48 Mac (A Junkyard Boys Novel)

by SH Richardson

  “Darragh…” I tried in vain to reach for him.

  “Don’t you fuckin’ move,” he demanded. “Not done eating you out yet. Lock your ankles around my neck and hang the fuck on.”

  Far be it for me to argue.

  Sit back and enjoy, that’s my moto.

  I did what I was told, relaxed my knees so that my legs stayed wide for him, ready. Mac was furiously working the buckle of his dress pants before finally freeing himself. Dick in hand, he stroked from root to tip with a guttural groan. A strange sound escaped my lips, a cross between a whimper and a mewl, followed closely by a dip of my hips.

  “Look how greedy your pussy is for me, kitty cat,” he growled, staring down at my exposed clit. “You want my mouth or my cock? Tell me.”

  It was the same as choosing between a Lexus and a Mercedes; both would get you there in class and luxury, so did it really matter in the long run? He continued to pump his cock, battering the poor thing into submission. I wanted to climb down off this bar and take him in my mouth, not stopping until he reached the back of my throat. I knew in my heart that his taste would be like nothing I’d ever experienced in my life. Perhaps next time.

  “Please, Darragh, Please.” I couldn’t decide.

  “Mouth it is, then.”

  Within seconds, he attacked me again. His warm lips continued their assault on my folds while I sat helpless to the building pressure in my lower belly, ready to detonate the longer he continued to savor my essence. A desperate whimper escaped from my mouth, followed by a long breathless moan as I reached the pinnacle of euphoria.

  “Ohmygod…I’m going to come.”

  “Wait for me, kitty cat.” He flattened his tongue, taking another swipe.

  “I…can’t…too much.”

  “We’re going to come together, baby. Are you ready?”

  My legs were shaking so bad, they had to be hitting him in the ears like brass cymbals. Mac pumped his dick two more times, flicked his tongue over my swollen clit, and without an ounce of shame, I screamed like a banshee when my orgasm could no longer be denied. Mac was right behind me with his own howl of relief. My legs slipped from his shoulders in time to feel the warmth of his seed as it spilled along the inside of my thighs. I kept my balance on the bar as best I could without falling off while I regulated my breathing. All I needed was a blanket and a pillow, and my ass would’ve lain there all night. It was Mac who rushed through his recovery.

  “Tour’s over, Otelia.” He straightened, tucking himself away. “Back to business.”

  Talk about a reality slap.

  “Sure, whatever you say.”

  I covered my legs in a show of pseudo modesty as I choked back the sour taste of revulsion. I’d let my friends down. More importantly, I’d let myself down. Now that the allure was over and I’d gotten my rocks off, I didn’t feel sated. I felt like a backstabbing whore undeserving of the personal sacrifices that were being made for me. Way to go, Odie.

  Ticktock, ticktock.

  It was almost over.

  CHAPTER 13

  MacCabe

  ONCE, WHEN I was a little boy, I lost my favorite toy and wasn’t able to find it. I looked around for hours upon hours, even so far as asking my brothers to help with the search. After three days, I realized that all hope was gone and the item would never be found. My father caught me crying after it happened and asked why I was so sad, to which I responded that I’d lost something and hadn’t been able to find it. At first, he’d laughed and told me not to worry. If it was meant to be, it would eventually show up. Turned out he was wrong, and I never found the toy. When I told him about it later, he asked me a single question, and I’d thought of nothing more since Otelia and I left the warehouse.

  “Were you careless, Darragh, or did you safeguard the item so that no one could take it from you? Think carefully, son. The answer could be very important to you as well as the people you love someday,” he instructed.

  “I…” My mind stuttered to come up with an answer. “I thought I kept it safe.”

  “You mean you assumed you did,” he corrected sternly. “Now it’s gone, and you learned a very important lesson. Never trust in what you assume, only in what you know.”

