“I know you don’t have a reason to trust me and this whole thing is pretty messed up. There is nothing behind that door that can hurt you, I give you my word. One thing you should know about me, Otelia, I never lie, especially when I’m being less than truthful.”
I thought about his words, the hard feel of his muscles, and the way he’d protected me from his henchmen the night before. Killing me wouldn’t be a hardship for this man; after all, business was business—his words, not mine. I might not trust MacCabe as far as I could throw him, but there was something else I had always placed my faith in—a deathbed promise made on a cold winter’s night to a young girl who had believed in nothing else since. My chest tightened with the memory before I set it aside once again. No, my life wasn’t in danger, of that I was certain.
Mentally prepared, I warned, “If anything happens to me, I swear you’ll never have another peaceful night’s sleep for as long as you live, Darragh. I’ll haunt your dreams until the day you die. Think The Sixth Sense movie on steroids, buster. Believe it.”
That said, I stepped away from his embrace and walked ahead of him inside the darkened doors. Once inside, my knees buckled for another reason entirely. I was absolutely awestruck. Once, while on a family vacation, we’d visited Vatican City in Rome and took a tour of the Sistine Chapel. Michelangelo’s stunning artwork along the church’s ceiling was enough for a then twelve-year-old Odie to nearly wet her pants. As a grown woman, this was ten times better and definitely warranted a fresh pair of panties.
Lord, give me strength.
CHAPTER 11
Maccabe
I MUST BE getting soft in my old age, or perhaps I too needed a reminder of why tonight’s fight was so important. I originally suggested going out for a ride in order to clear the air after my unintentional fuckup. All her talk of love and having someone special in my life pissed me right the fuck off; worse yet, it brought to mind how far I’d come and the obstacles I’d yet to face. Empires took time to build, but I wasn’t exactly what you would call a patient man. Delays meant opportunity, a window of time for another motherfucker to step in and steamroll right over me if I wasn’t careful. My reputation was perilous at best, especially since most believed I was playing the part, riding my father’s coattails and sucking the tailpipe of success by using my family’s name. That, by far, had been the hardest stumbling block, but I wasn’t done yet.
“This place—” Otelia’s voice held an air of reverence. “It’s…it’s amazing.”
I took in her flushed cheeks and wide smile and knew her reaction was genuine.
“Come. Let me show you around.”
I’d instructed Vince, the on-duty guard, to turn up all the house lights before we arrived. The place was empty apart from the two of us. Scheduled fights didn’t normally start until well into the evening hours. We entered on the mezzanine floor of the fifteen-thousand-square-foot warehouse; it was private, designed especially for me. It had the vantage point I needed to watch all the action without having to interact with the crowd of onlookers. Otelia’s eyes sparkled as she took in the illegal establishment that’s been functioning right under her nose the whole time.
“I can’t believe this is where the fights take place,” she screeched. “I shop here all the time when I need a new piece of furniture. The prices are fairly reasonable. Guess I can see why.”
“Actually, it’s an illusion. We’re nowhere near that store,” I told her. “The owner isn’t involved in my business whatsoever and sticks to his side of the adjoining bays.”
“Oh… so it’s like the bat cave?” She smirked. “Guess that makes you Bruce Wayne.”
“Cute, but no. It makes me Darragh, and YOU Otelia.”
She smiled brightly until her attention was stolen by the twenty-foot standard-sized boxing ring in the center of the floor below us. She trotted down the steps like an excitable child on Christmas morning. She squealed with glee before climbing inside the ropes. I watched her shadow box from a few feet away before she raised her arms Rocky style in mock victory. She amused me greatly, and I found myself smiling at her antics, something she’d made me do a lot over the last twenty-four hours.
We continued the tour in silence. Our next stop was the exclusive VIP room for high rollers. Inside boasted several amenities including a soundproof enclosure, a private bar area with dark wood and plush leather seating, and the perfect view of the boxing ring from any angle. Otelia stood transfixed as she tried to take it all in. I could only imagine what she assumed took place during illegal fights—it certainly wasn’t this level of luxury. She took a seat in one of the chairs and lightly stroked the arms with her fingertips sporting a wicked grin. I’d give anything to know what was running through her mind at that moment.
Suddenly serious, she asked, “Are you nervous about tonight, I mean, with the fight and all?”
It was an honest question and one I didn’t want to think about. So much was riding on the outcome, all of which fell on my shoulders. After tonight, she’d return to her bullshit job slinging hash while waiting for her Prince Charming to rescue her. For me, she’d be a distant memory of when desperate times called for desperate measures and I was forced to improvise. After a month, she wouldn’t even remember my name or the forty-eight hours she was obliged to spend with me. There was no cause for sharing is caring with this woman.
“There’s more to see. Come, I’ll show you.” I held out a hand.
“Real smooth, Mac,” she spat. “Evade, avoid, or flat out ignore all you want. I’ve known men like you my whole life, and it doesn’t make you any less macho to admit when something frightens you. If you ask me, it just makes you look stupid.”
The fuck?
I snapped.
I fucking lost my shit.
Reaching down, I snatched her little ass out of that chair and held her by the hair an inch from my face. The blood pumped harder between my ears, creating an echoing effect as the rage inside me rose higher. She needed to know that I wasn’t the one to be fucked with when it came to my business or my intestinal fortitude. Being seen as weak could get me killed. Money talks, and bullshit runs a marathon, and THAT was the only thing that caused me concern. She had no idea the trials and tribulations I’d had to go through to get where I was today. At most, her only responsibility hinged on whether or not a customer returned their plate of runny eggs. She thought this was a game? Some type of motherfucking joke? Fuck that. Her breath caught in her throat, eyes widened with trepidation and something else I couldn’t quite make out.
“Do. Not. Presume to know a damn thing about me, woman. I’m not one of your rest stop sissy boys you can control with a shake of your sexy little tits. Show me some motherfuckin’ respect, or I’ll be forced to teach you how.”
Otelia’s eyes caught fire.
Darkened with indignation.
She shot back behind gritted teeth, “Oh, I know you, Mac, better than you know yourself. An insecure little boy who doesn’t measure up so he uses intimidation to get his way. You’re pathetic,” she spat.
My body reacted.
No time to think.
I twisted her away and tossed her across the backrest of a chair on her stomach. Before she could move, I was on her. The seat wasn’t tall enough. My height in addition to my build had her nearly bent all the way over, her back to my front. Her hands in the cushion prevented her from toppling over headfirst onto the ground. I locked her down with a heavy arm around her back with her knees together so she wouldn’t try and kick me in the balls.