Page 164 of The Unravelings

“Mal,” Wilder gapes, staring at his oldest friend in shock.

“Fuck the fights. I have more important things to take care of.” He winks at me, grabbing onto my hand and yanking me into his chest. “So many important things to take care of.”

“What the fuck is happening right now? You can’t seriously be thinking with your dick for the first time in your life,” Wilder huffs, watching the two of us with narrowed eyes. “Mal, you’ve been preparing for this shit. You never miss a fight. You can’t walk out.”

“Sorry, lad. But I can and I will. Fuck the fights. Fuck Huxley Crewes and his friends. I can’t miss this,” Malic says with a manic grin, gesturing to me. “Not a chance in hell, old chap. Now, shall we?” He gestures for me to follow close behind him as he grips my hand tightly.

“Sure,” I say in a small voice, having no choice but to follow Malic with a restless sense of something big coming on the horizon.

“Are you coming, old chap? There’s a cuck chair with your name on it!” Malic shouts as we weave through the crowd, leaving Wilder straggling behind with a blush on his cheeks.

“Fucking shit!” Wilder grunts. “Now I have to clean up all your fucking messes. Again.” He shakes his head.

45

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.