48 Mac (A Junkyard Boys Novel)

by SH Richardson

  Otelia refused to come out for lunch and had been cooped up in the suite for the past several hours. I wasn’t worried she would starve. She ate a hearty breakfast before our little blowout, so there was that. It was now well past dinner time, and I hadn’t heard a peep out of her, which was seriously strange. The woman was a noisy distraction with all her banging and rapping. I’d thought for a second about tying her up and gagging her with a pair of socks just to keep her quiet. As soon as I’d made headway deciphering the aerial view map of that ridiculous junkyard, she’d started up again with her sassy mouth and lowly menial philosophies about love. She knew nothing about that particular emotion and the role it played in a world built on tradition and family loyalty. Nonetheless, her rant had caught me off guard, invoking feelings I hadn’t allowed myself to consider in a very long time. Not since I learned the hard way that money can buy you love and whatever the fuck else you wanted to own.

  I let that shit go as quickly as it started. Old wounds tend to fester if not lanced sufficiently, and mine were burned to a fucking crisp. Even now, as she hid herself inside the bathroom so I couldn’t track her movements, I wanted to seek her out and do terrible things to her, horrible things. Otelia was a romanticist, a dreamer with a heart too big for her own good. It was time someone taught her what happened to sentimentalists in the underworld.

  I unlocked her door and warily approached the entrance to the bathroom without making a sound. I wasn’t sure what I would find once I peeked inside. Maybe she did us both a favor and slit her own wrists. I shook that dark thought from my head and marched on, surprised to see a set of legs dangling from the whirlpool tub as I got closer. Otelia lay flat on her back in the oval of porcelain, head closest to the drain, arms crossed over her chest with her eyes closed. I leaned against the sink and watched. Her pink pouty lips were somewhat curved into a half smile; they glistened. Her pert breasts appeared soft to the touch. I fought back the desire to reach down and caress them until her nipples pebbled. She slept like an angel, unaware that the devil had entered her safe haven with malicious intent.

  The soft moan of her slumber moved me.

  My cock stirred with excitement.

  “Jesus, Mac,” she startled. “Must you always act like a fucking creeper? I would think someone with your breeding would have better manners.” She sat upright in the tub and tucked her legs beneath her ass.

  “And what would you know about my breeding, Otelia?’ I challenged, my voice grave. “I was raised by wolves in a den of thieves, taught to appreciate the finer things in life.”

  “Like kidnapping?” she sassed. “Your parents must be proud.”

  Her mention of my parents bought me back to reality and the real reason for interrupting her forty winks.

  “I’d like for you to change into something more appropriate and join me for dinner, Otelia. You skipped lunch, and the last thing I need is for you to tell everyone how poorly I treated you if or when you’re released. Reputation is everything in my business, and I won’t have you ruining my family name by making up stories about your stay here.”

  “Perhaps I didn’t make myself clear earlier.” She stood from the tub. “FUCK your hospitality and FUCK you, dickweed. I’d rather eat the dust from a donkey’s asshole than sit down and eat with the likes of you. You make me sick.”

  This shit again?

  Enough of her bullshit.

  My arm shot out and snaked around her middle, pulling her clear off her feet and out of the tub in the process. Her slight body slammed against my chest as the air left her lungs in a whoosh on impact, nearly taking us both to the ground. Her shocked expression fueled my exacerbation at having to repeat myself yet again to this woman. I took hold of her scrawny neck and squeezed just hard enough to keep her in place, nose to nose, unable to look away.

  “The first time, you get asked, Otelia.” My voice lowered in warning. “The second, you’re fucking told. I never consider a third.”

  “I…” she tried to interject.

  “Close. Your. Fucking. Mouth,” I sneered.

  Her lips parted on a deep exhale as she fought against my hold before finally admitting defeat with the sag of her shoulders. Heavy breath fanned across my face as I held her eyes, so close I could count the freckles lightly splattered along the bridge of her nose. Pressed this close against her, I felt her heart beating erratically, and the smell of fear caused my dick to harden between us. I dismissed the desire to lean into the short distance separating us and taking her mouth.

