She contemplated my offer, fatigue evident on her pretty face. I thought for a minute she would deny me, send me packing with my tail between my legs. Instead, she opened the door, flicked the light on in the hallway, and left it cracked for me to follow. My blood pressure shot up fifty degrees as I noticed the faint stain of blood from where the message had been written. When I got my hands on the motherfuckers responsible, they’d wish they were never born. I’d take my time, make it last for hours, before dropping the hammer with my Glock.
“Take a load off, Mac. I’ll be out in a minute,” Otelia called.
The inside was just as I’d expected. Homey, with just the right number of personal touches to know it was Otelia who lived here. Mismatched furniture, a poster of a naked male bodybuilder over the mantle, and a few photographs taken of her and Maribel Laine at the diner. It was comfortable, style-less, and uniquely her.
She retreated around the corner, throwing her purse, keys, and phone haphazardly on the sofa in the living room. I assumed she was going to change out of that ridiculous uniform into something more comfortable. It wasn’t until I heard water running that I realized there was a bathroom at the end of the hall. Images of her standing naked in the shower while droplets of water splashed around her gorgeous tits had my dick leaking with lust. Calm your shit, Darragh.
I made a call to one of my guys, who thought it was a joke when I ordered him to track down the ice cream. I assured him it wasn’t, after I threatened to cut off his balls and force them down his girlfriend’s throat.
“31 flavors on the way, boss,” was his only reply.
“You know that feeling?” Otelia yelled from behind the bathroom door. “That first good fart after a long day of standing on your feet surrounded by strangers? The one that starts at the base of your spine and bubbles up from the gullet like a freakin’ freight train?”
She emerged from the bathroom wearing another one of those tiny shirts that stretched across her chest with flowy night pants. Face scrubbed free of makeup, hair tied high in a messy ponytail, and she was the prettiest thing I’d seen in a long time. Hard nipples greeted me from the cool air. I turned away, rubbing a hand along my mouth to check if I was drooling. I was.
“It’s the best feeling in the world in my opinion,” she finished.
Days later, I’d recall her earlier comment about flatulence and laugh my ass off. The way things stood, I was having difficulty controlling the impulse to throw her down on the floor and fuck her back out to truly appreciate the joke.
“Mind if I take a seat?” I asked.
“Of course.” She motioned towards the sofa. “You are my invited guest.”
Easier said than done with a hard dick.
I had to move all of her shit out of the way to make room for myself. I grabbed the purse and keys in one hand, cell in the other, accidentally pressing the numbered display. It lit up with a message on speaker before the echoes of a male voice carried inside the quiet room.
Good morning, my love.
I know I’m due to see you at school in less than an hour, but I just couldn’t wait to tell you this: I love you. I love you. I love you…
She snatched the phone from my hand before I could hear the rest of the message. Her face contorted with rage before settling on indignation. Well, she wasn’t the only one who was pissed the fuck off. My eyes narrowed while speckles of white light floated behind the lids. Disloyal-ass cunt let me fuck her, sample her sweet pussy while another Bob the dumb fuck was waiting for her at home? I was incensed with my disgust for her, and she saw it on my face.
“That was a private message, Darragh,” she seethed.
“Private, huh? All that bullshit talk about love being the most important thing, finding your one true soul mate. You’re nothing more than a common whore, woman. If I’d known ahead of time, I would’ve offered you money to ride my cock. So, how much is it going to take, huh? Fifty? A hundred?” I reached for my wallet and grabbed a stack of bills, throwing a handful at her feet. My hands shook with uncontrolled madness.
“You’re wrong, Darragh.” She turned her head, refusing to look me in the eyes.
“Don’t you dare turn away.” I grabbed her hand still holding the phone and squeezed. Her breath hitched at the sudden pressure against her fingers. “You took my cock knowing there was someone else relying on you, loving you, missing you? Maybe I should call him back and tell him what you really are.”
She yanked her hand away and attacked.
Screeching and biting.
She fought for her life.
“Not you!” she screamed. “It wasn’t supposed to be you. He promised me! He promised!”
