Gun Moll

by Bethany-Kris

  Satisfied with her appearance, Melina walked down the short hallway to the living room area of her hotel suite. Nothing to do now but wait.

  Moving over to the wet bar, she poured herself a gin and tonic. Glass in hand, she sat down in the soft, black lounge chair and pulled out her smart phone. Opening the email from her account, she scrolled through the information Dulcea had sent over.

  Sweet. Yeah, her boss was sweet all right. Like a poisoned apple. Dulcea Massellini was a self-made woman. Nothing and no one was going to get in the way of her business.

  Melina had seen her fair share of women cut off without warning. She didn’t even want to think what happened to those women. When you dealt with a woman like Dulcea, it wasn’t a bed of roses. Yes, the money was good. Great, in fact, but screw up and there would be consequences. Melina never wanted to be in that predicament. Besides, she needed the money now more than ever. The rest of her father’s funeral arrangements had to be paid for. Taking a drink, Melina pushed the thought away and focused on the information in the palm of her hand instead. Tonight’s date.

  Garrett Jameson. CEO of Jameson Investments. Millionaire. Forty-five years old. The last piece of information made Melina grit her teeth.

  Married, father of three.

  Bastard.

  Mr. Jameson should be taking his wife out tonight instead of her. Melina had no respect for a man who didn’t honor his commitment to a woman, especially when that man was also a father. Scrolling down, she scrutinized the picture Dulcea had sent along. The man wasn’t bad to look at, in a young Mel Gibson sort of way, and she was sure that he was well aware of it.

  Just great. Another night of putting up with groping hands. Melina took another drink and kept looking. Dulcea was anything if not thorough. A list of her client’s likes and dislikes always accompanied the dossier she sent to each of her girls.

  Caviar.

  Champagne.

  Moonlight walks.

  Same shit. Different face. Nothing ever changed, and Melina was rapidly losing faith in the male species.

  Get the fuck over it, girl. You’ve got money to make and bills to pay. Melina drained the last of the one drink she allowed herself before each of her dates. The last thing she needed was to be off her game when she had a job to do. A knock at the door drew in her attention. Showtime.

  Setting her glass down on the coffee table, Melina walked leisurely to the door. Looking through the peephole, she carefully readjusted her dress before opening the door.

  Six feet of white-collar asshole greeted her. Or rather, greeted her breasts. His icy-blue eyes couldn’t stop staring at them.

  “My face is up here.”

  Garrett Jameson blinked quickly and then met her gaze. A low whistle came from his throat. “Man, are you a looker.”

  A looker? Really? That was the only line he could come up with? Pathetic. Absolutely pathetic.

  “I’m well aware of that,” Melina said curtly.

  “A lady usually thanks a man for complimenting her.”

  “I’ll do that when you compliment me. Now, are you ready?”

  He gave her a sardonic smile. “I get it. The aloof attitude is all part of the game.” Garrett leaned in closer to her. His fingers twirled a lock of her hair. “Well played. This should be an entertaining evening.”

  “That all depends on you.”

  Melina turned and pulled the door shut behind her, forcing her date for the evening to take a few steps back. His hand slid around her waist, bringing her into close proximity to him. The scent of pine needles assaulted her senses. The man had obviously bathed in cologne before coming to pick her up. He smelled like he belonged in a damn forest, with the other dying logs.

  “Shall we?”

  “I’m all yours,” Melina said. With cold detachment, she gave him a practiced smile and started walking towards the elevator. She could sense the man’s desire before she felt the gentle nudge of an erection along her backside. As the elevator doors opened, she glanced at him. He raised a brow, as if daring her to say something.

  “Did I miss something?” she asked.

  His gaze darkened, and Melina laughed softly as she stepped inside. Garrett followed, staring at her with narrowed eyes.

  “For the kind of money I’m shelling out tonight, this isn’t what I expected.”