  That wasn’t the only thing I’d cultivated that day. I was careless and took it for granted that my property would be where I’d left it and no one would dare take it. I was complacent when it came to protecting what was mine. I’d left myself open to infiltrators who didn’t give a shit about me as a person. Last but not least, I was reckless and hadn’t used the brain that Christ gave me to think things through. One of the laws of physics states that for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. Eating the pussy of a woman who considered herself my captive wasn’t science, but it could have major consequences if I didn’t play this right. I showed a common man’s weakness by fucking around with her when I should’ve kept my distance from the beginning. I knew better, but I did it anyway, a foolish mistake, one a man like me couldn’t afford to make, regardless of how good her cunt tasted on my tongue.

  The ride back to the penthouse was quiet. I was grateful for that. What was there to say? Otelia was lost in her thoughts, and I dared not disturb her. It was better that way. A few more hours, and I’d be letting her go, back to where she came from. When we entered the building, I knew right away that something was wrong. There were three extra guards posted at the entrance, two more by the elevators, and several more strategically placed in the hallway. They didn’t acknowledge us, nor did they bother to provide an explanation of what they were doing there. They didn’t have to—I knew what this was all about. I recognized the setup.

  Otelia and I stepped inside and came face to face with one of the biggest crime bosses in Boston. Conner MacCabe sat stoically in the living area, sipping a glass of brandy while he waited for my arrival. Otelia pulled up short when she noticed we had company and appraised the older man with a keen eye and a tilt of her head.

  He was not happy.

  “Get rid of the whore, Darragh,” he demanded, eyes downcast on the amber liquid. “We need to talk, and I’d prefer to do it in private.”

  Otelia didn’t appreciate the moniker and told him so. Crazy woman.

  “Actually,” she sassed, hand firmly on her hip, “I’m not a whore. I’m a hostage. And unless you want to get arrested for acting as an accomplice, I suggest you do something about it.”

  The distinguished older gentleman barely spared her a glance, but I could tell he was slightly amused by her antics. He stood from his chair, slowly walked over to where we stood by the door, and towered over the now shocked but silent woman.

  “I’ll be sure to get right on that, lass,” he quipped. “Wouldn’t want you to get the wrong impression of me…that would break my heart.”

  Even though Otelia cowered behind me, I heard her petulant and not well disguised harrumph and knew she was pissed. My father wasn’t violent against women, but he was old school and preferred them to stay in their place. I couldn’t leave her flapping in the wind, as much as I would’ve liked to have seen the end of this little battle.

  “Otelia, this is my father, Conner MacCabe. Father, this is Otelia Mae…my guest,” I introduced them with a wave of my hand.

  “Father?” she squawked, surprised. “I, um…this is, um…”

  Otelia finally stepped around from behind my back and squared her shoulders, readying herself for round two, or so I thought. She plastered on the biggest, fakest smile I’d ever seen in my life and went in on the old man.

  “I can see where Darragh here gets his good looks.” She smoothed down his tie and flipped her hair off her shoulder. “If you get him to let me go, I’ll make it worth your while. Free breakfast at Nipsy’s for a year and all the lukewarm coffee your stomach can handle. How does that sound, Big Mac? Care to give junior here the what for?”

  I saw red.

  I saw motherfuckin’ red.

  My father howled with laughter, somethi
ng he rarely did, especially around strangers. He couldn’t have known how her flirtatious actions stirred a darkness deep inside my soul that I’d kept hidden for years, even from him. It was as if I’d been hurled back in time by some cruel virtual reality where I was expected to once again stand by and watch my woman set her sights on someone higher up the food chain.

  Accept it and move on.

  She isn’t your woman, I reminded myself.

  I still had the taste of her pussy on my upper lip, and she wanted to try this shit? Right in front of my fucking face, she pulled a power play, expertly so? I was incensed by her boldness, the unmitigated gall to try and ignore me as the one in complete control here, not my fucking father.

  The youngest holds no power.

  You will never rule the family.

  I’m marrying someone else.