“Calm the fuck down, Otelia.” I tried to hold her steady.
“I fucking hate you! I hate you! I hate you!”
That was all it took for her to fold into herself and collapse on the floor in a heap, shoulders sagged. Silent tears rolled down her cheeks, and I wanted desperately to hold her in my arms and make them all go away. Then I felt a new wave of heat running along my neck as I picked apart her perfect ruse. It hit way too close to home, reminiscent of my time with Bella and all that happened after. Her man was totally unaware that she was playing him. I was sure she was all smiles, hushed whispers, and intimate touches, all the while using Nipsy’s as her own personal stomping ground. Mystery man wouldn’t know a thing about it until it was too late and she married someone else. Get over it, they’d tell him and think him a fool. All except for her. She would think him weak. Weak and powerless, poor fucker. I knew how this story ended.
Strangely calm, she pivoted.
“You don’t listen very well for a supposed businessman. It’s no wonder someone like Kellan O’Brien is whopping your ass,” she sneered. “The message said I’ll see you at school, bright boy, and as you can see, I’m no longer in school. So, take your money and your pathetic insults and shove them up your fucking ass.”
School? How did I miss that?
“Otelia…” She shut me down with a shake of her head.
“I think you need to leave now, Darragh, go back to what you cherish most.”
CHAPTER 30
Otelia
I FELT GUTTED.
My limbs ached from sitting on the hard-ass floor, but I just couldn’t bring myself to move. Mac had listened to my private message, well, most of it, anyways. I knew it wasn’t his fault, yet I felt robbed, pilfered of the last remaining part of Gates that solely belonged to me. He had no right to that segment of my life, none whatsoever. We weren’t dating or engaged to be married; in fact, we were little more than strangers who happened to fuck after a heated argument. That placed him squarely in the one-night stand category, if I were being honest.
When he’d showed up here tonight, I decided to allow him inside my home. And why not? I’d already let him inside my body. What was one more mistake? He looked so normal in his leisure clothes, leather jacket and jeans, he could’ve been any upstanding man waiting patiently for his woman to get off work. It was enough that I was fooled into forgetting who he really was. After listening to that message, he’d reminded me why I didn’t belong in his world of chaos.
He stood over me until one of his goons arrived a short time later carrying an armful of ice cream tubs. What couldn’t fit in the freezer, he deposited in the trash can with an unnecessary amount of force. I remained silent through his little meltdown while blistering mad at his audacity. He was a thief. A thief who refused to leave once he’d shattered my heart without a single care.
“Get the fuck up,” he growled somewhere nearby.
“Go straight to hell, Mac,” I hissed. “The door is that way. I’m sure you remember how to get there, take a left at Eat Shit Street, then veer south where the road ends.”
Strong arms lifted me to my feet and dropped my round ass on the sofa with a plop. I had very little fight left in me after being accused of whoring myself behind a dead man’s back. The joke was on him though. How do you betray a me
mory?
“Explain,” he demanded.
“Fuck. You.”
“Oh, we’ll get to that part, kitty cat. Now start talking, or I promise you, the sting of my hand across your ass will loosen your tongue and have you sore for a week. I’m not fucking around, Otelia.”
Did this asshole honestly expect me to start spilling my guts because he assumed the worst? Did I hear that right? He had the nerve to stand there all high and mighty when he too had secrets. The hypocrisy was real with this one.
“Tell you what, Mr. Man. I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” I snapped.
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“Bella fucking O’Brien,” I spat. “Don’t bother with the intro. I already heard it from her husband. Get to the good shit, Mac. I’d hate to have to use my imagination.”
Checkmate, motherfucker.
Ball was in his court.
“Bella and I were together from the time we were twelve until a week before she married Kallum,” he shared. “I hadn’t seen her in years before she showed up at a party my parents were giving in Boston. She tried to talk to me, and I left.” Golly wow.
They really did have a long history.
Had she cheated on him?
“Your turn.” He sat next to me, expectantly. “Get talking, Otelia.”
