by Shandi Boyes
Her eyes pop open in an instant. “Are you okay?” The hand she crept across the bedding to find me unknowingly traces the bumps in my midsection. She isn’t teasing me. She’s seeking hints of the nightmare that usually clings to my skin long after I’ve awoken.
“I’m fine.” I inwardly curse before correcting myself, “I’m thirsty as fuck. Thought I better replenish some of the fluids you sucked from me last night in case you feel the need to suck me dry again in the morning.” When I hit her with a frisky wink, her smile shines brighter than the moon peeping through the cracks in the wooden shutters. She doesn’t just hold me when I’m reminded how far I’ll go for her, she occupies my thoughts in a way only she can. “Go back to sleep. I’ll only be a minute.”
My nostrils flare when I lean across to press a kiss to her temple. Our hook-up last night occurred in the shower, but the location did little to lessen the smell of my skin on hers. It’s an intoxicating scent I’d strive to recreate if I knew there wasn’t a mass murderer waiting in the living room for me.
I wait for Demi’s breathing to indicate she’s asleep before slipping out of bed. Even knowing Rocco is rarely seen without a gun, I ball my fists before entering the living room. I hate that he found us so easily, but I’m not surprised. I saw Dimitri’s hacker’s skills firsthand. He unearthed the location of the deathmatch within a couple of keystrokes.
My arrival in the living room reveals even mass murderers still have integrity. It gives me hope I didn’t completely fuck up my life last week. “How are you handling things, Ox? Bet it took a lot to stop at one hit.”
I had wondered if news was circulating about me striking Col.
Now I know without uncertainty.
Although Rocco’s smug expression is stroking my ego, I get down to business. “What decision did Dimitri make?”
“That’s it?” Rocco replies with a laugh. “You’re just gonna leave me hanging without any details. Not cool, man, not fuckin’ cool.” As he rubs his hands together, his lips curve into a mammoth grin. “Dimitri has kept your runs local, then you’ll be close by for Demi…”
“And?” I ask when his question seems unfinished.
“And…” I don’t know if he has a barbell in his tongue or if he just likes swishing it around his mouth when he’s teasing. Whatever it is, I wish he’d get to the fucking point. I’ve got packing to do. If Dimitri has located us, it will only be so long before Col’s crew comes knocking. “… you won’t have any issues competing in the comps each Friday night.”
“I can’t fight for Dimitri, Rocco. His father is a part-owner of that comp.”
He tsks me as if I’m being eccentric. “Dimitri has it handled.”
“Handled?” I scoff. “How the fuck is that handled?” I point to the room Demi is sleeping in. “His cousin was assaulted by his father!”
“Yet, you’re still breathing after making Tweetie birds fly around his head,” he fires back. “Do you think that was by chance?” He doesn’t wait for me to answer him. “Smith found your hideout in under two minutes. If Dimitri hadn’t intervened, Col’s men would have arrived a day or two after that.” When my confusion remains paramount, he pulls off the Band-Aid in one quick motion. “Your brother paid your debt. You’re not on Col’s ledger anymore.”
“You torched my brother’s business.” The night after the deathmatch, both Caidyn’s Ravenshoe office and site office were torched. Since it’s believed to be the act of an arsonist, investigators were brought in. It will delay the insurance claim process, which means he’ll be out of business for months if not years. That might be okay for established businesses, but Caidyn’s was only just getting off the ground. I don’t know if he’ll come back from that.
“Arson doesn’t get me off,” Rocco pushes out with a laugh like our conversation isn’t half as serious as it is. “But I guess that doesn’t matter when you’re desperate, does it?”
He steals my chance to reply by handing me a tablet. It must be a prototype as it’s nothing like any I’ve seen at the shops. “Caidyn torched his business?” I half question, half confirm after taking in the surveillance video playing on the tablet. “Why the fuck would he do that?”
“Same reason I popped a bullet between my sister’s punk-ass boyfriend’s brows. Sometimes you’ve got to take shit into your own hands.”
