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“Your dues are paid when I say they're paid.”
“This is total bullshit.” He punctuated his sentence by slamming his fist against the wall and crumbling the sheetrock.
“I thought all this time in the ring would cool out that temper.” Cobra shook his head in disgust. “But I see you still have no self-control.”
“I ain’t gonna beg; you don’t want me back in Vegas, fine.” Mamba slammed out of the room, his own words ringing in his head. Tough talk, but deep down it sucked. And it hurt. He’d been banished from the only place he called home, away from his brothers, away from everything that made him feel whole.
The same emptiness from long ago crept through his gut and slithered up his spine. Cast out again, just like when he was a kid traveling from one fuckin’ gym to another with his beat-to-shit father—Always on the road. Never around long enough to make friends.
One time, his father moved on and forgot to take him. Mamba spent five days living off vending-machine snacks at a seedy gym in Ohio and sleeping in the store room until his father finally came back for him. Mamba celebrated with a Snickers bar and a can of Coke. After all, it was his tenth birthday.
CHAPTERELEVEN
Mamba stormed down the hallway, anger seething from every pore. Sure, Cobra pissed him off, but the disappointment of Mandy not showing up screwed with him big-time too. He’d been so sure she’d come, just like he was sure he’d be heading back to Vegas, but nope, just one more fuck up in a long line of fuckups.
He zeroed in on the bar, then rapped his knuckles on the granite top. “Give me a bottle of Jack.”
“Sure thing. Anything for the big winner.”
Big winner. Yeah, right. The cage was the only place he came out on top. Unfortunately, most bouts didn’t last more than ten minutes.
The bartender down set a glass, but Mamba ignored it; instead, he unscrewed the cap and sucked down the harsh liquor straight from the bottle.
“Looking to celebrate with someone.” A brunette in a skin-tight tank top and ass-baring short shorts flanked him, and this time he took her up on it.
“I sure the fuck am.” He slung his arm around her shoulders, drew another slug from the bottle, then led her around the bar. Nothing like mindless sex and booze to numb the brain.
“Hey,” Bebe, the redhead from earlier called after him, “I thought you were too busy for fun.”
Mamba stretched out his other arm. “Always room for one more.”
Bebe twisted her hips in her crotch-shot skirt and sidled over to him.
The brunette eyed the bottle of Jack. “You sharing some of that?”
“Abso-fuckin-lutely.” He put the bottle to her lips; she drank deep, then giggled.
Fuck, he hated women who giggled.
Mamba steered them down the back hallway and then through another hall that led to his room. Bebe slipped her hand down his jeans and cupped his balls, making it nearly impossible for him to concentrate on walking.
When they reached his room, the brunette stripped off her tank top, caged him in against his door, then offered up her huge tits. He cupped one in his palm and drew her huge nipple into his mouth, sucking and nipping at the sensitive flesh. Her quick fingers undid his belt and button, then she slipped her hand into his boxers and squeezed his rock-hard cock.
“My turn.” Bebe nudged the brunette to the side, hiked up her skin-tight skirt, and ground onto his cock. “C’mon, baby, fuck me against the wall.”
“Shit, let me get the door open first.” Mamba gripped the doorknob, and when he turned around, Bebe was sucking on the brunette's nipples.
“Fuck yeah, you ladies know how to party.”
The brunette giggled again, so Mamba took another hit from the bottle. Maybe if he got drunk enough, he wouldn’t hear her, or he could shut her up by sticking his dick in her mouth. He flung the door wide, stepped into the room with the two half-naked women close behind, and froze.
“Shit, this is gonna be fun.” Bebe squealed. “I’ve never done a foursome before.”
“Yeah, she’s pretty.” The brunette chortled, and Mamba thought his head might explode.
“Mandy?” The one word came out between a gasp and whisper.
Mandy was perched on the edge of the room’s only chair, her eyes wide and mouth open like she wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words.
