We were both panting and sweating like a couple of animals, grunting and snarling, fingers scratching along the wood of the desk. Instinctively, I grabbed a fistful of her silky hair, pulling it at the root, until my balls drew up tight and I shot my load with a guttural roar.
Who loves you, baby?
The empty release filled my soul with regret. My headspace clouded over with disgust. I grabbed the towel from the floor and covered myself while Bella pulled up her pants and tried to hide her own shame. I’d just fucked a Made Man’s wife, but instead of feeling triumphant, I felt hollow inside. There were no winners here, just unfinished business. At least that’s what I told myself as I held open the door, effectively dismissing her from my sight. There were rules against this sort of behavior, long-standing traditions involving another man’s property, including his wife. There would be consequences if anyone found out. I might have just signed my own death warrant, but what was done was done, couldn’t take it back now.
Shoulders back with purse in hand, she barely spared me a glance as she left the office.
What the hell had I gotten myself into?
Who loves you, baby?
CHAPTER 20
Otelia
JESUS, ODIE.
What the fuck are you doing back here?
I had to do some serious fast talking to get Dave to drop me off in front of the closed furniture store so late at night. He clearly thought I’d lost my mind when we pulled up to the darkened building and I jumped out the front seat of the car. I assured him I knew what I was doing and wished him well on the rest of his manure conference. Shitty of me, I know, but I’d already made up my mind to do this, and his sour-puss face wasn’t going to stop me. Maybe I’d make a donation to the Save the Earth foundation in his name or something? That should ease my conscience enough to get me through the rest of the night.
My sky-high platform heels made it difficult for me to navigate the winding tunnel of the parking garage. By the time I’d reached the landing, I was out of breath, panting like an overworked dog, sweaty and one hundred percent a hot mess. Luckily, the little black cocktail dress I wore was sleeveless. Lord knows my pits were probably little lakes by now. A group of three or four well-dressed men passed my slumped-over form on their way to the entrance. They were so engrossed in their manly conversation about pussy, they didn’t notice when I slid in behind them and pretended to be one of the boys. When the big security guard had them raise their arms for the metal detector, I raised mine too. Fuck it. That got me through the door.
Now what?
Everything was just as I remembered, except tonight, there were bodies wall to wall. The overhead lighting was purposefully dim, similarly to a dance club where people were expected to drink and mingle. The ventilation system was amazing. Instead of smelling like old sweat socks and skid mark underwear, the atmosphere was fragrantly spiced with jasmine. Scantily-clad servers walking around with trays of long-stemmed champagne flutes. Real crystal at a fight club? What sort of trickery was this? I narrowly avoided being knocked over by a group of raucous businessmen waving their betting slips in the air, hooting and hollering for the fights to begin. One of them looked as if he belonged in a nursing home, he was so old. I was definitely out of my element in this place. I was starting to think this was a huge mistake on my part.
Too late now.
I stepped towards the betting cages and took out a wad of cash. The pleasant-looking gentleman behind the gate greeted me with a warm smile and an expectant look. I hadn’t the slightest idea what the hell I was doing, but when in Rome and all that.
“I’d like to place a bet,” I told him.
“Sure thing, sweetheart,” he said behind the glass partition. “Eight bouts scheduled for tonight. Who’d you have in mind?”
“What are my choices?”
“There’s Outdoor Jack versus Tugboat Jones in the first fight, Sledgehammer Dick versus Stock Boy Roy in the second…”
He ended up going over the full lineup, quoting stats and odds-on favor. My mind checked out somewhere between even money and the matchup bet. I honestly didn’t think my measly ten dollars was worth all the hoopla. It was the experience that counted. I thanked him for his help and stowed away my little white slip. The allure of this place was intoxicating. I could see why so many would risk possible incarceration if the police raided the building.
“Well, well, well. If it isn’t the queen of the short stack.” Fuck my life.
I knew the voice before turning around to face its owner. I cringed internally before plastering on my patented fake-as-fuck Nipsy’s smile. I should’ve known I’d run into this walking excuse of a self-made whore the second I stepped in here. It was still so hard to believe that this twatwaffle was the sister of my best friend. Kind and considerate Maribel versus the queen of fellatio. Obviously, she was birthed from their mother’s asshole like a stinking pile of shit instead of pushed from her dilated vagina. That was the sensible explanation.
“Marci,” I gritted.
“I never figured you for a gore and guts type,” she accused with self-assured confidence.
“What can I say? I’m a pound-of-flesh type of girl. I’m sure you can relate to all that...” I waved a hand around to emphasize her skimpy little cocktail dress.
“Wanna know what I think?” She snaked out her vicious tongue and stepped into my personal space. “I think you want another shot at Darragh MacCabe. That’s it, isn’t it? Look at you, all dressed in your Sunday best. You might’ve even taken the time to wash the grease smell from behind your ears. I applaud your effort, girlfriend, but give it up. MacCabe wouldn’t be caught dead with a woman like you.”
Did she just?
Oh no, she didn’t.
I stared at Marci with a curious expression on my face. Then, with all the flair I could muster, I made a blatant show of leaning towards the left, then the right. Having seen enough, I stood straight up and chuckled in her face.
“Um…what the hell are you doing?”
“I’m looking for the straps to the suspenders, you know, the ones holding up your worn-out pussy so it doesn’t drag on the ground when you walk. Since your father is a doctor and all, you should consider vaginal rejuvenation. I’m told it’s the next best thing since Botox.”
“Temper, temper, slick. I’m trying to do you a favor.” Yeah, right. My ass, you are.
She stepped closer, if that were at all possible, and lowered her voice conspiratorially near my ear. Her warm breath fanned across my face and made me gag with the knowledge that she more than likely had recently finished sucking a dick. Ulk.
“Darragh MacCabe doesn’t do love, poor thing. If he wanted you, he would’ve kept you around after the match, but he didn’t, did he? Save yourself the heartache, girlfriend. Woman to woman, you don’t have what it takes to satisfy a man like him. That cock of his is pure gold. Never tasted anything like it in my life.” She leaned in further. “And I plan to take more.”
The retort I was mulling over died a slow death when our little soirée was interrupted by a deep rumbly throat clearing. A man stood between the two of us in a well-cut tuxedo sipping amber liquid from a tumbler. He raked his eyes over the Barbie bitch before settling them on my shocked and curious ones. The guy, whoever he was, was a fucking beast. Big and broad as an English oak, his body was made for climbing. Not as cockily sexy as Mac, but he still had it going on. Dark brown hair that was tied at the nape of his neck in a ponytail, a strong nose and chiseled cheekbones, he was every bit as imposing as he tried to portray.