A Dominant Anthology

by Ethan Radcliff

  “I have a son. At this point in life, babe, having children isn’t important.” I hugged her. “Angela, we can be happy together.”

  “Yes, we can,” she said, touching my face. At her touch of tenderness, my phone buzzed and the number that came up meant trouble. Tory. I elected not to answer it. I placed the phone beside me.

  “Someone you don’t want to talk to?” she said.

  “You could say that,” I answered her.

  “I understand,” she said.

  “Do you? It’s another client. How does that sit with you?”

  She raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Do I detect a challenge?”

  I knew what she meant. The last thing I wanted was a confrontation, especially with her. I was baiting her and that wasn’t fair. “Sorry; you’re right… I was being a dick. That was Tory March, and she’s not a client; just a woman I thought I wanted. She turned out to be a real bitch.”

  “I’ve heard that about her. Didn’t she recently get married to an older guy who’s loaded? Now why couldn’t I have found an old sucker like him,” she said, then tightly pursed her lips and looked at me. “Sorry, I didn’t…I…”

  “It’s okay; you didn’t ask for any of this. If Sherry had been the friend she claimed to be, she wouldn’t be blackmailing you.”

  She laughed and shook her head. “That’s Sherry, Ricardo; money runs her life.” She moved closer. “So tell me about Miss March. Did you fuck her?”

  “You’re very blunt, lady.”

  “I don’t beat around the bush, Ricardo. So tell me.”

  “Not much to tell. I wanted her but she had other plans, like a wedding. I fucked her twice. The second time, after I was finished, I told her I was interested in us trying to make what we had more. She told me she was getting married. She’s only been married a few weeks and already she’s calling me. First time in a long time, I’d been turned down. But then you came into the picture.” I smiled at her and kissed her cheek.

  She pushed my hair back off my face. “Tory March is a very persistent, beautiful woman.”

  The look in Angela’s eyes was a hesitant, doubtful one; the kind a woman gets when faced with competition. I needed to allay her fears. Tory March didn’t stand a chance. After being with Angela, my thoughts of Tory March dissipated quickly.

  Angela was a priority now. “We’ll take care of Sherry tomorrow. Give her the damn money and be on our way,” I said, holding her close. “And Tory March never stood a chance the moment I met you. We’ll deal with Tory if she becomes a problem, but with her new husband I doubt she’ll pursue the issue.”

  “I believe that’s true of Tory March, and I’m going to let you pay Sherry. I’m tired of fighting. I want love. I want someone to care about me and take care of me. And if that’s you, well, then I’m a lucky woman.”

  Her words warmed me. Love was an emotion I’d never really experienced, even with my first marriage, and wanted to with her. I had no idea what the future had in store for us, but I was sure Tory March would have something to say about it. As a force of two, I believed we could conquer any obstacle in our way. Like a line from an Aerosmith song, “Life’s a journey, not a destination.” There were no truer words. Life was a journey that I wanted to take with the woman in my arms.

  The End

  Tarnished I

  Ethan Radcliff

  Copyright Ethan Radcliff 2015

  Published by Bitten Press LLC

  Tarnished

  He was a broken man

  One who tried to pretend

  He had made his way

  In the world today

  But they’d taken all

  He had, now he began his fall

  From grace

  From that high place

  To the depths he sank

  He took to drug and drank

  No longer wanting to be

  Who most wanted to see

  She walked in to pave

  The way for one so brave

  He was now depraved

  Could she really save

  The man who lived in sin

  Ready to let evil win

  Ready to meet his maker

  and even forsake her

  Could her love

  Save him above

  All he’d lost

  And if yes at what cost?

  Ethan Radcliff…2015

  BOOK I

  Prelude

  “Oh, fuck,” she screamed. “Come on baby, yes, yes!”

  He kept pounding her pussy, his own climax rushing in on him. He pumped one last time and came; filling the condom, he was smart enough to have with him. He heard another low moan behind him. The other young piece of ass he’d brought back to his hotel room had watched, masturbating and cuming along with them.

