Mason: A Manchester Bad Boys Romance (2 page)

Mason

The atmosphere in the warehouse was incredible. The excitement of the crowd seemed to rise up and take on a life of its own. They pressed forward, towards the ring, eager to watch the violence and the bloodshed. The two men providing the entertainment were on their last legs. Their eyes were swollen, their lips split. Maybe at the start of the fight, they had circled each other with precision and menace, but now, at the end, they looked like two drunks trying to dance.

I watched. The bigger of the two was the favourite to win, but I was rooting for the smaller guy. He had an expression on his battered face that I had seen before - he would never, ever give up. He’d taken a beating, and yet he was still standing, only the iron force of his will keeping him on his feet. As the bigger guy moved in, the smaller one lashed out - an uppercut to the jaw. Goliath fell, and the crowd went wild. Even though most of them had just lost their money, they didn’t care. These people were always the smaller guys, the underdogs, and they recognised one of their own.

“Mason!”

I looked over, and there was Heath. He was wearing a suit, his white shirt open at the collar. It looked good on him. Not many men with his bulk can look good in a suit - too often they look like tame gorillas.

“You not fighting tonight, pretty boy?”

“Don’t knock the threads,” he said, giving me a slap on the back. We weren’t huggers. “The ladies can’t get enough of it.”

It was true, I saw. Nearly every woman in our immediate vicinity was checking him out. Some covertly, some blatantly. It seemed that Heath had turned into a local celebrity while I’d been away.

“How’ve you been?” I said, returning the slap.

“Not bad, mate. Better for seeing your ugly face, though. Between you being overseas and Adam being banged up, life has been pretty boring.”

“Boring?” I said, gesturing at the mob, “This place is insane!”

“True, but… you know. It’s not like this all the time.”

We weren’t the kind of men to open up about our innermost feelings, but I knew what he was getting at. It doesn’t matter how many people are surrounding you, life is lonely without your closest friends, your brothers. I had learnt that the hard way in Iraq. It pained me to think that Adam was going through it now, with no way of helping him.

“You spoke to Adam?” I said. “I went up to see him this morning.”

“Yeah, he rang me this afternoon, told me you were coming tonight. He said you’re after getting some work with Terry English?”

“Well, he suggested it. What do you think? All I know about Terry is his reputation.”

Heath laughed. “It’s not undeserved. He’s not a monster, though. If you do right by him, he’ll look after you. Do you want me to introduce you?”

“Sure,” I said.

I followed Heath over to a quiet table in the corner. Two men were sitting at it, talking quietly. Others stood around, keeping the crowd at bay. The older man looked up and saw Heath. He muttered something, and the other guy got up and walked away.

“Heath, my boy,” he said expansively, gesturing for us to sit. “This the friend you were telling me about?” He nodded at one of the bodyguards, and they let us through.

“This is Mason O’Donnell,” Heath said. “Mason, this is Terry English.”

I shook his hand as we sat down.

“O’Donnell, eh? Are you Patrick’s lad, then?”

“Yes,” I said, surprised. I didn’t know that my father had been acquainted with Terry English.

“A good man,” Terry said. “A shame about what happened to him.”

“Thank you,” I said, hoping that would end it. I really didn’t want to talk about my father. Not now, not ever.

“Heath tells me you just got out of the army?”

“Yeah, the Fusiliers,” I said.

“Mason just got back from Iraq,” Heath put in, proudly.

The older man looked at me, and there was something in his eyes. Sympathy? Empathy?

“That must be a difficult adjustment,” he said quietly.

“You play the hand you’re dealt,” I said neutrally. I didn’t want to piss him off, but I certainly didn’t want to start talking about it, either.

He smiled, seeming pleased with my answer.

“You looking for a spot of work, I believe. I can help you out there. As you can see, the fights are popular. I have a few bookies working for me, taking bets from punters. I’m in need of a good lad to collect the money from the bookies and drop it off.”

“I can do that,” I said.

“You understand what the job involves?” he said. “This ain’t no errand boy run, delivering pizzas. If you let them, they’ll run right over you. Bookies skimming off the top, druggies looking to jump you for the cash. You need to stay on top of it.”

I understood what he meant. He wanted me to be enough of a presence to deter the thieves. And the ones who weren’t deterred… they would need dealing with. It was the way the world worked.

“There’ll be no skimming on my watch, Mr English,” I said.

He laughed, shaking my hand once more. “Call me Terry, son,” he said. “One of my boys will run though the specifics with you tomorrow, but for tonight - have a drink on me. To welcome you to the family.”

“Thanks, Terry,” I said, and meant it.

“Mike!” he shouted. A man behind the bar looked up. “These boys are drinking on the house tonight. Look after them!” The man nodded.