  Folding her arms, Melina appraised him. Charcoal gray suit. Probably Italian. Easily over two-thousand dollars. Silver cuff links. Her gaze roved lower. She was pretty sure those weren’t Stacey Adams on his feet, either. The man screamed money, but she didn’t care. She was getting paid, regardless if this date lasted thirty minutes or three hours.

  “And pray tell, what did you expect?” she asked.

  “An exciting evening with a woman beautiful enough to make Jesus sin.”

  “You’re in for an exciting evening, but there are a few things we need to address.”

  The elevator doors opened and Garrett offered his arm. Melina took it and allowed him to lead her through the lobby. People milled around them, seemingly lost in their own worlds. That is, until they saw Melina. She couldn’t resist the small snicker that escaped when a poor sap was slapped by his wife for ogling her. It was part of the territory and by now, Melina was used to it.

  “I’m a lucky man. No one can take their eyes off you.”

  “Indeed.”

  Melina rolled her eyes as he led her outside to the limousine parked on the curb. You’d think a man could be original every now and then. She’d seen and ridden in more limousines than she could count anymore.

  “Only the best, my lady.”

  Stepping forward, Mr. White Collar opened the door for her. Melina slid in without another word. A moment later, he was beside her, arm draped casually over the seat behind her. As the limo started to move, Melina carefully crossed her legs and shifted to look at her date for the evening. He was watching her like a young man ready for his first piece of pussy. She was not impressed. Reaching for his white tie, she curled it around her fingers.

  “Mr. Jameson, just so that there’s no misunderstanding about just what kind of service I provide for you, I’m an escort. I’m not a whore or a prostitute. If and when I decide to fuck a man, it’s on my terms and because I want to. So, while in your company this evening, I will play the part of the beautiful, young woman who hangs on your every word—but don’t be mistaken. It will go no further unless I say so. Is that clear?”

  He wet his lips, a gleam in his eye. His hand rested on her thigh, fingers easing under the tight fabric of her dress.

  “Do you mean to say that being in the back of this limousine with a multi-millionaire doesn’t turn you on just a little bit? Most women would be creaming their panties by now.”

  “I’m not most women.”

  “So I see.” Jameson’s fingers continued easing up the hem of her dress, exposing the soft smoothness of her thigh. “You’re like a dominatrix and a schoolgirl, all wrapped in one. A man never knows what he’s going to get with you. I understand why you came so highly recommended.”

  “Then you also know that the further your hand goes up my thigh, the more you owe at the end of the night.”

  “Money is no object.”

  “I wasn’t talking about money.”

  Before he could react, Melina had a knife at his throat.

  “What the hell?”

  “Obviously, you weren’t paying attention to what I said, so let me say it again. Keep your hands to your damn self until I’ve given you the go ahead to touch me. Otherwise I’m going to make your wife a wealthy widow. Got it?”

  He swallowed, nodding his head. Melina eased the knife down and shook her head. The bastard had an erection at full mast. I’ve picked up a closet freak.

  Sliding the small knife back into the holster strapped to the inside of her thigh, Melina leaned close, intentionally rubbing her breasts along his arm. “What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?”

  “Hardly. I’m just trying really
hard not to embarrass myself right now,” he muttered.

  Melina smiled knowingly as her palm lightly grazed his fly. “And why is that?”

  “Because I’m so turned on right now.”

  “Are you now?” Melina ran a finger along his jaw line.

  “Yes. Twenty thousand for a hand job. Right now.”

  “I wouldn’t even let you smell it for twenty thousand, but you know what? If you’re a good boy, for fifty thousand, I’ll spank you later.” She squeezed his crotch.

  “Oh, God.”

  He shuddered and Melina knew exactly what was happening. Leaning back, she watched him as he was caught up in the throes of what had to be the most shameful orgasm he’d ever felt. This was exactly why men kept coming back to her. While other girls had to resort to sucking and fucking to make their money, Melina brought satisfaction without ever taking off her clothes. She had a talent. A natural sensuality that drove men crazy and guaranteed that she would always have a steady stream of customers. Jameson’s hand palmed her breast and she let it.

  “That’ll cost you an extra twenty grand.”

