48 Mac (A Junkyard Boys Novel)

by SH Richardson

  “My friends call me Odie, just so you know.”

  He took a look at my outstretched hand and smirked triumphantly.

  “Pleased to meet you, Odie. Call me Darragh.”

  CHAPTER 9

  MacCabe

  MY SPOTTERS SENT word that Mecken and his boys were still in town, but their women had been ushered off to parts unknown. It was the smart move. The match was hours away, and the distraction wouldn’t have been feasible if he intended to win. My plan was coming together, with the exception of one small detail that had everything to do with the woman getting dressed in the suite next door. I’d made a stupid-ass promise to tell her a story, and when she sighed with contentment, I’d felt a sense of pleasure that I was the one who pacified her thoughts. I had to do something after everything that happened when she tried to escape. Holding her against my chest with her soft ass pressed down on my cock was not it. The final hours were upon us, and this was not the time to be fucking up. After our little chat, I sent her off to bed with an ice pack and two Tylenol for her head. She must’ve really been in pain because she took the pills without any of her usual sassy backtalk or poisoning suspicions. Yay for small victories.

  I watched her for a few hours on the monitor just to be sure she hadn’t suffered a concussion before finally turning in myself. I dreamt of soft titties, pouty lips, and golden blond hair, strands of which were wrapped around my fist while I pounded inside the sweetest pussy I’d ever felt in my life from behind. I awoke drenched in sweat with a raging hard-on, like a prepubescent teenager. The lingering dream state left me feeling vulnerable, which infuriated me to no end. I had been weak once before determination took hold. I would never show that same liability again, not over a woman. I needed this shit to be over.

  A hot shower and change of clothing hadn’t tamped down the beast in me. The men my father sent down from Boston were as useless as a white crayon, incapable of telling the difference between their assholes from a hole in the wall. If I hadn’t already called in the cleaner for that other piece of shit, there would have been two more bodies to add to the pile. Three dead in less than twenty-four hours would’ve sent my father’s ire into the stratosphere. It took everything I had not to fly into a rage and deliver more damage than just a simple ass whopping. Watching her down on the ground, legs sprawled out, hair in shambles with a helpless look in her eyes had nearly destroyed my already frazzled nerves. They had no right to touch her, not while she was mine to care for, not when I alone owned her fate.

  Against my earlier judgement, I took a look at her case file, the reasons for which I chose to ignore for the time being. She was a valuable commodity—soft skin, beautiful blue eyes, legs capable of holding a man around his ass to keep him locked deep inside her pussy. She was a rare treat who morphed into a mind-twister the more I read through her folder. Most of it was typical bullshit—age, height, weight, religious affiliation, that sort of thing. A few paragraphs down was where it really started to get interesting. She came from an affluent family. The only child of a Pennsylvania steel magnet, she dropped out of an exclusive all girls preparatory academy before graduating high school. Before I could read any further, a knock on the adjoining door pulled me from my exploration. I unlocked it with the key, not knowing what to expect, the scared little mouse or the determined woman ready to clock me upside the head.

  Fuck me.

  I was not ready.

  “Well? Aren’t you going to let me in…friend?” A wide smile graced her perfect lips.

  “Of course.” I stepped aside, allowing her to pass.

  Her glowing complexion stood out perfectly against the dark color of the off-the-shoulder blouse and flowy skirt she’d decided to wear. Although her eyes were still a bit puffy from crying the night before, she looked absolutely breathtaking. I didn’t have to look to know what was on her feet; I could smell those greasy tennis shoes from a mile away. Luckily, I’d rubbed one off in the shower that morning, or my dick might’ve risen to the occasion. As things stood, it just might anyway. Otelia had clearly taken a bit of extra time to perfect her look, flawless makeup done up to perfection, not overdone or whorish in the least. I wondered if her extra effort was for me?

  “I smelled food and thought this would be a good time to join you,” she noted.

  “Then, by all means,”—I pulled out a chair—“sit and enjoy.”

