48 Mac (A Junkyard Boys Novel)

by SH Richardson

  Endgame, Darragh.

  Endgame.

  CHAPTER 14

  Otelia

  THE BATHROOM MIRROR was foggy from the hot shower I’d just taken, but not enough to hide the darkened finger prints left behind by a deranged madman. Never in my life had I ever been mistreated in such a way—not by my father, disgruntled customers down at Nipsy’s, or any man I’d ever dated. Mac had no fucking right to put his hands on me. Invited guest, my ass… What a crock of shit. I took full responsibility for resting on my laurels so easily after having my pussy eaten on a wooden bar top. What I’d thought was a connection between two people drawn to each other turned out to be another one of his strategic business maneuvers.

  Never forget the con. Die with the lie.

  I thought of nothing else as I dressed in another one of his fancy fucking outfits. The first time falling for the bullshit was a blunder, the second would be a decision.

  I sat on the edge of the bed and waited for him to summon me. My inner thoughts were full of turmoil and guilt. How could I have forgotten the circumstances in which I’d found myself trapped by this virtual stranger? He wouldn’t apologize, this I knew with utmost certainty. Men like him would rather cut off their own dicks than say two simple words, ‘cause being right meant never having to admit when you’re wrong. No matter. I would always doubt his sincerity as it related to such things. I only knew of one way to show regret, and that was through actions, not remarks.

  The second I heard the key in the lock, I prepared myself for our little reunion. Mac walked into the room and stood a few feet away from where I sat. I felt sick at the sight of him.

  “It’s later than usual, but lunch is served, Otelia. You may come out now.” I squared my shoulders and faced him head on.

  “Thank you.”

  My cordial response was an act, a rouse, when all I really wanted to do was spit in his handsome face. I was his hostage, nothing more. The battle lines had been drawn hours ago. Before I could pass, he grabbed me by the arm and furrowed his brow. He’d obviously noticed the bruising on my neck, for which I was glad. I went with my gut and hadn’t bothered to cover them. Let him gaze upon his savagery and reflect. I craned my neck further so he could see the damage he’d caused, to choke on the knowledge that he was the one who’d done this to me. His hands, his anger, his strength.

  Mac would regret me.

  For the rest of his life.

  He released my arm with a heavy exhale and took a huge step backwards. No words were exchanged, yet so much was said in the brief moment we stood together. For his part, it was the recognition in his eyes that confirmed his disgrace, his culpability, and his gall. As for myself, it was the wisdom in owning my shortcomings and the willingness to learn from them. No man would ever harm me again, in body or spirit. I held my head up high, defiant and unwavering at the hands of this beautiful monster. My petals were a little wilted, but I still had my thorns.

  The afternoon’s smorgasbord was laid out, piping hot and ready for consumption. I’d long ago lost my appetite, but at the risk of drawing more of his scorn, I decided to partake in as little as possible so I wouldn’t provoke him. I just wanted this to be over with as quickly as possible. A spoonful of peas, a sliver of steak, and a corner of mashed potatoes, and I was ready. If Mac noticed the meager selections, he didn’t call me on it; instead, he filled his own plate and took his seat.

  “The limo will be arriving at seven thirty sharp, to take us to the destination,” he shared haughtily. “Two guards will remain stationed in the back seat with you until after the fight with orders to subdue you with force if necessary.”

  Of course, they are.

  I ignored his commentary and continued eating. Fuck him.

  His eyes narrowed to slits as he peered at me from across the table. “I don’t appreciate the silent treatment, Otelia. Stop acting like a petulant child who didn’t get enough of her daddy’s attention. These directives are for your safety. I won’t be there to watch you once the fighting starts, so listen good, woman.”