  He nodded, eyes closed. Beside her, his body still trembled. Melina smirked as he finally stilled beside her. His eyes opened and he quickly removed his hand from her breast. She tapped her manicured fingers on her thigh.

  “I’m waiting,” she said.

  “Of course.”

  Reaching into his pocket, Garrett Jameson pulled out his checkbook and quickly wrote. Tearing the check out, he handed it to her with trembling fingers.

  “Thank you.” Melina folded the check in half and tucked it into her cleavage. Twenty grand, just like that. Her nipples hardened and she patted her date’s leg. Power over a man. That’s what turned her on. Not a man with money or class. Garrett Jameson was nothing. A means to an end and before this night was over with, Melina was sure that his checkbook would be making yet another appearance.

  An underground fight. Melina would’ve never pictured this as a place Garrett Jameson would choose. It was true that anyone could surprise a person. After sitting through a boring business meeting with Garrett and some potential new clients, Melina had more than earned her pay. After smiling and fawning over Jameson as if he were the end all to end all when it came to men and being unfailingly polite to the male clients eyeing her like a slab of prime ribs, all she’d wanted to do was go back to her hotel room. A little wine, some Netflix, and a King-sized bed seemed the perfect way to end the evening.

  If only things were that easy. Hoping to seal the deal, Jameson had insisted that she accompany him and the men to the latest in entertainment for the rich, bored and ungrateful. As an amateur kickboxer herself, Melina could appreciate the physicality and training any athlete had to endure when preparing for a sport. But underground fighting was a different breed altogether. In Melina’s mind, it was barbaric. Grown men bashing in each other’s faces while a bunch of snotty, rich people bet on them like they were a bunch of fucking animals.

  Doing her damnedest not to curl her lips in disgust, Melina allowed Garrett to place his hand on the small of her back and lead her to a ringside seat. In front of her was a square boxing ring, surrounded by a chain-link fence. An extraordinarily thin woman stood inside the ring, wearing a red string bikini. Male chauvinism at its best. Melina rolled her eyes.

  “I’d give my right nut to see you wearing that,” Garrett whispered in her ear.

  Melina laughed. “Your right nut is exactly what it would cost you, too.”

  “Just one nut? I think a lady like you is definitely worth two,” a new voice said near her.

  Melina shuddered. Like an invisible force drawing her, she turned and found a pair of hazel eyes that stared straight into her soul.

  She was gorgeous.

  Not in the usual hot body and pretty face kind of way, either.

  No.

  Gorgeous.

  In a tight dress that showcased an amazing set of curves—made to fit a man’s hands—and full lips set into a natural pout as she stared at Mac, she caught him. Sexy. Confident. Womanly. The brief glimpses of her profile that he had managed to get over the last hour hadn’t been nearly enough to do her justice.

  Beautiful women didn’t trip Mac up. He’d seen more than enough of those pretty faces over the years, and taken his taste of a few along the way, but this woman was something else entirely. Dark-caramel skin, russet eyes, and wavy, black hair that was long enough to wrap his fists in and pull.

  Shit.

  He wondered if she would like that.

  She had a take-no-bullshit demeanor that he’d heard her grace her companion with more than once throughout the night. Mac was willing to bet she was the kind of woman who enjoyed fucking men over, but had yet to meet the one she didn’t, or better yet, couldn’t.

  The man who could trip her up.

  Like she was finally coming to her senses, the woman blinked and smiled slightly. “I beg your pardon?”

  The man at her side wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her in close. Mac didn’t miss the disgusted shudder the woman tried to suppress.

  Right then, he knew.

  This woman was an escort. High-priced, guessing by the man’s appearance and attitude mixed in with hers, not to mention where they were. These underground fights didn’t let the fucking dregs in, after all. It was common for the very wealthy men and women who attended the events to bring along someone other than their spouse.

  Like a hired date.

  The woman looked Mac over again. For the most part, he would have called her glance dismissive, except she lingered far too long on the way his suit hugged his frame and the collar of his dress shirt that was opened at the top two buttons.

