Owned: A Mafia Menage Romance (76 page)

Three willowy women in nearly identical cocktail dresses with nearly identical golden hairdos sniffed surprise in her direction. She held her head higher.

Yes, you bunch of entitled snobs. Me. I’m walking with this rich jerk right here. Me. Suck it.

Winsor stepped smoothly toward the chair and pulled it out. Callie held her breath and tried to arrange her lips into a smile while aiming her backside into the seat. Silently she prayed the dress would continue to mostly cover her and not split into ribbons when she sat.

“Did I mention how much I like your gown?” he said, his breath passing over the back of her neck as he took a seat next to her.

“Thank you,” she muttered as her skin prickled.  

And you will probably never see it or me again, because once Tammie sees how I stretched out her favorite dress she is going to kill me.

She pressed her toes up, hoping to make her thighs somehow a little smaller. A waiter placed a glass of wine in front of her as Winsor nodded.

“I don’t really like wine,” she admitted sheepishly.

“Of course you do,” he responded, dismissing her objection with a casual wave of his fingers.

Of course I do? Are you kidding me?

“Listen, Mr. Cooke—”

“Win,” he interrupted.

She stumbled mentally, the lecture she had prepared stalling on her tongue. “Excuse me?”

“I already asked you to call me Win,” he said in a quieter voice and turned to her in his chair. Somehow his voice got clearer, stronger, the more he lowered it. A waft of something expensive washed through her sinuses and she stopped, startled. Dumbstruck. His hazel eyes glimmered faintly.

“Win—” she started again, but with less gusto.

Jesus, Callie, get a grip!

“And what can I call you?” he continued, his voice all smooth.

The lecture started and stopped again. Started and stopped, then crumbled into ash like a spent log in a fire.

What can he call me? I should have had a dozen smartass answers ready to go. What the heck is wrong with me?

“Um, Callendra. Callie.”

His lips widened into a smile so shiny and perfect his teeth looked varnished.

“Callie is a beautiful name,” he purred, holding out his hand.

Callie hesitated for just a moment then held her hand out too. Instead of shaking it, he picked it up and drew it to his mouth. She bit her lip as his breath puddled in her palm. Then he dipped his head, dropping a small kiss just below the joint of her middle finger.

“I am really enjoying touching you,” he whispered into her palm.

She sucked in her breath. “What?” she choked.

The bell rang suddenly. Callie twisted in her chair, pulling her hand away and dragging it to her lap as her heart flopped around her chest like a wounded crow.

What the hell is he doing to me?
 Callie forced her eyes to focus on the ring and begged her armpits to please,
please
 stop sweating on Tammie’s dress.

The announcer finished muttering the rules to Auger and Twister who stood half-bent at the waist. They looked like they were in suspended animation, paused in a critical scene of a film until the MC took a step back.

Auger bowed his head slightly and shook out his arms and legs one at a time. The lights went on at his side of the room and he and Twister stalked a slow circle around the ring perimeter. People walked backwards as they took their positions at opposite corners. The MC drew a cordless mic to his lips and tipped his head back, exultant.

“In this corner! Weighing in at an impressive two hundred thirty-five pounds… Undefeated for the last 18 bouts… It’s Twister!!”

The crowd roared delightedly as Twister raised both fists over his head and shook them. The cornerman slipped a mouthguard between his lips and he gave us all a diabolical, black-gummed leer.

“And in this corner! Weighing in at two hundred twenty pounds… Untested and unbested, it’s newcomer… ODIN!!!”

Auger shook his hands over his head and scanned the crowd, letting the enthusiasm wash over him, pumping himself up. His gaze flashed over to Winsor and Callie, and for a second she saw his cocky grin twitch a little, just at the corner.

When the bell sounded, time immediately slowed. Everyone pressed ahead breathlessly. Callie and Winsor leaned forward in their chairs.

Auger

When the bell rang, Auger leapt from his corner with his fists up around his ears, circling the mat with Twister. The light seemed to thicken as though they were in a silent tunnel together.

Twister grinned and leered, but Auger couldn’t look directly at his face. He trained his senses on knowing his opponent’s body: how his shoulders showed his intentions, how his torso flexed with his already-labored breath, how his stance was wide, too wide.

Auger made a mental list of these things as they circled. Twister came in with a feint and he just swayed away from it, bouncing off on his toes, dancing around.

Twister shook his head fiercely, silently telling Auger that he wasn’t planning on just dancing for the next three rounds. Little did he know, Auger wasn’t planning on three rounds at all.

He came in with a right cross. Auger saw it coming and told himself to take it to see what Twister was made of, but his body wouldn’t obey. He dodged easily instead, then bounced to the left. Twister pivoted on his heel all clumsy and slow.

Some animal intelligence started to settle into his body, eagerly waiting for the next throw. He knew Twister now: eventually the big steroidal husk would over-reach, and there would be an opening to crush him.

Twice more, he came in with a powerful but imperfect throw, and Auger just stepped aside. He didn’t even dance on his toes. His relaxed posture was an extra insult. Then Twister attempted a combination and Auger simply swatted the left jab away as though it had been thrown by a teenager.

Was that me making that sound? Did I just laugh at him? Oh shit.

Instantly enraged, Twister threw an illegal elbow, narrowly missing Auger’s cheekbone.

Auger heard himself snarl in response, and the light turned to amber. He realized suddenly why Twister’s stance was so wide: he was waiting for a knee strike or heel strike.

No
.

Auger knew he had to end it before that happened. He stopped circling and stood, making himself an easy target. Twister took the bait and snorted before throwing his heel in the air.

