I presumed from the fancy schmancy decor that this had to be where they meant to take me. The size of my accommodations was staggering. I could park a Mack truck in here and still have room to move around. The down duvet and duck feather pillows beneath me felt like heaven against my aching bones. Whoever owned this joint had great taste, if I do say so myself, and was thoughtful even. Next to me on the wooden nightstand were an ice pack, two pain relievers, and a bottle of Perrier water.
A thoughtful kidnapper.
How wonderful.
That hardly made what happened a coincidence—the well-dressed man who came into Nipsy’s demanding money, Marcus turning into a feral beast protecting Maribel, Drew pulling a disappearing act, and my dumb ass being taken off the street. Drew was one hundred percent to blame somehow, of that I was certain. That asshole was a piece of shit and a user, but his punk ass was too low rent for this type of operation. I begged Maribel to dump his ass after the last time he beat her up and stole her purse, but did she listen? Hell no. Up until that point, he was just a grubby little leech, sucking the blood out of his kind-hearted girlfriend. Ever since then, I made it my mission to tell him exactly what I thought about his sorry ass. I wanted him to leave her alone, go away, and never come back.
My best friend had this thing about abandonment that she couldn’t get over, no matter how hard I tried to convince her that Drew was not her chosen one. Marcus Mecken’s reappearance was a good sign; it meant she could finally be rid of that sniveling little prick once and for all. Maribel was too proud to ever borrow money from anyone, including myself, no matter how badly she needed it. If there was a debt owed, it surely belonged to Drew. Wherever he was, I hoped a pack of wild chipmunks attacked him in the woods and chewed his balls off.
If I had any chance of getting out of here alive, I had to use my head and be smart about it. I spent the next hour or so exploring the open floor plan on shaky legs. There were two doors, one leading to the adjoining room; the other I assumed was a way out. To my dismay they were both locked. I cursed myself for thinking it would be that easy. I checked the windows next, which was idiotic considering we were on the top floor. Even if I did somehow manage to get one of them open, I damn sure couldn’t jump, and from this height, no one could hear me scream. The adrenalin and fear caused my head to pound even harder. I lay down across the bed hoping to regroup before I tried again, but somehow, I must’ve fallen asleep. The click of the lock startled me awake, and it took several seconds for my eyes to focus on the dark figure standing above the bed. I scurried as far away as I could without falling off the edge just before the bedside light was switched on. Shocker, my suspicions were confirmed. It was him. The man from the diner.
The dangerous one.
Please let me use my phone.
He grabbed an empty chair and took a seat, one leg crossed over the other, appearing comfortable. Fucking hell, why did the bad guys always have to be so damn handsome? I was far too distracted by Maribel’s announcement that Marcus had returned to really have taken a good look at this man. Weirdly, the first thing that hit me was his smell. A subtle hint of expensive cologne filled my nostrils and instigated a new wave of lightheadedness. Call me crazy, but smells were my thing. It was as sexy and alluring to me as a well-honed physique. Not that this guy had anything to worry about in that department; his body was chiseled to perfection, clear as day even under a layer of clothing. He wore the face of a god, carved with angled lines, high cheekbones, and a perfectly straight nose that suited him impeccably. Hair products alone must’ve set this asshole back a mint. No self-respecting man should have a better mane of hair than the average woman. His dark expressive eyes held a coldness behind them, unreadable to anyone who dared to look deeply within them. His masculine beauty created a wonton chill throughout my body and caused a tense shiver that took me by surprise.
“Do you know who I am?” he asked smugly. His deep growly voice reminded me of the black sludge that sometimes accumulates behind the fryers at Nipsy’s.
“I want my cell phone,” I pleaded.
“I said, do you know who I am?”
“A kidnapping asshole who woke me up from a good dream by acting like a creeper? Do the women in your life find this side of you appealing? Advice, shit for brains, use your knuckles to knock next time, you know, the ones dragging behind you on the ground.”
Nice going, Odie. Piss off the killer, why don’t you.
