she began to take off until the repulsive smell of nicotine surrounded her again. The sound of a flicked lighter pierced her ears, a small, soft yellow glow appeared in the reflection of the mirror.
“What now?”
“Go put your heels back on. You got a private dance in ten.”
Her body swiveled in the metal chair. Skepticism etched on her face. “All of my regulars left.”
Vince’s pull from the cigarette was unnecessarily drawn out. A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth where he exhaled the virulent smoke.
“Roman would like to see you. Alone.”
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It was supposed to be like every other night.
Go to the club. Get on stage. Get the money. Go home.
How she ended up in a completely new outfit, on the way to perform for the same man who ruined her entire routine earlier, was beyond her. After Vince barged in the locker room informing her of the last minute spectacle, he advised her to change and reminded her to do whatever Roman wished. The last thing she wanted to do was possibly ruin his deal again , so she reluctantly obliged. Her attire was much simpler: an open-back white one piece with a deep v cut that reached right below her belly button. No crystals or embellishments, or anything to bring any more attention to herself. ‘Ironic.’ She thought. Chills crept up her spine as she walked closer towards the private suites. When she tried to do her job, he wouldn’t let her. ‘So why the hell does he want to see me now?’ Her mind scanned over an imaginary list that yielded no answer.
Two knocks.
She exhaled a shaky breath. Then she entered.
He was already seated on the red channeled loveseat, a glass of scotch, neat, sat on the small table beside him. And like their first encounter earlier, his eyes latched onto hers. The music, reminiscent of a classic Janet Jackson song played through the overhead speaker. She stood still for a moment, afraid to make another wrong move. Terrified, to risk the job that allowed her to achieve her dream. An internal ‘pull yourself together’ spoke softly, before she decided to proceed with her routine.
She took a few slow steps forward, easily finding a pace to complement the music. Her petite hands caressed every curve of her body as she walked, with slim fingers that glided down the valley between her breasts and around to her wide hips. It was then his eyes followed the trail her fingers left. Roman sat up and leaned slightly leaned forward. His elbows rested on his thighs as she inched closer to him. Her short path from the door ended right in front of him, and his brown eyes worked their way up her body before meeting hers again. He reclined again, legs spread wide. A wordless gesture inviting her to stand between them that she hesitantly accepted. Her body continued to flow with the music without touching him- given his abrupt reaction from earlier.
She took the liberty to disrupt the silence between them.
“So, what brings you here tonight?”
“Small talk isn’t necessary.” Roman’s voice played smoothly in her ear.
Her involuntary grimace from his harshness caused him to tense.
“Gift from my family. Needed the distraction.” He offered a short answer.
She nodded silently in response. Her eyes lowered, avoiding his prolonged gaze.
He watched as she continued to maneuver effortlessly, her body perfectly aligned, head held high. Her arms extended gracefully outward, fingers delicately splayed on the back of the couch as she circled him. He felt a rush of adrenaline and a heightened awareness of his own senses-some which he hadn’t felt in years. Each of her movements flowed seamlessly into the next, like a river meandering through a serene landscape. The rapid beat of his heart betrayed his usual unmoved demeanor, struck by her grace and skill. She was mesmerizing, and he found himself admiring her physical prowess and the confidence she exuded, as if she was absorbing the music into her very being.
Her legs carried her around the room with purpose, each step, each turn taking her to a new part of the space. She sunk to the floor, her legs extended in a perfect split once she resumed her place in front of him. After ascending from the floor into a poised stance, she allowed herself to fully take him in; staring at his darkened eyes, trailing over his full lips down to his thick beard. Her teeth captured her bottom lip as her eyes moved to his broad shoulders and muscular arms that barely fit in the black long sleeved shirt. Her proximity and the scent of her perfume, almost completely overwhelmed him.
Roman picked up the chilled glass, raising it to his lips and taking a slow sip, seeking refuge from the palpable tension between them before meeting her gaze again.
“How badly do you need this job?”
Her head jerked slightly before tilting to one side, brows knitting together and lips turning downward. “What the fuck is your problem?” She was absolutely over it. Vince and every single one of his arrogant, entitled clients could go to the trenches of hell for all she cared. As much as she loved the fast money, she wouldn’t continue to tolerate the disrespect.
A scoff escaped Roman’s full lips and his brows raised.
“You should be thanking me for the payday. I know your other clients are only giving you spare change.”
“What payday? You haven’t dropped a dime since you’ve been in here.” She argued.
“The money I put in your hand.” He stated matter of factly. “That definitely wasn’t for the show you put on earlier. If that’s what you want to call it.”
It took everything in her not to smack the smug look off of his significantly handsome face. “The money that Vince took due to the show that you ruined, mind you.” Her eyes almost rolled to the back of her head, her legs carrying her away from him. “Who even comes to a strip club if they don’t want to be touched.” Her big eyes bore through his as she stood next to the door.
Roman rose from his position on the couch. His heavy feet stormed over to her and he looked down as his statuesque form towered over her.
“Vince did what?”
Her eyes widened as she mentally slapped herself for letting her anger get the best of her. As much as she couldn’t stand the man, the last thing she wanted to do was jeopardize Vixen’s, especially for the other women. She shook her head, grabbing the door handle. “Nothing, don’t worry about it.”
“Here.” He reached out to grab her wrist again to stop her from leaving, and she felt the, presently unwanted, warmth engulf her body. Roman reached in his pocket, pulling out his wallet.
Incautiously, she reached out to stop him, her palm brushing the top of his hand. She retracted it almost immediately after noticing his nostrils flare.
“Don’t tell Vince I gave this back to you.” He instructed, pushing past her and walking out of the suite.
Her pupils followed him as he left, eyes wide, and unblinking as he processed his words. Red lips formed a perfect "O," looking down at the even thicker bundle of money he placed in her hand.
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‘Vince has lost his mind.’ Roman shot a text to the twins, informing them of his location before he stormed into Vince’s office, catching the son of a bitch with his legs propped on his desk and counting the money that he more than likely shorted from his dancers.
The slimeball shot up from his seat, fumbling to put up the loose bills.
“Mr. Reigns-” He clapped nervously. “Please come in, have a seat.”
“I’ll stand.” He snipped.
Vince audibly swallowed. “H-how was the rest of your evening? I take it that my Vixens treated you and your companions well?” His eyes looked past Roman’s shoulders to Jimmy and Jey as they stood in the doorway.
His Vixens. Roman restrained himself from rolling his eyes at the dense man. “More or less.” He decided to keep the conversation with the Lady in Red to himself. Are you ready to talk business?” A single brow raised as he glared at him.
An eager nod came from Vince. He walked to the door, shutting and locking it after the twins fully entered the office.
“Although I have a few propositions to make-” Roman paused.
authors note: wow! omg, thank you all so much for the kind words of support for this story! it really does mean a lot to me, cause i know the content is pretty heavy.
also, if anyone has read the acotar series, i imagine the dynamic between roman and the twins to be a bit similar to the bat boys. and yes, we'll def see more of the twins moving forward.
in addition, if you want to be tagged, you have to explicitly ask as such. the last thing i want to do is tag someone i thought wanted to be tagged and didn't, and they end up triggered. :(
if any cw/tw’s are missed, please let me know, and i will add them!
cw/tw: language, violence against women, trauma responses (nightmares/night terrors), hints at suicidal thoughts, references to traumatic past
song inspo: 'looking through your eyes’ by leann rimes
words: 9k
Roman doesn’t come back until the wee hours of the morning, and he’s out the house again before the sun is even up.
Solana knows all of this because she doesn’t sleep that night.
It’s not for lack of trying. She spends nearly two hours twisting and turning before finally accepting that sleep isn’t in the cards for her. She instead finds herself sitting on the floor of her bathroom, door locked, writing away in her journal. No letter to mom this time, just pure word vomit, all of her thoughts and feelings about everything that’s transpired.
There’s as many tears as there are words, and like always post–writing, she feels a tad bit better. The best and only release she ever has is in her written word, all of the things she could never say aloud, melted from her head and sealed into paper.
When she’s done writing, Solana opts to read a book in her Kindle Library. Doing so makes her realize that she still doesn’t have her stuff from back home. It’s not that she has a lot, but the items she was told to pack just for the first few nights will only last just that—for a few days.
But, Solana doesn’t think it’s a good idea to ask Roman about that. She doesn’t think it’s a good idea to ask him for anything, not after she’s clearly and understandably upset him. She’ll just….she’ll just have to make do until it's noticed she's essentially living out of a suitcase.
And Solana has a thought, an idea, that getting up early to fix him breakfast could be a good thing, something to tame his anger toward her. It’s the least that she can do.
But one look around Roman’s massive kitchen indicates he’s every bit the stereotypical bachelor. There’s only a couple of ingredients, not enough of anything to make an actual meal. There’s also a lot of “meal prep” meals, which makes sense. She can imagine he’s insanely strict with his diet and fitness. One can’t look like Roman Reigns without an intense amount of focus and dedication.
It makes her wonder just what kind of dietary restrictions and preferences she’ll have to learn about him to make meals that he can actually consume. Another question she needs to ask but doesn’t know how or when considering he already has very little to no interest in having anything to do with her.
It’s another thing she knows she’ll have to figure out but tries her best to focus on anything else besides the fact that she’s now married to a man who can’t stand her, the same man her family wants her to somehow assassinate.
Yes…..other things is a much better seat filler.
Solana briefly wonders how she’s going to get to work considering her car is still back at her dad’s house, but just when she’s considering calling an Uber, she’s met in the living room of Roman’s massive estate by none other than his right hand man and cousin.
Solo Sikoa
All he says is, “ready?” And she realizes that this is how she’s to get to work, that he is to escort her. Him and another set of large men, guards as she realizes. A separate set of guards, not the ones who roam and patrol Roman’s mansion.
Being around so many men….it’s a different kind of experience. Leaning more on the side of uncomfortable than anything.
But, she’s at least a bit more at ease when Solo only opens the door to the back of the SUV and doesn’t join in, instead sitting in the passenger seat.
She's grateful for that.
Solo is almost the same exact person as his cousin. Large, strong, stoic and scary as hell. The only difference is that she’s not sure Solo is capable of sentences that include more than 1 to 3 words.
It’s obvious he’s not thrilled about being assigned as her personal guard, and she can’t blame him. There can’t be anything exciting about watching her boring life and making sure nothing happens to her during said boring life.