  My voice was grave with pent-up need. “Change your fucking clothes and get outside,” I demanded through gritted teeth. “You got fifteen minutes, Otelia. DO. NOT. KEEP.ME.WAITING. You won’t like what happens if you do.”

  I released her with a light shove towards the open doorway, swatting her ass when she skirted past me. I waited long enough to hear the rifling of clothing shoved violently within the closet as Otelia complied with my demands. I didn’t bother to spare her a glance once I walked out into the common area. I’d made my point. She was given fifteen minutes during which to get ready, but just to spite me, she arrived in sixteen. Donning a black knee-length cocktail dress, she even somehow managed to sweep her long blond hair up into an elaborate updo. Of course, she had to completely fuck it up by wearing those repulsive tennis shoes, but I let it go.

  I’d dismissed the cook earlier in the evening. It made no sense to keep him hanging around when I didn’t know at the time if Otelia would be joining me. We took our seats opposite each other at the dining room table, and I took the liberty of pouring the wine.

  “I hope this brand is to your liking, my dear. It’s a very expensive Merlot imported from Italy.”

  I poured a sample into her glass and waited with amusement as she tried to figure out what to do with it. The wine was exceptional in color, a deep red indicative of its age and finish. Instead of taking the time to appreciate its magnificence, she picked up her glass and drunk it down in one huge gulp, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand as she finished. I filled her glass knowing any lessons on wine tasting would be lost on this one. She was behaving petulantly, and no amount of charm was going to break her out of it.

  “Eat.” I pointed to the various trays of French appetizers. “Try not to dribble.”

  “Whatever, Mac,” she spat before filling her plate.

  We dined in an uncomfortable silence. The only sound that could be heard was the clank of our forks or the crunch of the seasoned bread. Her uptight demeanor shifted with time, and I noticed how hard she fought to hide the fact that she was a cultured woman and not some common skank. The way she gently placed her cloth napkin across her knee before touching her meal. The absence of her elbows on the table or the way she sat straight in the chair with her legs crossed at the ankles. Perhaps the biggest surprise was the demure way in which she sampled each bite from her fork. She cut the portions into small pieces, her fork in the left hand and the knife in the right, then put the knife down and switched the fork to her right hand to eat.

  I was more intrigued than ever by this sexy contradiction of a woman. I considered opening the email from my source and reading up on some of her history, more to the point, what made a woman like her tick. As it stood, we had less than eighteen hours to spend together; after that, she’d return to her life, and I’d return to mine. Learning more about her would only be an exercise in futility. She wasn’t a part of my world and never would be. Some things were better left unexplained.

  CHAPTER 8

  Otelia

  FOR AS MUCH as I hated his guts, I wasn’t ashamed to admit that Mac sure knew his way around a full-course gourmet meal. His hawk eyes watched me chow down as if the meaning of life was somehow scrolling in neon lights across my forehead. I felt terrible for enjoying such a succulent array of delights while my friends were probably worried sick to even dream about eating. The more I thought about my bestie, the heavier my fork felt beneath my grip, and the harder it was to swallow even the s
mallest of bites. The richness of the main course soured inside by belly and threatened to make a reappearance right there on the fancy linens. I slid my plate a few inches away. The distance settled the gurgle but helped bring forth the tears. My sudden disinterest caught my captor’s attention, who, in turn, lowered his own utensils and dabbed the corners of his mouth with his cloth napkin.

  “You’re worried,” he surmised.

  I didn’t have it in me to fight with him anymore.

  “What gave it away?” I took a sip if wine to clear my suddenly dry throat.

  “Trust me when I say, that’s the last thing you should be concerned about, Otelia. Marcus Mecken isn’t the sort of man to let down a friend, especially when her life depends on it. We share that much in common, among other things.”

