Owned: A Mafia Menage Romance (73 page)

“You said it wouldn’t come to that,” Auger reminded him.

Fucking backstabbing, lying JERK!

“Yeah… uh, yeah. I did say that. OK. You just dance around for a couple minutes and then take a knee,” Bryce muttered uncertainly.

“That’s the plan?”

“Yes! That’s the plan,” Bryce repeated, offering a convincing smile. “This is just entertainment, not a serious match or anything. Hey, Callie? You hear that? It’s an exhibition match. Nothing serious. Nothing to get worked up about!”

“So basically you’re just strippers?” she sneered, hoping a little shame might yet talk him out of it. Her hands shook at her sides.

JERK!!!

Bryce rolled his eyes then hopped to a crouch and stood up, bouncing and grinning. She tried to glare at him but with all that puppyish energy, she was having a hard time getting her eye-beam-lasers to kick in.

He boxed at the air and wiggled his eyebrows at her. “Call it what you want, Cal. Technically we’re outlaw barefisted fighters who people just happen to find irresistibly sexy.”

She scoffed, choke-barking at the air like “sexy” was the most ridiculous description he could have used. “Yeah… fine whatever.”

“So, you’ll do it?” Bryce said, turning his attention back to Auger. He wanted to get Auger’s country-boy word on the matter so he could be sure there would be no backing out. Auger chewed the inside of his cheek for a few seconds, his square jaw working back and forth. Callie watched his stubbled jaw intently, hoping there was still a chance he would change his mind. Then he nodded.

It was a done deal.

Bryce raised his arms in the air and whooped. “OK! Excellent! We could call you... Odin?”

Auger snorted derisively. “My real name will be just fine.”

“Oh you won’t think so when these guys start following you and trying to track you down every day. You need a stage name. You look like a Viking…. I think Odin’s a cool name.”

“So we are
definitely
strippers,” Auger sighed sarcastically, quirking an eyebrow at Callie.

She looked away, defeated. “Don’t ask me. All I do is walk in a circle with my arms over my head.”

Auger snorted and she cringed, suddenly remembering that agreeing with him was never the right plan. “Fine. Then how about Thor?”

Bryce rolled his eyes and dropped to the floor, holding himself up on arms like stout tree branches. He pounded out ten fast push-ups with seemingly no effort. “Wow, ego much?” he grunted as he dashed off another dozen.

Ego much?
 she repeated wryly to herself, finally just accepting defeat and  leaving the room.
Brother, you have no idea.

Auger

Callie walked ahead of Auger and Bryce, her long coat cinched around her waist. With every step, her ass rolled underneath the fabric. Auger tried to look away but his only other options were the tourists, the guys selling incense and boat tours, and Bryce’s goddamn smirking face. So he kept coming back to Callie’s ass.

More than a handful, that ass. More than two. Plenty to go around and strong as a mule. If you slapped it, that ass kept wobbling for longer than it should. You could feel a good slap all the way around to the front of her.

That ass.

But he knew Callie wasn’t speaking to him again, and probably wouldn’t for awhile. He could have explained but what’s the point? Callie never listened to anybody. Hardheaded. Stubborn.

Two of Orion’s huge, block-shaped bouncers stood at the ends of the gangplank that led to the cruiseliner. The ship dwarfed the smaller pleasure boats on either side of it. As they came up they could hear the thump of house music rolling from the upper deck. Strings of small light bulbs illuminated a party going on far over their heads.

A group of giggling teenage girls made faces in front of the bouncers as they approached. The guys looked over the girls’ heads like they were invisible, which seemed to just egg them on. As Callie walked up, they parted to let her pass and then closed up again.

“Whose boat is this?” demanded a saucy redheaded teenager with a judgmental pout toward Callie’s impressive backside. Bryce looked her over once and quirked his eyebrows at Auger. He shook his head in warning,
No way, man
. Looking at young girls on Navy Pier could easily get your ass kicked, he knew. Kicked in a permanent way. You never knew who they were with.