But Solana can’t deny there’s a small part of her that feels a small sense of comfort at having someone to look out for her. Even if she partially questions his loyalty to said job. Something happening to her wouldn’t do anything to anybody. At all.
She’d just….cease to exist.
And lately….that hasn’t seemed like the worst thing ever.
But, it’s when she arrives at work, goes into her office to start to prepare for the work day only to find her brother already waiting that that comfort is obliterated.
“Sis.” Wes' smile is tight and inauthentic, his eyes darting between her and Solo. “Sorry to scare you. I was just hoping we could talk.”
Talk….
Wes never wants to talk to her, not unless it’s him berating and screaming while he beats the shit out of her.
“Alone.” He gives Solo a faux sympathetic expression. “Family things….you understand, I’m sure.”
Solana doesn’t know if Solo understands or he doesn’t, but she does know that Wes' kind and friendly tone is all smoke and mirrors. She knows he’s pissed that he didn’t catch her off-guard, didn’t catch her alone, that he couldn’t corner her like he always does.
And for a second, Solana believes she’s safe, knows that Solo won’t let Wes lay a hand on her. It’s….it’s his job to keep her safe, right?
But just as that hope is present, it’s extinguished by the reality she knows is inescapable. Solo won’t be with her 24/7. She won’t be protected forever. She’ll eventually be around both Wes and her father alone. And the price she’ll have to pay for denying him in this moment….
It’s not worth it.
Roman’s words to her father about not touching her are nice in theory, but she knows better. Xavier Miller does what he wants, regardless of what’s said and by who.
“O–of course,” Solana mumbles, fingers dancing at the side of her pants. She turns to Solo. “Please….give us a few minutes.”
For the first time since she’s met him, Solo actually shows some type of emotion. It still stems from anger, maybe a branch of irritation, but it's still something different. “Tribal Chief said I’m supposed to watch you, so that’s what I do.”
She swallows. This is going to require a level of assertiveness that’s almost foreign if not non-existent. “I–I understand, but….Wes is my brother. He—” It’s almost impossible for her to even get the words out. “He would never hurt me.”
Solana almost immediately wants to vomit. That’s all this man has ever done.
At least since the murder of their mother.
Solo is struggling but wavering, she can see as much, so she continues. “It’s okay,” she assures, even mustering up a small smile. “Please….just a couple minutes. I won’t—I won’t say anything to Roman.”
Solo still looks torn but eventually agrees, leaving her alone with one of two men who hate her most on this earth.
The door is barely closed when Wes has her pinned against the wall, hand slapped over her mouth, a knife pressed to the base of her throat.
“You stupid bitch, don’t think for one second that being married to Reigns changes shit,” he snarls. “He doesn’t give a fuck about you. He just doesn’t like people messing with his possessions.”
Solana knows all of this, knows that anything Roman may do that seems to be for her benefit is just him asserting his dominance. She doesn’t need to be reminded of this.
“Wes, you’re hurting me.” She suddenly feels so stupid saying that, telling him what he already knows. Of course, he is. That’s the whole point. Still, she stupidly believes she can plead to whatever humanity is left in him. If any. “P–please.”
“Shut up,” he hisses, shoving her head against the wall. Solana winces quietly, mindful of Solo who stands outside the door because of her. Because she told him to, because she welcomed this violence onto herself.
“Reigns told dad you won’t be available for a couple weeks, so I suggest you start doing what you need to do to change that. We need to be able to communicate with you.”
This startles her. Why would Roman say that? Did Roman say that? Wes is a master manipulator, and she doesn’t put it past him to be playing mind games.
“I—I don’t know what you want me to do.” And it’s true. Solana has no idea what to do in any of this, how she’s supposed to kill a man who’s more or less impossible to kill, how she’s supposed to win his favor when it’s obvious she already annoys him. It’s all so confusing and overwhelming.
“Did you fuck him last night?”
It’s a question she hoped no one would ask, didn’t believe would be asked because there’s no one who would care enough except for Roman himself.
And while Solana knows being dishonest with her brother won’t turn out well, in this moment, she doesn’t know how he’ll respond if she tells the truth.
So, she lies. She lies to live to see another day, for what reason, she doesn't know. It’s not as if any other day will provide her some sense of solace or security. But, it’s just what she does.
“Y–yes.”
Wes looks understandably pleased. “Good.” She gaps in fear when he drags his knife against her skin, gently trailing it across, just light enough to avoid drawing blood. “That’s all you’ve ever been good for us for anyway.”
A frown falls upon her face. What….what does that mean?
“Just keep contact open, you understand?” No, she doesn’t, but she has no choice but to pretend that she does. Nodding, Wes shoves her into the wall one more time at an angle that causes her shoulder to take the impact. Wincing, she holds onto it as he releases her and walks out the door. “Don’t fuck this up, Solana.”
Easier said than done. Much easier said than done.
It’s when he leaves her alone that the tears pool in her eyes. But, it’s when Solo walks in, studying her that she sniffles and wipes at her eyes. “I–I’m fine.”
She’s not.
She’s far from fine.
————
The day ends up slightly, maybe even moderately, improving. It’s to be slightly expected though as it’s Monday, the day that Solana runs her reading club with the younger kids. It’s always a highlight to see their bright, smiling faces, answering all of their fifty million questions.
It’s a break from a very bleak reality that is her life, immersing herself in their world of pretend and minimal worries.
Sometimes, she finds herself a bit jealous. Jealous that they still have their innocence, that their view of the world hasn’t been painted in red and blood like hers.
But, it’s when Solana is in the back taking her break, journaling, that that improvement takes a deep dive. Because a single knock on the door is followed by the large intimidating frame of her husband entering her space.
Naturally, her stomach knots. She hasn’t seen Roman since last night, since he helped and scolded her in the same brief timespan. She understands it though and doesn't entirely disagree with what he said.
She’s far from the perfect picture of mental stability.
Swallowing, Solana stands up and opens her mouth to address him when his eyes go from her face to her wrist. Following his line of vision, she sees why. There’s a blueish/greenish obvious bruise starting to form, beyond that initial point of formation really. It's just a straight up, fully developed bruise.
Roman slowly walks over to her and reaches for her arm. Solana naturally tenses. He hesitates for a second but still takes her wrist, lifting it so that it's at her eye level but still close enough for him to assess.
She closes her eyes and acts quickly to think of an excuse. “I—umm—”
“Who?”
His voice is quieter than she anticipated and as much as she wishes she doesn't know what he means, Solana knows exactly what he’s asking. She just doesn’t answer.
“I’m only going to ask you this one time and one time only.” His brown eyes are burning into her as he perfectly enunciates each word. “Who fucking touched you?”
Solana winces at his tone but eventually answers. “Wes....”
Roman drops her hand, and Solana brings her arms to her chest, head dropped.
He’s pissed.
That seems to be the only emotion he experiences around her, because of her.
His nostrils are flared as he demands. “Where was Solo?”
Making him wait for a response is clearly something that sets him off even more, so Solana does her best to answer in a timely manner. “I—I asked him to leave. Wes….Wes didn’t want him in the room.”
“Of course, he fucking didn’t. Why would you—” Roman pinches his nose. A day. It’s been less than 48 hours, only a day in, and this marriage shit already has him fucking stressed out. Being married to this damn girl is like having a fucking child to look after. “From now on, I don’t give a fuck what your idiot brother and poor excuse of a father tell you, you’re not to be alone with them.” Roman’s command is a lot easier said than done. Denying her father or brother has never done her any favors. Solana isn’t sure how to verbalize this to the man in front of her who’s already six different shades of annoyed. “I thought I made that clear to them at the wedding, but obviously, they need a reminder.”
Solana feels every bit the scolded child, murmuring a quiet, “I’m sorry…”
Roman looks at her, and for a slither of a second, maybe even less than that, he feels bad for her. Feels bad because it’s clearly not her fault that she’s so fucked up. With a dad and brother like Xavier and Wes, what chance did she have?
He then briefly wonders about her mother, wonders what the dynamic was like there. But that’s a short lived trail because his mind then goes to his own mother.
And Roman can’t have that, can’t go down that road for a variety of reasons, reasons that may not be that different from Solana’s.
“Send me your work schedule.” Redirection is always a good strategy. That and fucking. Obviously, only one is an option for the woman in front of him.
Panic builds in Solana’s stomach. Why does he want that? Her mind starts to race, arriving at only negative conclusions. Does he want her to quit? That thought kills her.
Working at the library is the highlight, the only highlight, of her days. She doesn’t know what she would do without that outlet.
“It won’t get in the way of my duties to you.” Solana typically isn’t the one to advocate for herself. Ever. But this….she can’t lose this, and it scares her to think of what mental decline could happen if she does. Nothing good. That’s for certain. “I—I can get up early and–and make your breakfast and meal prep lunch. A–and I’ll make sure your dinner is ready too by the time you come home—”
Rubbing his temple, exasperated, Roman asks, “what are you talking about?”
She’s not above begging. In a pleading tone, she begs, “please don’t make me quit my job.”
Roman isn’t quite sure what to make of the fact that the most words he’s heard leave Solana’s mouth are practically her begging to keep her job. He can understand it though. He would bet that her only time away from her family was when she was at work. “You can work as little or as much as you want. I don’t care about that.”
His words create instant relief. “Oh–I’m sorry, I thought—”
Roman runs his hand over his face. “You don’t have to apologize for everything.”
“Sor—” Solana drops her head as he exhales. Loudly. It’s not even noon, and he’s already over and done with this damn day.
“What time do you get off today?”
Solana licks her lips, answering. “Three.”
“I’ll meet you then.”
He can see she wants to ask but has decided against it, most likely recognizing his irritation. “We need to get your stuff from that house.”
And in the midst of her anxiety in this conversation, she finds a glimmer of hope. She’s thankful that this isn’t something she had to initiate to ask him about.
Something tells her Roman doesn’t like being questioned a lot.
Or at all.
“O–okay.” Is the answer she finally settles on, not wanting to say too much, vowing, “I’ll make sure I’m done by 3pm sharp.”
On one hand, Roman enjoys and respects punctuality, but something tells him Solana’s is based more on fear than anything. “Whenever is fine.”
Nodding and pushing her hair behind her ear, Solana watches Roman walk over to the door, preparing to leave when he asks, “is your brother right handed or left handed?”
His question takes her off guard, and she doesn’t quite know why he’s asking this in the first place. “W-what?”
