The intel my IT guy sent over in reference to the shrewd blond sat expectantly in my inbox, waiting for me to open it. I hesitated for just a moment, trying to decide if I wanted to know more about her than I really needed to. There was still a slight chance that the honorable Marcus Mecken would try and fuck me at the last minute, as unlikely as it seemed, forcing me to end her life swiftly and cleanly. All things being equal, I’d rather she remained a stranger caught in the crossfire than someone I considered an acquaintance. Less chance of losing sleep that way, remaining detached in case I had to make an example out of her. Nobody fucked with my business and lived, and I wasn’t about to make an exception because the bitch turned me on.
I must’ve been inside my own head longer than I thought. Before long, there was a light tap on the adjoining door, signaling Otelia’s arrival. I slammed my laptop shut, giving her my full attention, standing to greet her as my father taught me to do when a woman entered a room. Otelia looked absolutely ravishing in her understated black slacks and Prada printed cotton T-shirt. My dick did a happy dance trapped behind my zipper, but I managed to tamp it down. I took her in from head to toe, stopping when I noticed she’d chosen her beat-up tennis shoes instead of the new Christian Louboutin’s available for her use. She noticed my perplexed expression and leveled me with her big blue eyes.
“Never buy a woman a pair of shoes, Mac.” She leaned into me. “They’ll use them to walk all over you if you’re not careful.”
“Old wives’ tale?” I mused.
“Nope, true facts, buddy. Look it up. My cousin had been dating this girl for, like, five years, popped the question and everything. Ring, down on one knee, the whole nine yards. Decided a week later they should take up jogging and bought her a pair of Nikes, then WAMMO…she ended the engagement, hooked up with his best friend, and dropped his ass like a hot potato. Poor thing never recovered, to this day.”
“Are you taking any psychotropic drugs I should be aware of, Otelia? You seem to be in serious need of your daily dose of medication.”
“Of course not, silly. I’ve never been to the tropics. I have been to Florida once, but I didn’t buy any drugs. Does that count?” She flopped down into an open chair completely unladylike without another word.
I retook my seat opposite her and poured myself a refill, her ridiculous fable too farfetched to garner a response and completely off base. I hadn’t bought her shit. If anything, I considered it a two-day rental. The items were scheduled for return after the duration of her stay. It made no difference to me what she wore on her fucking feet. Leaving the confines of this suite was out of the question. I decided, for my own sanity, that it was best to ignore her for the foreseeable future. Things had to remain strictly unemotional, and carrying on a conversation would only lead to misery or a serious case of heartburn. I could do without either.
The cook had outdone himself with this spread—everything from baguettes to eggs Benedict was laid out buffet style. She wasn’t shy about filling her plate to the hilt, a refreshing change from all those salad-eating women I was used to. A healthy appetite would account for her curvy hips and tight spankable ass that left a heart-shaped silhouette in the rear of her uniform. One shake, and I bet the tips would be rolling in by the handfuls.
“Aren’t you eating?” she asked as she shoveled a forkful of eggs in her mouth. “Mornings are the busiest hours at Nipsy’s, especially after a long weekend.” She paused just long enough to grab a pound of crispy bacon. “We make this special called the gut buster, but I usually call out the order to Nipsy as a nut buster. I think it sounds way better, don’t you? Anyway…it’s got eggs, cheese, sausage, bacon, chopped tomatoes, peppers, and whatever else we happen to have cut up at the time. The thing is massive, hanging off half the plate…” She waived the hand holding the bacon around, hitting me in the face with a wayward piece. “The customers never finish it. I usually end up throwing most of it away. I don’t know why we still have it on the menu.”
Otelia continued to stuff her mouth, not bothering one bit about the crumbs. The woman wore a three-thousand-dollar outfit that might as well have been a burlap bag by the time she was finished. I never heard a woman talk so fast and about a bunch of nothing in my entire life. The rambling, I realized, wasn’t part of an act or the byproduct of fear; it was inherently part of her nature. It goes without saying, the constant prattle made my head spin, forcing me to reconsider the whole bullet-to-the-brain scenario. Only difference being the barrel would be pointed towards my temple instead of hers.