“Gates was my high school sweetheart. We were your quintessential teenage couple—star football player, blond cheerleader, popular crowd. Lifetime could’ve made a movie about us if our story had a happy ending.” I shrugged.
Darragh resumed his part.
“Bella came to me one day and told me she had chosen someone else, someone with more pull, greater authority, and a higher position within the organization. I was limited, she said, since there was zero chance of me ever taking over as the head of my family. I’m the youngest. It’s not my place. Her decision was final, and I couldn’t do fucking shit about it but watch and learn.” His eyes darkened in the dimness of the light and brimmed with consternation. I knew it was hard for him to admit that Bella considered him the lesser man.
I decided to give him a little more.
“Gates was diagnosed with cancer our senior year. He died before we graduated, and what you heard on the phone was the last message he left for me before his prognosis. I never had the heart to delete it.”
“Fuck.” He rubbed a dejected hand down his face.
“Yeah…” I agreed.
“Was that the reason why you dropped out of high school, Otelia?” he recalled.
“Yes and no,” I hedged.
This was always the hardest part.
“It was after I miscarried our child shortly after his death that I decided to disappear. I had just enough money saved to make it to Remington, and I’ve been here ever since. Their deaths…I couldn’t do fucking shit about it but watch and learn.”
“Motherfucker,” he growled. “I didn’t…” Regret pinched his brow, but I knew from experience that he would never apologize. We were beyond that now, anyway. Well beyond.
First love denied.
Love forever lost.
It tethered us in some strange way. The promise of eternity and its failure to deliver turned me into a lonely waitress and him into an underground fight club owner. Business warmed his bed and his heart, a poor replacement for love, but it was his choice. Whereas I searched for that special feeling with my eyes wide open, Mac closed his to even the possibility. Opposite sides of the same fucked-up coin.
Typical of a non-believer, Mac sat next to me in deep contemplation. Our association wasn’t built on this type of soul-bearing, ball-busting, heart-stopping tragedy. I’d taken a big chance by opening up to him, and he did the same. Until tonight, it was fear, oral sex, more fear, angry sex, and the threat of a mutual enemy that kept us in each other’s company. Not a lot of wiggle room for two people on the opposite ends of the entanglement spectrum. When I’d told Maribel, what happened between the two of us, her perspective was rather shocking in its inner beauty. She, of all people, knew that it wasn’t the start of the relationship that mattered, but the finish.
“Gates wanted you to be happy, Odie,” she’s said. “Love isn’t logical. It doesn’t fit neatly into a box according to everyone’s standards. It’s passion and heartache, fight and folly, but you know what? It’s so worth it in the end. Don’t let what MacCabe did to all of us dictate whether or not you decide to take a chance. Everyone makes mistakes, and we all fall short.”
I wish I shared her optimism.
Mac and I went on like this. Back and forth, we shared our ups and downs, trials and tribulations. I learned more about mob life and expectations, all of which I found as fascinating as the man sitting next to me. Mac wasn’t a ruthless asshole for the sake of being an asshole. That skank, Bella, had hurt him deeply, and he’d set out to prove to her and everyone else how wrong they were to underestimate him. He wasn’t content with what was handed to him; he fought back using the only tools he had. The sound knowledge that men would pay for what they wanted, even for their women, no matter the cost. As the words flowed, I began to feel a kinship with Mac. We both suffered and adapted our lives accordingly. Bella’s rejection of love had molded him into Frankenstein’s monster. He was her greatest creation.
My emotions were all over the place. Bitter sadness seeped from my pores like rivers of sweat after a long jog. I wanted to forget the heaviness of the previous conversation and lose myself, if only for a short while. It was why he’d showed up at my door anyway, wasn’t it? The whole ice cream thing? Yeah, that was a bunch of bullshit, unless ice cream was code for pussy. Inventive but still bullshit.
I could pretend for one night that he was my champion, so in love, he would sacrifice himself on his sword in order to save me from the clutches of evil. That it wasn’t his business in jeopardy that sent us to seek out O’Brien, but his desire to protect me from that fish-tacking moron and his hideous wife. That Mac was all mine, and I was forever his. I needed that dream tonight, and perhaps, he did too.