Roman clearly doesn’t like repeating himself, because his tone takes on an edge. “Is he right handed or left handed?”
Solana swallows. She’s made him mad. Again. “R–right.”
Without another question, he leaves. And once the door shuts, he snaps at Solo, demanding, “why the fuck did you leave her alone with him? I told you to watch her!”
Roman knows his cousin well enough to know that Solo is doing a brilliant job masking his embarrassment at his failure. “She said—”
“I don’t care what she says. You don’t answer to her. You answer to me. Understood?”
Solo keeps his head high, acknowledging, “yes, my Tribal Chief.” Roman wastes no time in exiting the library and entering the SUV waiting for him, slamming the door shut. He pulls out his phone, selecting one of his most recent contacts, hitting dial.
Jey answers on the third ring, but he’s immediately yelling to someone else, “slam my door one more fucking time, Nicki, and see what happens!” Roman’s jaw clenches, another new source of irritation being presented to him. “Ayo, Uce, now’s not a good time—”
“I don’t care.” Roman’s hot headed cousin and his equally hot headed wife arguing is nothing special. The fight. They fuck. They make up. And do it all over again. It’s not pressing news or even news at all at this point. “The Miller boy. Send him a message. A clear message.”
“I’ve got—”
“Did you hear what I just said?” There must be something in the air or the water, because Roman having to repeat himself is fucking asinine. He speaks once, and everyone should jump immediately. The fact that that isn’t happening is only pissing him off more. “And his right hand…make sure it’s broken.”
Jey sighs on the other end of the phone. “Aight. Me and Jimmy will have it done by the end of the day.”
Roman ends the phone call before his cousin can feed him any more excuses. Head tilted back against the headrest, he tries to settle himself. This day so far has been nothing but inconvenience after inconvenience.
There’s nothing that pisses him off more than having to repeat himself, having conversations extend longer than they should, and that’s all this day has been thus far. He’s had to over explain and reiterate himself more than Roman feels necessary.
And the day isn’t even halfway over.
He needs an outlet.
Roman switches apps, finding one of his more recent contacts and sending out a message.
Roman: Come over tonight.
As expected, her reply comes almost right away.
Samantha: Lol. That didn’t take long.
Samantha: See you then.
————
Solana always struggles with a level of anxiety when entering the home she grew up in. For a myriad of reasons. Most, if not all, being completely valid. Nothing good has ever happened for her in that place. And more often than not, she’d barely be in the house for more than a couple of minutes before she was either being berated or beaten.
Usually both.
But this…..this is different. A lot different, because she’s not walking into hell alone, she’s walking along (behind) Bloodline guards and the 6’3, pure muscled leader of said Bloodline.
Roman Reigns.
Who also happens to be her husband.
Playing around with the wedding ring on her finger, Solana tries again to remind herself that this is real, that she’s married, that she’s married to Roman Reigns of all people.
The reality definitely hasn’t set in.
Roman is about to knock on the door again when it swings open. Solana naturally steps back, something Roman takes notice of.
Xavier looks pissed, his fiery gaze landing on her first, but just as quickly as it was present, it's gone, settling into an almost pleasant smile. Directed at Roman, of course.
“Tribal Chief,” he greets. Solana’s gaze is on the ground now, focused on her painted toes instead of the man before her who she’s certain would be unleashing hell on her if not for the multitude of much larger, much stronger men surrounding her. “I wasn’t expecting—”
“I don’t care,” Roman interrupts, voice reeking of indifference. “She needs to go get her stuff.”
“Oh.” Solana can only imagine the difficulty her father is having in not throwing a fit. “Well, we can arrange for it to be delivered—”
“No.”
She means more to think it than to say it, but that intention falls short, because she definitely says it aloud.
And most of her regrets it, but there’s a small slither that doesn’t.
Solana knows her father. She knows him very well.
Roman has done nothing but piss him off from the very beginning of this whole ordeal, pushing and pushing him. And Solana has always been the object of her father’s anger, but Roman seems intent on making sure that doesn’t happen.
That means he’ll have to get creative with his punishments.
If he can’t hurt her, he’ll go after the things she loves.
The few items in that home that she holds near and dear, items that belonged to her mother.
She knows he would dispose of them all so that all that would be retrieved by the movers would be clothes.
And the thought of the only things she has of her mother being discarded like trash makes her sick to her stomach.
She can’t give him that opportunity.
Looking up, she’s met with two sets of eyes on her. One indicating irritation and the other, curiosity. Swallowing, she stutters, “I’m sorry. I—”
“No.” Roman’s interruption is stark and to the point. “We’re already here. She gets it now.”
“But—”
“Move.”
Xavier’s jaw ticks, but he does as such, stepping to the side. Roman looks back at Solana, motioning for her to walk in.
Instantly, she’s going to the key holder. She has to make sure she gets her mother’s stuff before anything. But, the key to the attic, the key that’s sat in the same spot since she was a girl, is suddenly missing.
Her stomach drops.
Without hesitation, she turns to her dad, asking, “wh—where’s the key to the attic?”
Solana knows before he even says anything that she’s not going to like his answer. She just doesn't realize just how much she’s not going to like his answer.
“Oh, I put it in your old room on the dresser.” Solana’s chest is immediately tight, her stomach dropping. Xavier gives that sly smile and little shrug. “Figured there’d be some things you’d want to grab as well.”
It’s hard for Solana to not start crying right then and there, standing between her father and her husband. Two men who dislike her for very different reasons.
And maybe dislike isn’t a strong enough word to describe the feeling her father has toward her. Because one has to have an inhuman level of vitriol toward another individual to put her in the situation he just did.
That room….Solana hasn’t been in that room in years and planned to never enter it again for as long as she lived. And he knows that. Knows that there’s nothing in there she wants. Knows that she’d rather walk on burning coal barefoot than enter that space of horrific memories and unspeakable horrors.
“I–I—”
“Is something wrong?”
Roman, watching this whole exchange closely, is instantly annoyed. It’s obvious something is wrong, there’s some story with this old room of hers, because she looks just as terrified as she did last night. And something about this pisses him off all over again, because this man is still trying to defy his orders, still trying to find ways to inflict his torture without lifting a finger.
“Where’s the room?”
Solana doesn't expect that question to leave Roman’s mouth, but it instantly brings on another layer of dread. He doesn’t know why she can’t go in that room, and he can never know, but that not knowing is probably going to result in him pushing her to hurry up so they can get the hell out of here.
But, that doesn’t happen. He steps towards her dad and repeats in a calm voice. “Show me.” It’s then she realizes that he’s asking so he can retrieve this key for her.
And that confuses the mess out of her because why? He doesn't have to, doesn’t need to. It doesn’t benefit him in the slightest.
So why?
But for Roman, it’s simple. He’ll take any opportunity presented to piss off this son of a bitch, and undermining every attempt Miller takes to mess with Solana presents an opportunity for Roman to assert his dominance.
And it’s obvious by the pure terror that crosses Solana’s face that, for whatever reason, she has zero desire or even ability to enter this room. It does cross him a bit strange that she would have such a reaction to her childhood bedroom, something that typically holds special memories for people.
Until he enters said room.
Immediately, there’s a darkness about the aura, something heavy and unsettling that he can’t necessarily describe but most definitely feels. It’s a stark contrast to the design and decoration, lots of pink and girly shit, a couple of stuffed animals sitting on the top of the dresser. It’s on the dresser he notices a shattered picture frame that in picking up he sees a photo of a young woman, dark curly hair, beautiful, light eyes and a breathtaking smile. There’s something about her that reminds him of Solana. Her mother. This has to be her mother.
For reasons Roman doesn’t quite understand, there’s something suddenly uncomfortable by looking at this photo, a ghost, someone from the past. A person cruelly and violently ripped away from her family.
It….it hits too close to him.
Laying the broken photo frame down, Roman continues to assess the room and suddenly notices scratches on the door and the wall that holds the door. But, they’re not scratches that come from furniture being moved or kids being rough, they’re clearly nail marks. As if someone was dragged and the scratches a testament of their fight against whatever attack they were facing.
Snatching the key off the dresser, he then redirects his attention to the poorly cleaned splashes of dried blood on the carpet near the bed. He’s suddenly frowning of sorts.
There’s a story here. A story that paints a dark, grim picture. One that makes Roman slightly curious about just what the hell this girl has really been through in this hellhole?
Not wanting to stay in that creepy ass room any longer than necessary, he walks back out into the living room and ignores Miller’s obvious irritation to reach Solana the key.
Accepting it, she offers the first smile he’s probably seen on her since their first meeting. “Thank you.” Her voice is the usual mixture of soft and quiet but also….grateful. She’s probably the only person in history to ever be so happy at being given something as simple as a key. But Roman isn’t stupid. He recognizes the deeper meaning.
Nodding, he motions for a few of his men to follow her as she heads for wherever the attic door is located.
That leaves Roman alone with his least favorite person in the world.
“She can’t take everything, you know.” Xavier shares. He reminds, “she has a brother. My son and I deserve to have something of my late wife to—”
“I don’t care.” And he doesn’t. He honestly, truly doesn’t. “She can take whatever she wants.”
“I understand that she’s your wife, but she was my daughter long before she became your wife. And you’re standing in my house.” Xavier doesn’t skip a beat to contend. “I think you should also remember that, Tribal Chief.”
To be fair, Roman would like to think he’s done a half decent job all day managing his temper. He’s yet to maim or kill anyone which is commendable for him, in and of itself. But something about Xavier pisses him the fuck off to the point where he doesn’t give a damn about controlling his temper.
And that’s exactly what happens.
In a matter of seconds, Roman has Xavier by the throat, pinned against the wall, squeezing so tightly he can practically feel the man's bones pressing against his fingertips. “Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to?” Xavier’s eyes are nearly bugging out of his head as he helplessly grasps at Roman's grip, which only makes the Tribal Chief squeeze harder. “Don’t ever fucking forget who runs this. I run it all!” As much as Roman enjoys playing the long game with this bastard, there’s only so much he can put up with. Miller needs to know Roman is not his daughter, but he damn sure will dictate that any interactions with said daughter go through him. “You see Solana when I say you can see her. You talk to her when I say you can talk to her.” Intensifying his grip, Roman notices the color draining from Xavier’s face. And it’s probably the best thing he’s seen all day. “You live because I allow it. You’re still fucking breathing because I will it.” Recognizing Miller is at the door of unconsciousness, he finally lets the man go, enjoying the sight of him coughing violently, nearly laying on the floor. “Don’t you ever fucking forget that shit.”