“Off you go, son,” Terry said. “Have a drink, chat up some birds, enjoy yourself.”

“Believe me, a girlfriend is the last thing I need right now,” I said, standing up.

He laughed again. “You’re wise beyond your years, son. But that doesn’t mean you can’t have some fun. Love ‘em and leave ‘em, ain’t that right, Heath?”

“So many women, so little time,” Heath said, grinning.

As we moved away, I turned Terry’s words over in my mind. I don’t know if it was the atmosphere, the drink Heath was pressing into my hand, or just that it had been too long, but suddenly I was as horny as fuck. Get laid and get out suddenly seemed like a good idea.

Heath nudged me. “I think you’ve got an admirer,” he said, nodding towards a girl across the room. She had been looking at us, and when we stared back, she held my gaze instead of looking away. It wasn’t just her confidence that had my cock twitching - she was smoking hot. Long, dark hair, and curves in all the right places.

Before I could even think about it, I was standing next to her.

“I’m Mason,” I said.

She looked me up and down, biting her lip. An image flashed into my brain, of her biting
my
lip, and I could feel my cock hardening.

“Nicole,” she said.

Nicole

I felt that I stuck out like a sore thumb. I had never been on a night out by myself in my entire life, and it was a strange experience. I found myself constantly trying to look as if I was waiting for someone to come back from the bar – whatever that looked like. But I wasn't on a night out, I was working.

We'd had intelligence about Terry English's illegal boxing ring for a while. It wasn't worth arresting him for that, though, not when we could get him for something bigger. So I had decided to go down there and observe him, see who he spoke to, how he acted, who he was.

It was my first official undercover outing. At first, I had wanted to order a soft drink from the bar – to keep my wits about me – but I realised that everybody else in the old warehouse was drinking, and I wanted to blend in. So I ordered a glass of wine, and settled at a table where I could see the fight, but also see Terry English.

He was holding court in a secluded corner, his goons protecting him. Men would approach the corner, and the goons would either admit them or turn them away. It was fascinating to watch – far more interesting than the fight. I was too far away to hear what was being said, but I could see the expressions and the body language of the men that sat with English. Some were nervous as they approached. Most of those left his company looking relieved, although one man looked terrified as he walked away. English had nodded at one of the goons, who then followed the man. I wondered if one of my colleagues would be writing a report about the scared man in the morning. Probably not – this was a tightknit world, and nobody grassed.

I didn't recognise all of the faces in Terry's circle, but most of them looked familiar from the surveillance photographs and mug shots I had been studying. One of those faces was approaching English now – Heath Bailey, one of Terry's prize fighters. He looked happy and confident as he was admitted to the table with his friend. Clearly, Heath was in the good books. English seemed to be speaking with the friend, rather than Heath himself. I couldn't see that guy's face from my vantage point, just the back of his head. After a few minutes, the two men got up and headed towards the bar. They were smiling – the meeting had obviously gone better than some of the ones I had watched.

Heath had a reputation as a ladies man, and I wondered if I could use that to my advantage. As he moved through the room, all the women stared at him, and he certainly seemed aware of it. But I found my gaze sliding to the other guy – Heath's friend, the one that Terry had been speaking to.

He was tall, maybe six feet, but what stood out more was the way he carried himself. It was a quiet confidence, not the cocky swagger of the local wideboys or the lumbering gait of the weightlifters. He was handsome, too, but unlike Heath, he didn't seem to be aware of it. He was dressed simply, carelessly – just jeans and a T-shirt, with a scruff of stubble darkening his jaw. He wasn't out to impress anyone, and I liked that about him. The warehouse was packed to capacity with people desperate to impress each other, and his indifference made him stand out.

I was so caught up in staring at him that I didn't realise Heath had clocked me, not until he nudged his friend and they both looked over, right at me. Shit! Was my cover blown already? I held his gaze. Looking away now wouldn't help matters, and I needed to be able to see their expressions – if a look of recognition crossed either face, I needed to get out of there quickly.

The friend was making his way over. I swallowed my panic, forcing myself to look calm, cool and collected.

"I'm Mason," he said.

I glanced down. His hands were by his sides, not reaching for a weapon or balled into fists. I realised I was chewing on my lower lip – the anxious habit that always gave me away – and stopped immediately.

"Nicole," I said.

"Who are you here with?" he asked.

Shit, shit, shit! "I was supposed to be meeting my friend, but she can't make it," I said. "She just texted me now." I waited, holding my breath. Did he believe me? Did he know who I was? Had Terry English, or one of his gang, sussed me out?

"That's good," he said, smiling.

"Good?"

"I wanted to buy you a drink, so I was hoping you weren't here on a date or anything," he said.