  He took his cock out of the redhead and lay back on the bed. He was exhausted, but the last bit of blow had given him stamina, and he had fucked the two of them. He looked up at the ceiling; these goddamn broads took longer to cum than most. He’d worked his ass off, and his frigging tongue, but at least he had succeeded. Both of the young women were sated and laying out cold on the bed. Christ, he didn’t even remember their names.

  Joe moved his head. It almost wasn’t worth it. His head was pounding. He touched the stitches on his forehead and groaned. Then the few hours before came crashing in on him. He’d lost another fight.

  Chapter One

  The last punch to Joe Murphy’s jaw made him see stars. He was going down. He hit the mat and the countdown began …

  One, two, three … Joe, for God’s sake, get the fuck up. You gonna let this nobody beat you … four, five … JOE! Get the fuck up … six … s-e-v-e-n … JOE! Don’t let them go further … Joe!

  He remembered nothing. He woke up with the doctor checking him over. “Well there you are. We were beginning to worry, Joe,” said the doctor.

  His trainer was putting on his coat. “You didn’t train enough, Joe. You should have won this fight. Instead, you fucked around. I’m done, Joe. When you’re ready to train like a pro, you come and see me,” Bernie said as he slammed the dressing room door behind him.

  “Fucking old coot,” Joe mumbled and then looked at the doctor. “Hey, doc, you know me. I can take a beating.”

  “Yeah, you can, but Joe, that pretty face of yours is going to get broken sooner or later.”

  “Where’s Maria?” he asked, trying to move his head to the side.

  “Well, Joe …”

  “Ah, fuck it. She was ready to fly the coop anyway,” he said, as he tilted his head back and then winced. “She was nothin but trouble anyway. Crazy, horny bitch, just made me go through my money.”

  Mack Robbins, his manager, looked over at him. “About the money, Joe. You owe so much money to everyone that this last check …”

  “Really, Mack, did you manage to get your share?” Joe said sarcastically.

  “Joe, of course I did. I have expenses that needed to be paid. There’s about three hundred bucks left over. I left it in your locker.”

  Joe watched Mack Robbins leave the dressing room. He took a deep breath and let out a long sigh. The doctor finished the last stitch above his eyebrow.

  Joe sat up, slid off the table, and went over to the mirror. Christ, this one had come close to his eye. He examined the small sutures, and then scanned the rest of his face. He’d been lucky so far. His good looks were still more than evident despite all the small scars.

  Joe Murphy was the product of an Italian mother and an Irish father. Maria Tortino was still a beautiful woman. His handsome, brawny, Irish father had passed away a few years ago, leaving Joe with the bills from his dad’s long illness. His younger sister had taken off right after their father’s death, knowing the financial burden their mother faced. Joe took on that burden. Now his mother was ailing. Joe’s girlfriend moved out last week, and he still had his mother’s debts to help pay. His bad habits were catching up to him.

  He opened his locker and took out
his newly cleaned suit. He would jump in the shower then get dressed. He needed to drown his sorrows in wine, women, and a little dope. It was party time. As he walked over to the shower every joint in his body ached. Christ, he was twenty-eight years old but at the moment, he felt much older and defeated.

  He turned on the jets, regulated the water temperature, and let his mind wander back to the fight. He thought he could get away with less training and more nightlife, but this bout and the few before had proven him wrong. Had he given up his dream of being a heavyweight champion? He stepped into the steaming hot jets and let the hot water run over his sore body. The heavyweight championship was the pièce de résistance of his profession, and at one time, he was the only competition out there. However, he’d let fame and fortune seduce him, take him, and corrupt him.

  He stepped from the shower and grabbed a clean towel. He dried his hard body off and rubbed his cock. He looked down. Damn thing, he thought. Why did he always think with it? He’d had some amazing times with it. Now he’d let his cock get the better of him. He loved pussy, loved women, loved money, and both were running low. He needed to pull himself together and start winning fights or his dream, his vision, would be lost.

