45. Malic
Malic
I track my keeper as he stalks through the rowdy crowd of our peers, jumping with excitement to see the fight.
Such a bummer it won’t be happening. Too bad.
So sad. For them, anyway. I’m always the first to admit I love the violence of these fights.
The blood, chaos, carnage, and violence.
Not to mention, shoving my fist through Huxley Crewes’s face is a perk beyond perks.
I love spilling his arrogant blood on the mats and rearranging his face with my fists.
Tonight, though. I will disappoint. Not only them, but keeper, who keeps sending me scathing looks over his shoulder as he walks away from us.
The poor sap’s face twists into that familiar constipated look that usually means he’s ten seconds away from losing his shit.
Either on me. His brother. Or anyone in general.
He shoves people aside like they’re nothing but pesky ants he can’t wait to squish from beneath his shoe.
I can’t help the grin that explodes across my lips when their angry shouts fill the air.
It’s a delightful sound, fueling every molecule in my body.
Their anger at him for moving them without permission.
For shoving his wide shoulders into them and causing them to move.
They watch him with angry eyes, plotting their retaliation.
Too bad they wouldn’t get too far here. Rules are rules, after all. No fighting allowed unless you call someone out and take it into the ring. All to curb the violence and all that. Pish posh, if you ask me. We should all have a free-for-all and spill blood.
I tighten my hand on my little ghost as we too weave through the crowd, heading toward the exit. The quicker I get out of here, the faster I can get her naked and feast on what’s always been mine.
It’s time to lay a permanent claim.
I flick my gaze back to my keeper as he continues to push through the mass of people huddled around the ring, eager for a fight that isn’t happening.
My poor keeper. There’s so much rage and tension festering inside him that he really needs to sort it out before we get back to our house on Syndicate Row and rock my little ghost’s world.
Hmmm. I stop near the exit and tilt my head, getting lost in the images of the three of us together.
Something foreign rushes through my veins as the mental pictures roar through my mind.
My little ghost squished between us, moaning and writhing our names in ecstasy as we both enter her and bring her to orgasm more times than I can count.
Fuck.
And there goes my dick, hardening in my jeans.
Down boy. We’ll deal with you later. The three of us?
Maybe? An odd sense of excitement washes over me at the thought of sharing her.
I am a selfish prick, after all. And she is mine.
My obsession. My girl. The only woman I’ve ever thought about sharing a life with.
But I can clearly see the image of us sharing Olivia. Wilder. Me. Her. All for one and one for all. Our tangled limbs locked in the sheets, and each other.
I discreetly adjust myself. If I’m not careful, we’ll have a repeat of our earlier encounter, and fuck wherever we can manage to find.
Bathroom. Closet. Behind any door that locks.
No! Not tonight. I can’t do that. I have plans, damn it.
Intricate plans she has no idea about and I need her in my bed, not against some random sink.
I need to savor it this time. Enjoy what I have while she’s in front of me as herself.
I’m drawn out of my internal musings as I refocus on Wilder.
Every muscle in his body bulges from his skin with a beautiful rage I want to bottle for myself.
His fingers curl into fists the closer he gets to telling the unlucky trio that I’m pulling out of the fights and running off with their girl.
My grin widens. Yes. Their girl. The girl they think is dead. Well, at least some of them. I have a sneaking suspicion one or two of them know she exists and are going along with her story for whatever reason.
Another thing I’ll add to my interest list.
Wilder peeks over his shoulder at me again, sending me a scathing look.
Like, this is all my fault, and I put him in this unfortunate position.
I put a hand over my heart, winking at him.
It only infuriates him more. I mean, I guess this is my fault.
I’m the one walking away from the fight I’ve been prepping for since our last one was a draw.
Which was bullshit, by the way. I won, fair and square.
Huxley was the sore loser. A crybaby, swearing it was tied.
But that’s okay, he’ll get what’s coming to him soon.
Very, very fucking soon, the hammer of retribution will swing in his face, and I’ll be here for it with bells on to watch his downfall.
God, I love a good revenge plan to get my night going. It makes me all hard and tingly.
My keeper doesn’t know what to make of me.
Or her.
Especially her.
But I saw the moment he locked eyes with her, and a trickle of recognition sparked.