“So… what’s your take on it, Mac?” Fuck. She asked me a question.
“I don’t have an opinion on the subject, Otelia,” I lied. Never heard a word she said.
“Ohmygod,” she shrieked, catching me off guard. “I had this same discussion with Marcus yesterday, and he said the exact same thing! I mean, come on, you have to wear socks when you go for your yearly pelvic exam. Sticking your bare feet in those stirrups is just gross. Could you imagine all that leftover toe jam between the cracks of those metal bars?”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” I seethed.
“Geez, big homie, grab a clue, would ya’? This stuff is important. Don’t try and blame me later when Mrs. Thug Felon comes home complaining about her awful pap smear. Men should be required to, like, take a class or something, on the challenges of having a clean vagina. You might learn a thing or two about the hardships of keeping that shit fresh and disease free.”
That was it.
That was fucking it.
I’d officially reached my breaking point.
Her plate was finished, and so was my patience. I grabbed Otelia by her upper arms and hoisted her from the table without missing a step. I dragged her from the room kicking and screaming and deposited her ass on the bed in the adjoining suite. I fished the keys from my pocket and locked the door between us, narrowly avoiding a flying tennis shoe she’d removed from her feet before chucking it in my direction. The little pain in my ass started screaming at the top of her goddamn lungs before I could retake my seat and finish my morning coffee. I wasn’t worried about anyone hearing the ruckus. I’d rented out the top three floors in the building, so I wouldn’t be disturbed. There was only one asshole who had to deal with this bullshit, and that asshole was me. What the fuck was I thinking taking this shit on?
CHAPTER 6
Otelia
OF ALL THE low down, macho, He-man, snake-in-the-grass bullshit to pull, this one took the cake. How dare he usher me away like a five-year-old in need of a time-out for throwing a tantrum? I grabbed the closest thing I could find, which happened to be my treacherous friend Mr. Lamp, and used the base to beat on the door until my hand ached. There was definitely something to be said about high-end furniture—that damn thing was better than a ball-peen hammer. The harsh kaboom echoed off the walls so loudly it sounded like I was trapped in the hull of a cruise liner capsized off the coast of the Atlantic Ocean. Dramatic, I know, but I had no intention of staying locked inside this dreary room for the next thirty plus hours or so.
I alternated between banging with the lamp in three quick successions while singing the lyrics to Party up, Up in Here by the rapper DMX. I’d barely made it to the chorus before the jingling of keys forced me to pull up short and hide the lamb behind my back so Mac wouldn’t see it.
It was a noble effort.
The well-put-together gangster stood visibly shaken, filling out the entire doorway with his ginormous bulk. I gasped at the sneering beast, the upturned tilt of his lip striking a chord of alarm in my belly that signaled danger. My eyes shot to his forehead when I noticed his hair, which was styled perfectly during breakfast, was sticking up every which way, as if he had been pulling at it from the roots. Our gazes met briefly. The intensity behind his stare was too much to hold for any length of time. Mac was angry, no, he was downright pissed the fuck off with my boisterous attempt at getting his attention. Now that I had it, what the hell did I do with it?
“Shut the fuck up, woman,” he growled low. “I’ve told your ass repeatedly that I didn’t have time to play fucking games with you. What part of that didn’t you understand?”
“I, uh…please, Mac.” Shit. Fuck. Think, Odie, think. “I hate being left alone, I’m afraid. Once, when I was little, I accidentally locked myself in a cedar chest, and it took hours for someone to find me. Ever since that happened, I hate being left alone. I have panic attacks and sometimes pee my pants. Please.”
My voice ended on a whisper, and I used my best puppy dog look for effect. The whole thing was total bullshit, something I’d seen in a movie on HBO once. I enjoyed my own space, hell, most days, I preferred it, but if I wanted to know what was happening, I had to be where the action was, plain and simple. This wouldn’t be the first time I had to play the dumb blonde routine to get what I wanted. Men were foolish creatures, and my tip game was strong. He pondered my desperate plea for a second before stepping out of the way and allowing me to pass. Before I made it all the way through, he stopped me with a cold wrench of my arm. Not enough to hurt, but forceful enough to frighten.