Raising a hand almost lazily, Auger caught the strike in midair. He paused with Twister’s heel in his hand to see the look of shock on his face. With a cruel grin, Auger slammed a single overhand punch to Twister’s temple with all his weight in it. Twister crumpled onto the mat like a rag doll.

As Auger stood over him, time immediately sped back up. The sounds and lights of the room slammed in on him like a tidal wave. He heard the roar of applause and realized it was over, already over. Orion rushed into the ring and shoved him away.

Auger bounced nervously on his toes, his whole body alive and sparking with unused energy. His taped hands opened and closed at his sides, straining the hand wraps. Every breath felt like a powerful wind filling his lungs, but he had nowhere to go.

Orion sat over Twister’s hunched form for a few more moments, barking in his ear and slapping his shoulder. Twister shook his head then straightened to sitting, a furious scowl on his face. Orion raised a thumbs up to the crowd, and a few people clapped appreciatively.

Auger stepped forward cautiously, wanting to see Twister’s eyes for himself to know he was all right. Shame began to creep into his mind again, reminding him that he wasn’t supposed to be in the ring at all. Not ever. As Auger got close, Twister snapped, glaring like a wounded animal.

“Get the fuck outta here!” he snarled.

Auger raised his hands. “I was just checking on you. Forget it.”

“Fuck you, man,” Twister growled. “One round? One lousy grand? You better hope I don’t see your face again, you—”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s enough!” Orion said sharply, dragging Twister to the ropes and out of the ring. Auger walked backwards and ducked through the ropes at the other corner, shaking his head in disgust.

I remember why I hate this,
 he thought as he strode toward the door, bowing his head and avoiding eye contact with the crowd.

“He’s fine,” came a low voice over his shoulder.

Auger shook his head angrily. The nerve! “You really shouldn’t sneak up on me,” he snarled without turning, his muscles still itching to be used.

“Oh yeah? Still have a lot of energy left over from the bout?”

Auger spun around and met Winsor Cooke’s cocky stare. He was far too close again, but the fighter refused to back away and held the billionaire’s gaze until Callie’s blonde head bounced into the corner of his vision. She shot him a warning look. He barely resisted the urge to drag her off the boat by her elbow.

“He wasn’t really a match for you, now was he,” Winsor taunted, dragging his attention back.

Auger shrugged. “Not really.”

“You should have taken my offer.”

Auger shrugged, squinting suspiciously at Callie. Why was she standing behind this guy like they came here together? He tried to read her expression.

Nothing. I have no idea what she’s thinking,
he realized with a cruel awareness.
As usual.

“I don’t fight,” he finally snarled back. “This was a one-time thing. I gave it up.”

“Gave it up?” Winsor repeated blandly. “That’s a pity. You’re impressive.”

“Eh, I got lucky,” he said. His body still twitched and ached for more conflict, some release of all the energy he had left over from the match.

Winsor cocked his head to the side slightly. “Well, happily for everyone,” he purred, “the sponsorship is still yours.”

Auger rocked back on his heels, barely restraining himself from the uppercut blow that seemed cocked and read in his right arm.

“I told you: No.”

Winsor shrugged, either now realizing or not caring how close he was to someone that deadly. “Do I look like the sort of person who accepts that answer?”

Auger ground his teeth together, silently begging his body to calm down, move past the fighting urge that seeped from every pore. “I don’t want it.”

“You absolutely earned it,” Winsor said, his voice low.

“I don’t know what you mean,”  Auger muttered finally. His shoulders visibly slumped as he forced himself to release the tension in his muscles.

What am I supposed to say to this guy? He just will not let it go!

Auger kept trying to catch Callie’s eye but she wouldn’t look at him, not even for a second.

“Sure you do,” Winsor nodded arrogantly, sensing he had made some kind of forward motion in the argument. “You say you don’t want anyone to own you… But somehow I think that’s a lie. I think you would
love
 to be owned.”

“Fuck you, man,” Auger shot back automatically.

Winsor chuckled and Auger vividly imagined smashing his teeth in. “There now. That’s the spirit! Just come round the house. Both of you.”

“What?”

“Ten grand,” he said slowly, as though Auger was too stupid to understand. “Just come round the house and we will settle up. So glad that’s out of the way. You see, Callie?”

He turned to face her as her eyes widened in shock.

“I told you he would take it,” he said to her, his voice smug and oily.

What the fuck?

Instantly Auger was as taut as a wire again and ready to snap. He glanced between Callie and Winsor, trying to measure their interaction, to understand it. Though it wasn’t all clear, he could understand one thing. Winsor was laughing at him, and Callie was in on it.

This is a trick!

“Fuck you!” he muttered again and forced himself to take a half step back. He felt suddenly cold and exposed, and every muscle trembled with the effort to not unleash the beating on Winsor that he so richly deserved.

“It was a pleasure to meet you,” Winsor purred to Callie, picking up her hand to kiss it as Auger watched, seething darkly.

“It’s twenty,” Auger snarled before he knew he was going to say anything.

“Excuse me?” he said, turning to face Auger with one eyebrow raised.

Auger constrained his voice to a commanding growl. He stared into Winsor’s mocking, hazel eyes and refused to even blink.

This asshole is going to pay me. In a hundred ways.

“You offered me
twenty.
”

Winsor nodded slowly. “Thank you for reminding me,” he said softly, nodding. He stood for a moment too long in Auger’s personal space, just to show that he could, then tugged smartly on his suit lapels and walked away with a smug grin.

Callie realized her mouth was hanging open and snapped it closed. She lunged at Auger with her palms up, her face a shocked, apologetic mask. “I did not know he was going to—”

“Oh save it, princess,” Auger snarled at her, somehow happy when she flinched back.