Xavier, wisely, doesn't say much after that. And neither does Roman, who simply makes sure his men help Solana gather all she needs, which isn’t that much outside of clothes. He starts to ask her about her car, but something tells him it’s under Xavier’s name, which is why he decides against it.
He’ll just get her another one.
Roman doesn’t want her to have shit to do with this family, largely because he doesn’t want shit to do with this family.
And he knows what the first step toward initiating that separation will be.
—--------
The Warehouse has always been Roman’s escape.
17,000 square feet of escape, completely revamped and redone by him in his early twenties. It’s a massive compound that serves as both a place to train and compete. The former of which being why he’s present and needing to speak to the one person who he has in charge of all the day to day workings of the Warehouse.
But, that’s all she’s interested in outside of competing herself and only training those with some fire to them.
It’s why he’s not surprised when Nia takes one look at him, then Solana, and with a snort and roll of her eyes, simply says, “no.”
Roman isn’t an idiot. He knew his cousin would immediately decline, would know what he wanted to ask before it could even leave his mouth.
If only he cared about her objection.
“Wait here,” he mutters to Solana who only nods, hugging the jacket around her body. Solo remains nearly inches away from her. She looks so out of place, a small part of him can’t blame Nia for declining.
Nia continues to walk the balcony, eyes clearly checking in on the various sets of people training. Roman does as well, just not nearly with the same amount of focus and attention. That’s what he has Nia for.
His blood cousin and close friend since they were kids, there’s few people in this world that Roman trusts, and Nia is grouped in that category. She’s a worthy member of the bloodline and a hell of a person to have alongside you in a fight.
It’s why she's the perfect person for this task.
“Nia.”
“I said no, Roman.” She turns to him, smirking, taunting him in a way only she and his close family can. "You know, that word that you hate?”
It actually makes him chuckle, a speckle of amusement in a day full of anything but. “If you know I hate it, why are you saying it?”
“Because unlike the rest of the world, I’m not your bitch.”
It’s partially true. Nia has never been one to shy away from being completely and, often, ruthlessly honest with her cousin. It’s something Roman sometimes appreciates, enjoying the occasional challenge and differing perspective.
This isn’t one of those times though.
He again reiterates. “She needs to be trained.”
It’s abundantly clear that Solana has no backbone, and he can’t entirely fault her for that because it’s also clear that she’s never really had the chance to develop one. But, that’s no longer the case, because while he can deal with the stammering and quietness, her fragility has to go.
She has to learn to stand up for herself.
She needs to learn how to fight back.
Nia turns around with a sarcastic chuckle. “You really think that girl can be trained? I saw her at the wedding. She looked terrified the entire time. You breathe too hard in her direction, and she’ll probably have a fucking panic attack.” Roman is briefly taken back to last night. Nia hasn’t the slightest clue how true her words are. “She’s not built for this life.”
Roman doesn’t entirely disagree. If there was ever a person who’d do well and significantly better in something cookie cutter, white picket fence type shit, it’s Solana. But she’s here now, this is her life, so they need to make the best of it. She needs to learn how to survive in this life. and he expresses as such. “Regardless, she needs to learn to defend herself to some extent.”
Nia shrugs, leaning back against the railing and crossing her arms. “So teach her.”
“I don’t have the time. Or the patience.” It’s almost entirely true. There are already so many hats that Roman has to wear. Adding on another one that includes teaching a traumatized young woman how to fight is not an option. Even more, something tells him that Solana would do better training with a woman. She seems most skittish around men.
Nia scoffs, pointing to herself. “And you think I do?”
“Nia….” As much as he enjoys sparring with his cousin from time to time, his patience has grown thin. His tone darkens. “I’m not asking you.”
While tempted to continue to push back, Nia isn’t a stupid woman. She can recognize when Roman is about to lose his cool. “Fucking hell….” With a heavy sigh and shrug of defeat, she accepts. “Fine. I’ll do it, but don’t expect me to like her.”
“I never expect you to like anyone.” He chuckles, adding. “And Nia…..take it easy on her at first.”
Nia curses, instantly accusing, “You think coddling her will help?”
“I know being too rough with her won’t.”
A hard exterior is built from experience and tolerance. Roman fully believes that. However, something tells him his new wife has had enough experiences that anything more could push her closer to breaking point. So approaching it almost gingerly would probably wield the best outcome.
Nia is, justifiably, vexed. “Whatever. I don’t have time for your weak ass wife. I’ll have Naomi teach her the basics, and once she learns how to actually throw a punch without crying, I’ll take over her training.”
Roman has no issue with this. Solana seemed to be fine around Naomi at the wedding, so it might actually be a good match. “Fine. Just keep me updated with her progress.” Roman adds, starting to walk away.
“Do I have a choice?”
Instantly, he answers. “Nope.”
Nia’s laughter behind him brings a small smile to his face.
Rejoining the group, he finds Solana looking just as nervous as he left her. “Let’s go.”
He turns and so does Solo, Roman deciding he’ll talk with Solana about starting training back at the house. But, her small voice calling his name, the first time he’s heard her say as such draws his attention.
Turning around, he asks, “yeah?”
She swallows and starts that damn stammering. It’s hard for him to not snap at her to just get it out. He hates that beating around the bush bullshit. “Umm, can we—uhh, stop somewhere?” Roman does his best to hide his irritation. Where the fuck does she need to go? “I just—-I noticed you don’t have a lot of ingredients at the house, and—and I need some things so I can cook.”
Initially, Roman’s first reaction is to tell her no, that she doesn’t need to cook. He doesn’t need her to cook for him. He does just fine on his own, but that’s the thing that makes him pause. He’s not on his own anymore. She needs to eat too.
So, he agrees, “fine.”
“Ayo, uce!”
Jesus Christ.
Roman needs a vacation. A week long vacation, because the way the past 24hrs has drained him more than anything he’s experienced in the past year is criminal.
The twins jog over, exchanging what is an undeniably awkward acknowledgement to Solana. And he doesn't blame them. She’s so damn docile that they probably don't know how to interact with her.
“Let us catch that ride with you.”
Roman shuts his eyes. “Why?”
Jimmy is the one to answer. “You wanted us to debrief you on that thing from earlier, remember?”
Roman realizes they’re referring to the message he had them send Solana’s brother, which he does want to hear about but not necessarily now.
“She needs to stop at the store before we head back to the house,” Roman informs, hoping the twins will just take a car back to the house to meet him their to debrief.
But that’s too much like right, because they end up in the same SUV as him and Solana, seated in the back, while he sits in the middle with her. And it’s not missed upon him how she’s practically tucked in the corner of the SUV, notebook out as she writes away while his idiotic cousins go on and on in the back about whatever.
The old lady from the library wasn’t kidding. This damn girl is always writing.
When they arrive at the grocery store, Roman reaches for his wallet, sliding out his black card and handing it to her. “Here. Use this.”
Roman hadn’t thought about this until just now, thought about the need to make his money available to her. He makes a mental note to have his accountant add Solana to all of his accounts and have cards mailed out with her name. In the meantime, she’ll have to deal with using his.
“Thank you.” She accepts the card, quickly asking, “what’s my limit?”
“What limit?”
Her cheeks redden as she explains. “Like….like how much I can spend?"
“There is none,” he answers with a shrug. “Just get what you need.”
Jey suddenly leans forward, tapping Roman on the shoulder. “Ayo, Big Dog, lemme run this by you.”
“No.”
Of course, the word goes in one ear and out the other. “So, I’m trying to explain to her that it’s not what she thinks. I don’t even care about that bitch, but she’s not trying to hear me. Going on and go about how I ain’t shit, I don’t treat her right—you know, the usual—-and so finally, I just snap on her ass cause who the fuck you think you talking to—”
Jimmy agrees. “She acting like you ain’t got no options.”
Jey sucks his teeth, “man, that’s what I’m saying. Like, I ain’t gotta put up with that shit!”
“Hell naw!”
The idea of grocery shopping doesn’t appeal to Roman in the slightest, but neither does listening to his dumbass cousin complain about his marriage problems to his equally dumbass brother. So, it’s the lesser of two evils, really.
“Fuck it,” he mutters, unbuckling his seatbelt, and opening the door. Solo and Solana’s eyes fall on him as they’d yet to enter the store. “I’ll go with her.”
Solana looks expectedly surprised as Solo simply nods and gets back in the passenger seat.
“I’ll make it quick.”
Roman says nothing, walking alongside her, still providing enough distance to not make her uncomfortable.
As long as the twins are harping on and on about stupid shit, she can take as long as she wants.
Once in the store, Solana pushing the cart, Roman realizes she was writing down a grocery list that she uses to track the needed items as they peruse what feels like endless aisles. Granted, he hasn’t been inside an actual grocery store in probably close to two decades, if not longer, so maybe this is normal for a grocery store.
It’s when they reach the produce section that she seems a bit stumped, chewing on her bottom lip, clearly perplexed.
He starts to ask her what’s wrong, but she walks over to one of the workers and takes him slightly by surprise when she starts speaking in a different language. Spanish, he eventually settles on. It’s also the first time he thinks he’s ever seen her smile. Outside of when he gave her the key And laugh. That one is definitely a first. Both small and quiet, but still, a first. She seems to know or at least be familiar with the worker who digs around the produce and reaches over a packaged bag of whatever produce it is.
It’s when she returns to place the produce in the basket, continuing to walk, that he asks, “you speak Spanish?”
She looks up at him, but not for too long, as if doing so is forbidden, explaining. “My—my mom taught me. She was originally from Mexico.”
Roman figured as such from the picture he saw in her room that Solana’s mom was Hispanic or had some type of Central American ancestry. He’s also surprised by her answering with more than just 3 to 5 words, providing more information than he asked.
It’s not something he necessarily cares about, but it doesn’t annoy him like it typically does when people give him a longer answer than what’s necessary.
“Are—are your cousins always like….like that?” Again, she takes him by surprise, up until the point where she immediately goes into apologizing. “I–I don’t mean it in a bad way. I would never—”
“Yes,” he cuts off her rambling. It’s unnecessary because the answer is simple. “They are.” With a mutter, he adds, “they never shut the fuck up.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees it. That smile smile, this time conjoined with a small laugh that she does a decent job trying to suppress. And it’s like she catches herself, changing the subject as she asks, “umm, are you—like—allergic to anything? Or is there something you don’t like? I can learn—”
“I can eat anything.” It’s a simple, truthful answer. It also seems like something she’d been wanting to ask but only built the courage to do so at the end of their current conversation, even if brief as hell.