Relief flooded through me, and I smiled at him.

"Is that a yes, then?"

"Yes," I said. "A white wine, please."

As he fetched the drinks, I tried to justify it to myself. It would have looked strange, to refuse company after I had just admitted being stood up by my fictional friend. And this guy, Mason, had been speaking with Terry English. That made him a legitimate surveillance target. So it didn't matter, that I thought he was gorgeous. That just standing next to him gave me butterflies. It was still a professional thing to do...

Three hours later, it was harder to convince myself that I was still acting professionally. We had been drinking wine, laughing and flirting non-stop. It felt like… a date. A date with a funny, sexy guy. I had to keep reminding myself
why
I was doing this, what I was here for, but as time wore on it was harder and harder to focus. I hadn't asked him anything about Terry, or his business dealings. I told myself it was because I didn't want to scare my first informant away too soon, but really it was because I just wanted to keep the conversation going.

He had sat down next to me, the length of his thigh pressed against the length of mine, and I found myself unbelievably aware of his presence, his touch. By the time he was holding my hand, stroking my back, and finally leaning in to kiss my neck, I was gone. I didn't care about the work, the undercover job that I was supposed to be doing. I just wanted him. It had been so long since I felt like this – a sexy, desirable woman. Spending half my life lumbering around in body armour, and the rest of it dealing with the fallout from my relationship with Gary Thompson had made me forget how good it felt to be wanted.

So when he kissed me, I kissed him back, and when he whispered in my ear that we could perhaps maybe leave together, I was all for it. The only sensible thought that I had was that we should go back to his place, not mine. A police-funded safe house wasn't the best venue for a booty call, and I knew there was all kinds of incriminating paperwork lying around my new home. So we went back to his place.

It was small, but clean and tidy – surprisingly so. There's only one kind of man who keeps a place like this.

"You’re in the Army?" I asked.

"I was," he said, his eyes darkening. Clearly this was something he didn't want to discuss.

"Right now though," he said, "I want to be in you."

Desire ripped through me as he began to kiss me roughly, pulling at my clothes. As I pressed against, I could feel the hard length of his cock, and I unbuttoned his belt, wanting more, more, more. He picked me up as if I was as light as a feather, still kissing me , and carried me over to his bed, where he gently lay me down.

I watched, anticipating, as he pulled his T-shirt off, tossing it carelessly aside. He had an amazing body – rockhard abs and a wide chest. I suddenly felt self-conscious about my own figure. It had been a long time since anybody had seen my own soft curves. I immediately found myself wishing that I was thinner, more toned, more perfect for this guy. But amazingly, he didn't seem to notice. As my T-shirt and bra came off, I saw his pupils dilate.

"God, Nicole," he whispered, "you're so fucking sexy…"

In that moment I believed him completely.

He shook off his jeans and underwear, and I could see his cock at last. I reached for it – but he moved away, grinning wickedly.

"Not yet."

I was lying on the bed, as he knelt above me, looking at me. He unfastened my jeans and slid them away, taking my underwear too. I was completely naked and exposed. He paused, looking up and down my body with a fierce intensity, and the combination of lust and embarrassment was thrilling. Slowly, ever so slowly, he started to kiss me. First my lips, then moving down to my neck, and then my breasts - his tongue teasing each nipple into a stiff peak, before licking, biting, arousing… and then down again, kissing my belly as his strong, warm hands pushed my thighs apart. I could feel his hot breath against my wetness as he paused, breathing me in. His tongue flicked out, tracing the line of my lips before finding the hot bud of nerves that ached for his touch.

I gasped with pleasure, all self-consciousness forgotten, as he buried his face in my pussy. Just as I could feel myself teetering on the brink, he pulled away, moving up the bed and over me in one swift, smooth movement. As he kissed me, I could taste myself on his lips, his tongue. I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him down onto me. For half a second, I could feel the head of his cock, pressing against my pussy, and then he was inside me.

He was huge, and hard, and fast - and it was just what I wanted. He filled me completely, thrusting relentlessly as I cried out for more. It was amazing. I had never been fucked like this in my entire life. It was more than just technique, or desire. I felt as if this man, this gorgeous, sexy man,
belonged
inside me. I dug my fingers hard into his back, urging him on. As I felt my orgasm building, I started to moan incoherently into his ear - don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop.

He didn't stop, but as I started to shudder and climax, I felt him let go, his fingers twisting into my hair as he spurted inside me, our bodies moving as one. It seemed to go on forever – I was completely lost in the sensations, almost afraid of the intensity of my pleasure.

Finally, it was over. He kissed me softly, neither of us speaking, neither of us wanting to break the spell. We lay there for a while, him still inside me, staring into each others eyes.

What had I done?