I get what he’s saying. I also understand it, but if this footage gets out, Caidyn is up shit creek without a paddle. His insurance company will never payout, and he doesn’t have the capital to start afresh.
“Now, I bet you’re more than interested in what’s in the bag.” Rocco prances on the spot like he belongs on one of the Backstreet Boys’ reboot videos before he pulls open the zipper of my gym bag sitting on the coffee table. It isn’t brimming with smelly gym socks and badly in need of clean clothes. It’s lined with Benjamin Franklins. There would have to be at least one hundred thousand in there.
“Ten percent of it is yours. The rest needs to be delivered to this address.” Rocco hands me a device similar to the one showing Caidyn’s firebug skills. “The message will remain until nine o’clock. After that…” He makes an explosive noise with his lips.
“It will blow up?”
Rocco almost falls to the floor, laughing. “Nah, man. This isn’t Mission Impossible.” He continues chuckling while saying, “Smith will perform a magic trick.” Smith is the hacker I mentioned earlier. “No trace of that address will be found once he’s done.” He nudges his head to the tablet in my hand when he says ‘that.’ “So all you need to worry about is ensuring the goods are on site before each fight. Do that, then you won’t need to worry about Col.”
I don’t need to ask him what happens if I don’t.
“What are they supplying me with for this much money?”
Rocco gives me a look that verifies I don’t want him to answer my question. “The less you know, the less chance you’ll get prosecuted.” He jerks his head to the main room of the cabin. “Do you have a babysitter for her? I could pop over around six if need be.”
The riled expression on his face reveals he’s being playful. Unfortunately for him, I lost that side of myself when I killed a man. “I’ve got it sorted.”
I forcefully walk him to the door, my already-slow pace slowing even more when I spot the butt of a lit cigarette in the corner of my eye.
“Sniper,” Rocco says, all calm and collected. “Dimitri put one on the front and back entrances, and two on the road leading to the cabin.” He shrugs. “It’s a little obsessive, but you kinda got to be with Col.” He gallops down the front three steps of the cabin before tossing me a set of keys. “Take her. She’ll make you less suspicious.” He isn’t talking about Demi. He nudged his head to a 1987 Buick GNX. It’s been lowered and is painted matte black. “And she’s got a good size trunk for the goodies.”
Not speaking another word, Rocco signals to a man with a clover tattoo on his cheek to move out before they slide into the back of a single SUV. I wait for the taillights of his ride to sink into the abyss before shifting my eyes in the direction I saw the amber of a cigarette. I don’t like being in favor to Dimitri, but I prefer it over being in his father’s shit book.
After a few deep breaths, I pace back into the cabin. I’m not surprised to find Demi leaning in the doorjamb of the main bedroom. I’ve been gone longer than necessary for a glass of water, and she’s more clued in than people give her credit for.
“You okay?”
The worry etched on her face clears away when I jerk up my chin. “Was just getting some fresh air.”
She pushes off her feet while saying with a yawn, “I’ll join you.”
Her already wobbly strides shake even more when I shout, “No!” She’s wearing one of my shirts as a nightie. It shows way too much leg, and I’m far too jealous to let anyone see how delectable she looks in a STEM Academy shirt. “Both my lungs and veins are replenished, so how about we deplenish them?” Is deplenish even a word?
&
nbsp; I shrug off my confusion when Demi asks, “What do you have in mind?”
With my grin as bright as the twinkle in her eyes, I wave my hand over a stack of board games on my right. “We could always play a board game.”
23
Maddox
Six weeks later…
* * *
Crack!
While lurching into a half-seated position, one of my hands claws at the blankets while the other endeavors to remove the vice-like grip around my neck. It’s been almost two months for fuck’s sake, an entire forty-eight days, yet I still wake up most mornings coated in sweat and struggling to breathe through the guilt suffocating me. I thought the guilt of ending a man’s life would have weakened by now. I assumed it would have up and left the instant I stood across from Col without a bullet being lodged into my brain. I had no fucking clue I’d still be grappling with remorse weeks later.