Of course, Keeper doesn’t know who she really is.
Not exactly. Or that he’s rolled around on the sparring mats with her.
And fucking liked it. Or that he’s touching his dick to the thought of her as Oliver every night he goes to sleep.
Time to buck up, Keeper. You’re about to meet the girl of your dreams. Or guy of his dreams? Hmm. I wonder which he prefers. I’ve never actually seen him with anyone else. He’s far too busy. Or so he claims.
How curious…
Well, this will be fun and entertaining to see the look on his face when he actually puts two and two together.
Honestly, how hard can it be? Besides the gorgeous tits peeking out of her barely there shirt, she still looks exactly like Oliver.
Same hair. Same face. How those three idiots behind the table haven’t put two and two together, I’ll never fucking know.
Deep down, I think my keeper knows exactly who she is and who she’s pretending to be. He’s in denial, though. So much so that he’s practically swimming in it. That’s all right. I’ll set my keeper free and let him in on all the fun little secrets I’ve been keeping from him.
Starting with her.
Will he be mad that I finally kept my mouth shut and didn’t clue him in on my plans?
Eh. It’s a possibility. I can already hear the tongue-lashing from the future ringing in my head.
I’m reckless. I should have told him. Blah blah fucking blah.
It’s better for him not to have a clue what I’ve been plotting behind his back.
This is for Meredith.
Also, my dick.
I mean, who am I kidding? Olivia Viotto was always meant to be mine, and tonight, I’m following through with my plans to do that. Forever and ever. She’ll be tied to me for life in one way or another.
I tilt my head as I stop our retreat at the front entrance, keeping my gaze on my keeper from across the Coliseum again, as he stops, huffing and puffing in front of the famous table that holds our enemy.
Mack looks up from his phone with his brows furrowed and then jumps up.
Funny. He and Wilder have the same expression when they’re pissed off—a constipated look mixed with fury.
Wilder would hate to hear how alike the two of them truly are, but I keep my lips sealed.
Sometimes. From over his shoulder, Wilder sends me a crazed look, narrowing his eyes with a silent message. “Stay here, and I’ll drive us home.”
But where’s the fun in that? I want a head start with the girl who’s holding on to my hand for dear life.
I nod. Is it in agreement? No. But to him, it satisfies whatever lives deep inside him that claims control. His shoulders sag, and he returns his attention to his brother and his little friends gathering around them.
I flick my gaze to the girl, discreetly texting beside me.
I tighten my hand around hers, reveling in the way her soft hand feels in mine.
It’s right. So fucking right that I never want to let her go.
She’s mine, damn it. Forever and fucking ever.
No one can ever take her from me again. I’ll tie her to me permanently if I can.
Olivia shifts uncomfortably when she puts her phone in her pocket with her free hand. Those blazing brown eyes connect with mine, and her pupils dilate at the sight of me looking at her.
“Had to tell my friends I’m ditching them for the night,” she says, clearing her throat and holding my stare.
My defiant little ghost, staring the devil in the eyes without flinching.
“Right. Of course, Crumpet. Can’t have a squad of people worrying about you.” Just as I say the words, JJ catches my attention. His brows furrow, and I swear his eyes narrow at me with suspicion.
He conveys a completely different message from Wilder with the look in his eyes. Oh, joy. His eyes narrow more when I take a step closer to Olivia, grinning when she softens against me. JJ sends me a death look like he'll track me down and castrate me. It gives me the warm and fuzzies.
He knows exactly who my little ghost is, too. And he’ll do anything to protect her.
“Are we waiting for Wilder?” she asks softly in my ear, pulling me from my thoughts.
Fuck. I shiver at the feel of her warm breath against my neck and tighten my hand on hers. I grin down at her. She has no idea what is in store for her the moment we walk out of the Coliseum and through the front door of our home on Syndicate Row.
“You’re really going to walk away from the fight?” she asks, keeping her head high and watching Wilder stand tall in front of Huxley with his cigarette between his lips and rage boiling under his skin.
“For you?” I say, earning a glimpse of her big, brown eyes not overshadowed by the green contacts she’s been sporting the entire time she’s been here. “I’d do anything.” She nods a few times with furrowed brows. “How about we go get a head start, Little Ghost?”