  Yeah, that was what I was doing, asshole, sulking because I didn’t get my way. What a delusional piece of shit, oversimplifying and playing the bully role like a true crime figure. I felt the sudden impulse to stick out my tongue and scream, “You’re not the boss of me,” at the top of my lungs. His muscles flexed with anger under his pristine white shirt the longer I shrugged off his outrage. Perhaps he’d do us all a favor and suffer a massive stroke before the bloodshed. That would serve his ass right for being a dick. Since there was no chance of that happening, I fulfilled my duty by cleaning my plate and rose to leave his company.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” he hissed. Again, I was tempted to say, “To hell if I don’t pray hard enough.” Regretfully, I held back.

  I used the large window centered behind his head as my focal point so I didn’t have to make eye contact. “You’ll find me next door until it’s time to leave. Now, if you don’t mind.”

  Three seconds.

  The average length of a hug.

  A moment in time, ticktock, tick.

  That’s how long it took for Mac to clear the table with a swipe of his strong arm, lift me up by my waist, and lay me on top of the cold and unforgiving surface. My instincts led me to fight with everything I had inside me. Sheer anger took care of the rest. I slapped, scratched, punched, and screamed, “Get off me,” while Mac anchored himself between my legs and held me down by the shoulders. Our faces were so close I could see the flecks of brown surrounding his dark pupils. Gah, he really was too beautiful for words.

  “My dick is in its happy place again, Otelia.” He ground against my center.

  “Get the fuck off me, Mac.” I reached up with a free hand and grabbed a fistful of hair. “You make me sick. I hope you die a slow death, you bastard.”

  “Temper, temper, kitty cat. Remember who’s in charge.”

  I bared my teeth and tightened my grip on his hair, yanking harshly to gain his attention. I wasn’t in the best position lying on the table, but neither was he. We were at an impasse, neither one of us willing to give an inch to the other, both pushing to make their point. I had to somehow use this opportunity as a teachable moment, force him to realize the grave error he’d committed by assaulting me. I couldn’t let him get away with that, not now, not ever.

  I hooked a leg around his thighs and pressed the heel of my foot just below his ass to hold him in place. “Apologize to me, Mac,” I demanded. “Apologize for hurting me and mean it, asshole.”

  “I’d rather fuck you instead, kitty cat.”

  He took my mouth in a searing kiss. His daft fingers somehow found their way to my clit behind the barrier of my panties. A tiny moan escaped my throat, but I couldn’t give in to him. This was much too important.

  “You hurt me, Darragh,” I implored, begged even. “I’m your guest, remember? You promised to protect me with your life; instead, you caused me the greatest pain, pain I didn’t deserve.” I released the hold on his hair. “Apologize, Darragh, you must.”

  I watched as the war raged behind his eyes, the struggle to gain his balance of wits before finally coming to some sort of a decision. He coldly stepped from between my legs so abruptly, they fell with a thud, hitting the backs of my knees in the process. I gathered my skirt from where it was bundled up around my waist and modestly smoothed it down over myself. Mac walked over to the big bay window and just…stared, lost. I had no way of knowing what was going through his mind. The limited time we’d spent together didn’t allow for that insight. Everything just seemed off, from the tight set of his shoulders to the harsh manner in which he raked his fingers through his hair.

  I felt the need to comfort him.

  How odd.

  “There once was a man,” he started to speak. “For the sake of this story, we’ll call him Bob, Bob the dumb fuck. At the age of thirteen, Bob met a girl at a party thrown by the head of the New Jersey crime family and instantly fell in love.
She was breathtaking, and out of all the boys in the room, she only had eyes for him. Bob felt ten feet tall and knew he was the luckiest son of a bitch in the world.”

  He turned slightly to see if I was listening.

  I was.

  “Over the course of the next few years, his feelings for the girl only grew as it evolved from young love and changed into something more desperate, obsessive. On her eighteenth birthday, Bob the dumb fuck planned to ask her to marry him, bought a huge diamond engagement ring, even practiced his proposal in the mirror.”

  Mac paused, took a deep breath, and shook his head as if to clear it. His mask of indifference was firmly back in place, clouding the taste of vulnerability he’d shown moments before. The mob boss had a point to make, and I had a feeling I wasn’t going to like it.

  “Then what happened?” I whispered.