Using my legs, I pushed as far back to the top of the bed as possible without climbing over the headboard. It wasn’t much, but it gave me the much-needed space of which to strike if this prick decided to lunge for me. He cocked his head to the side, amused, as if to say, “Run, little chicken, run and I’ll catch you.”
“My name is Darragh MacCabe. Very pleased to make your acquaintance,” he crooned. “I must apologize for the manner in which my collogues extended my invitation. I assure you it wasn’t my intention to have you harmed in any way, shape, or form, Otelia. How do you like your accommodations so far? Is there anything you desire to make your stay here more comfortable?”
Geez…he fucked my name with his tongue.
Focus, Odie, focus.
“Yeah, you could give me my cell phone. If that’s too much to ask, you could open the door and let me go, fuckhead. Whatever this is, this… power play you’re trying to pull, trust me, I’m not worth it. Not for nothing, but fucking with a crazy ex-marine might not be the way to go, just saying.” He smirked but didn’t budge.
“I’m afraid none of that is possible. Circumstances, such as they are, require us to remain in each other’s company over the next forty-eight hours. I hope you understand. Clothing, various styles of footwear, as well as toiletries and feminine essentials are at your disposal. Wouldn’t want you to have to stay in that smelly old uniform,” he added casually. “As my guest, your every need will be catered to, you have my word.”
Ask for the phone again, stupid.
Somehow, his word didn’t give me the warm and fuzzies. If anything, it pissed me the hell off. I didn’t ask to be here, and I certainly didn’t agree to be his guest, or whatever the hell he wanted to call it. More than ever, I was convinced that Drew had something to do with this. All roads led back to him and his propensity for bullshit. I refused to go down without a fight.
“What damn circumstances are you talking about, Mac? What does any of this have to do with me? I don’t know you, I don’t know what the fuck is going on, and I won’t be held prisoner in this luxury cell so some wannabe mob boss can get his rocks off playing warden. I want to go home, and I want to go NOW!”
“You should get some rest, Otelia,” he replied dismissively. His condescending tone sent my anger into overdrive. My fingers itched to scratch his eyes out.
“I. Want. To. Go. Home,” I demanded again, slower, for the fans in the cheap seats.
“I see you’re still not getting this, so let me break it down.” MacCabe sat forward on his chair, causing me to involuntarily flinch. There was a sudden change in his demeanor—whereas before, he had been cordial, accommodating even, now, he was flat out vibrating with hostility.
“I own your ass. For the next forty-eight hours, everything you do, everything you say, everything you fucking think is because I allow you to do so. Your good friend Maribel owed me money, and her Netflix and chill of the week decided to butt into my business. You can choose to fight this and fight me, but in the end, you’ll lose. End of discussion.”
Oh, hell no.
“You got it all figured out, don’t you?” I challenged. “Marcus will never let anything happen to Maribel; he’d die before he’d let you get your hands on her.”
“Truer words have never been spoken. In fact, I’m counting on that,” he replied cryptically. “What you need to worry about is if he’d be willing to do the same for you.”
“Why would he? We just met. I’m nothing to him,” I argued.
His face gave nothing away as he coolly considered my
question. “It’s simple, really. Marcus has a hero complex, a white knight flying around wearing a cape, saving the fucking world from the bad guys. He’ll play his part, you can count on that. Go along, and we’ll get along, understand? I have men posted at every exit with orders to shoot to kill if you try and walk out. My guests are permitted to leave only when I say so and never before. Try and remember, time flies when you’re having fun, or so I’m told.”
“You overestimate yourself, Mac,” I sneered, pushing further. “It’s going to be fun watching you scream like a bitch while Marcus plucks your eyes out with a rusty spoon. I may even film it for prosperity so I can watch it over and over while fingering my pussy.”
He stood from his chair, slowly, menacingly. In a pained whisper he replied, “Fight me, woman.” He leaned in closer. “Please, fight me.”