Solana doesn’t say much after that, and it confuses Joe when she tries to grab items on shelves much higher than what exceeds her reach. It confuses him because it would be significantly easier for her to just ask him to reach it. Granted, something tells him just her asking to be taken to the grocery store seems to be her daily quota for requests.
So he takes it upon himself, hand on the small of her back, ignoring how she tenses at his touch, to tell her to step aside as he easily retrieves the item. With a tuck of her hair behind her ear and a small “thank you,” she continue shopping but this time actually, still with that same irksome gentleness, asks him to reach items that she cannot. It’s not a lot, just a couple.
And it’s not long before she’s done, checking out with his card that she makes sure to give back to him immediately. He gets the sense that that’s something she thinks is important to him.
It’s not.
The worst he can see her doing is going crazy at fucking Barnes and Nobles.
Roman has his men load the trunk for her, something that also seems to take her off guard. Like she’s not used to the assistance.
And she probably isn’t.
————
Samantha Irvin has been on Roman’s revolving roster of women since he was in his teens. The longevity being that It’s always been the easiest with her. Sexually, at least. Their compatibility in that one area, the only one he really (only) cares about, is astronomical. But lately, more in the past few months than anything, she’s dropped a comment here and there about wanting more.
He’s ignored them everytime.
Roman has never promised Samantha anything more than what they currently are: fuck buddies. She knows this, just like she knows she’s not the only woman he’s fucking. Nothing about that should indicate him wanting more with anyone, including her.
Well, other than the wedding band now on his finger.
Samantha’s gaze falls on that wedding band, a bitter chuckle leaving her mouth. “I still can’t believe you actually did it.”
“Yeah,” he mutters. Discussing his shitshow of a marriage is the last thing he wants to do and far from the reason he left Solana in the middle of the night to come see her, to come work off his frustrations.
The same reason he invited her over tonight.
Last night was a dumpster fuck, without a doubt. But today with Solana was….decent. Not amazing. Not awful. Just some strange space in between. Even as they arrived back at the estate and she went straight into cooking, creating something he can’t pronounce but can honestly say was delicious, a meal she delivered to him in his office. There was something manageable about that, this level of she does her thing, he does his, and if their paths cross in the process, he can deal with that.
The intimacy though….that’s something he’ll have to figure out, have to navigate, just not now. Not tonight.
Right now, he just needs Samantha’s talented mouth on him.
She moves her hands up his chest, biting on her bottom lip. “She’s just a little girl, baby. You need a woman who knows how to please you.” Roman knows the other side of what she’s saying or rather what she’s not saying. Another subtle, or not so subtle depending on how you look at it, hint that she’s the one he should settle down with.
In all honesty, he has, or had, zero desire to settle down with anyone.
Especially not with Sam. She’s the kind of woman that’s good for fucking and nothing else. As much as Solana’s extreme passivity annoys the shit out of him, he’d pick that over the bitching Sam would do. He just knows she’d be on his ass about stupid shit like fucking other woman and not paying her enough attention. Like she’d think she’s somehow above him doing who and what the fuck he wants just cause he put a ring on her finger.
Way too needy.
But at least he can actually fucking touch Sam.
Kinda hard to make a baby with someone who has literal fucking panic attacks just from being touched.
It builds up his frustration again, hence Roman grabbing Samantha by the back of her head, forcing it back. She hisses, both from pain and pleasure. It’s another thing he does actually enjoy about her. She lets him be as rough as he wants and needs.
“Why are you still talking?” There may be a slight dim in her eyes at his question, but she hides it well. “I don’t give a fuck what you think.” He releases his grip and shoves her to her knees. “Put that mouth to actual good use.”
If she’s hurt by his brusque tone, she doesn’t show it, simply bringing her hands to unbuckle his pants. “I got you, daddy…”
She gets his zipper down when a scream sounds throughout the house, causing her to freeze in her motions as she shoots Roman a confused look.
“What the hell?” Samantha’s obvious irritation is the last thing he hears before adjusting himself as he heads out the room and down the hall.
For some reason, Roman already knows what to expect before he even reaches Solana’s room. Opting against knocking, he opens the door and finds her twisting and turning in the bed, eyes shut, chest moving up and down, a light sheen of sweat on her forehead.
Yeah….just as he expected.
Sighing, he walks over to the bed, sitting on the side. “Solana.”
“No.....” she’s crying in her sleep, clearly in the midst of a nightmare. Or night terror. “Mom, please…don’t leave me.”
Roman tenses. Immediately, he knows exactly what her nightmare is. He brings hands to her shoulder, shaking her. “Solana, wake up.”
“No…..”
He says her name again, a bit louder, firmer, “Solana, wake up.”
“No!” She screams again, shooting up from the bed, immediately fighting and pushing against his body. “Leave me alone!” She’s crying, clearly fighting against the demons one faces once in life but forever battles, even when they’re gone.
It’s a permanent scar on the soul.
“Solana,” he says again, still stern, but somehow gentle. “You’re fine. You’re safe.” It’s the ‘safe’ word that seems to trigger something for her, mouth still ajar, painting heavily but no longer struggling against him. “It was just a bad dream.”
There’s a fleeting thought he has about pushing some of the flyaway hairs out of her face, but it’s gone before he can really process let alone act on said thought.
Solana looks at his hands on her forearm and immediately tugs them back to her body, hugging herself. She drops her head, eyes closing, “I’m—I’m sorry.”
His eyes take her in, studying her, “it’s fine.”
“I—I need some air.” She kicks the blankets off her body and swings her legs over the bed, hurriedly grabbing a notebook off the dresser and rushing out of the room past a smirking Samantha.
Roman shuts his eyes and runs his hand over his face, ignoring the strange array of emotions, or something like that, he’s experiencing.
He hasn’t been this exposed to this kind of behavior in years.
This may be more complicated than he realized.
And it’s as he stands up from the bed, walking near the door that Samantha smirks. “Did she seriously say mom?” His eyes snap to her as she runs her hands up and down his chest. “What a fucking child.”
Her words take him back, reframe things so that it’s not Solana the child crying for her mother not to be taken from her. It’s a young boy. Burned, bloody, and beat, fading in and out consciousness, the gaze of fiery flames in his peripheral vision, the smell of burning flesh invading his nostrils, the sound of wails and sirens all mingling together from the shock of it all.
Roman catches himself, forcing those buried memories back where they belong in the very back of his mind. He then looks at Sam for a good five seconds before demanding, “get the fuck out.”
She pauses and then asks with an uncomfortable laugh, “what?”
“Get the fuck out of my house,” he repeats, shoving her hands off him.
“What did I sa—”
“Get out!” Roman snaps, volume and tone making her jump. He probably scared her. He also doesn’t care. He just wants her gone. And she does as such, walking away without another word of protest.
Left alone, he tries to gather himself, moving back to his room.
So much for a fucking distraction.
—-----
Roman finds her out back on the patio.
He needed to clear his head, get back into his tunnel vision focus, and the gym he had included when he built the house is the perfect place to do that. Two hours later, recentered and showered, he readies to call it a night. But, he realizes he probably shouldn’t do as such until he makes sure Solana is at least partially stable enough to be left alone.
And she is.
She’s laid out, sleeping on the rattan lounge chair, a closed notebook tucked into her side. Roman recognizes it as the same one she was writing in that day at the library as well as the one she used for her grocery list just earlier in the day.
He settles down on the chair next to her, studying her. Even in her sleep, she looks….sad. And for the first time in the midst of all these strange experiences with her, Roman understands. He understands her sadness, understands her difficulty, understands the memories that clearly haunt her.
The same way they used to haunt him.
His hand goes to his tatted arm, intricate tribal tattoo hiding permanent remnants of that night of hell. The night that he once had the same kind of night terrors about.
Noticing the breeze, he walks back into the house, grabbing one of the throw blankets on the sofa. Roman is careful to not directly touch her as he lays it over her body. A part of him is tempted to carry her back to her room, but he remembers these kinds of nights. The kind where it’s a challenge to escape the memories, let alone find a place and mental space to turn your brain off enough to just sleep.
So he leaves her alone, allowing her to enjoy the only escape she clearly has in this life.
Summary: Two sisters deal with the harsh realities of living within a crime syndicate. It’s not all diamonds and money. It’s blood, sweat, and more bloodshed that keeps these families in power.
WC: 3267
Pairings: Joseph Anoa’i x OC Black Character; Randy Orton x Black OC Character
co-written: @keyaho
AU : Mafia x WWE
. . . . . ╰──╮ADX FLORENCE╭──╯ . . . . .
He’s been counting down the days until he was home the moment he stepped into the facility. The same day he was stripped of everything that reminded him of Ziva except his thoughts. His business and business dealings were nothing compared to her and if he lost everything, like he felt he had now, he knew she would always be there. Just like she had been. Her loyalty was unmatched by anyone, except his friendship with Joseph. To find that in a woman and she remains true, true enough to carry his children, he didn’t want to forget her. He hated seeing her walk through the cells and bars to get to him. She was always excited as if it was their first time seeing each other. She kept his spirits up and he barely had the decency to say I Love You before he left. Though he left another woman for Ziva, he couldn’t lie and say he loved that other woman and he understood what love was when Ziva leaned into him one night they were out.
It was a simple gesture because someone had been bothering her. Her agitator didn’t notice but Randy saw the way her right brow shot up in confusion and her lips pursed in a cute but fretful way. A man who could read the most unreadable, Randy saw the slight slouch in her shoulders as she leaned towards him. Her hair brushed his arm and he fell into protective mode, silently pulling Ziva to stand in front of him while they stood in line for the ice cream she had been begging him all day for. His lips found the side of her head, kissing her temple as she sighed. Her shoulders relaxed and the smile he put on her face that day came back. She needed him. He liked to let her handle herself when they were out. Randy didn’t want to be overbearing. But now he wasn’t there and as protected as he knew she was, she wasn’t because it wasn’t him protecting her.
ADX Florence was cold as shit. His beard was scratchy, dry, needing the moisture from Ziva’s pu-
“ORTON!”
Randy looked from the ceiling to his cell door, unamused. With his hands behind his head he was trying to get some sleep in the always lit cell, only for his closed eyes to snap open again when his cell door was banged on.