“Well, it’s not ours,” Bryce said with a frown, making eye contact with the taller bouncer who edged slightly aside to let them pass. They squeezed between them, the girls’ voices still floating up to them as they climbed the long ramp up to the main deck.

“I don’t see what it would have hurt to just talk—” Bryce protested.

“You have a death wish or what?” Auger interrupted. He shook his head irritably and tried to focus. “Sometimes I really wonder about you, Bryce.”

“Whatever,” Bryce muttered sullenly. He elbowed past Auger and stood for a moment on the upper deck, getting his bearings.

Auger kept carefully silent as Bryce scanned the crowd on the busy upper deck, looking for some sign of the promoter, Orion. Music played from the DJ booth in the corner which almost everyone ignored as they leaned in toward each other, laughing and chatting. A certain buzz hung over the crowd, a sound like a wasp nest that hadn’t been disturbed yet. Everyone was waiting for the same thing.

There were men in suits with the top buttons of their custom-tailored shirts casually undone. A few women clustered in small groups or hung on the arms of their dates. People looked around for other people just like them, as though it was some kind of competition just to be rich.

So these were wealthy business types looking for entertainment only, just like Bryce had said. They probably wouldn't even watch, just place a few bets to show each other up. Auger held back a sigh of relief.

Easy money,
 he thought.
Finally, something easy.

“We’re going below deck,” Bryce muttered, his eyes sweeping the crowd again for good measure.

“What?”

“Follow me.”

Auger stepped in behind Bryce as he crossed the busy upper deck and ducked through a door and down a short flight of stairs. The boat was enormous. It was like an office building or restaurant on the water.

As they descended a couple levels to more casual surroundings, Auger started to feel slightly more at ease. The upper deck had been a throng of nattily dressed rich guys who looked like they had stepped out of the pages of a magazine. Auger was sure he had spotted at least two famous people. It was certainly not the secret gathering of gamblers and bloodthirsty promoters he was expecting. Not like every other grungy, dark fight he’d ever done before. It was practically… boring.

Some part of him loved this, and another part of him knew that loving it was exactly the wrong thing to do.

Just get in, dance around, accept a couple body blows, and collect the cash,
 he reminded himself.
You can do this. Easy money. No matter how civilized these people look, they’re still paying to see somebody get their ass kicked.

Bryce walked ahead as though he knew his way around, and Auger just followed him like his big, dumb pet. Around a corner, he saw a commercial kitchen and a huge dining room with gleaming walnut walls and windows on three sides. Down one more flight of stairs, Bryce hesitated briefly then turned a quick right and shoved open a blank door.

“Jesus, it’s about time, Bryce!” came an annoyed voice like a tornado siren.

“Yeah, yeah, traffic,” he muttered, pushing his way in and dropping his gym bag on the nearest chair.

Auger came up close behind him and looked around. The small cabin had been set up like a backstage dressing room with tables on each wall and three other guys staring into the lighted mirrors. It smelled close and fetid like a locker room.

“Traffic, my sweet ass,” the voice drawled. Auger squinted at the scrawny blonde as he dropped an eyebrow pencil on the table like some kind of diva and pursed his lips. “And who’s this?”

“Oh…” Bryce stuttered, standing aside so everybody could get a look. “Everybody, this is Aug—
Odin
. Odin, this is Nickie, Trent, and Twister.”

Auger choked back his opinion of the ridiculous stage names and held his hand out to each in turn.

“Nice manners, country boy!” slurred Nickie in that same sneering sing-song. Auger just pasted a smile on his face and nodded, moving on to shake the next guy’s hand.

“Ignore him; he’s an asshole,” Trent said confidently and stood with his hand out. He seemed all right, smiling at Auger for real like a regular guy he could see hanging out with.

“You watch your mouth!” Nickie yelled to Trent.

