Thinking about spanking her cheers me up, and I squint at the morning sun and scratch my balls again. They’re sticking together from all the cum and pussy juice coating them. Gonna grab a shower, then get some guys to fix the porch furniture, whatever that might be.
Viktor rollsmy massive truck into the garage just as some of the guys are pushing the boxes out of the foyer and into the porch while I’m sitting on the steps going through my phoneand answering emails. Communicating with billionaire playboys with names like Bishop, Hunter, and Hawk who all think they’re at the top of the food chain makes me laugh.
They’re cute with their pretty names, and mine is old, after an archangel warrior. If I have a son, and we gotta name the boy after a chess piece—which we won’t—he’s not gonna be Bishop but King. If I have to choose a sport, he won’t be a Hunter but a Warrior, and if a bird, it’s an Eagle. To each their own, and this naming business is gonna bemyown.
I’m all about individualizing, parental self-expression, and freedom. Eighty some years ago, my grandparents didn’t come to America with a pair of suitcases so I could be suppressed. They came so the family would have the freedom and opportunity to grow.
Viktor stretches out his hand, and I take the magazine, then slide my phone into the pocket of my sweatpants. Thick glossy pages. Black, gold, and purple colors. This is some classy shit, and the cover shows a woman in expensive clothes with a purse that probably costs as much as my porch furniture. Actually more. This furniture was pretty cheap. My wife needs to raise her prices.
Fuck, I’m itching to take a look into her business and finances and then go hire Ivana to make sure my wife profits, but the magazine she likes will do for now.
The first thing I do with the magazine is open it and bring it up to my nose. I sniff and groan. “Fucking love this smell.”
Viktor’s nodding as if that’s not at all weird and comes to sit next to me, leaning over my arm. I side-eye him and flip the fine pages, feeling one between my fingertips.
“There’s a digital version,” he says. “If you’re concerned about the trees.”
I blink. “It didn’t cross my mind.”
“It should.”
“You an environmental warrior?”
“Nah, but conscious of the advantage of technology.”
“Good. That’s why you work for me. I don’t need to worry about it.”
He chuckles, and I keep flipping pages, getting to know my wife's tastes. The magazine is actually keeping my attention, talking about billionaires and playboys, my local…clients and partners, in a way.
Right at the middle, I pause at the image of a woman on a bed, her long legs stretching across both pages. A full spread of my wife on the bed completely nude, propped up on her elbows, head thrown back, mouth slightly open. I know exactly what this pose looks like in real life.
Her foot—the injured one!—points forward like a ballerina’s toward a man in a suit standing at the edge of the bed. I take a long hard look at his face and realize I know this asshole. It’s not a Bishop, or Hunter, or Hawk, it’s a Blake who runs the hotel my wife’s family happens to occupy. He also trains with my former coach and a good friend, which is how he first approached me.
Viktor inches away, and I close the magazine, then put it off to one side and tap the cover. “Call Morgan and tell him I need a clear pit.”
“It’s not a pit anymore. They’re calling it a ring.”
I glare.
He shrugs. “I’m here to introduce you to the new world. Also gloves only, no fists.”
“Fucking man-pussies have infiltrated the world. We are doomed.”
“Yeah, but are you gonna spar?”
“I don’t spar, boy. I fight. It’s either that or I kill the suit.” And my wife leaves me when she finds out what I did. I could order a hit on him with a single call, but secrets like those don’t stay buried often, especially not between married couples.
Not to mention I don’t need the heat right now when I’m on the rise again and money’s pouring in like a fountain of beautiful wealth that’s gonna make these men and their families real happy.
“Can we watch?” Viktor asks.
“Yeah.”
My men cheer as I stand.
“Whoever wants to bet, come along.” I get my phone out, dial the bodyguard I placed on my life, and say, “Bring my wife to Morgan’s in about two hours.”
There’s a pause on the other end, and all I wanna hear isYes, Bossright now. “Did you not hear me?”