  “Bob got fucked is what happened, kitty cat,” he growled. “The girl ended up marrying someone else without Bob’s knowledge. The firstborn son and heir to one of the other crime families. Said I do and never looked back. Bob the dumb fuck was left holding his dick and was ordered to move on.”

  “Poor Bob.” I jumped down from the table and approached Mac by the window. “That must’ve made you very sad, Darragh. I’m sorry that happened to you.”

  “Me?” he snapped. “What the fuck makes you think any of that shit was about me?”

  “I just assumed…well, it’s obvious that…”

  “You asked me to tell you a story the other night, and it took me a while to come up with a good one. I always keep my promises, Otelia, and since our time is coming to a close, I seized the opportunity. Now…I don’t owe you shit.”

  Motherfucker played me…again.

  “Am I going to get that apology, Mac?” I folded my arms over my chest and glared.

  “Not on your fucking life,” he replied steadily. “We leave shortly for the match. I suggest you take that time to rest up before the limo arrives. You look a little beat.”

  Dismissed.

  His words were a lie.

  “Bob didn’t get fucked, Mac,” I spat angrily. “Love is unending, even in death.”

  “Does it really matter, Otelia?”

  “To you? I guess not. To me, it’s everything.”

  I retreated to the adjoining room with my tail between my legs and my heart in my throat. I could’ve stayed, called him out on his bullshit, argued longer that the human thing to do was apologize. I could’ve challenged his story about Bob the dumb fuck, that some part of it had to be real. He couldn’t fake the sincerity in his voice unless he was a damn good actor. I would’ve told him that there was no shame in loving someone, it was why we were put on this Earth. Truth was, my heart broke for a man who didn’t have it in him to reciprocate the feeling unless it pertained to his unholy business of underground fighting. Once I walked out and slammed the door, I wondered how lonely his life must feel to never seek out that which was promised to all of us?

  How lonely we must all feel.

  Tears soon followed.

  CHAPTER 15

  MacCabe

  RARELY HAD I ever done something I later regretted.

  I’d killed men, some deserving and some not so much. My one-way ticket to hell was stamped first class a long time ago. I kept my bags packed. The one thing they all had in common was my ability to remain unsympathetic to their cause, no matter how much they begged for their lives. That might make me a heartless bastard, but they knew in advance what would happen if they crossed me. That was the one thing that made this feel different.

  Otelia was clueless.

  She didn’t know what set me off. She only knew how I reacted. What the hell had possessed me to tell Otelia that ridiculous tale of Bob the dumb fuck, I’d never know. Instead of giving her the apology she asked for, I chose instead to substantiate the underlying factors as to why I never would. Did she understand them? Probably not, but that was to be expected. Living the life of the youngest son of a mob boss was tantamount to being the redheaded child in a family of blond-haired Norwegians. Sure, they’d feed and clothe you, but you’d always be seen as different, unworthy, less than.

  The bruises around her neck made me physically ill. Knowing I was the one who’d caused them made the pain unbearable. I’d failed to protect Otelia, even from myself, all because she dared to show token interest in someone higher up on the food chain. It wasn’t as if she’d offered up her pussy in exchange for her freedom. Hell, if I was truly being honest, she only did what came naturally. The one thing I’d learned about Otelia was that she was bright, articulate, and extremely outgoing. The perfect combination of character traits needed to work in the service industry. She was far from a heartless bitch who used her feminine wiles to drop a motherfucker when his back was turned to marry someone else.

  I tried like hell not to look at the monitor. Some things were better left as they were. She’d be leaving in a few hours, and I’d never have to see her again. I busied myself with last-minute arrangements, confirming security details and checking emails. That bullshit lasted all of a half an hour, give or take five minutes. I changed into something a bit more comfortable, which only meant I had to change again before the match. Any hopes I had of remaining neutral were eviscerated along with my willpower when I watched the tears silently sliding down her cheeks. She meant for me to see how much she was hurting. Why else would she turn facing forward instead of away? The still small voice inside my head propelled me towards her door, or maybe it was my principles or egotism. Strangely, the way she left became as important to me as the manner in which she’d arrived.