Auger turned to the last man sitting in front of a mirror. He was about the same size with the distinctly knobby, striped muscles of a long-time steroid user.

Twister turned in his seat and raised his heavily muscled arm in the air. He shook Auger’s hand briefly, too hard. Then turned back to the mirror, silently greasing up his pecs and shoulders. He had smooth, sleek skin that gleamed like tanned leather.

Jesus. This asshole,
 Auger sneered silently. He measured him up mentally. Something told him he should have shaved his chest after all. Twister would be next to impossible to get a good grip on. He looked as slick as a seal.

Bryce elbowed him to get his attention and pointed at the line of small lockers. “Just stuff your clothes in there. Jimmie should be here somewhere… he’s the other lightweight. You probably guessed you’ll get Twister.”

Auger raised his eyebrows, his breath coming out hot from flared nostrils. Bryce stubbornly looked away.

“He used to be MMA,” he muttered quietly, trying to not draw attention to himself. “But none of that shit is legal here, OK? No leg strikes. No elbows. Strictly fists. All that Mixed Martial Arts bullshit cost Orion a fortune in broken noses.”

Auger glared meaningfully at him.
No MMA
 sounded suspiciously like
for-sure MMA,
in his experience. It also sounded like exactly what Bryce promised they wouldn’t be doing.

Bryce sighed as Auger just stared at him and refused to look away. Finally he cringed and shrugged. “Look,” he started unconvincingly, “you saw who was on the upper deck. These guys aren’t looking for a serious fight. They’re here to party. They just want to throw some money around and talk to their dates.”

Auger hoped that was true. He finally just nodded and ran his hands through his hair, trying hard not to stare at Nickie’s shiny silver trunks. He was scrawny and snake-like with wispy blonde curls and a small patch of scraggly chest hair. Despite his loud mouth, he looked about nineteen years old.

The other guys looked like they ranged from late teens to mid-twenties, Auger figured. They all had the angry, balled-up muscle of youth. Those kind of guys fizzled out fast. He was glad he wasn’t fighting them because he would likely break any one of them in half in about thirty seconds.

Everybody except Twister. His age was harder to figure: years of tanning bed had permanently burnt his skin and the steroids took his hairline. But his muscles were longer. Auger figured him for early thirties. He hoped so.

Those guys only get stronger as they got older,
 he reminded himself.

The door opened again and another lightweight strolled in with an easy, athletic gait. Auger turned and started pulling off his tank top and nylon track pants. When he turned back around, the new kid was staring at him.

“Jimmie,” the kid said, and stuck out his hand. Auger shook it, instantly noticing a big brother-sort of warmth rising in his chest. Jimmie looked like the type of kid he had to protect from beatings in high school. Like Bryce, only hopefully with half a brain left in his head.

“Auger…
Odin
,” he muttered, trying a friendly smile.

Jimmie shook his hand quickly, then held a fist full of paper slips over his head. “OK!” he said loudly, so everyone would stop their chatter. “Let’s draw for order… then get out there… they want to get those side bets going. Orion’s all over me…”

He held out his fist to Auger and let him draw first. Bryce took the next one, then Nickie. They all held them up to show our numbers.

“Whoa man, you’re up first,” Bryce said, nodding. “Way to jump right in.”

“And jump right out,” Auger reminded him.

“Yeah… I got third. That’s cool, whatever,” he shrugged, crumpling the slip and tossing it on the counter. “Just tape up and let’s get out there.”

“Yeah,” he grumbled, reaching for the roll of hand wrap and looping the end over his thumb. As he unrolled the protective wrap over his wrist and hand he met Twister’s gaze in the mirror. The other fighter had no expression as he watched Auger’s hands closely.

Slow down,
 Auger told himself.
He’s probably trying to figure out how practiced I am. Don’t seem confident. Don’t seem… eager. This is not a dare.

“Hey let’s get a move on,” Jimmie announced. “We’re looking at a grand a round, plus sponsorships. Everybody stay safe out there.”