This was the part where he expected me to plead for my life, offering all kinds of favors like drug running and blowjobs in exchange for my freedom. That shit was not going to happen. I wasn’t the ‘fall down running from a killer in the woods’ type of female. I didn’t beg, and I certainly wasn’t afraid of a little thing like death. His threat was laughable to someone who was all too familiar with that horrible event. No, my strength was in the ability to see things as they were and adjust to them accordingly. Sure, this was a dangerous man, all modern and new in his Armani suit and shiny shoes, but he was also misguided in his belief that I feared leaving this world. As a matter of fact, I relished it. Bigger things awaited me on the other side, of that I was certain, promised even. Using subterfuge on a man like Darragh MacCabe was futile. He’d see right through that shit, and frankly, I wasn’t up for it. I was tired, my head was pounding, and the only thing I wanted to do was sleep.
“Are you done?” I demanded on an eye roll.
“As long as we’re clear on the rules, Otelia.”
“Crystal.” I flopped down on the edge of the bed and covered myself with the blanket. “If you don’t mind, I’m tired and would like to get some rest. It’s been a long day. Don’t let the doorknob hit you on the way out, Mac.”
I wasn’t trying to antagonize him into doing something wicked, like killing me. If he wanted me dead or injured, I’d already be on my back with a cord wrapped around my neck. No, he had other ideas, ones that would benefit him and him only. He looked as if he wanted to say something else but decided against it. Just as well. I was done with this shit. I scooted down into the bed still dressed in my uniform and turned my entire body away from my handsome captor. The pounding had gotten worse over the course of our little conversation, and I was afraid if it went on any longer, I’d say something I was going to regret. I’d have plenty of time to pick the brain of this asshole, two days to be exact. For tonight, I’d let him think I was his docile captive, yielding and submissive towards my predicament. I needed time to clear my head and come up with a plan of escape.
With that thought in mind, sleep came easy.
CHAPTER 3
MacCabe
I WATCHED HER through the monitor for hours as she slept soundly beneath the warm covers of the king-sized bed. She never stirred, whimpered, or cried out for help as any other woman might’ve given her situation. I imagined the soft sounds of her breathing, or perhaps a light snore as she slumbered peacefully, unconcerned with the day’s events. To say I was intrigued by little Ms. Otelia Mae would be an understatement. Hell, I was downright impressed. Bitch had a set of balls on her, that’s for sure. Tough as nails yet soft as cotton in all the right places. Several times, I wanted to punish her sassy little mouth with the head of my dick after she talked all that shit. I knew it was all for show—the way she trembled told me everything I needed to know. Like most, she feared me, and that alone made my cock stiffen with excitement behind my zipper. Too bad this wasn’t a social engagement and a shit ton of my money wasn’t involved, or I might’ve been tempted. Then again, if it weren’t for a set of unfortunate circumstances, I never would’ve met the feisty waitress.
She didn’t mesh with my world, full of fake tits and gold-digging whores ready to sell their souls for a piece of the pie. They were fickle, moving from underboss, capo, foot soldier, whoever had the most power and cash on hand. I doubt she’d even know where to begin that pursuit, much less execute. Mob families relied on tradition and principles to keep their bloodlines pure. Arranged marriages were contracted early on, at the time of conception in most cases. The oldest males destined to carry on the business were given the pick of the litter, so to speak. They were the future of the organization, and it was their job to carry on that legacy by producing enough offspring to ensure the family name for generations to come. Choosing the right spouse could make or break your ascension up the ranks if you weren’t careful. Modern times allowed for the dissolution of these contracts; daughters were given the right to choose whether or not to honor their parents’ wishes or move against the family. It wasn’t frowned upon as it once was, giving credence to the adage, marrying for love instead of money. I wondered which Otelia would choose?
