She gives me another smile before she takes a few steps toward the door. I look at the clock on the wall. “Shit, is it time already?”
She pops her gum and giggles. “No, silly. We need to take care of the fighters before the match.”
Say what, now?
“Take care of them...how?” She gives me a wink. “Use your imagination, girlfriend.”
Jesus Christ, I knew there was a catch.
Obviously, unfazed by my horrified expression she continues. “You're lucky. You're wearing green. That means you have Jackson...he's like mega hot. I mean, I've never been given the chance to try him out, but God, what I'd give to one day.” She playfully fans herself. “I'm stuck with some guy who's good looking, but dumb as a box of rocks.” She twists her hair around her finger. “See ya in a half hour, babes,” she calls out before she leaves.
I spin my chair around to face the mirror again.
Could I actually do...this?
I mean...what I do on my own time, is pretty much the same thing. Except I do it with safe nerdy guys. Guys who are into anime, and play dungeons and dragons in their mother’s basements.
Guys who I can control. Guys who will say and do whatever I want them to.
Guys who know about my past, but are just so happy to have a real girl to play with, they couldn't care less.
Guys who are really good at hacking computers and taking down certain things that always tend to pop up from time to time since that horrible day over two years ago.
I take a deep breath and calm the tremors running through my stomach.
“You only did it to yourself, Alyssa,” I remind myself, yet again before I stand up and begin walking down the hallway.
I open the door.
What I'm greeted with, is a sight I'm sure I'll never forget.
Tanned, muscular, flesh- encompassed by the body of an Adonis.
My eyes can't help but stare at the finest ass I have ever seen in my entire life. Two perfect globes...so ripe, I want to bite them.
I bite my lip instead as my gaze spans over his gorgeous back. Broad, sturdy, powerful.
I want to scratch my nails down that back, is my last thought...before he starts to turn around.
He briskly runs the towel through his short, dark, hair. “Jesus, Ricardo. Don't you knock anymore?” he barks until he looks at me.
I can't help but look down, but he quickly shifts the towel from his head, over to his package. Doesn't stop me from taking in his large, toned, thighs, though.
Confusion is splashed all over his face. “You're not Ricardo,” he says in a deep and raspy voice.
I shake my head. Still too transfixed by his body to speak.
My God. His abs. His abs must be made of pure granite. I silently count them in my head. Yup, he's got an 8-pack.
He clears his throat, and it's only then that I finally make my way up his body, but not before noticing the name scrawled over his left pectoral muscle in black ink- 'Lilly.'
Yup, must be the girlfriend...or wife.
I swallow my distaste over the fact that he obviously cheats on her, as I lift my gaze and take in his eyes. Wow, they're something else. Mesmerizing, stormy gray swirls that- I'm betting, would almost look dark blue in the right light.
The rest of his face is just as striking. Full, yet masculine lips combined with a strong jawline. Lou-Lou was wrong- 'mega hot' doesn't even begin to describe how truly handsome he is.
My gaze turns from one of appreciation to annoyance. “So, I'm guessing Ricardo is who you choose to cheat on your wife with then?”
He opens his mouth in either shock, or in an attempt to defend himself, but I don't give him the chance. “Men like you, disgust me. There's no way in hell, I'm sleeping with you now, asshole. You can forget it.”
He takes a step toward me. “What?” He looks dumbfounded as I back away from him. “Christ, there are so many things about that statement that's wrong, I don't even know where to start.”
I hold up my hands. “Whatever, I don't fuck married men.”
“Good thing I'm not married then,” he says.
I stare at him wide-eyed.
“Shit, that didn't come out the way it was supposed to. All I meant was that I'm not married. And if I was, I certainly wouldn't cheat on her. And furthermore, I wouldn't cheat on her with Ricardo- of all people.” He smirks. “Let's just say, he's not my type.” He looks me up and down, taking in my scantily clad uniform- which only consists of a shiny green bra top and matching booty shorts. “And I don't know who the hell you've been talking to, but you're not expected to fuck the fighters.”
“But, Lou-Lou made it seem like—”
He shakes his head. “Whatever you do, don't listen to Lou- Lou. She's very territorial, and likes to steer the new girls in the wrong direction. Just because she makes it her mission to fuck the fighters, doesn't mean that you have to.” He scratches his head. “Besides, if that was the case—why would you ever agree to do that anyway? Don't you value yourself at all?” he asks, his tone dripping with both disdain and curiosity.
“I—” I start. I'm at a loss for words. On one hand, I'm appalled at how judgmental he is - but on the other...he's touched on something so personal.
I open my mouth and attempt to answer him again, but instead...I reach for the doorknob behind me and book it the hell out of the room.
I run back down the hall and enter the dressing room. I lock myself inside the small toilet stall and fight back the tears for the second time that day.
His words echo in my head as I look in the mirror. “Don't you value yourself at all?”
I draw in a shaky breath and reapply my makeup expertly while I look myself in the eye.
“No, Jackson. Not anymore.”
Chapter Two
Jackson
“And in this corner- weighing in at 235lbs of pure steel. Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you- 'Jack the Ripperrrrrr,' ” the announcer yells, while I inwardly cringe.
There are no words to describe how much I truly hate my stage name.
Needless to say, I didn't choose it.
Just like every other decision for the last 3 years, it was made for me.
I have no control over my own life anymore. And I fucking hate it.
Ricardo, my mob appointed coach; taps my back and whispers words of encouragement. I nod my head as he walks off to sit in the far corner.
I look up at the camera positioned directly above the ring and give another nod. This one's for the devil himself, Bruno DeLuca.
I'd only met him once, but I know for a fact that he watches every single match, without fail.
I search the crowd for Tyrone, yes—that Tyrone who fought in Mike's place that horrible night. Funny how the world works. Shortly after I joined the 'DeLuca family', Tyrone ended up joining as well.
Obviously, not of his own free will. He got involved with the wrong crowd, in his hometown of Alabama; and ended up going down for some shit that really wasn't his fault, but got put on him anyway.
That's, of course, when DeLuca came in to save the day.
Not only is Tyrone one hell of a fighter, but he's also my good friend and roommate. He's also the only person I talk to about Lilly in my darkest times.