He hugged me like the loving father he was, all strong arms and harsh grunts. His back pounding took my breath away.
He jutted his chin towards the locked bedroom door. “Not all women are gold-digging cunts, Darragh. Some are fiercely loyal, have steel rods for backbones, and enough grit to see you through even the darkest of days. When are you going to realize that we are not the worst of what we’ve done?”
“I told you, she’s business, not personal,” I argued.
“The lives we lead, the shit we are sometimes forced to do? It’s hard. Not only that, it’s lonely at the top, son. Nice to have someone soft to sink your cock into after you wash the filth off your hands. If not for your mother, you boys, not sure where I’d be. Think about it.”
I had no response to his parting words. Otelia wasn’t mine.
Never would be.
My father left as unexpectedly as he came with part of my balls tucked firmly in his back pocket. I checked my watch knowing our lunch would be arriving any moment now, less than seven hours before we needed to leave. If I had any doubts before that Otelia would hate me once I let her go, I could pretty much guarantee that was a done deal now. Some things are better left as they are, clear lines that never should’ve been crossed in the first place. I’d play my part as the boogey man to her Little Red Riding Hood.
Endgame, Darragh.
Endgame.
CHAPTER 14
Otelia
THE BATHROOM MIRROR was foggy from the hot shower I’d just taken, but not enough to hide the darkened finger prints left behind by a deranged madman. Never in my life had I ever been mistreated in such a way—not by my father, disgruntled customers down at Nipsy’s, or any man I’d ever dated. Mac had no fucking right to put his hands on me. Invited guest, my ass… What a crock of shit. I took full responsibility for resting on my laurels so easily after having my pussy eaten on a wooden bar top. What I’d thought was a connection between two people drawn to each other turned out to be another one of his strategic business maneuvers.
Never forget the con. Die with the lie.
I thought of nothing else as I dressed in another one of his fancy fucking outfits. The first time falling for the bullshit was a blunder, the second would be a decision.
I sat on the edge of the bed and waited for him to summon me. My inner thoughts were full of turmoil and guilt. How could I have forgotten the circumstances in which I’d found myself trapped by this virtual stranger? He wouldn’t apologize, this I knew with utmost certainty. Men like him would rather cut off their own dicks than say two simple words, ‘cause being right meant never having to admit when you’re wrong. No matter. I would always doubt his sincerity as it related to such things. I only knew of one way to show regret, and that was through actions, not remarks.
The second I heard the key in the lock, I prepared myself for our little reunion. Mac walked into the room and stood a few feet away from where I sat. I felt sick at the sight of him.
“It’s later than usual, but lunch is served, Otelia. You may come out now.” I squared my shoulders and faced him head on.
“Thank you.”
My cordial response was an act, a rouse, when all I really wanted to do was spit in his handsome face. I was his hostage, nothing more. The battle lines had been drawn hours ago. Before I could pass, he grabbed me by the arm and furrowed his brow. He’d obviously noticed the bruising on my neck, for which I was glad. I went with my gut and hadn’t bothered to cover them. Let him gaze upon his savagery and reflect. I craned my neck further so he could see the damage he’d caused, to choke on the knowledge that he was the one who’d done this to me. His hands, his anger, his strength.
Mac would regret me.
For the rest of his life.
He released my arm with a heavy exhale and took a huge step backwards. No words were exchanged, yet so much was said in the brief moment we stood together. For his part, it was the recognition in his eyes that confirmed his disgrace, his culpability, and his gall. As for myself, it was the wisdom in owning my shortcomings and the willingness to learn from them. No man would ever harm me again, in body or spirit. I held my head up high, defiant and unwavering at the hands of this beautiful monster. My petals were a little wilted, but I still had my thorns.
The afternoon’s smorgasbord was laid out, piping hot and ready for consumption. I’d long ago lost my appetite, but at the risk of drawing more of his scorn, I decided to partake in as little as possible so I wouldn’t provoke him. I just wanted this to be over with as quickly as possible. A spoonful of peas, a sliver of steak, and a corner of mashed potatoes, and I was ready. If Mac noticed the meager selections, he didn’t call me on it; instead, he filled his own plate and took his seat.
“The limo will be arriving at seven thirty sharp, to take us to the destination,” he shared haughtily. “Two guards will remain stationed in the back seat with you until after the fight with orders to subdue you with force if necessary.”
Of course, they are.
I ignored his commentary and continued eating. Fuck him.
His eyes narrowed to slits as he peered at me from across the table. “I don’t appreciate the silent treatment, Otelia. Stop acting like a petulant child who didn’t get enough of her daddy’s attention. These directives are for your safety. I won’t be there to watch you once the fighting starts, so listen good, woman.”
Yeah, that was what I was doing, asshole, sulking because I didn’t get my way. What a delusional piece of shit, oversimplifying and playing the bully role like a true crime figure. I felt the sudden impulse to stick out my tongue and scream, “You’re not the boss of me,” at the top of my lungs. His muscles flexed with anger under his pristine white shirt the longer I shrugged off his outrage. Perhaps he’d do us all a favor and suffer a massive stroke before the bloodshed. That would serve his ass right for being a dick. Since there was no chance of that happening, I fulfilled my duty by cleaning my plate and rose to leave his company.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he hissed. Again, I was tempted to say, “To hell if I don’t pray hard enough.” Regretfully, I held back.
I used the large window centered behind his head as my focal point so I didn’t have to make eye contact. “You’ll find me next door until it’s time to leave. Now, if you don’t mind.”
Three seconds.
The average length of a hug.
A moment in time, ticktock, tick.
That’s how long it took for Mac to clear the table with a swipe of his strong arm, lift me up by my waist, and lay me on top of the cold and unforgiving surface. My instincts led me to fight with everything I had inside me. Sheer anger took care of the rest. I slapped, scratched, punched, and screamed, “Get off me,” while Mac anchored himself between my legs and held me down by the shoulders. Our faces were so close I could see the flecks of brown surrounding his dark pupils. Gah, he really was too beautiful for words.
“My dick is in its happy place again, Otelia.” He ground against my center.
“Get the fuck off me, Mac.” I reached up with a free hand and grabbed a fistful of hair. “You make me sick. I hope you die a slow death, you bastard.”
“Temper, temper, kitty cat. Remember who’s in charge.”