  His loss to Harry Tonto had put a dent in his ego. He’d had his ass kicked by the up and coming boxer. Joe had no one to blame but himself; his lack of training, his partying, and whoring had to wear him down. In addition, he couldn’t forget the blow he occasionally treated himself to and the drinking.

  Joe knew when he opened the door to leave his dressing room there would be some hot pussy waiting for him. He needed more than one piece of ass tonight, and he needed a little blow, just a little to keep him hard. That shit was better than Viagra. There it was again, his cock, doing all the thinking for him. Fuck it; he needed a diversion, at least for tonight. Pussy was definitely the medicine he needed to cure his depression.

  He wound up in a fancy hotel room with two very young women. He checked the time on his phone; it was three twenty-three a.m. Shit, he had to get out of there, get home, and take another shower. His fucking head was pounding, and his body hurt.

  When he went to stand up, the room began spinning. He’d pushed too far this time. He had to steady himself against the wall. One of the young women moaned.

  “Where you goin’, Joe?”

  “Home. Time to get my ass home,” he moaned his response.

  “Can Amy and I come home with you?” the young woman’s words were slightly slurred.

  “No, babe, but I’ll pay the bill on the way out. You and Amy can stay here until check out.”

  He grabbed his trousers and put them on. He noticed he hadn’t even bothered to put on a pair of boxers. He slipped on his body-hugging black sweater. He grabbed his black leather jacket from a chair and slipped on his expensive Italian leather loafers. He checked his pockets for his wallet. Well at least that was still there with his money and credit cards intact. He’d pay the bill and then get the fuck out of there.

  He went into the bathroom, rinsed his mouth out with cool water, and caught a glimpse of himself. He grinned and had to admit he could take a beating. He took a washcloth and refreshed his face, noting the small nicks and scars that had healed. Not one took away from his looks, he mused, not yet anyway. He threw the washcloth down, left the ensuite, and headed toward the door. He briefly glanced at the bed and the two sleeping girls. His bed partners were getting younger and younger; it was time to get the fuck out of there before he regretted his actions even more.

  He headed down the long hallway of the hotel and stopped at the desk.

  “Wow, Mr. Murphy,” said the young desk clerk. “Can I get your autograph?” he asked, grabbing a piece of paper from the desk.

  “Sure,” Joe said, scribbling his name. “Can you call me a cab?”

  The young man folded the piece of paper. “Absolutely.”

  “Thanks, kid,” Joe said as he walked out the large double doors of the hotel. A cab stopped in front of him. He got in.

  “Where to?” the driver asked.

  “The Coliseum,”

  “I think the place is closed, mister,” the cab driver said, never bothering to look back at him or in the rearview mirror.

  “No problem. I know people there. I can get in,” he said, leaning against the back seat of the cab.

  Finally, the driver looked into the rearview mirror. “Wow, Joe Murphy, is that you?’ the cab driver asked.

  “Yes, it’s me.” He was becoming annoyed. Yeah, so, he was Joe Murphy. Big fucking deal.

  “Sorry, Mr. Murphy,” the cab driver said, pulling away from the curb. “I didn’t recognize you at first. Considering you took a real beating the last fight, you look pretty damn good.”

  Joe wanted to punch the asshole in the face, but the jerk was right. Lately he’d been doing nothing but taking a beating in the ring. Joe closed his eyes. He was on his way down. At twenty-eight, he was already a has-been in the boxing world, and he had little to show for his career.

  The cab stopped in front of the Coliseum, and Joe got out. He handed the cab driver a hundred dollar bill. “Keep the change,” he said as he walked toward the back where the employees entered the building. He rang the buzzer, and one of the janitors came to the door.

  “Mr. Murphy, what are you doing here so late?”

  “I left a good watch here. Actually, it’s the only watch I own,” he said as he walked past the janitor. “I’ll let myself out,” he added as he walked down the hallway to the lockers and dressing rooms.