  We served ourselves with ease, the cook once again outdoing himself on the selections. Otelia wasn’t shy about eating. She dug in like a ravenous wolf after a rewarding kill of his prey. We ate in a comfortable silence…for all of three seconds.

  “Since we’re going to be friends for the next thirteen hours or so, may I ask you a question?’ she probed, her expression somewhat serious.

  “As long as you’re prepared for the answer and it’s within reason, sure, why not,” I challenged.

  “Okay.” She smiled. “Do you have a woman, Mac. You know, someone special?”

  “That’s what you want to know, who it is I’m fucking? Trust me, Otelia, my dick is impressive but hardly worth worrying your pretty little head about.”

  “Not fucking, Mac. Geez, you’re such a man. I meant someone who calls to you on a deeper level. Someone who makes that black heart of yours go pitter-patter whenever you get close to her? Someone you could see yourself spending the rest of your life with?”

  I’d killed one man yesterday and severely wounded another, yet it was this seemingly innocent question that created a sense of panic within me. Of all the things she could have asked, she chose the one thing I wasn’t willing to share. I decided to steer the conversation in a different direction.

  “I have a question for you, Otelia.”

  “Great deflection there, sparky,” she rallied before allowing me to take the out. “Shoot. And I mean that figuratively speaking, of course.”

  “Of course.” I tipped my chin. “Why did you drop out of high school before graduation?”

  She blinked through wet lashes, her gaze suddenly far away and without focus until she gathered herself and settled back to Earth. Her once mirthful facial features turned to stone just before she snapped. “You piece of shit motherfucker,” she gritted through clenched teeth. “If there was something you wanted to know about me, you could’ve asked instead of playing mob boss junior detective.”

  “Calm down, Otelia. It was just an innocent question,” I scolded.

  She grabbed the napkin from her lap and threw it across the table in an outburst of anger. “Friends talk to each other, asshole. They don’t go behind each other’s backs to dig up shit that’s none of their fucking business. How dare you? You had no right to dig into my past! None.”

  “I don’t appreciate the attitude, woman, and I won’t overlook too many more of your motherfuckers either. Remember who the fuck you’re talking to. If you don’t like the topic of discussion, I’d be willing to amend it when and if you can control yourself.”

  I might not have instigated the conversation, but I could sure as shit shut it down if she continued to behave like a raging bitch.

  “Calm down,” she whispered to herself. “Don’t like my attitude?”

  “That’s what the fuck I said, Otelia.” I drilled her with a hard stare.

  She returned a pitiful half smirk. “Thought I told you to call me Odie, Darragh? Or are we done with this little becoming buddies experiment? ‘Cause you suck at it.”

  “Look, you don’t have to—”

  “I’d like to return to my room until it’s time for the match, if you don’t mind,” she clipped.

  My father told me once that the eyes never lie, that regardless of how well a man or woman tried to hide their true nature, the eyes would always tell the truth. Otelia wasn’t angry, nor was she afraid of the consequences of acting disrespectful. She was hurt. Heart smashed and barely hanging on, if the downturn of her lips and inappropriate grin were anything to go by. I’d royally fucked this up by snooping into her past and denying her
the opportunity of denial I’d afforded myself when she asked a difficult question. It’d been a long time since I’d felt like shit for anything I’d done in my life, but today was the exception.

  “I think we need an intervention, Otelia.” I stood from my chair and walked over to where she stood, still waiting for my answer. “Let’s take a ride.”

  “You mean, outside?” she asked suspiciously.

  “Yes, outside. Unless you prefer to ride my cock, then we’ll need to stay indoors. I don’t need any spectators posting my shit on social media,” I quipped. “As I said, it’s quite impressive, or so I’ve been told.”

  “I…um…”

  She chewed on her bottom lip, wringing her hands together. I had the sudden craving to draw it into my own mouth and suck on it until her pussy quivered with need. That was exactly why we needed to get the fuck out of here for a few hours. I was this close to doing something I couldn’t take back.

  “If you’d rather we stayed here…”

  “No, no. It’s just…I am coming back, right?”

