Asshole.
I bought into his highhanded bullshit. What choice did I have? If there was a snowball’s chance in hell of driving O’Brien back to Boston and away from the fight scene, I had to pull up my big girl panties and get cracking.
Mac stayed out of it for the most part, all except the syndicate shit. I gladly left that to him and Ferdi. I didn’t need to know the intricate details of the vetting process or the underground railroad of mafia logistics. By day, we operated as a war council, sharing theories and different viewpoints. I never thought for a second I would feel such a sense of comradery amongst these men, a sense of belonging, but I did. They treated me as one of them instead of an outsider looking in. Dare I say, part of the family? I know, that sounded ridiculous even to my own ears.
Mac fronted the necessary cash, assigned a dedicated group of guys to do my bidding, listened to my incessant whining and fears of failure. Whatever my little heart desired, he made it happen. I’d planned everything, down to the tiniest of details. The only thing left was the event itself. I wanted it to be spectacular. More importantly, I wanted Darragh to beat the brakes off that asshole O’Brien and send him back to Boston and away from me. Business was Mac’s one true passion, and it was within my power to give that to him, to help him prosper. I didn’t want to let him down.
I took a seat on the edge of the bed in the guest room dressed in one of the few stylish sweat suits Mac had provided for me. Seeing as I was stuck in his penthouse for the foreseeable future since it wasn’t safe for me to return home to retrieve my own, more clothing had arrived over the course of the last few days. I had no say in the selections. Mac had a certain style, and since I represented him in all things, he expected me to graciously accept his kind generosity as his invited guest.
That was me, alright.
His hapless interloper.
I still had time before I was supposed to get ready, so I stole a few moments alone. Lord knows I needed it. So many things had changed in my life. I barely recognized it from all it used to be, and it hadn’t even been a month since my initial confinement. I learned from Maribel that Nipsy had fired me from the diner. Truth be told, he’d fired all of us. Apparently, he had enough of our “female bullshit with asshole men fucking up his fine establishment and costing him money, making it so he’d never be able to retire.” His words exactly. Costa Rica was calling his name, so he decided to take an impromptu vacation, closing Nipsy’s until he returned. The only good thing about that whole situation was his pledge to pay our salaries in the interim.
Let it not be said that the old bastard wasn’t fair.
An asshole, but fair.
And while that was disappointing news, it barely registered as a blip on my fuck-o-meter. I blamed my current state of despondency on a little-known disease I’d dubbed Nocturnal Mac-psychosis. Its symptoms were most prevalent between the hours of midnight and six in the morning. As of today, there was no known cure. The sad thing about this mysterious psychosis was its multitude of side effects. Fatigue, aching bones, sore lips, difficulty urinating, and my favorite, mental instability compounded by delusions. The second the clock struck six in the morning, the fog lifted from my brain, my pussy managed its greedy appetite, and the disease dissipated enough that I felt like my old self again.
Until the disorder flared up again.
Damn you, Nocturnal Mac-psychosis!
We’d spent every night together, touching, caressing, learning what felt good and what left us gasping for our next breath. He told me I belonged to him while he fucked me long and slow, his eyes never leaving mine, burning my spirit from the inside out. I allowed myself the pleasure of letting go during those times, to open myself up to whatever he had to give without claiming more for myself. It was stupid and foolish to think that I could one day mean something to this hardened criminal, yet at night, when it was just the two of us, I imagined.
Bella held his heart once, and she’d squandered it without mercy. He’d changed because of her, yet some part of him still loved her. Why else would he be going to such lengths? I’d sensed it the night we went to O’Brien’s fights, and I’d felt it the morning she’d called his cell.
He’d tried to be discrete, replying in hushed tones and one-word answers. I lay their next to him feigning sleep, sucking back the gasps that lodged deep within my throat, but I heard the whole thing. The secretive plan they made to meet up later that day at the warehouse, alone. When he got ready to leave, he lied straight to my face, said he had to attend to some business in town, never once mentioning Bella O’Brien’s name. I had the choice to call him on his bullshit, demand he tell me where he was really going, but I didn’t. It was then I realized my true position as fill-in, and I’d been more than a little distant ever since.
“You nervous about tonight, kitty cat?” Mac startled me from the doorway. Geez…how long had I been sitting here daydreaming?
“Maybe a little.” I fiddled with the duvet. “Okay…maybe a lot. This thing could blow up in our faces, a complete flop like the movie Glitter, and it would be all my fault.” He didn’t need to know that the fights weren’t the only thing causing me stress.
Mac chuckled and leaned his shoulder against the doorframe.
Damn, he was beautiful.
“First of all, calm down,” he commanded. “You have no reason to be concerned. Everything is as it should be, thanks to our careful planning. Secondly, there’s no way this thing is going to flop. Preliminary numbers are already rolling in. Bookmakers started taking bets from anonymous players two days ago, and we’re already trending in the black.”
“What if nobody shows up or we don’t have enough fighters, then what?”
“Impossible.” He smirked. “Interest was through the roof. We had to turn enough guys away that if we added a second night, we’d still have too many. Seems your instincts were right. People were tired of watching the same old steroid freaks pounding each other’s brains out. They all wanted a change in the action.”
That was a surprise to me. I had no idea so many of Remington’s average Joes would be interested in underground fighting. Still didn’t help the fluttering of unwanted nerves and queasiness rolling around in my stomach. I reached for my cell phone and noticed it was time to start getting ready. Mac’s voice caught me off guard.
“I have something for you.” He stepped out for a second then returned with a black garment bag with the name Dolce & Gabbana printed across the front. My breath hitched in my throat.
“Mac.” I exhaled, flummoxed. “You didn’t have to…”
“You earned it,” he insisted. “Something special for all your hard work.”
Right…business, I thought to myself but didn’t say it out loud.
I slowly unzipped the bag and laid eyes on its contents. Inside was the most stunning cocktail dress I had ever seen. Black marbled velvet with a strong, beautiful sheen, spaghetti straps. Its length ended just below the knee. Elegance personified. It knocked the fucking wind out of me, and I found it difficult to keep my eyes from misting. Why had he bought me such a gift? Was it really payback for hard work or something else? It wouldn’t be the first time a man had given me a handout right before the big kiss-off. Sadly, I was used to it.