“Open your fucking mouth again, make the slightest whimper, a peep of anything, and I swear to Christ I’ll blow a hole in you the size of Texas. DO I make myself clear, or do I need to spell it out for you in crayon?”
Geez, psycho much?
I nodded my head to indicate yes and took a seat on one of the leather couches. I sat cattycornered with my legs tucked beneath my ass and took in the surroundings. The dishes and leftover food from breakfast had been cleared away, all except the coffee pot, whose scent permeated the room. Mac seemed preoccupied with his laptop and various papers scattered around. He occasionally spared me a glance, but for the most part, he left me alone.
My thoughts drifted to Maribel and what she must be going through knowing the odds Marcus faced. I was aware of how deeply protective he was of her. He no doubt kept her in the dark about the deal he made with the devil himself. He’d go out in a blaze of glory, and the love of his life would be none the wiser, all in the name of honor. My dear friend would never recover from a second betrayal on his part—she’d barely survived the first judging by her choice of men. I asked myself, was that really what love was all about? Eventual heartache and grief that left you part of the walking dead with barely a pulse.
“Lunch will be served shortly, Otelia,” Mac absently remarked, still hunched over his paperwork, horn-rimmed glasses firmly in place. They made him look human, less dangerous, more like a legitimate business man trolling the Wall Street trade journals. If only that were true. I hadn’t forgotten his earlier threat to shoot me if I spoke, so I settled for a deep intake of breath before I let it out slowly and loudly.
“Alright, Otelia,” he remarked frustratedly, removing his glasses and tossing them across the table. “You may speak freely now without repercussions. I know how hard that must’ve been for you, and I appreciate the effort.”
I may speak now?
I may speak now?
What the actual fuck?
“And you can kiss the darkest part of my lily-white ass, you piece of shit. I’d rather have my pubes shellacked with hot earwax than speak with someone like you.”
“That language is so unbecoming, kitty cat. Let’s maintain a certain level of decorum while we’re stuck here, shall we?”
“FUCK. YOU. Try maintaining that, you abscessed boil of puss.”
He wasn’t the only one who was annoyed, hell, I had every right to be, and then some. He took me from my workplace, threatened me on more than one occasion with death, then had the audacity to give me permission to speak as if I were his servant. Everything about this man infuriated me, from his “invitation” to the blasé attitude he maintained as if this situation wasn’t all his fault. Well, I had just about enough and was about ready to pop.
Mac stepped away from his pile of work and stood directly in front of me, one hand on his hip, the other pinching the bridge of his nose.
“I don’t think I like your tone, Otelia,” he clipped. “And here I thought we were getting along so well. I allowed you to remain in my presence after that shit you pulled. The least you could do is show me some fucking gratitude.”
“Gratitude? Do you have any idea how fucking deranged you sound right now? I don’t owe you a goddamned thing, least of all gratitude. Let me ask you something, Mac. What’s going to happen once your stupid fight club bullshit is over? Are we all just supposed to go back to our normal lives like none of this ever happened?” I waved a hand around, my ire too far gone to pull back now.
I watched his jaw clench as he struggled to keep his cool. I didn’t want to push him too far, but I needed him to understand how his actions weren’t just affecting me, but the people I cared about the most. He compelled me to concentrate on the facts, but had he done the same?
“Fucking right you are,” he fired back. “Every minimum-wage second of it.”
This guy really believed in his own bullshit.
“Newsflash, bright one. It doesn’t work that way, not for the victims of your little scheme. Maribel deserves peace and happiness. She’s been through too much already, lost more than you or I could ever imagine. Don’t you get that?”
“If things go as planned, your little friend and her man will have more money than they could spend in a lifetime. Mecken knew the score before he accepted my proposition, so don’t lecture me about ethics. I’m sure he lacks them. Buck Calhoun saw to that long before I walked my sexy ass into that pisshole diner. That man buried more bodies than a funeral director before either one of us was born. Surely, his mindset trickled down to his little protégé.”