“Hands through the slot, prick!”
Hannigan.
A guard that had been a pain in his ass. Though, he had a remedy for that. To think he couldn’t do what he was good at while locked up was a miscalculation. Ziva’s last visit had given him all the information he needed. Randy sat up slowly, rolling his neck side to side as he swung his feet over the edge of the concrete bed. He took his time as Hannigan watched through the slot. Before he stepped to the cell, he dropped his pants and used the bathroom, knowing full well the guard would only see his stream of piss.
When he was finished he righted his clothes and washed his hands. Only then did he slide his hands over to be cuffed.
“You have a visitor. Some black dude in a suit. St. Clair something. He said you two had a mutual friend.”
Randy stayed quiet. He was trying to place the name, but nothing came up. His curiosity peaked but his senses were on high alert. The last thing he wanted was a situation that would fuck up his release and getting back to Ziva. She’d kill him herself if that happened.
He was taken to one of the rooms used to speak with his lawyer from time to time. More comfortable than the room he had to have Ziva endure seeing him chained up in. The room was empty when he was brought in. In the center was a metal table bolted to the floor with a matching bolted chair. His cuffs were locked in place to a hook in the table while he was forced to sit down. A few minutes ticked by and like Hannigan said a black man in a suit walked in. His face was familiar, but not in an old acquaintance's way.
“Mr. Orton, I am sure you were confused when you were told you had a visitor.” The man’s eyes flickered to Hannigan who had not left the room. “Tact is lost on a lot of people. I could hear him down the hall in the way he spoke.”
Randy leaned back in the chair, his posture relaxed and uncaring. His gaze was one of disinterest and his guard was firmly in place.
“You should get to the point,’ Randy replied, “I’m a busy man.”
The man laughed briefly. “Clearly.”
As the man sat, Randy noticed beneath his coat was a crisp suit, tailored to his broad shoulders and larger build. He wasn’t one of the regular lawyers that came in and out hoping to replace other’s for more lucrative clients. Randy had his fair share slide in and out of these concrete walls. His own was amused at the attempts to persuade him to their side. What man would do for money.
“I’m Lawrence St. Clair. You know my daughter, Ziva.”
There weren't many people in Ziva’s life that he wasn’t aware of. She had been open about her relationships and what they meant to her. Before him, she created her own family because the one she had been born into had done her an awful disservice. Yet, at the mention of this man being her father, Randy’s body language changed. His shoulders squared off and his eyes narrowed.
“She’s never mentioned you.”
“The last time I saw her the chance for that to be different was taken from me. I, admittedly, have not been in her life like I should.”
“But you know enough to come here, first,’ Randy pursed his lips. “Smart man.”
“I’ve been watching them from afar, too reluctant to approach them. I’ve always seen her with you, or her sister and her husband. The four of you are close?”
“If you are here to fish information you’re at the wrong lake. What do you want?”
“I want a chance to meet my daughter and future grandchildren.”
Randy shook his head. Anger he had suppressed for years was creeping up, warming his face as his pale skin began to redden. To mention seeing Ziva or his kids made Randy jerk the metal table, the strength making it shake enough to cause Hannigan to take a step forward.
“A gesture of good faith,’ he said, sensing Randy was not a man one could easily make a request from. Lawrence stood up, not wanting to anger Randy more than necessary. He’d seen enough. He saw a man that loved his daughter more than he ever could hope to. And if Randy said so, Ziva wouldn’t give him the time of day.
“It was nice meeting you, son,’ he said. “I hope you will give me a chance to fix my mistakes.”
. . . . . ╰──╮Monday Night Raw╭──╯ . . . . .
Naira had done her best to keep Ziva off her feet, wanting nothing more than to alleviate her sister’s stress while pregnant. Sebastian–her son, had other plans. The active four-year-old is using the arena as his playground.
“Sebastian!” She shouts, tearing her focus away from Ziva, who was in good hands with Rhea and Bianca. Her hands won’t be good when she gets them on the little terror she calls a child.
His childlike giggles could be heard from a mile away as he ran away from her; knocking over everything in his path and what his little hands could reach. Naira had to count to ten, not wanting to curse her child out. He was still within her sight-line; dodging the unphased wrestlers that lurked around. Phil and Josh watched on while talking, mostly blocking the exits to keep Bash from running outside and getting snatched up. The breath she took did nothing to calm her nerves.
“I swear to god Bash!” Naira probably looked crazy to onlookers, others probably offered a look of sympathy.
Josh had watched Naira and Bash from a distance–usually not wanting to interfere unless asked or he became too much to handle. However, the kid was a menace, a miniature version of his father. A soft chuckle left his lips at the smaller version of Joe–the child painting the perfect picture of what he was like as a child–whacking someone in the leg while running. Naira was close behind, probably cursing to herself for not investing in a leash or the fact that she had on heels-stopping for a moment to take them off to better catch up with him. He was a fast runner though, making it halfway down the long hall before deciding that crates were the best thing to use as a jungle gym.
“Oh no, I don’t think that’s safe buddy.” A strange lady tries to grab him from under his arms, struggling as the kid almost weighs a hundred pounds. “Just trying to help you.”
“You’re not my mommy !” Her hold was pretty tight, and frustrated he couldn’t move his arms–his foot connected with her chin while screaming.
Sebastian’s screams and her curses caught the attention of Josh and Naira. The tattooed Samoan rushed to intervene, frowning at the sight of Dakota. Naira hated her with a passion, making her presence known to the half-samoan woman.
“Ow, you little fucker.”
She holds on to her now bruising chin as Naira makes her presence known. Her blood boiling at the curses towards her child. Sebastian makes a quick getaway to the top of the crates, lying belly down to watch his mother yell at Dakota.
“Why are you touching my kid.” She arches a brow at the woman, peaking up to see he was hiding, she would deal with her first before getting him down.
“He was going to fall off the crates….wanted to get him before he fell. Seems like you were too busy to do it.” Naira lets that slick comment go, for now, not wanting to get out of character in front of these people. Dakota’s rambling continued, petting Bash’s hair. She couldn’t stand the woman, something about her face just setting her off, and that obnoxious laugh. Naira wishes she could just cut her tongue out to make her stop talking. Naira sighs with a laugh, the visual picture she painted in her mind an impossible dream.
“I advise you to get the fuck out of my face.”
Dakota was caught off guard. “You should be grateful, the kid almost hurt himself–” She stops her protest at the look on her face. Throwing her hands up, while backing away. Naira ensures she walks away, turning to look up at her son.
“Sebastian, come down now.”
His piercing brown eyes bore into hers with a shake of his head, kicking his legs while looking around the arena, the new vantage point allowing him to see everything. He loved terrorizing his mother, sometimes she made it too easy, especially when she was worried about making sure Ziva was comfortable. Sebastian had zoned out his mother’s voice–not intentionally. His attention span was short.
Joseph shook his head at his son’s antics, his absence probably the reason for his behavior. His eyes trail over Naira’s frame. She had gotten thicker in certain areas, most notably her ass. He wanted to pull her into one of the many storage closets and fuck her from behind, but first, he had to be a father.
“Get down.” The all-too-familiar voice demands. His husky-deep voice fills her ears, eyes matching the person she thought it was as he approached them. His six-foot-three frame towering over her shorter one. Joe. She starts pouting, his bulking frame stretching out the thin material of his shirt. Sebastian looks between the two. His view of her is blocked as he sits up on his hands and knees. The hard glare on Joseph’s scares him down, allowing the older man to grab him into his arms still unsure of who the man was.
“aisea ua e tuuina atu ai ia mama se taimi faigata” (why are you giving mama a hard time). Sebastian hugs his neck, realizing it was his father. Joseph had only ever talked to him in Samoan and Italian, usually forcing Naira to learn as well–not much, but enough to understand. He preferred it every time they visited, wanting some form of privacy even while chained up like a dog. Don’t get it twisted he was still The Big Dog.
“Malo.” ( hi). Sebastian’s voice is small, while sleepily looking at him. Her soft sniffles had Joseph turning his attention to his side, Naira next to him with a small pout on her face, she was trying so hard not to cry. She cried over everything; being pregnant, giving birth, his first steps, him leaving.” He loved it though.
“e aulelei.” (hey beautiful). His free arm hooks around her back, pulling her flush to his chest. A soft kiss was pressed to the crown of her head as he inhaled her scent. She’s slapping his chest before giving in to the touch. Sebastian resting his head on his father’s shoulders, eyes fluttering closing at the familiar warmth, and after being able to finally hug him–he fell asleep.
“You didn’t tell me you were coming home.” she dabbed at her eyes with her right one, the left fanning them to keep the tears at bay. She had a ton of questions, but firstly she wanted to love on her man. Her arms pull him down into a hug by his neck–thicker than she last saw him. His lips pressed into her cheek with a hand ghosting down to grip her ass.
“Mhm, It was your dad.” He mumbles. He couldn’t stand that man. Lawrence was a money-hungry coward and he was willing to sell his daughter's life for that. Naira rolls her eyes at the mention of her father. A glorified picture perfect dad at the hands of her stepmother Valerie St. Claire. “Randy asked me about hi-”
Ziva’s loud cry of pain has Naira rushing to her side, Joseph right behind her with a sleeping Sebastian. Only the little terror would fall asleep at a time like this.
✶ . . . . . •ZB • . . . . . ✶
“I made Dwayne buy those strollers,’ Ziva said while pointing a fry towards the table of bags she brought in from shopping. Rhea went with her and she had promised Bianca and Trinity she would show them when they came back.
“That was nice of him!” Bianca squeals while pulling out a pair of pink and blue booties. “Girl, these are too cute!”
Ziva placed her hand on her stomach while she leaned back in the cushioned back studio chair. Producer was embellished on the back and it was one chair that was comfortable enough for her to sit and relax. Naira’s threat of no brownies tonight had her feeling some type of way. Randy got your ass spoiled, bitch I aint Randal! Ziva had to remind her that she still made Joseph peel her oranges.
“I had such a hard time picking out clothes. All Randy wanted was matching Js.”
“How did you get Dwayne to pay for both strollers?” Trinity had put it together quickly so she could detach the car seats and have them in the SUV. It had been on the expectant mother’s list of items to get.
“He wanted to get Jade’s number.” Shooting her quiet friend a wink, the group let out a series of giggles.