  I silently stepped inside the room. Her body jerked and stiffened, but she didn’t bolt for the bathroom like I thought she would. The air seemed thick with an uneasiness that permeated my mental equilibrium, leaving me feeling unbalanced and indecisive. What the fuck was I doing in here? I should turn around and leave, abandon this train wreck of an idea and wait this thing out. That would’ve been the sensible thing to do, but when had I ever acted sensibly? The California-king-sized bed was large enough for me to slide onto without so much as a wobble. The only sound that could be heard was our collective breathing that somehow managed to sync up the longer we lay together. I relaxed my hands behind my head. The unexpected peace was welcomed as it gave me time to reflect on important shit, namely her. Otelia.

  “Your father,” she sniffed. “He must be an important man in your world.”

  “He is.”

  “Does he visit you often? I mean to say, are the two of you close?” she gently probed.

  “He tends to have a finger on the pulse of everything his children are up to. Family is very important to him, as it is to all of us. Without family, what else is there to live for?”

  “Love,” she said it so softly I almost didn’t hear it.

  That emotion seemed to be her only inspiration in life, the only thing that kept her heart pumping. Status, legacy, or power weren’t something she was raised to covet more than a silly little thing like love. I’d had my nip of so-called love, and it tasted like shit. I turned my head to face her in time to watch her doing the same. Our eyes met in the middle, causing my chest to flutter, compress, and finally to explode with tension. Her face was puffy from all the crying, and the dark fingerprint around her neck was more pronounced than I’d originally thought.

  I was a cunt for hurting her.

  I’d never forgive myself.

  “My obnoxious flirting was out of line. You can take the girl out of the diner, but you can’t take the diner out of the girl, I guess. I didn’t mean to…” she started to explain her actions until I shook my head vehemently and reached for a lock of her golden hair. There was no cause for pretext. I was wrong for putting my hands on her. Enough said. I was the one who should’ve been apologizing; instead, I watched as this beautiful woman swallowed her pride and took all the blame for what happened. Shame washed over me like a bucket of dirty water, soaking my insides with overw
helming guilt.

  “Your mother is a lucky woman to have bagged such a handsome and successful man like your father. She must have to beat the women off with a stick when he walks into a room.” She smiled.

  “Afraid you got that backwards, Otelia. My father was the lucky one. Just ask the hoard of other eligible bachelors vying for her attention thirty or more years ago.”

  “Oh?” She perked up. “He had to fight for her affection?”

  It was an old story, one I’d heard many times before, from both my parents’ perspectives. Her eyes sparkled with excitement at the prospect of hearing more. I could give her this without betraying my ideals. She’d earned that.

  “My mother was thirteen when she met my father,” I began. “A beautifully spoiled Italian princess who knew exactly what she wanted in a future husband, although she was young. Rumor has it, her father, my grandfather, fashioned a chastity belt out of gold bullion and presented it to her on her birthday. He denied this later, of course.”

  “Well, of course,” she snickered. “What rational person would admit that?”

  I had to agree.

  “Go on, Darragh, what happened next?”

  Otelia was completely enthralled by the romantic fable, and I hadn’t even gotten to the best part yet. Her eyes held a dreamy look about them as if she was transported back to the past where the story first began. It felt surreal watching her swoon with fluttered lashes at the thought of two strangers finding love. For the first time since entering the room, I realized one thing: I wanted her on my cock in the worst possible way. I wanted her screaming my name at the very moment she shattered beneath me, withering in ecstasy, while I fucked her senseless. My thoughts wandered further to what it would feel like to share her with someone else, to watch her being filled on both ends with hard thrusts from capable men. Ferdi and I had indulged on a few occasions with the same woman. I had the feeling Otelia would enjoy that. On second thought, I’d much rather keep her to myself. Our remaining time spent together wouldn’t be the fairy tale ending she dreamed of, but I would make it good for her. Something she’d never forget for as long as she lived.