Page 115 of Precious Legacy
Visiting the batting cages has always been a Genovese tradition, created by my dad and Uncle Sawyer back when they were kids as a way to keep out of trouble and away from my grandfather. It’s a stupid and dangerous tradition that tests your loyalty, trust, and above all, your stamina to withstand the pain. Ultimately, it’s just an excuse to inflict pain on one another in a controlled environment.
Varo, Haldon and I have been playing this game of chicken for years now, and it never gets old. You basically have to stand still while the batter hits baseballs at you. It’s up to the batter if they want to hit you or not, and if their aim is good, you decide whether you’re going to run, flinch, or stand still and take it.
Like I said, it’s stupid, but it’s what we all bonded over when we were younger and still do now.
The girls were never allowed to play because, as usual, the men in our family are overprotective. Sometimes that’s a good thing, but I know Alanis; she’s as strong as they come. Which is why I brought her here.
“We’re really doing this?” she asks, quirking a brow. I know she won’t pass up the opportunity to show how ruthless she canbe, but this is more than that. This is my way of showing her how far I’m willing to go, to prove I trust her. In return, I want her to trust me just as much.
Hooking my fingers into her belt loops, I tug her against my body. She looks so cute with her baseball helmet on—something she was reluctant to wear—while sporting a humorous mean look. “You worried I’ll get hurt?”
“I’m counting on it,” she smirks. “But it just seems so…cruel.”
Alanis was always standing on the other side of the fence when her brother and I used to come here. It was strictly boys only, but she used all of her allure to distract me at every chance she could get. I sense today will be no different.
I let my eyes linger on her features for a moment. The way her brows furrow, darkening her skeptical gaze. The way her luscious lips that I’ve kissed a thousand times press together. She’s the image of perfection, and she’s all mine. “I’ll let you kiss it better.” I wink at her and she shoves me back playfully, picking up the baseball bat and resting it over her shoulder. She rolls her eyes in irritation, but I don’t miss the glimmer of excitement.
“Think of this as payback,” I tell her as I readjust my baseball cap.
“Payback?”
“Yeah, for whatever I’ve done or will do.” I shrug, because I’m not an idiot and I’m no saint. Lani is it for me, which means I’m going to piss her off more times than I’ll be able to count and she’ll want to let her rage out. Between this and the boxing ring, I think I’ve found the perfect outlets for all the pent-up anger I’ll no doubt cause.
I gesture to the batting cage again in answer to whatever question rolls around on her tongue.
Those perfect lips tilt into a weak smile. Though she tries to hide it, I can sense the excitement bubbling beneath her skin. It’s been weeks since Prescott’s death, years since the attack outside The Ravenite, and I feel like we’re finally reaching a good place. One where we’re not trying to tear each other’s throats out—just our clothes off.
We’re creating a life for ourselves, together and independently. Lani is excelling in the academy, which doesn’t come as much surprise, and with Aunt Lexie around, I know she feels more at ease. She’s even attending my mom’s charity meetings. I never ask about them, but I can see a clear improvement in Alanis—not that there was anything to improve on. It’s a long road to recovery, I know that. My mom is on my case enough as it is, but Alanis is a fighter and addressing what happened is always the first step. She’s nailed that effortlessly, so I know she has this shit in the bag.
As for the Russians, they’re still pushing their luck, but we have Gracie working on some leads for us. Haldon is also checking in with his contacts, but there’s no sign of the mysterious drug the Russians brought in roaming the streets. For now, we’re just waiting for them to slip up so we can plan our next moves on infiltrating their business.
“Okay,” Alanis sings, swinging the bat through the air. “I’m ready.”
Stepping inside the batting cage, I walk past her until I’m at the other end. I press myself against the fence, facing her. I’ll bet she can’t wait to inflict as much pain as she can on me. Just like the time we were in the boxing ring, she stands firm and focused.
She presses the button to the side of her for the machine to release the ball, and I take a deep breath, puffing my chest and preparing for the pain. A few seconds pass before the familiar sound of the ball release rings out as one flies towards her. Sheswings hard and fast, but misses, her whole body jackknifing with the momentum. Her shoulders deflate a little, but she shakes it off before moving back into position, pulling the bat high behind her head.
Another ball shoots through the air, she ducks this one just in time before it pummels her face. “Damnit!” she growls, jamming the ‘stop’ button with her thumb.
“Come here,” I chuckle, pacing towards her. I shouldn’t really be helping her since my pain is reliant on her hitting the ball in the first place, but I can’t resist an opportunity to get close to my girl.
Sliding my hands over her waist, I turn her back into position. There’s nothing sexual in the act—then again, nothing has to be sexual when it comes to Alanis. She just has this ability to consume me. Just one look and I’m hers. It’s always been that way ever since we were kids.
Our moms used to joke that we were made for each other. Of course, they were right. It’s taken some time for us to get to a place that is no longer focused on her hate and resentment towards me, but if I hadn’t pushed her, we probably wouldn’t be standing in a batting cage together today.
I reposition Alanis so that the sides of our bodies are facing the pitching machine. Her ass presses against my crotch, and I have to suppress the groan of desire that tries to surface. I ignore the painful strain of my cock against my jeans and slide my arms over hers, holding her hands in place on the handle of the bat.
“It’s easy, really,” I tell her. I pull the bat over our shoulders, following through with an easy swing. “Keep your eyes on the ball and let your hips follow through,” I say, motioning to the pitching machine. “When it passes that line”—I point to the white marker just ahead of us—“you can swing.”
“As simple as that?” she sighs.
“Yeah,” I chuckle, dropping a parting kiss on her cheek before I press the button to start the machine again. “As simple as that.”
“Okay,” she huffs.
I watch her do a few practice swings from the side of the cage until she finally hits the ball. It soars through the air impressively, bouncing against the fence at the other end. I’m suddenly regretting helping her. Now that I’ve seen the power in her swing, it’s only a matter of time before one of those balls hits me.
She must notice my apprehension because she pins me with a dubious look as she rests the bat on her shoulder again. I’m not one to chicken out, though. Her brother has a mean swing, so I guess I can’t be surprised that she picked it up so easily. But it’s been a year since I was last here, and that was because Haldon wanted to blow off some steam. Alvaro was otherwise occupied, so it was just me and Gambino. Still, even twelve months can’t erase the memory of that feeling when a baseball hits you at forty miles an hour.