As she bit into her burger, towel across her belly to keep her white dress pristine, she felt one of the babies kick. Hard. Randy managed to do the unthinkable and knock her up with twins who liked to take turns kicking her internal organs. Baby girl was putting pedal to the metal against her kidneys. Her eyes clenched shut and she leaned to her side, taking deep breaths. Naira noticed her sister’s face change to one of pain and before she could step over a pale hand landed on Ziva’s stomach. Rubbing the pregnant belly in a way that was too familiar.
Time moved fast. Ziva’s eyes snapped open to a hand that wasn’t her husband’s touching her lower belly. A cheshire smile was on the man’s face and Ziva anxiety began to kick in. She opened her mouth to speak when Rhea stepped over, ready to handle it herself when someone came from behind Ziva. Her body was so rigid a pain shot through her back making her cry out in pain.
Before she could react the hand was being yanked back from her body and she was shielded from the beady eyes of Dexter Lumis. He was a new addition to Raw, on a trial from the Indies.
Outside of her sister and Rhea, few had permission to touch her. Let alone her stomach. That had been vocalized many times. When she realized the familiar scent of Randy’s cologne she grabbed his shirt from behind. Ziva couldn’t move much, but Randy got the hint.
He looked Dexter in the eyes while squeezing his wrists.
“I don’t ever remember giving you permission to touch her.” He said.
It had to have been the adrenaline pumping through her veins, the anxious feeling Dexter caused, and Randy’s return, but Ziva felt a large bubble burst between her legs, at least that’s how she’d describe it. Tunnel vision took over and she began to cry, tugging on Randy’s shirt while Naira returned and flew into action, coming to her sister’s side to get her to breathe.
Joseph, who was trailing behind them with Sebastian, passed him to Bianca while going to his friend who was dead set on pummeling Dexter into the concrete ground.
“Not right now,’ the Samoan mumbled, peeling Randy’s grip away from the offender’s wrist. “Snap out of it and get Z to the hospital.”
Dexter scurried off, disappearing in the many tunnels of backstage.
Randy snapped his head around, softening at the sight of Ziva crying and staring at the puddle of water on the floor.
“Shit,’ he cursed, allowing Joseph to help him get her out of the chair.
He swept her up in his arms, easily carrying her down the hall while those important to them gathered up their things and followed.
Paul had been expecting Ziva to drop anytime now and knew to take over for the night. She didn’t trust anyone else and knew that he’d treat the product like he did with Smackdown. It was another sold out show and she wanted to keep the fans as happy as she was about to be.
Her head fell to Randy’s shoulder as they walked, she tried holding in her wails but the contractions were hitting hard and for the first time in a long time she felt vulnerable and scared.
She was about to be a mother.
Two babies.
Two new lives to protect.
As much as she was scared, the motherly instincts she lacked in her own life kicked in.
SUMMARY: Nessa wasn’t looking for love, neither was Joe, but when you know, you know. Isn’t it funny how fate work?
*DISCLAIMER: This is a multi-part series. I do not own any of the characters in the writing except for the OCs. The book uses actual names of wrestlers. Josh is Jey, Jon is Jimmy, Trinity is Naomi, Joe is Roman. The book is not realistic and does not take place during real events, but some actual events (matches, storylines) could pop up in the story eventually. I DO NOT GIVE ANYONE PERMISSION TO TRANSLATE OR REPOST MY WRITINGS ANYWHERE. THAAAAAANKS. *
PAIRING: Roman Reigns x Black OC
TROPE: Love At First Sight
WARNINGS: N/A
WORD COUNT: 3,659
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
Nessa’s Uber stopped in front of the InterContinental Hotel of Miami. A valet driver approached her door, opening it for her to step out. “Good evening, miss.” The Valet greets her with a smile. Slowly, she steps out of the car, her head tilting back to take in its size. It was nothing short of luxurious—which made sense for Joe to stay there.
“Yeah, hi.” She says, slightly turning her head to acknowledge the man. When he noticed she had no bags, he would move off to the side, his arms clasping behind his back. She ascended the granite steps to the glass doors, where a doorman stood by to open the door for her. “Thank you.” She says, briefly glancing at the doorman. She walks into the hotel lobby, her eyes wide with amazement. She’s never been in something so grand before. She expected them to start charging her for even breathing the air here.
“Good evening, ma’am.” The concierge clerk greets her with a smile from behind her desk. “May I help you?” She asks. Nessa forces herself to look away from the grandness of the lobby, walking over to the employee.
“Um, I’m looking for Joe?” She asks. The woman’s smile falters slightly, and she leans in a bit. She was going to need a little more than just a first name. Joe was a typical name to have, and without a last name, she couldn’t help her.
“Last name?” She presses. It was then Nessa realized she never got his last name. Joe was simply Joe to her.
“I don’t know…we met earlier tonight—he invited me here.” She explains, slightly shaking her head. “I can describe him?” She suggests. “He’s tall,” She lifts her hand above her head a few inches. “About yay high, bearded. He has long hair, but it’s tied back in a tight bun. Really, super attractive and—.”
“Super attractive, huh?” An amused voice says from behind her. Nessa becomes incredibly still, her eyes widening. She was busted. Slowly, she turns around, coming face-to-face with Joe. He was standing a couple of feet away, two bags in his hands. He had just gotten their food from a delivery driver. There was a grin that matched his tone of voice on his lips.
“Um,” She drifts off, becoming silent.
Though she remembered who she had seen earlier, he appeared to her now an entirely different person. The hairs in his bun threaten to leave the up-do, beginning to stand wildly on his head. The suit was gone, now replaced with a tight black shirt and dark grey sweats. It was giving ‘I just rolled out of bed’ but in the best way. Her eyes would flicker down to his heavily tattooed right arm. She couldn’t examine it for too long without being caught ogling him. He glances past her at the concierge clerk, lifting his brows slightly with a nod. “She’s with me.” He tells them, his gaze then shifting to his date for the night. He gestures with his head for her to walk with him, which she does.
“So this place is nice,” Nessa mentions, trying to create small talk.
“Yeah, it’s alright.” He replies. He’s been to better, but he wouldn’t say that out loud. He didn’t want to come off arrogant to her. “How was your ride over here, though?”
“It was fine.” She answers. The Uber Black he ordered for her wasn’t necessary, but she wouldn’t dare tell him that. Obviously, he had money, so who was she to advise him how to spend it? She walked with him over to the elevator. “Thank you for that, by the way.” She says quietly.
“You’re welcome.” He says, reaching out to press the button to call the elevator. The lift would ding and then open, “After you.” He says, gently swinging one of the waffle house bags towards the inside. Vanessa followed his orders, quickly moving into the elevator. He followed behind her, his eyes fixed on the back of her head. Once inside, they both would turn to face the doors. Where Nessa was staring ahead with nervousness apparent on her face, Joe wore a big smile. He was happy she was here. She was, too. She’s still in disbelief that she chose not to be a coward for once.
Joe presses the R button for the rooftop, prompting the doors to close and the lift to ascend the building. Nessa would glance at him, taking a second to admire his side profile. His ears, though large, fit him perfectly. His nose was straight, his cheekbones high. On those cheekbones, there were faint speckles of pigment. He was perfect. She was now back to questioning his profession. Model? He has to be. Feeling her gaze on him, Joe looks in her direction. Nessa quickly looked away, but it was too late. He had caught her staring.
Now, it was his turn to admire her. Her face was small, but her features were the perfect size. Her nose was small but curved out to accentuate the fullness of her lips. Full lashes hid her almond-shaped eyes, but when she looked at him, he could tell they were soft and full of innocence—at least to Joe, they were. Even in this relaxed state, she was drop-dead gorgeous to him. Her hair was in a messy bun on top of her head. The black hoodie she wore was oversized, swallowing her frame.
The elevator dings, letting them know they have reached their destination. The doors open, revealing an empty Olympic-size pool with plenty of vacant chairs lining the sides. “I got us over here.” He says, leading them beyond the pool area onto green turf. Nessa was walking behind him, still taking in the sights around her. She’s never seen the skyline of Miami from this point. The sound of waves crashing against a concrete path down below soothed her. Altogether, it was a vibe.
Joe stopped in front of his setup, and Nessa didn’t notice. She collided with his back, prompting him to turn to look over his shoulder. “You good?” He asks, laughing softly at her.
“Sorry, I wasn’t—.” She mutters, her eyes finding the scene on the faux grass before her. “Oh,” She breathes. Her reaction was everything Joe hoped it would be. He steps to the side, allowing her to take it all in. He had set up a picnic spot for them. Decorative pillows lined a white comforter spread neatly on the ground. On the comforter was a small table with an ice bucket, wine, and two crystal glasses.
“The hotel helped me put this together. It was the best they could do with forty minutes, but I think it’s okay.” He glances at her, trying to gauge her feelings off her facial reaction. “What do you think?” He asks. She looks at him, a soft smile on her face.
“It’s perfect. Less is more.” She answers. He’d match her soft smile, now kicking off his slippers.
“Then let’s eat.” He says, moving onto the cushioned pallet. She removes her shoes, stepping on the back of the heel to take them off. Her feet would sink into the prickliness of the turf before she sat down next to him. He was opening their bags and removing their to-go boxes from the bag. “Steak and waffles for the lady.” He says, passing off the container. “I told them to include A1—just in case you needed it.” Though Waffle House was a great late-night meal, it can be a hit-or-miss.
“Thank you.” She says, giving him a small smile.
Nessa and Joe would spend the entire meal asking questions about each other. She’d discovered he was Samoan, which would explain the beautiful tattoo she’d been staring at all night. He’d find out Vanessa was the eldest sibling of three. She’d learn he was an athlete but hadn’t played football in several years. He’d learn that she was a well-established photographer and had dreams of one day opening a studio. Now, he was overseeing the family business with his two cousins. He didn’t talk about the family business, but that was all for good reason.
He noticed something about her earlier that made him want to know her even more. Nessa didn’t know who he was before he approached her, and he appreciated it. To her, he was just another man. Something about not being recognized as one of the most prominent faces in Sports Entertainment was refreshing to him.
The pair finished their meal within thirty minutes of sitting down. Now, they were talking over a glass of wine. They lay on their sides facing each other, their elbows propped to hold up their upper bodies. “So, have you checked in with your cousins you abandoned?” She asks, peering down at her smartwatch. Joe snorts at the mention of his cousins. He’d forgotten all about them. “It’s three in the morning.” She informs him.