  “Right.” I glowered in his direction. “Like you have friends. Bet you have to pay them a weekly salary just to stick around and show interest in your crunchy ass.”

  “Well…you don’t really know much about me, now, do you?”

  “I know you’re a dick. I’d say that’s all anyone really needs to know, Mac. As far as Marcus is concerned, I hope he makes good on his threats of killing you. One less self-absorbed asshole in the world to worry about.”

  His returning smirk meant that wasn’t the first time he’d been called such a crude name and it more than likely wouldn’t be the last. The longer we sat in silence, the more agitated I became. My heartrate accelerated to near painful levels, I felt trapped in my own skin. I pulled at the neckline of the ridiculous dress I was wearing but failed to find any relief from the stifling confines of the dining room table. Something came over me—call it hysteria bought on by too many carbs, guilt from being used as a pawn in MacCabe’s sick game, or plain old stupidity disguised as lady balls. Whatever it was caused me to bolt upright from the chair and make a daring dash for the door, ignoring my captor’s growls from behind me.

  Run, Odie, was all I could think.

  Run was what I did.

  Freedom was a clear path before me, an exit sign illuminated the way to the stairs. Before I could make it ten feet, I was taken to ground by a hostile shove, the force of which buckled my legs beneath me. A harsh grip reached down from above and tightened around the knot of hair I’d pinned in place before dinner. I whimpered seconds before my face was slammed onto the carpeted floor beneath me while the stars and stripes of pain sparkled behind my eyes. A heavy knee was placed in the small of my back to hold me in place, pinning me like a ten-ton bolder below the rubble of a collapsed building. I prayed for a swift end, a quick bang of the bullet as it penetrated my skull, shattering it to pieces.

  I waited patiently, resolved.

  It would only take a minute.

  “Get your motherfucking hands off her.”

  Mac’s command echoed throughout the semi-empty hallway at the same time his heavy footsteps pounded in our direction. An inhuman roar thundered in the air, shaking the very ground, as the leverage was eased from my spine, making it less painful to inhale a full breath. I tried to sit up fully, but it was useless. The most I could hope for was a slight turn of my head. It was enough to see a darkened wave descend upon us, soundlessly. Anyone with an ounce of sense could tell that something bad was going to happen. His eyes shifted to where I was sprawled out on the floor, skirt up, panties showing, and his entire demeanor changed. Like the switch of a light, his features morphed from raging bull to cold and calculating in a nanosecond.

  Mac was incensed.

  “Boss…I…she…” was sputtered in response, but it was too late.

  I hadn’t noticed the two guards standing out in the hallway when I attempted my great escape. Dressed in dark suits and carrying weapons in shoulder holsters, they were massive in size, which would explain why my body felt broken in half. The one who’d pinned me down was now the one on the defensive. He tried to back away slowly, hands raised in surrender, head bowed in defeat, before the first punch was thrown. His co-worker wanted no part of what was about to happen and sidestepped far enough away to avoid being hit by an errand swing. They both appeared scared out of their wits, and from the look in Mac’s eyes, I couldn’t much blame them.

  I was afraid for them.

  What happened next could only be described as total annihilation from someone who knew how. The well-dressed scoundrel immobilized one of his henchmen around the neck, then proceeded to pummel him with jabs to the face and head. Knee strikes to the chest brought the man down with an audible whoosh, where a final blow to the chin laid him out cold.

  Mac never broke a sweat.

  He turned his sights to the second man. “Get him the fuck outta my penthouse,” he gritted through clenched teeth. “Later, when I have more time, I’ll finish what I started. Consider this your only warning that I’ll be coming for you. Get your affairs in order, gentlemen.”

  Holy shit.

  Run, Forest, run.

  Mac didn’t wait for their response, well, a response, from the only guy able to give one. He swooped down and picked me up from the floor as if I weighed nothing. I sagged into his warm chest and held on tightly around his neck for dear life. I would’ve clung to a tree limb at that juncture. My body’s adrenalin had long since deserted me, and I couldn’t control the seismic tremors that racked my body. The more I thought about what could’ve happened, the tighter I squeezed, until I was sure I’d cut off his airways.