  I’d heard it all before, but this time was different. This time, I owned her ass for the next eight hours, and there wasn’t a damn thing my father could do about it. This was fight business, which was my fucking business, and I made the goddamn rules. The two of them had their moment, light touches and suggestive smirks. I’d give them that. It wasn’t until I reached out and grabbed Otelia around the neck from behind that they knew the Fuck Darragh Show was over.

  Her shoulders bunched skyward at the surprise attack as all the air left her lungs in an audible whoosh. The bullshit laughing came to a screeching halt. My father took in the scene with rapt interest, the twitch of his left eye the only tell-tale sign of his displeasure. He stepped back out of the way, giving me a wide birth of which to handle my guest.

  I tightened my grip, not caring that first fuck about the amount of pain I caused.

  She belonged to me.

  “Listen to me carefully, Otelia,” I gritted through clenched teeth next to her ear. “Get the fuck in that room, keep your stupid mouth shut, and change out of those clothes.”

  By this point, her fingers were clawing at my hand in an effort to loosen my grip. It was useless—she didn’t have the strength to stop me. My father turned away from the scene. His stance was stiff and disapproving as he walked towards the other side of the room. I’d deal with him soon enough, after I was done doling out my orders.

  “Wash my dried cum off the inside of your thighs before I collect you for the evening, woman. You don’t deserve to have my seed painted on your body.”

  I gave her a hard shove towards the bedroom door. Her back was facing me until the very last second, then she turned and pinned me with her eyes. There were tears streaming down her cheeks, and she mouthed why before disappearing out of sight. I felt a heaviness inside my chest that wasn’t there a minute ago when I’d damn near choked the life out of her. The momentary loss of control was back in its rightful place, along with any guilt that tried to surface. Once she was locked safely inside, I took the time to gather my wits before facing off with my father.

  “What are you doing here? This really isn’t a very good time for a friendly visit.” I grabbed a glass from the credenza and poured myself a stiff drink.

  “You don’t return my calls, been ghosting me for the past two days. What did you expect?”

  “Yeah, well, that should’ve given you a hint that I was fucking busy and didn’t have time to bullshit around with you. I’m not one of your soldiers. You don’t run me.”

  He moved so fast I barely had time to brace. One minute, he was standing by the window, the next, he was in my face bearing down. Bloodless. Hostile.

  “You. Forget. Yourself. Darragh,” he snarled, so close I could feel his chest vibrating. “I’m not some little girl you can scare by running off at the mouth, boyo.” His voice dropped lower, teasing a hint of his Irish brogue he learned to disguise. “I brought you in this world, not afraid to take you out of it. Understand?”

  He punctuated every word, waiting for an answer.

  I held my tongue.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good.” He straightened his suit jacket, stepped back, retrieved his glass of brandy, and retook his seat. “Listening to your mother weep as they fished your decomposed body out of a steep ravine is not something I relish doing, Darragh. She’s a good woman, deserves better than to have to bury her beautiful baby boy.”

  I could count the number of times on one hand I’d witnessed my father lose his shit with one of his sons. I’d overstepped my bounds with the leader of our organization. Father or not, it was well within his power to order a hit on my life if he so desired. Would he do it? In that moment, I couldn’t be sure. For as much as I knew he loved me, he was also a man of principle. That meant he could never show weakness in the face of adversity, not even for his blood. I knew the standards of which we lived by better than anyone, and I cursed myself for acting so impolite.

  I was better than that.

  I had to be.

  “Why are you here, Father?” I asked respectfully.

  “Where should I start?” He motioned for me to take the seat opposite him. “The men I sent down from Boston dropping like flies? Or perhaps the two mil you withdrew from the accounts to cover your bet against the jap in tonight’s fight?” My eyebrows shot to the top of my head.

  How the fuck did he....

  “Now that I’m here, though, I must say, the little blond chickee? Definitely piqued my interest.”

  “She’s nothing.” I waived a hand dismissively. “Just business.”