  Joe was lying. He didn’t want to go home. He had a full bottle of Jack Daniels Honey hiding, along with a small catch of blow. There was a waiting room, with a big screen TV. He’d make himself at home and worry about the morning when it came.

  He turned to the janitor and handed him a hundred dollar bill. “Here, I’d appreciate it if you kept this to yourself. I would rather no one know I’m here.”

  The janitor ran his finger over his lips, imitating a zipper. “Nope, won’t say a word, Mr. Murphy. You can count on me.”

  “Good,” Joe answered and looked for the remote for the television. “Now for the Jack Daniels and some of that blow; I’m set.”

  Chapter Two

  Darlene Russo vacuumed under the seats in the Star Lounge at the Coliseum. Rich people are thoughtless pigs, she thought to herself. When she got to the three huge marbled bathrooms, she shook her head. She found remnants of cocaine, used condoms in the garbage, and used drink glasses everywhere.

  “The dalliances of the rich,” she muttered. “Stupid assholes, give some people money, and they abuse it and misuse it. If I only had a small percentage of what these people have,” she mumbled aloud.

  She worked diligently cleaning the bathrooms. She may only be a housekeeper for the company that cleaned the large Coliseum, but she took pride in her work. She’d been working for them for twelve years and was happy to have the job. Without it, her son, Devon, would probably be in foster care.

  Devon was now seven years old. She was lucky to have Mrs. Hanson, a neighbor in her building, who watched him for her at night. Devon had been an accident, but one she never regretted. His father was long gone and had never contributed a penny to his wellbeing but neither had her family. No, she’d been cast out in shame. Her traditional Italian family and strict Catholic upbringing caused such a rift that the then twenty-five year old had no choice but to leave.

  However, she was determined and a hard worker. She’d made the best of a bad situation, even when she was on the balls of her ass. Devon had become the center of her existence. She’d put everything on hold, including her personal life, to raise him.

  Darlene loaded up her cart and made her way down the long dark hallway of the Coliseum. Then she heard the crash. At first, she wanted to run, someone had gotten into the huge building, but instinct told her that wasn’t the case. She had just passed the fighter’s gym and dressing rooms. Was someone still there? She grabbed her mop handle and ma
de her way into the locker room, ready to crack anyone over the head. However, she found nothing. The room was empty. She saw a dim light coming from the entertainment room; someone must have left the light on. She relaxed and walked over to the doorway and reached in to turn the switch off when she heard a man groan.

  “Ah, shit,” she whispered. “There’s someone in there.”

  “Yeah, there is, and could you turn the Goddamn light back on!” a deep male voice yelled from the interior of the room.

  “Excuse me, but you’re not supposed to be in here,” she yelled back. “I’m calling the owners. You need to get out of here, and be careful, I have a number of pretty big men here with me,” she threatened.

  “Do you? Can they box? Can they take me on?” Joe Murphy yelled from the couch he’d been sitting on. Joe stood. “Bring ‘em on lady, bring ‘em the fuck on!”

  A huge crash resounded from the room causing Darlene to hit the light switch as she ran into the room. She stopped short, her eyes on the man lying on the floor grinning up at her ridiculously.

  “Oops,” he said.

  “Mr. Murphy, what on earth are you doing here?” She said, bending to her knees alongside of him.

  “Watching TV,” he said, again grinning up at her.

  Her dark hair had fallen out of her scrunchie and cascaded around her shoulders. She pushed it back from her face and tried to tie it back up, but his hand caught her wrist.

  “No, don’t do that,” he said.

  She stopped. His grip was strong and steady. His hands were warm, and his smile dazzling. Joe Murphy had charisma; there was doubt about it. She tried to get free of his grip, but he held steady.

  “Can I help you get up?” she said, trying to ignore the heat of his hand.

  “Baby, I’m already up.”

  She probably turned a hundred shades of red, no, crimson at his words.