“It’s not about the money, Mac, goddamnit. There are more important things in life.”
I tried to control the tears as they streamed down my face unchecked. It seemed like such a foolish thing considering the context of this argument. Trying to convince this man to rethink his position on what was clearly his bread and butter was akin to beating my head against a brick wall and not expecting a little blood. His agenda was short sided and far too egotistical to bring him any form of happiness, unless ruining people’s lives was what got him off.
“Bullshit, Otelia,” he growled. “With money comes power, and power brings the respect. Everything else can get fucked in the real world. Now, you tell me, what could possibly be more important than all of this?” He flicked his chin to indicate the opulent room we occupied.
“That’s an easy one,” I sniffed, wiping away the tears. “Love. Love is more important than anything you could buy. More fulfilling than expensive clothes, fancy cars, or this pretentious tomb you call a home. So, yeah, Mr. Man, who loves you, baby?” I ended on a yell.
“Love?” he scoffed. “Wrong again, Otelia. Love is that infernal region somewhere between the shaft of my cock and the hours I spend making women scream my name in pleasure. The second I’m rid of your delusional ass, love, will be the first thing on my to-do-list.”
“That makes you both sad and pathetic, Mac. I pity you. Never feeling the absolute joy that only comes from someone you care about knowing they feel it too, just as much. If you are hungry, it gives you nourishment, thirsty, it quenches your parched soul, tired, it’s a warm blanket to sleep under. So, I ask you again, who loves you, baby?”
“What makes you think I’ve never…?” He paused to gather himself. “I can assure you, Otelia, the feeling fades with knowledge and experience. When you know better, you do better. Someone like you with your limited resources and likeminded acquaintances has nothing bigger to strive for than a hollow emotion like love. Discussion fucking over.”
I watched as the fight left him and a steel curtain flew up to cover his face in a blink of an eye. His skin paled, and he looked a little green before shaking his head and returning to his paperwork. The conversation was over, whether I wanted it to be or not. He wasn’t going to budge.
The heaviness in the room caused my shoulders to sag in defeat, and I was left with an empty feeling in the pit of my stomach. I couldn’t save my friends, worse yet, I felt for the first time that I wouldn’t be able to save myself. The only thing left to do was wait, but that didn’t mean I had to do it in his company. I stepped towards the adjoining suite without looking back, slamming the door in my wake.
CHAPTER 7
MacCabe
MY CELL PHONE rang for the third time in less than an hour. My father was on a mission to chew my ass out, and his patience was wearing thin. He took it upon himself to assign three more men down from Boston to serve as bodyguards. No doubt, Ferdi snitched like a new bitch that I was alone and without protection. I loved the old man, but his constant meddling was one of the reasons why I’d been avoiding his calls. He wasn’t nearly as hands-on with my brothers’ affairs as he was with mine, something I’d grown to detest since taking over the underground fights. He constantly reminded me what it meant to be the youngest in the family, how that position was both a blessing and a curse, especially in our business. I understood the curse part; it was the blessings I chose to focus on.
I stationed two of the useless pricks outside the penthouse door and one near the exit of Otelia’s suite. Not that I was expecting any more company. Mecken and his boys would be too busy preparing themselves for the match to waste time by paying me another visit. I received word that the Tokyo entourage had arrived and was settled into the accommodations I’d reserved for them across town. The champion, Akiko Tanaka, was notoriously superstitious with an aversion to flying in airplanes. To my knowledge, he declined every other offer to fight in underground circuits when previously asked by some of the top promoters. His people reaching out to me was testament to my growing reputation as an honest business man who had the coin to cover whatever bet they threw down. That alone was enough to risk it all, including potential jail time for so-called kidnapping, if that’s what it took to get this deal done. My conscience was clear, my resolve was stronger than ever, even if it meant bumping heads with a certain blond-haired waitress in need of a good spanking.
48 Mac (A Junkyard Boys Novel) Page 4