I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.
Some people are born killers.
I am not one of those people.
I’ve played the actions that night in my head on repeat. Considering how the law works, my downfall that eventful day should have commenced right around the time my chest was lit up with two assault weapons.
That’s far from gospel.
I fucked up by believing Agent Moses was an honorable man.
I don’t have any proof to back up my claims, but I’m reasonably sure Agent Moses and Col are working together. Col called me a snitch while reminding me what happens to them if they run their tongues to the wrong people. As far as he was aware, I turned up that night to fight as requested. There was no snitching going on.
Well, there wasn’t.
I’ve shared a tale or two the past couple of weeks. It isn’t to who you’re anticipating. Agent Moses can burn in hell as far as I’m concerned. My thoughts on Dimitri Petretti aren’t much better, but I’d consider pissing on him if he was on fire. His father and Agent Moses wouldn’t be so lucky. I’d watch them both burn with a smile on my face.
While ‘working’ with Dimitri as part of our agreement, I’ve reached the conclusion he’s suspicious his father is coercing with a side of the law his family hasn’t sided with before, but since I’m eager to keep my dark side a secret, I’ve kept my stories on the slender side. Dimitri knows I fought for his father last month. He’s aware Demi was put up as collateral and that I showed my dislike of that by knocking his father the fuck out, but he has no clue the fights have a man stretched out of the ring in a body bag every single match. Will I update Dimitri on my knowledge once my conscience doesn’t feel so guilty? Probably not. Dimitri isn’t a good man. The shit I’m helping him get onto the streets is sure-fire proof of this. I may not be murdering men with my bare hands, but I’m sure the goods I am driving from town to town is slowly killing them.
The goons I deliver a bag of money to every Friday morning explicitly told me not to open the packages they load into the trunk of my car, but only a moron would act as if the brick-size packages are flour.
When I realized what I was distributing, I tried to back out of it. I made it all the way to the street that Dimitri’s mansion branches off when I was stopped in my tracks. It wasn’t two armed men with machine guns strapped to their chests slowing me down this time around. It was Agent Moses and a threat I’d spend the rest of my life behind bars if I didn’t continue following Dimitri’s orders.
He didn’t want to bust Dimitri with a bigger haul. He wanted to make sure his cut of the profits remained high because the more drugs I move for Dimitri, the bigger payouts law enforcement officers like Agent Moses receive to turn a blind eye.
I’m being fucked in the ass from both sides of the law, and there isn’t a damn thing I can do about it.
Upon noticing my breathing pattern regulating as it shifts from remorseful to angry, Demi’s hand moves from the bumps in my midsection to my face. “You good?” Her voice is groggy, revealing it is still early.
I hum out an agreeing murmur before scooting up the mattress, so my back braces my pillow and the headboard. My nightmare must have gone longer in my head than realized because my pillow is almost soaked through.
“Take mine.” My lips barely twitch when Demi squashes her index finger to them. “I’ve drooled on your chest every night the past six-plus weeks. I don’t see tonight being any different.”
Her comment about it still being night has my eyes straying to the clock on my bedside table. It shows it’s a little after eleven. We’re not usually early-to-bed people, but my agreement with Dimitri sees me needing to rise earlier than the sun every Friday. I told Demi her cousin wants me to squeeze in a pre-fight workout before each match. I’m unsure why I lied. She witnessed me kill a man. I can’t shock her any more than that. I just still believe some things are better kept under wraps until the timing is right.
“Aren’t you tired?” Demi asks a few minutes later. When I peer down at her, shocked she’s aware I was still awake, she murmurs, “You only ever do a maximum of six figure-eight patterns on my back before you zone out. You went well past a dozen.”
