But as I have said previously, Isabelle’s eyes are my eternal weakness. I knew the instant the words came out of her mouth, bearing the blame for the authorities arriving at my house that she was lying. I just can’t comprehend why she would need to be deceitful. Not just tonight, but for the past several months. Why didn’t she just tell me the truth from the very beginning?
I’ve known for months she was hiding something in her beautiful chocolate eyes. I just had no fucking clue it was something so mammoth. Isabelle makes time stand still when she glides into the room. She doesn’t walk; she floats like an angel, effortlessly floating through the air. Just the quickest glance from her rich eyes can make my cock as hard as stone. It doesn’t make any sense. The woman who invades my every waking thought is an undercover FBI Agent – an elaborate ruse to pry me for information?
The way Isabelle’s body reacts to my meekest touch, and the love projected in her eyes Friday morning when she told me she loved me for the first time in person, that couldn’t have been an act, a ploy to extract information. If it was, Isabelle is even more unscrupulous than I could have ever comprehended.
I’ve always known people are gunning for me. I don’t know wether to categorize it as jealousy or the result of the industry I initially made my money in being full of conniving and immoral people.
I learned early on in my career about tall poppy syndrome. If you’re already wealthy, say like Cormack, with old family money, it’s okay; it’s expected, but if you build your wealth from pennies like I did, you must be doing it unjustly and illegally.
People always assume my wealth was gained from fraudulent and underhanded activities. Now don’t get me wrong; I’m not saying I’m completely innocent. I’ve donesomeillegal activities in my life, but enough to warrant an entire division of the FBI dedicated to investigating me? I don’t think so. Obviously, even I was not aware of the extraordinary caliber of my reputation.
When I say I fought my way to where I am, I’m not being facetious. Bare and bloodied knuckles and a dirty concrete floor gave me the capital to start my empire…….
In my first few months of college, my assigned roommate, Cormack McGregor, continually pestered me to go out with him on the weekends. Cormack was the very definition of a popular school jock. He was not just well-liked because of his striking allure and playboy reputation, but because his family was obscenely rich. Not rich like they had decent-paying jobs, rich like Cormack would never have to work a day in his life if he didn’t want to rich. That fact made it even more surprising he chose a standard dorm room with a roommate at our college.
I was attending college on a full scholarship. A majority of my time was spent with my head in a book, ensuring my grades were maintained so there would be no possibility of losing my scholarship, but Cormack isn’t the kind of guy you can say no to. So, after pleading with me for the fifth time in one afternoon to go out with him, I agreed, opting to put my business paper on hold for another night.
I was surprised and a little inquisitive when Cormack pulled his BMW into the driveway of an old, derelict building on the outskirts of a town located two towns over from our college. When Cormack noticed my grim expression, he smiled a beaming, white full-toothed grin before making his way into the building. I trailed closely behind.
We walked into a dusty, dingy looking gym that used to be a college gym back in its heyday. The walls looked like they hadn’t seen a coat of paint in years. The windows were covered with dirt and cobwebs, and the floor was brown in color, appearing like it hadn’t seen a mop and bucket in the past century.
The smell of sweat increased the further we walked into the old, rundown building. In the middle of the warehouse were hundreds of people huddled in a circle. Cormack easily made his way through the crowd, his family name prestigious enough for people to respect him.
I, on the other hand, had to push and shove to get people to move out of my way. Once I reached the outer edge of the circle, I realized why flesh hitting flesh was audible. There were two large, well-built men in the ring, fighting toe to toe. One had a trail of blood running down his face from a split above his left eyelid. The other had a variety of red marks and bruises already forming on his torso. Both were covered in soot and sweat.
The crowd sighed in sync when the guy with the split eye copped a grueling right-swung fist to his left temple. Time went at a snail’s pace as he slowly plummeted to the concrete floor. An African-American man in his early twenties hot-footed it to the guy sprawled on the dirty floor. Seeing that he was knocked out, he declared the fight over by technical knockout and announced the winner.
My interest became piqued when a wad of cash was handed to the winner, who shared a portion of his prize money with a gentleman at the side of the ring and the MC. Once the exchange of money was finalized, another fighter walked into the makeshift ring. The new fighter was massive, easily five to six inches taller than me. He either had an addiction to the gym or taking steroids—his bicep was bigger than my head!
“Alright gentleman, who is it going to be?” questioned the young MC into a microphone. “Is anyone brave enough?”
As he walked through the crowd, his eyes eagerly sought any large men gathered around the circle. A few male gazes cowardly dropped to the ground, and others shook their heads at his request.
“Anybody?” His tone mocking the crowd of men who said no.
“What does he want?” I questioned Cormack.
“He is looking for a contender to fight Bruno,” Cormack replied, his attention diverted from a beautiful blonde who had suddenly became attached to his side. “People are reluctant to fight Bruno; he’s been undefeated for the past six months.”
“How much is the buy-in?” I asked.
Cormack’s eyes turned to mine. Through scrunched brows, he gazed my body. When his eyes returned to my face, he cocked his eyebrow, and a condescending grin formed on his face.
“For who?” he questioned, his tone curious.
“Me,” I replied with a broad grin.
Cormack laughed so loud, he gained the attention of the spectators around us and the MC.
“Do we have a challenger?” the MC questioned, moving to stand in front of us. Cormack briskly shook his head while trying to simmer down his laughter.
“Yes,” I replied. Cormack’s laughter immediately dissipated. The MC moved the microphone away from his mouth and stepped closer to me.
“Who?” he questioned, his green eyes darting between Cormack and me.
“Me,” I replied, my tone cocky as I gave the MC a playful wink.
His lips pursed as his pupils widened. “Are you serious?”
