I can still smell the bitch. The loss of her heat is what wakes me up, and my fingers are already on fire as my eyes finally open. Red prickles my vision the moment I sense she’s not in the room—but I’m more pissed when I realize just who the irritation is directed at. For some reason, it isn’t at the bitch with the shower running, once again eager to wash me away.
Fuck her...
My cock wants to. It throbs for that stupid cunt, and I scan the room on the off chance that I might find my balls somewhere close by. For all I knew, she hacked them off in my sleep—it’s the only goddamn reason that can explain lying beside her on this fucking bed. Instead, I find her knife on the mattress, and I grab it, clenching the handle as I consider ending this game now on my say-so.
Fuck her.
Keeping her close had made sense with Mack hungry for revenge. It had nothing to do with her. Not her heat. Not her smell. Not her...
My fingers burn as if to counter that as I curl a fist and slam it against the mattress so hard the knuckles pop.
Fuck her.
I should—just force my way into the bathroom and corner her there in the shower before she can scrub me from her skin. I’ll mark her again out of spite. Bite her. Come on her. Come in her. Take her. Claim her.
Drag her back to this fucking bed.
Vincent Stacatto may have owned her soul, but I’ll take the rest before I kill her. I’ll beat his claim out of her with every orgasm and every fuck until her lips forgot how to fucking say “Vinny.” Or maybe I’ll settle for branding her again until she burns with my name. Until she can only say my name.
My mouth aches, stretched into a position it’s not used to forming as I shift to the edge of the bed. A smile? A snarl. Whatever it fucking is remains fixed in place when I finally stand and make my way into the hallway. Near the bathroom, my nostrils flare to breathe her in, and a growl rips from my throat as I analyze that scent. Vinny’s little whore can’t erase me with soap and water this time.
Palming the handle of the sliding door, I picture her on the other side. Would it hurt her to take my cock so soon after the last time?
I’m curious to find out, and I twist the latch.
“Dante!” The front door trembles with the force of the fist I assume raps on it from the other side. The girl’s knife is already in my hand, the blade at the ready—but the voice that shouts over the pounding keeps me from drawing it. “Dante, open the fuck up.”
When I finally do, Arno’s already halfway down the stairs, jerking his head for me to follow. “We need to talk—away from your little pet.”
“Fine.” With one last look down the hall, I slam the door behind me and follow him down to the main level. Arno doesn’t stop moving until he straddles the threshold of the doorway, glaring out at the gray sky. Sparks practically fly off his hair; the bastard’s a live wire, aching to electrocute the fuck out of whoever pissed him off. “What is it?”
“Mack’s decided how I can ‘repay’ the life I took,” he finally growls, his eyes on the storm clouds rolling in over the horizon.
“Oh really?” I grit my teeth, my hands curled into fists. Whatever this means it can’t be good. “How?”
“A cage match. No holds barred.” Arno looks back, staring me dead in the eye as he adds, “it can be a death match at the victor’s discretion.”
“Bullshit.” Only fucking Mack would dangle a rule like that—knowing just who had the advantage. “Fuck that. I’ll talk to him—”
“You won’t,” Arno cuts in.
“The hell I won’t. If Mack wants you, he’ll go through me.” I mean every word—but for once the pup doesn’t back down, and this time I’m the one who looks away.
“No, he won’t,” Arno grunts. “You don’t get to fight this battle.”
“Arno—”
“Don’t fucking Arno me, Dante,” he snaps. “Don’t treat me like a goddamn idiot, either. This is my fight.” His voice breaks and I can’t even look at him. I don’t know what might happen if I do. I might punch him. He might hit back harder.
So, I grit my teeth and flex my fists, and I think of Mack. “That bastard’s had this coming a long time.”
I glance over to see Arno nod. “Damn right he has. He never got over the fact that Dino chose you. Not him. Not even me. You. There were men that he’d run with for decades who didn’t earn the same honor.”
“Don’t make it something that it wasn’t,” I hiss, shaking my head. “Dino didn’t do sentimental. He picked me because I was the fucker who shouted back ‘how high’ when he said ‘jump.’” I don’t know if I’m ashamed of that though. If Dino said “jump” there was always a fucking good reason to leap.
“He picked you because he saw himself in you,” Arno says. “Dante, the little shit with claws.” He tries and fails to mimic the man’s thick Irish accent. “It’s true, ya know. You are the most like him, and it affects the people around you the same as it did him.”
“What the hell’s that supposed to mean—”
“Don’t you ever wonder why Espi hates you so much?” he starts, cutting me off. “It’s the same fucking reason why I hated Dino.”
“Why’s that, then?” I can’t ignore the unease in my voice. Arno rarely mentioned Dino in any context outside of the past. Hell, even before I went to prison, he rarely referred to the man as his father.
“Espi hates you because he can’t change you. You are who you are. No matter how hard he tries, or whatever reasons he has to, he just can’t blame you for being the only way you know how to be, and he hates himself more for wanting you to change. He won’t admit it, but Espi hates you because it’s the only fucking way he can keep from hating himself.”
Arno takes a deep breath and exhales loudly, “Look, Dino had his own battles. You’ve had yours. This one is mine.”
When I turn to face him, the man staring back is the old bastard I remember before grief wore him down and pain left him jagged. Arnold Mackenzie who’d been forced to beg for scraps in his father’s own gang—and nobody better fucking forget it.
“This is my fight,” I say, watching his jaw clench. “Danny—she killed that fucker. His blood is on my hands.” I still can’t believe that. The little lamb grew fangs. She taught herself how to bite back hard—and I had seen it in her eyes; the little bitch relished in it.
But for whatever reason, Arno’s determined to take credit for her kill. “I only came here...I only came to say goodbye,” he says over his shoulder, facing the doorway again. “Or...whatever.”
He starts forward, but I grab his arm before he can take off. “When?”
“When else?” he snaps, shrugging my hand away. “Mack gave me the ‘honor’ of choosing the time. I chose now. It’s better than drawing it out...” He breaks off, once he sees the figure leaning against the door to the pit up ahead.
Mack must have laid off the alcohol last night to be up this fucking early—though I don’t think Arno can say the same. He’ll have to be twice as fast against a well-rested opponent. Twice as ruthless. “I’ve got your back,” I say.
Still walking, he looks over his shoulder, and something crosses his expression but disappears before I can name it—and it’s a good fucking thing it does. Anything but hate is a liability in Mack’s kennel. Knowing that, Arno remains silent as he leads the way to the entrance where Mack’s already waiting, his cocky grin firmly in place.
“How did I have a feeling that the puppy would go running right to the cat?” he wonders, rubbing his chin.
“Fuck you,” Arno says, but I meet Mack’s gaze head-on and flash a mocking smile of my own. It’s all teeth, and the fucker knows a threat when he senses it. He opens his stance.
“Arno didn’t ask me for shit,” I admit. “But...if you want to fight anyone, it’s going to be me.”
“Dante.” Arno grinds my name between his teeth, “Stay the fuck out of this—”
“Arno can have the winner,” I say over him, my eyes squarely on Mack. “But you fight me first.”
If anything, Mack smiles wider and he turns and opens the door to the pit, instantly rousing the dogs inside. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”