  Through chattering teeth, I implored him, “Please, Mac…I …want… to… go… home.”

  “I know you do, kitty cat,” he spoke gently in my ear. “It won’t be long now.”

  He carried me effortlessly back inside the penthouse and tried unsuccessfully to wrench my arms from around his neck. Convinced that I wasn’t letting go anytime soon, Mac sat down with me in his lap on one of the leather couches. My grip never loosened. My ass was nestled comfortably against his impressive cock. The feel of his taut muscles against my breasts brought me comfort and a sense of safety, yet it wasn’t enough. The silence around us brought forth the tears I had been holding inside since I was body-checked by a man the size of a linebacker. It wasn’t pretty. In fact, it was downright unrestrained once it got going. There was no cool way to avoid saturating Mac’s shirt with streams of snot running from my nose or the bad case of hiccups that followed. In the end, I was totally overwrought with emotion, and if that wasn’t bad enough, I was right back where I’d started from.

  A captive held against my will.

  An expendable pawn.

  Minutes passed, or maybe it was hours. Time became as important to me now as it ever was. Before this ordeal, I measured it the way most young women would on an everyday basis. How long it took to get to Nipsy’s from my apartment, or the last time I made a hair appointment with my stylist, the last time I got laid and by whom, stupid shit like that. Forty-eight hours should’ve been a breeze by comparison, except my day-to-day life didn’t include a dangerous underground fight club owner. Mac was unlike any man I’d ever known—sophisticated, cultured, and sexy beyond belief. But was he a man of his word? Would he really let me go after the fight was over?

  “Tell me a story, Mac,” I asked between sniffles, my face buried in the collar of his shirt. His masculine smell was intoxicating.

  “It doesn’t have to be earth shattering. Anything to take my mind off all this bullshit. I’m scared.” His muscles stiffened beneath me. “Before you laugh at me again, I’m not afraid for myself. I’m afraid for my friends.”

  He took a harsh breath and let it out slowly.

  “Why did you run, Otelia? You could have gotten yourself killed if I weren’t there to protect you. Did you think I was bullshitting when I told you the guards were posted at the door?” he barked.

  “I forgot about that little tidbit of information,” I confessed. “Now, tell me a story…please.”

  “You really are a pain in the ass, you know that?” he grumbled, chest vibrating with frustration.

  “It’s your fa
ult for kidnapping me, dingleberry.”

  “I’ll make a deal with you, Otelia.” He shifted us slightly, tugging the nape of my neck, which forced me to look into his eyes. My breath caught at their dark intensity, the pinched brow, and the concerned scrutiny as he attempted to gauge my attentiveness. “Tomorrow, when you’re better rested and less…traumatized, we’ll play a game,” he hedged.

  That piqued my interest. “What sort of game did you have in mind? Does it involve a string, a can of peaches, and two shot glasses?”

  “A can of …what the fuck are you talking about?” he cursed.

  “Never mind. Continue with what you were saying.”

  “We’ll pretend,” he answered, reaching for a strand of my hair. “I’ll be Darragh, and you’ll be Otelia, two people spending a few short hours together as friends often do. We’ll enjoy a nice breakfast, and who knows, I may even tell you that story you want as long as you promise me, right now, with your ass on my dick, that you won’t try and run away again.”

  I thought about what he was asking me to do and the potential ramifications if I chose to accept. The fight was happening—Mac made sure of that when he’d kidnapped me. Twice, I’ve tried to escape, and both times the effort was futile. Just ask my pounding head. I could do this, pretend to be something I wasn’t. People did it every day. So what if he was a mob boss with the power to end me? Maribel and Marcus were doing their part. The least I could do was ease their worry and my own. With that in mind, I extended my hand and made the deal.