  I let the question hang in the air between us. Her fear I could accept, her contempt? Not so much. She could stew in it as long as it kept her mouth shut. She said it herself, I had a pitch-black heart, so why not let her see it firsthand?

  CHAPTER 10

  Otelia

  MAC HUSTLED THE two of us away in his fancy sports car minus the slew of bodyguards. I had no idea where we were going. I was just happy to be away from that suffocating penthouse. Five thousand square feet or more, and it felt as if I were stuck in an ice box, the air too thick to stay rooted, the walls closing in on me. If I had access to my cell phone, I might’ve been able to fake it until I made it, but that wasn’t the case. I was naked without my armor while a deadly scorpion was crawling up my leg, ready to sting me. Dramatic as fuck, nonetheless, still true. I reached the census that the mob boss and I would remain enemies until this thing was over, yet he somehow managed to check off a few more boxes on my “Things Odie looks for in a man” column with this impromptu ride, much to my dismay.

  Aston Martin was my dream car, no, scratch that. It was the epitome of class and style in my book—sleek, beautiful lines, impressive speed. I’d wanted one since the age of sixteen and first got my driver’s license. Mac, the lucky bastard, had two at his disposal parked in the underground garage—one black and one red. He gave me the choice of which one I wanted us to take. Without hesitation, I chose the black. When I slid into those buttery leather seats all nice and cushy, I groaned in appreciation of her beauty. That gleeful feeling of contentment didn’t last very long. Memories had a way of doing that to a person when they least expected it, and this car brought back too many to count.

  Mac slid behind the wheel muscled and confident. He had no idea the chaos running through my head as we sped along the streets of Remington. I could’ve throttled him for bringing up my past, a personal treasure I’d hidden from the world, never to be spoken of until the day my promise was fulfilled. He thought me stupid—I saw it on his condescending face when he asked about high school graduation. I could guarantee that whatever he thought he knew about me barely scratched the surface. He didn’t get to have that part of me. No one did. His need for information struck me as odd and unnecessary considering we were only meant to spend a few more hours together. Why would he bother?

  “You seem awfully quiet over there, a first for your rambling ass,” he interrupted my thoughts. “If I had known ahead of time a car ride would get you to shut up, I would’ve suggested it earlier.”

  “Just wondering where you’re taking me,” I lied. “Unless it’s somewhere near a deserted airstrip where a private jet is waiting to whisk me away to Argentina.” His hands gripped the steering wheel tighter as I reminded him of the threat he’d made to Marcus.

  “No jets,” he replied, impassive. “That said…I may need to hire one if this shit goes bad tonight. You better pray your boy comes through, or else…”

  I let that ominous retort die in the air while Mac continued to drive along the highway. We came upon a structure I recognized immediately; as a matter of fact, I’d just recently visited there in search of a new couch. The store, Tugboat Furniture, was still due to the early hour and wouldn’t open until eleven. We pulled around back, where we were greeted by three gray metal bay doors at the bottom of a landing. A sign posted read Deliveries Only, which Mac ignored and kept right on driving.

  What the fuck is he doing?

  Almost as if by magic, the minute we reached the bottom of the concrete hill, the door furthest to the right opened of its own accord. I sat up straighter in my seat, trying to get a better look at things as we eased inside. After a series of dips, dives, and turns, we came to an open space similar to an outdoor parking lot of sorts. There was a VIP section cordoned off from the rest facing a huge black door. A ginormous man wearing a dark suit and, weirdly, a pair of sunglasses stood guard outside the entrance. I turned to Mac, who was busy slamming the gears before removing his keys.

  “What the hell is this place, Mac?” My voice was strained with panic.

  He flashed a sideways grin. “Come, I’ll show you.”

  Reluctantly, I unhooked my seatbelt in time to watch him round the hood of the car and open the door for me like a true gentleman. He helped me from my seat by extending a hand, which I reached for without hesitation. It was warm and calloused. The feel of it caused an automatic zing to shoot up my arm while taking my breath. All things being equal, I much preferred to stay in the car at that point. Shit was straight up creepy. This didn’t make a lick of sense. We were underground in some secret caldron surrounded by macabre darkness and dread, and he wanted me to go inside? Hell to the no, fuck that shit. The big man with the shades proceeded to call him sir with a dip of his chin. His meaty paws grabbed the handle of the heavy door and wrenched it open. I pulled up short before we entered.