My heart does an elongated beat when she switches on the lamp on the bedside table. It’s the same bedside table that got me in all types of trouble two short months ago. Caidyn dropped it off last month when he tried to return the bundle of money I left in the glove compartment of his Jeep. We’re staying at his friend’s house for free, Demi can whip up a feast fit for a king with the most basic ingredients, and when Rocco arrives with a bag of money each week, he ensures the fuel tank in the Buick is also chock-a-block full. Other than putting away a good chunk of coin each week with the hope I’ll soon get Demi as far away from here as possible, I don’t have any other needs, so why not help my brother who bankrupted himself for me? I owe him more than a ton of dirty money, but at the moment, it’s the only thing I can give him.
“It’s barely there,” Demi reminds me when I trace my finger over the slither of silver in her right cheek before I tuck a lock of hair behind her ear.
She’s been safe here with me for a little over six weeks, but I can’t help but wonder if that will still be the case when I fail to show up for the next deathmatch next week. I need to get her out of the firing line, I simply have no fucking clue how to do that. I don’t trust the law. Her flesh and blood see her as a commodity, and although my brothers adore her, I see weariness in their eyes any time her name is mentioned lately. I changed for Demi. They just have no clue how widespread the leap was since I’ve kept my murderous ways between Demi and me.
“It’s the scars we can’t see that take the longest to heal.”
I don’t get the chance to contemplate what she means. My focus is far from misery when my girl is tugging my sleeping pants down my thighs. There’s no time for sadness. The only ache I’m feeling is the throb in my cock when I try and talk her out of sucking me off.
“Thought you said we can’t keep using sex as our vice when we’re feeling snowed under.”
Demi takes my dick in her hand before raising her eyes to mine. Fuck, she’s beautiful. All her bruises are gone, and her eyes are bright. If you excluded the faintest scar from the gash Col caused her cheek when he punched her in the face, you’d have no clue she was assaulted seven weeks ago. Even with her grin being hidden by my rapidly rising cock, I’m confident in declaring I made the right decision when I put her first. She comes before anything and anyone. My studies. My brothers. Even my family. She will always come first.
“I also thought you said you’d talk to me when you’re struggling.” My thigh muscles bunch when she swipes her tongue over the crest of my cock like we’re making out instead of arguing. “Doesn’t look like you’re willing to maintain your side of our bargain yet, either.”
“I was going to talk to you.” My last two words come out rough, inspired by the rumble of a man in need from his woman curling her lips over his knob. “I just thought you were asleep.” My dropped eyes pop open when Demi suddenly yanks back. �
��What the fuck? You can’t do that to a man. My God, Demi. You never, I repeat, never de-suction mid-suck. I could suffer permanent erectile damage.” I whisper the word ‘erectile’ like I’ll jinx myself with a dysfunction by saying it out loud.
I angle my head to the side and peer down at Demi with her lips a mere inch from my now aching cock when she asks, “More damage than lying?”
“I’m not lying to you.” I fucking am, but that’s a story for another day. “I was sweating too much to know if the wetness on my chest was you or me.” Since most of my reply is honest, it comes out sounding that way. She wasn’t lying when she said she drools. It’s one of her talents that reminds me she isn’t a goddess. She’s fucking close, she just needs to dampen down the amount of drool she disperses each night to fully accept the title.
When Demi’s lips remain hovering above the crest of my cock, I crumble like a narc being offered a deal. “What do you want to know?”
Most men would run for the hills if forced to have a heartfelt one-on-one conversation mid-blowjob. Demi’s ability to suck the marrow from my bones would have me agreeing for a shrink to sit in on our escapades if it guarantees my dick will still be sucked.
Demi awards the absolute honesty in my eyes that nothing is off-limits by taking care of the droplet of pre-cum pooled on the end of my cock. Her lick sends a pleasing zap straight to my balls and has my head falling back so I can voicelessly thank God for bringing her into my life. Our relationship is messy and complicated, but her smile alone makes up for a lifetime of injustices.
While stroking my cock to restock the pre-cum she lapped up, she asks, “Where do you go every Friday morning?” She drags her tiny hand to the base of my dick, squeezes it a little, then returns it to the crown. “You have everything you need to train out back, so why attend a gym for an extra session?”