I wasn’t amused.
O’Brien picked the perfect night to open his fight club, if I did say so myself. End of the month meant payday for most of the industry workers around town. Some would drop entire paychecks in the hopes of winning it big, money I could previously count on to go into my pockets. That element fucked with my headspace the most. The longer I thought about it, the more pissed I became, until it was nearly time to leave.
“Glad you didn’t return the clothes and other stuff, Mac,” I heard from behind in a sing-song voice. “Unless, of course, you planned on kidnapping another size six and outfitting her with the same wardrobe? I think this one will do, what say you?”
Otelia did a little spin near the doorway, and I forgot my own fucking name. She looked absolutely stunning in the red Vera Wang, as I’d known she would when I made the purchase. The sequin cocktail dress flaunted a plunging neckline that dipped mere inches from the top of her belly button. The back was just as low cut as the front; both were held together by a tiny gold rope chain that hung around her neck. She’d paired the ensemble with strappy red pumps. Her legs appeared long and sleek. Memories of them wrapped around my shoulders while I ate out her cunt flashed inside my head. I thanked the gods she’d opted for heels instead of those disgusting tennis shoes. Men would envy my prowess tonight, and the women would want to trade places with her. She was a vison.
“What do you think, Mac?” I snapped out of my reverie.
“Well…” I stalked towards her, pretending to mull it over. “I think we need to practice particular number one on our list, where you do exactly what I say, when I say it, with zero attitude or backtalk.”
I hovered inches from her succulent mouth, our pants mixed with mutual desire. She swooned after a hefty inhale, my scent affecting her, weakening her, drawing her in.
“Take off your panties, Otelia.”
“Why?” she cried, brows raised.
“Because”—I brushed my lips against hers—“I said so, and what I say goes.”
Otelia hesitated for a moment, then used tentative hands to reach under her skirt and remove the garment at my request. Of course, she wouldn’t go quietly into the night. She twirled them around her finger before chucking them in my face as a show of defiance. I picked them up and shoved them inside my suit pocket for later.
I took a step back from her personal space and offered her my elbow. “You ready to do this?”
She took my lead and flashed me an award-winning smile.
“Time to fuck shit up, Mac.”
Such a brave little kitty cat.
And off we went.
CHAPTER 26
Otelia
FERDI MET US at a deserted parking lot off Highway 10 in the middle of Bumfuck, Nowhere. It was a mile outside of town surrounded by farms, fields, and open land. In a word, it was creepy. A limo materialized out of thin air, and we three were taken to a private airport hangar, newly erected from what I could tell. No words were exchanged between the driver and Mac, which only added to the hair-raising factor. After a series of security checks, we were escorted to the exclusive area where the fights were to take place. The whole cloak and dagger, the mob version, was very exciting, and my body buzzed with what was yet to come. I not only had one fine specimen of hunky man-meat on my arm, I was blessed with two. We made a handsome trifecta, if the stares and points were anything to go by.
Picture it.
Remington, Virginia, at an illegal underground fight club!
Take that, Sophia Petrillo of The Golden Girls.
Ferdi excused himself to “recon the motherfucker’s layout”, his words, while Mac and I were left alone to peruse the scenery. I had to hand it to this fuckhead, O’Brien—he’d spent a pretty penny to outdo his competition. Naturally, there was a standard-sized ring, three open bars, and a VIP section towards the front giving its members the better view. That was where the similarities ended. Where Mac’s place was rough and rugged, catering to the everyday man with a few dollars in his pocket looking for a good time, here, the focus was on the hedonistic needs of the privileged elite. Anything your little heart desired could be had in this place for a price. Access to women and men of your choosing, trays of a lined white substance, probably cocaine, and top-shelf alcohol was yours for the asking. And that was just what was in plain view. I imagined there was even more debauchery hidden in the bowels of this overblown cesspool. I felt sick just standing around in this place, let alone having to mingle.
“What’s wrong, Otelia? You look a bit queasy,” Mac asked as we made our way.
“This shit is all the way fucked up, Darragh.”
“Language, my dear. Remember our particulars,” he chastised lightly.
I wanted to slap that knowing smirk off his pretty face. Maintaining an image, that was condition number two on his long list of “must do’s” before he agreed to bring me along. The first being, I had to follow his instruction without backtalk or sass, or he would consider my consequences. I’d readily agreed before he managed to sneak in a third stipulation, which was how he decided our night was going to end. According to him, he reserved the right to fuck me raw if I somehow pissed him off by breaking rules one or two. His idea of a deterrent was my idea of a hell of a good time. Sacrifices and all that.
“I think I’m going to hurl. Is that better? This whole scene is a shit sandwich, Mac. Why anyone would want to come here instead of your place is beyond me. We should just light a match and burn it all to the ground and save ourselves the trouble of dealing with this prick.”
“Tempting,” he replied. “And here I thought you were salty because your bare pussy was a bit drafty. Imagine what would happen if I touched you in front of all these people.”
He used a single finger to trace a line along the bottom of my skirt where the fabric stopped above my naked legs. The intimate touch mixed with the voyeuristic possibilities created an excited shiver to run down my spine.
“Concentrate on business, you fiend. What are we doing here, really? And don’t feed me a line of bull…stuff about extending a welcome. We need to find this asshole and kick his stupid behind for the crap he pulled.”
“Now, now. Don’t get your back up, kitty cat.” He leaned into me. “One could learn a lot from watching, wouldn’t you agree? Like now, for instance, your breathing, the flush of your cheeks, the parting of your lips, all signs that you crave my touch and can hardly wait to feel more of it. I bet if I ran my tongue along your slit right now, you’d be dripping wet for me. I can almost taste your delicious cream on my palate.”
“What is your sudden fascination with my pussy, Mac?” I whisper-yelled.
“Mmm…” he groaned. “That word coming from your pretty lips was the distraction I needed to keep from killing a motherfucker. Thinking about slamming my cock into your tight, wet pussy is saving lives, my dear. You should feel proud.”
A server appeared before I could answer, carrying a tray with a glass of whisky for Mac and a flute of champagne I assumed was for me. We hadn’t ordered anything, and I was reluctant to accept a drink from a perfect stranger knowing it could’ve been laced with who knows what. My date didn’t seem to share my concerns. He grabbed the tumbler and took a sip, motioning for me to followed suit. Between his obscene dirty talk, inappropriate touching, and close proximity, I could definitely use a little liquid courage.