  “Mac?” I whispered his name like a prayer. “Please…”

  “It’s safe, Otelia. I promise nothing will happen to you as long as you’re with me. You’re my guest, remember? I always take care of my guests.”

  “Still, I think we should talk about this for a minute,” I implored him. “What if the boogie man is down there…or up there…or where ever the fuck? What if the ghost of Lizzy Borden is lying in wait for us to walk through those doors so she can chop our heads off with her ax? I really don’t think you’ve thought this through, Mac.”

  The bastard smiled.

  Then he shook his head.

  Then he smiled again. Fucker.

  “Relax, take a deep breath. You’re getting all worked up for nothing.”

  Easy for him to say. He wasn’t the one pissing in their pants, or in my case, their skirt. I thought about running, but where would that get me? Surely, Mac would follow, or worse yet, send that mountain of a man to tackle me to the ground similar to what happened last night. I could do without another knock to the head, thank you very much. Fear caused my eyes to water. I didn’t want to go in, yet I didn’t really have a choice.

  “Otelia, look at me.” Mac drew me towards him with a tug, deep within his body. His deft fingers tunneled into my scalp, where his palm massaged the strands of hair closest to the nape. My eyelids closed to half-mast. Tumbling swiftly, I descended further and further into his masculine glamour. Ignoring my earlier premonitions of misgivings, I fell over the cliff into paradise. His spine-tingling smell intoxicated my senses, overpowered the lingering nerves that locked my knees in place. I wanted to cling to him until this nightmare was over; maybe then I’d feel safe instead of what I felt at that moment.

  “I know you don’t have a reason to trust me and this whole thing is pretty messed up. There is nothing behind that door that can hurt you, I give you my word. One thing you should know about me, Otelia, I never lie, especially when I’m being less than truthful.”

  I thought about his words, the hard feel of his muscles, and the way he’d protected me from his he
nchmen the night before. Killing me wouldn’t be a hardship for this man; after all, business was business—his words, not mine. I might not trust MacCabe as far as I could throw him, but there was something else I had always placed my faith in—a deathbed promise made on a cold winter’s night to a young girl who had believed in nothing else since. My chest tightened with the memory before I set it aside once again. No, my life wasn’t in danger, of that I was certain.

  Mentally prepared, I warned, “If anything happens to me, I swear you’ll never have another peaceful night’s sleep for as long as you live, Darragh. I’ll haunt your dreams until the day you die. Think The Sixth Sense movie on steroids, buster. Believe it.”

  That said, I stepped away from his embrace and walked ahead of him inside the darkened doors. Once inside, my knees buckled for another reason entirely. I was absolutely awestruck. Once, while on a family vacation, we’d visited Vatican City in Rome and took a tour of the Sistine Chapel. Michelangelo’s stunning artwork along the church’s ceiling was enough for a then twelve-year-old Odie to nearly wet her pants. As a grown woman, this was ten times better and definitely warranted a fresh pair of panties.

  Lord, give me strength.

  CHAPTER 11

  Maccabe

  I MUST BE getting soft in my old age, or perhaps I too needed a reminder of why tonight’s fight was so important. I originally suggested going out for a ride in order to clear the air after my unintentional fuckup. All her talk of love and having someone special in my life pissed me right the fuck off; worse yet, it brought to mind how far I’d come and the obstacles I’d yet to face. Empires took time to build, but I wasn’t exactly what you would call a patient man. Delays meant opportunity, a window of time for another motherfucker to step in and steamroll right over me if I wasn’t careful. My reputation was perilous at best, especially since most believed I was playing the part, riding my father’s coattails and sucking the tailpipe of success by using my family’s name. That, by far, had been the hardest stumbling block, but I wasn’t done yet.