“I have their locations.” He says, pulling out his phone. He had hoped they made it back to the hotel and nowhere else, or this night would be cut short. When Josh and Jon’s location appeared at the hotel, he sighed softly. “They made it back in one piece.” He informs her.
“What are they like?” She asks, now curious about his family. His eyebrows jump at the question, and he takes a deep breath.
“They’re a lot. Luckily, Jon got his wife Trinity to keep him grounded nowadays.” He explains.
“And Josh?”
“It’s complicated with him.” There is a girl his cousin is interested in, but they are in a weird spot. He has his hopes for them, though. But he and Josh are the single ones in the group. “He’s trying to find a way out of the friend zone.” Nessa would bare her teeth at Joe, sucking in a breath through them in a hiss.
“Ouch,”
“I know, right? I admire his dedication, though.” He says, shaking his head slightly.
“I guess that runs in the family, then.” She says.
“What?” He asks.
“Being dedicated.” She replies. Joe looks up at her, those dark eyes finding her own. “Seeing that I’m here right now.” She adds.
“We were always taught that if we want something, we should go after it. No matter what it takes.” He explains. The pair would grow silent, eyes locked on eyes. There was heat building in Nessa’s chest at the sight of this man. Her anxiety was no longer a factor, thanks to the glass of wine she’d been sipping. That heat would spread throughout her body but make itself known in her ears. Why was it hot all of a sudden? Was it the wine? It had to be the wine. Red wine always did this to her.
“Is that what you’re doing?” She asks finally.
“Mhm.” He hums.
His gaze would become too much for her, her body feeling as if it was on fire. She begins to fan herself, taking a deep breath. “Is it hot up here to you?” She asks, her brows furrowed slightly. He chuckles softly at her.
“Might have something to do with the hoodie.” He says, plucking at the baggy sleeve with his thumb and index finger. “Although it looks comfortable, you can always take it off.” He says lowly. Where the wine was making Nessa hot, it was making Joe more confident than before. Her eyes would find his once more when he mentions her removing the article of clothing. Suddenly, she couldn’t remember if she had anything on underneath this hoodie besides her bra.
“I-I don’t have a shirt on beneath this.” She admits. He lifts his eyebrows at her. Perhaps that was too much information. “I mean—I have a bra on, it’s just—.” She stammers.
“This is the shirt. I get it.” He finishes for her. She’d nods, her eyes closing as she mentally kicked herself for the word vomit she spewed. “We can go in then?” He suggests. Joe begins to push himself up, sitting upright in front of her. “Get you some cool air, maybe an actual shirt?” He jokes.
“No, no, it’s fine.” She says, holding up her hand. Her eyes shift from him to the glowing blue pool across the way. She was now pushing herself to sit up. “Question.” She says.
“Answer.” He replies, watching the side of her face.
“Do you swim?” She’d ask, turning to look at him. She’d meet his intense gaze, her heart jumping at the sight.
Joe’s eyes would drift off from hers, now watching the large pool in the open. “You want to swim?” He asks. She grins at his question, now moving to stand to her feet. She’d down the last gulp of wine in her glass before leaning down to put it on the tray.
“Yep,” She breathes, now walking away from her date. Joe watches after her, his eyes immediately finding the first section of skin she exposed while removing her hoodie. Nessa hooks her thumbs into her sweatpants and yank them down. There she was, standing in a matching black Calvin Klein set. Nessa eyes the water, taking a slow breath in. “Here we go,” She whispers, closing her eyes. She didn’t know what she was doing anymore and had the wine to thank for that.
Joe’s eyes scanned her semi-clad body one last time before slowly moving to stand to his feet. She’d kicked the two articles of clothing to the side before reaching up to pull her hair from that messy bun. It’ll fall effortlessly to frame her face and cover her shoulders. She finally opens her eyes, now backing away from the edge. She was about to dive in and wanted a running start. Mentally, she prayed she didn’t trip on the way in. To embarrass herself in front of such an absolute man would be a death sentence to her. That was just her being dramatic. Joe hadn’t moved to remove any of his clothes just yet. He was in a trance he couldn’t seem to break.
This woman was captivating to him and somehow unknowingly unique. The way she talked reminded him of himself. She never wants to receive recognition and deflects praise of any kind. Such a humble and down-to-earth woman she is. She was quiet for the most part, making it known that she was listening to him. She was what he liked precisely. He would be honest; he thought he’d never see her again after tonight. His mind kept telling him that maybe she gave him the wrong number and maybe, just maybe, she thought he was weird for approaching her while she was out with her friend. But something told him—no, urged him to call her, and here she was, standing on the rooftop of his hotel with him at three in the morning.
He should really stop being pessimistic.
If he was truly Roman Reigns, this night would have gone differently. It wouldn’t be her on this rooftop with him, though—no, it’ll probably be some typical woman looking for a one-night stand, some easy picking, someone who knew Roman and wanted to fulfill a fantasy. He’d treat her to a night of great sex and then send her packing before the sun was up. That was what Roman would do.
But he wasn’t Roman. His name was Joe.
Nessa takes off, throwing her body into the pool’s deep end. The water would splash around her, leaping out and onto the concrete Joe stood on. She would allow herself to sink briefly before swimming back to the top. Her head would break the surface as Nessa sucked air into her lungs. She lifts a hand, ridding her eyes of the salt water she floated in. Joe stood at the edge of the water, still watching her.
“How’s it feel?” He asks, smiling slightly at her.
“Eh, it’s alright.” She answers. “It would probably be better if you got in.” She says, cutting her eyes up at him with a grin. She begins to float backward, allowing the giant man the space to jump in, all while still holding his gaze. She was like a mermaid trying to lure an unsuspecting victim into the water. “Take it off, take it off, take it off! She cheers, causing Joe’s smile to grow in size.
“Alright, alright,” He says, waving his hand at her. “That’s enough of that.” He finishes, ridding himself of his shirt in an impressive one-arm swoop. Unashamedly, Nessa allows her eyes to take in the godly physique of the man standing before her. The arm tattoo had become an entire chest piece resembling armor, making him look as powerful as ever. He’s begun pushing his sweatpants down, revealing red briefs. Nessa would whistle at him, causing him to laugh and shyly turn away. “You’re making this extremely hard.” He says, no pun intended.
“I’m just trying to hype you up.” She says with a grin. His hands go up to the bun on his head to remove his hair tie. Long black, wavy locks would drop, remaining pushed out of his face. He wrapped the hair tie around his wrist, now repeating the same steps Vanessa did. Joe backs up a few paces before charging at the pool. He leaps in, pulling his legs to his chest. His splash would be significantly larger, drenching his swimming partner in the escaping water. She’d squeal, turning to shield her face from the impact.
Joe would pop back up, shaking the water from his hair like a dog. “Happy now?” He asks, splashing water at her with his arm. She turns to face him again, laughing softly at his playfulness.
“Very,” She says, splashing him back. “The water suddenly feels a hell of a lot better.” She confesses. As time progressed, Nessa became increasingly flirtatious—again, she had the wine to thank for that. Joe would drift toward her, but she would drift away teasingly.
“Come here,” He requests.
“What is it?” She asks, floating back to him. Beneath the water, his arms would wrap around her, pulling her to his body. Her heart rate would soar at the feel of his hands on her body, causing her slight pain. She gasps softly in response before quickly recovering and wrapping her arms around his shoulders. They’d spin slowly, eyes watching eyes. Joe doesn’t say anything; he watches her silently through half-open eyes. There was a faint grin on his lips. “What?” She asks, hoping he’ll say something finally.
Being this close to him, having his hands on her like this, was suffocating in the best way for Nessa. The longer he remained silent, looking at her like this, the harder it was to breathe. She needed a sweet release only his words—his voice could give her right now. “You’re beautiful, Vanessa.” He says, using her full name for the first time.
“I know.” She says before turning her head to laugh. “I’m sorry—I can’t take myself seriously.” She confesses. Her legs tangled with his the longer their spinning went on. Joe watched her with another fascinated grin on his face.
“Hey,” He calls to her. The fingers on his right-hand curl against her skin, drawing her attention back to him. Her body responds to the action, making her press her body to his even more than it already was. “Thank you for coming to see me tonight.” He whispers.
Her eyes lock onto his. “I’m happy I did.” She confesses. Her left-hand tangles in the back of his hair, scratching gently at his nape. He hums at the action, slowly tilting his head to the side. His eyes would venture down to her lips for only a second.
“Can I kiss you?” He asks. Butterflies would fill Nessa at the question, her lips parting as she thought of an answer. “You can say no, I just—.” He pauses. “I’m acting off of feelings—.” Again, he didn’t want to make her uncomfortable. She presses her index finger to his lips, forcing him to stop talking.
“Shhh…” She says, moving her hand from his lips. She’d cup his jaw, her thumb caressing his cheekbone. “Kiss me, Joe.” She requests in a gentle tone. His dark eyes watched her for a second longer. She, just like him, was acting off feelings. If she was sober, this would be out of the question, but you know what they say: Drunk words are sober thoughts, and she wanted him.
Joe leans in, pressing his lips to hers. The kiss started slow to gauge her feelings about it. Once she began to return it, then and only then did he pick up the tempo. His tongue would find hers, making her moan into the kiss. Remnants of the Cabaret Sauvignon they had drank coated their tongues. If possible, they’d get drunker off this kiss alone. They’d float back toward the pool wall, their mouths still attached. Once Joe’s back and her arm hit the wall, they’d break the kiss, both panting as an aftereffect of such an epic kiss.
Nessa hovered over him, her eyes locked on his once more. She wanted more of him. Vanessa wanted kisses. She wanted touches. Nessa wanted to be groped, marked, to have her name breathed so sweetly in her ear as she drew any and every little moan from his body. It had been entirely too long since the last time she’d been interested in a man physically, mentally, and sexually. The opportunity was presenting itself, so she might as well seize it—and so she did.
The pair would pull each other together in another crushing kiss, sealing their fate for the night and moving forward.
A/N: I've been working on this damn chapter for what feels like forever (literally started it Sunday, I'm just impatient). I shouldn't be awake currently bc I have to work in 3 hours, but here I am...wide awake. The Capricorn in me never allows me to stop something once I finish it. I either will hyperfixate about it the rest of my day, or do something outrageous like stay up till 4 in the morning to finish a chapter. But now that it's finished, I will now slip into a slumber and be pissed off at myself later for doing this to myself lol
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