By three in the morning, I phoned my tech guy and ordered a profile run on the beautiful blond waitress. I needed to know more, plus it wouldn’t hurt to be better prepared. I wanted the complete rundown—where she came from, her family history, her likes and dislikes, most importunately, who she was fucking. She was a nice distraction from the impending shit storm brewing. Too many moving parts, not enough time to prepare, not to mention a wild card in the form of Marcus Mecken. It could all go south really quick if I wasn’t careful. I decided to sleep on it, re-evaluate things after a few hours, and keep my shit as tight as possible.
My father received word that one of his men was no longer breathing and hadn’t stopped calling since. I hit the ignore button on my iPhone, intent on dodging him for the next two days until after the match. There would definitely be hell to pay, but I was willing to risk it.
Ferdi could not be put off so easily. He played an integral role in the running of my business, and he needed to know what was happening. When his name flashed across the phone screen, I answered, as he knew I would.
“You better have a damn good reason why your father pulled me off the job early and ordered my ass back to Virginia, Darragh. You know how much I hate loose ends, asshole. You’ve been avoiding him, not taking his calls, and now it’s my ass that’s on the fire pit.”
“Well, good morning to you too, Ferdi. Make this quick. I haven’t had my coffee yet.”
“The fuck, Darragh? Did you not just hear me? Your father is fucking pissed.”
“Its business,” I snapped, miffed at his tone. “I’ll get back to him in a few days once that’s concluded and I’m satisfied with the results. He’ll just have to wait until then, so back the fuck off my dick, Ferdi. You sound like a bitch that won’t leave after a one-night stand.”
My father’s interference wasn’t warranted or needed. I ran this motherfucker, not him. Ferdi got quiet on the other end of the line, and I knew I’d struck a nerve. Zero fucks were given though. His so-called feelings meant shit to me if he couldn’t ride shotgun.
“I should be back in the States day after tomorrow. You got somebody on you you can trust till then?” he finally replied. Whatever he was working on must have been important enough for him to lose his shit over.
“Yeah. Me,” was all I shared. “Where the fuck are you, anyway?”
“Cartagena.” He sighed wearily. “The land of warm tequila, sweaty balls, and crooked cops. See you soon, Cochise. Try and stay out of trouble till I get there.”
The call clicked off and Ferdi was gone. He offered no more information concerning his whereabouts or the details of the assignment. That wasn’t new. We had an unwritten rule never to discuss the intricacies of my business with my father, and vice versa. I didn’t need him knowing my shit any more than I wanted to know his. My family operated in secrecy and often avoided drawing public attention and scrutiny as much as possible. The bottom line was all that mattere
d, the dollars and cents I made towards our family fortune. The antagonism my father felt towards me would burgeon into something else once the match was over, I was sure of it.
In less than two days’ time, the name Darragh MacCabe would be synonymous with money and power. I’d own the underground fight circuit, and its minions would answer to me and me alone. It was a lot to pin my hopes and dreams on a man I didn’t know, but as long as I held on to the blond waitress, he wouldn’t let me down. He’d fight to the death in order to save her. With her beauty, I could see why. We were cut from the same cloth with an appreciation for delicate things and the ease in which we could break them. I imagine he learned that from Buck Calhoun, the same as I did with my father. It really would be a shame if he didn’t hold up to his end of the bargain.
I checked on Sleeping Beauty through the monitor once more and did something I hadn’t done in a very long time. I laughed.
It was genuine and so unexpected.
I caught myself mid-smirk.
There she was, still in that damn uniform, pressed against the wall holding the bedside lamp. She had no idea that the room was set up with cameras enabling me to watch her every move. She practiced bashing me over the head with it, getting a feel for the weight and wrapping the cord around her wrist so it wouldn’t get in the way. The first swing was from the top, held high at the base, with the shade still attached. The look in her eyes as she concentrated on just the right amount of force was downright hilarious. She even stood over the spot on the floor and pointed as if to say, “There, take that, asshole.” Something about the shade didn’t sit well with her, so she removed it and tried again. This time, she swung from the right side in a batter’s stance. She even choked up on the handle. Equally as funny to watch.
48 Mac (A Junkyard Boys Novel) Page 2