  “Two nuts, huh?” the woman asked.

  “Oh, you’re certainly worth two,” Mac replied. “But I think you’d have a lot more fun with a man who wasn’t willing to give them up just to get a taste. You know, the kind of man that makes it worth your while to show it off.”

  The man at her side sneered. “Hey—”

  Mac held up a hand, silencing the guy instantly. “I’m not talking to you.”

  He knew better than to piss off patrons at the Ferro fights. Frankly, Mac knew better than to be at the underground fights, which were organized and run by a rival New York Cosa Nostra family. La famiglia was all about loyalty, after all, and playing fun with another family’s business was a dangerous game.

  Mac needed the money, so he signed up for a fight.

  “Melina,” the guy murmured in the woman’s ear, “let’s go find a better view of the cage, yes?”

  Melina.

  He tried her name in his mouth silently, liking the way it felt. Escort or not, Mac wanted to know this woman. Especially when she flicked him with a look that screamed disinterest on the surface but burned with curiosity all the same.

  Mac loved a good challenge. He made a mental note to find this Melina again after the fight, if he was able, and her date didn’t sneak her off early.

  The guy openly glared at Mac.

  Sorry to ruin your evening, cafone.

  “Mac, my boy, you’re up next! You’ve got five minutes to get ready. Capisce?”

  Melina’s gaze caught Mac’s and he winked at her.

  “Get used to hearing that name,” Mac murmured, still smirking like a motherfucker. “It’ll be said a lot tonight.”

  She didn’t respond; the fool pulled her away.

  “All right, Macky boy, lemme tape up those hands of yours good and tight.”

  Mac sighed, willing away his irritation with the fight manager. Pissing off the guy who could get Mac into the cage or throw him out of it didn’t seem like a good idea. Why did people just assume they could take his name and twist it however they saw fit?

  “Just Mac, Cordial.”

  “Yeah, well, I like Macky. Shut your mouth. You’re better with your fists anyway.”

  Perfetto.

  Mac dropped it. “What’s the payout?”
/>
  “If you lose, nothing.”

  “I’m not going to lose.”

  Cordial chuffed under his breath as he wrapped another line of tape across Mac’s knuckles and under his palm. “You’re too cocky for your own good, boy.”

  “Have I lost a fight in here before?” Mac asked.

  “No, but there’s always a first time for everything. And an arrogant attitude is the fastest way to get there.”

  “Payout?” he asked again.

  “I won’t know until you’re in the ring. They changed up the betting. Frankie didn’t want to have a list of fights for the night. He wanted the betting to be spur-of-the-moment and straight out of the stupid, excited pockets.”

  Mac laughed under his breath. “It’s no wonder there’s free liquor in here now. I was curious about that earlier, but I think I get it now.”

  Cordial smiled. “Bang on, my boy. The drunker they are, the more excited they get, and the bigger they bet. You always seem to draw a good number.”

  “Is Tank still meeting me in the cage?”

  His companion’s smile faded fast.

  “What?” Mac demanded.

  “Tank had to bow out last minute,” Cordial said quietly, focusing all of his attention on taping up Mac’s other hand. “Don’t worry about it. Just get in there, fight, and don’t pay attention to the last name of your opponent.”

  Shit.

  That did not sound good.

  “What’s his last name, Cordial?”

  “Ferro.”

  Fuck.

  “Frankie’s boy?” Mac asked.

  Cordial nodded.

  Mac figured. Junior was the only Ferro that Mac knew who occasionally liked to step into a cage and fight. The guy was good, as far as that went. He could take care of himself and he wasn’t liable to get beat to death or something during a match.

  But he was still a fucking Ferro.

  In Cosa Nostra, men didn’t fight one another. Part of the oath men took when entering into the life explicitly forbade made men from physically hurting another made man. It was against every rule Mac had ever learned in la famiglia. It also didn’t help that the two men came from rival families and word might get out that Mac had taken a Ferro son on in the cage. Despite having his Capo’s okay for the fights on occasion, Mac didn’t have the main boss’s okay.