I straddled his waist without thinking. The feel of his bulge against my core sent a shot of pleasure throughout my body. God, I needed those endorphins. Mac instinctively took over. His hands wrapped around my waist while he glided my hips back and forth over the length of his hardness. We were both breathing heavily at the contact, eyes focused on one another. I stood from his lap and removed my camisole. Cool air blew against my already hardened nipples. A moan escaped from my lips. My body shook with a need so powerful it nearly took me back to the floor. The sleep pants went next; my fingers hooked themselves in the elastic waistband and tugged downward until they shimmied past my knees. I kicked them off somewhere, not giving that first fuck where they landed.
My naked body matched my naked soul.
Stripped down, I felt empty.
“I need you, Darragh.”
Brows pinched, he growled. “Take those fucking stars out of your eyes, Otelia. In my world, Romeo killed Juliet then banged her sister on top of her freshly dug grave. You need to know the danger in what you are asking. My cock comes with a warning label.”
I ignored the handwriting on the wall.
“Yes.” I exhaled. “I know exactly what I’m doing.”
Mac removed his leather jacket. The heavy steel of a gun strapped to his side clattered along the stiffness of the fabric. He wanted me to see all of him, to understand what I was getting myself into. Danger was part of his life, and I could either accept that or move along. I extended my hand with a decisive quirk of my brow. Challenge accepted. Ten steps to my bedroom, and the anticipation was turning my insides to mush. My body was primed and ready to take all this man had to give. I stood by the edge of the bed, thankful I’d made it up that morning with a clean set of sheets. Mac tracked my movements with a predatory gleam in his eyes, the bulge in his pants screaming to be released. When he started to unbutton his shirt, slow and methodical, I nearly came on the spot. The flash of skin was all I
could take.
Inches apart.
So damn close.
I ran my hands down his muscled chest, lightly sprinkled with dark curly hair, relishing its silky feel beneath my fingertips. Mac belonged on the cover of Thugs with Bank fitness magazine, if there was such a thing. Peaks and valleys, dips and dives, his sexily steady heartbeat thrumming against my breasts. Have mercy. The freak in me couldn’t hold back for long. My nose made its way along his stubbled chin, the underside of his neck, down his rib cage, then back up to his Adams apple. My tongue made a wide circle along the bulging skin before I eagerly took it inside my mouth and gently sucked. Mac rewarded me with an animalistic noise deep within his throat that vibrated against my lips, a cross between a growl and a moan. A stiff hand between my breasts sent my ass flying across the bed, panting, anxious, dizzy with lust. Mac’s gun hit the floor, his pile of clothes on top of it.
Gloriously naked.
Tonight, he would be my grand adventure.
CHAPTER 31
MacCabe
FUCK…BITCHES.
Get…money.
I’d heard those lyrics on my satellite radio one day when I was channel surfing. Some rap bullshit with a catchy beat that wasn’t my usual cup of tea, but for some reason, they stuck with me. It seemed apropos for the way I had been living my life at the time. Once Bella kicked my ass to the curb, it was down with love and up with money. Emotions never mixed well with bloodstains anyway. The beautiful naked blonde lying next to me had pushed all my boundaries right over the side of a cliff, and I’d jumped headfirst without a parachute. There wasn’t a solid structure in this room that I hadn’t tried to fuck her on. Otelia took it all and begged me for more.
I’d been watching her sleep for hours. Curled at my side with her soft ass cheeks pressed against my thigh, her sated sighs of contentment the only noise coming from her. I should’ve been making phone calls, gathering intel, setting traps, anything to ward off O’Brien. Instead, I was hugged up on an antique mattress with a woman who had every right to hate my guts. After the trash I’d spewed last night, I was beginning to hate my own guts. Otelia accused me of being one dimensional, only caring about the job. She’d been right but also wrong.
48 Mac (A Junkyard Boys Novel) Page 18
