“Yes, Boss, I’ll do it.”
I roll my eyes and move toward the garage. “Fine, tell me what’s going on and why you’re reluctant.”
“Bad timing, that’s all.”
“And why is that?” The man’s scared, won’t talk, so I explain. “I know she models nude.”
“It’s a bikini day, and they worked all morning to set the stage. I had no idea how much work goes into this kind of thing.”
Like I give a shit. “Is she wearing anything?”
“Yeah. Aha. A gold bikini.”
I picture my wife in a gold bikini and see how that would complement her body. “I’m gonna stab the corner of your eye with a spoon, scoop out your eyeball, and eat it. Get my wife, put some clothes on her, and bring her to Morgan’s in two hours tops.”
7
Blake, the suited billionaire playboy, shows me his bloody teeth as I crack my neck and sit in the opposite corner of the ring. Round four, motherfucker, and I smile back, knowing it makes me look scarier, my eye nearly shut because he cocked me right in the temple. The pain motivates me. No pain, no gain.
The little bell chimes, and in walks my wife. Finally and early, and also dressed, thank goodness. I need to pay her no mind as I move into the center of the ring or I’ll get pounded in the face and lose, and I hate losing, especially to this little pussy in the suit, though the boy has been working out since I last saw him in the pit—ring.
He got some new tattoos, some Japanese-looking dragons and mantras. Mofo thinks he’s a yakuza. Yeah okay. I know a few yakuzas, and them motherfuckers wouldn’t be caught dead modeling for a chick magazine.
He needs to get his branding straight. I’m here to pound some sense into his head and hope he’ll get the message. This way, I don’t gotta send Ludi after him. I’m using Nikola’s man ’cause I sliced and diced mine after he betrayed me to the feds.
Safe house, he wanted.
New life, he wanted.
There’s only one life I want. The one I share with my wife, and my men, and even these billionaires I’m using to clean my dirty money.
Blake’s gaze slides over the crowd as I shake out my arms, giving him time to see my wife in there, and I watch the second their eyes meet for signs of anything and everything, because if I see a hint of intimacy, I’m gonna pound him now and dice him up later so thoroughly, nobody will find the pieces of him ever.
He smiles and lifts his arm, saying hello to her.
She’s not looking at him, though.
She’s staring at me, a horrified look on her face, both hands covering her mouth. So she’s not into violence, and that’s okay, because I’m plenty into it for the two of us.
Blake rams his fist into my nose. My world spins, darkness covering my eyes, and I stumble back, hearing him coming after me. I’m fucking blind, but I feel him, so I fake a left, pull back my right arm, and put the weight of my body into it when I slam my fist into the side of his face.
He flies across the ring at the same time I slide down the ropes and plop my ass on the floor. The floor bounces as my opponent’s body hits it. He can’t stand anymore, and I smile, blood seeping out of my fucking ear, nose, mouth.
Morgan’s shouting.
My men are shouting.
I don’t hear my wife. That’s fine too. The local patch-up guy starts cleaning me up and asking me questions I can answer—thankfully—or they’d call an ambulance I’d have to share with the billionaire, and then I might even feel bad I fucked up his pretty face like that.
He needed it. In a way, it saved his life, because if anyone ever asks him to share a bedroom with my wife again, he’llrefuse, as he should’ve refused the first time. He didn’t know better then, but now he does, so I’m saving the billionaire playboys, one billionaire at a time. I’m a fucking hero.
Laughing then wincing when I choke up on the blood, I feel two men come to either side of me and help me stand. Water washes the blood and snot and sweat off my face, and I can kind of see again. Viktor’s face appears through the haze first, and once I can blink a few times without getting blood in my eyes, I look for my wife, who has sat on the bench with a bucket in her lap.
My man brings her a bottle of water. So I made her sick. Great. Fucking great.
Morgan steps in front of me, hands on his hips, his thick neck bulging with veins. He’s so pissed, he’s gonna erupt like a bloody volcano. I smile and pop out my mouthpiece, then throw it at his chest. “Is he alive?” I ask.
“Yes.”