  “Business, huh? Since when did kidnapping a beautiful woman become part of our business, Darragh? Its messy and very high risk, you know that.”

  “I’m on top of it, Father. Nothing to concern yourself with, okay? Don’t know why you wasted the trip. Have I ever given you reason to doubt me? Your boy disobeyed my direct order, so I dealt with him accordingly. I’ll remember to send a bouquet of flowers to his mother.”

  “Darragh,” he harrumphed, shaking his head. “That’s not how a MacCabe is supposed to behave. We have a hierarchy in place for a reason, so people don’t get a wild hair up their asses and decide to go rogue. Killing is bad for business unless absolutely necessary and should never be done on a whim. Have you learned nothing from me, son?”

  “My business is tight. Believe that if nothing else,” I fired back. “Separate from yours but equal. I haven’t forgotten the rules, sir. I just modified them to fit the narrative.”

  Fucking hell.

  A lecture was the last thing I needed hours before the big event. I grew tired of sitting in what I perceived was the proverbial hot seat and walked over to where I’d left my MacBook. The feed inside Otelia’s room was empty, which meant she must’ve been in the bathroom getting ready as I’d told her to. That twinge of guilt was back with a vengeance, clawing its way up the back of my throat. The shit I did to her was fucked all the way up. She didn’t deserve to be manhandled, not after what we’d shared during our trip to the fight club.

  I could still feel her trembling beneath my tongue as she came. The taste of her sweet pussy on my lips, the way she opened up and fully gave herself to me, even her snarky-ass attitude had me caught up in the moment. I haven’t had to jack my dick since I accidentally walked in on my older brother, Fionn, while he was fucking one of the maid’s daughters. Twice now, I’d had to take matters into my own hands, and it was all because of her.

  “Darragh!” My father snapped. “Pay the fuck attention.”

  I stepped away from the computer screen. My semi-hard cock was grateful for the reprieve.

  “Ferdi will be back in a day or two to watch your back. Until then, I’m leaving more men at your disposal. Don’t shoot them, don’t beat the shit outta them, and for Christ sakes, try and remember you’re a MacCabe, not some out-of-control adolescent looking to play who has the bigger cock.”

  How the fuck could I ever forget that?

  “What’s Ferdi doing in Cartagena, anyway?” I queried.

  “Personal errand,” he hedged, tightlipped. “Need to get going. All set for tonight?”

  He
placed his glass of half-drunk whisky down on the table and rose to meet me near the foyer. I still wasn’t one hundred percent sure why he’d come, but I was happy we had the opportunity to spend time together, even if he threatened to kill me. Connor MacCabe was a force to be reckoned with, an innovator, and the one man I aspired to be like one day.

  “Everything’s under control, Father. Thanks for hopping on a plane all the way from Boston. Tell Mother I will call her in a few days.”

  He hugged me like the loving father he was, all strong arms and harsh grunts. His back pounding took my breath away.

  He jutted his chin towards the locked bedroom door. “Not all women are gold-digging cunts, Darragh. Some are fiercely loyal, have steel rods for backbones, and enough grit to see you through even the darkest of days. When are you going to realize that we are not the worst of what we’ve done?”

  “I told you, she’s business, not personal,” I argued.

  “The lives we lead, the shit we are sometimes forced to do? It’s hard. Not only that, it’s lonely at the top, son. Nice to have someone soft to sink your cock into after you wash the filth off your hands. If not for your mother, you boys, not sure where I’d be. Think about it.”

  I had no response to his parting words. Otelia wasn’t mine.

  Never would be.

  My father left as unexpectedly as he came with part of my balls tucked firmly in his back pocket. I checked my watch knowing our lunch would be arriving any moment now, less than seven hours before we needed to leave. If I had any doubts before that Otelia would hate me once I let her go, I could pretty much guarantee that was a done deal now. Some things are better left as they are, clear lines that never should’ve been crossed in the first place. I’d play my part as the boogey man to her Little Red Riding Hood.