Owned: A Mafia Menage Romance(203)

Auger assumed Winsor either didn’t know that he was making a primal, physical threat by being so close, or he didn’t care. Or else… he liked it.

“He’ll take the sponsorship,” Winsor said confidently. Auger flinched.

“No, thank you,” he repeated, his voice inadvertently plunging to a growl.

Orion rolled his eyes, suddenly desperate. “It’s twenty thousand,” he said incredulously, as though Auger didn’t understand what they were talking about.

“Jesus... Aug,” Auger heard Bryce breathe beside him, pleading.

Auger looked at Orion slowly, letting his gaze drop to his feet and back up again. Though Orion was big, he was soft and lazy. He shifted his weight from foot to foot in purple suede loafers. He seemed to crumple slightly under the Alpha male’s scrutiny.

“I’m just here for one night,” Auger said finally, through clenched teeth. “I am honored by your offer, Mr. Cooke, but I’m afraid I can’t accept.”

Orion glared at him dangerously, but he couldn’t feel anything but amusement. Who did he think he was dealing with?

“You’re turning me down?” Winsor said, laughter coloring the edges of his voice.

Auger nodded.

“Well, I really don’t think you know what you’re missing,” Winsor said slowly, his eyes twinkling. He looked like a cat with a toy just out of reach. Auger knew that look, but he didn’t feel like mentally wrestling with some spoiled rich kid who thought he was a new game to play.

Get in, tap out.

Auger forced himself to stare over Winsor’s shoulder as though he had better things on his mind. But he had to admit to himself: some part of him was excited. He knew that the chase was on. If he could tell anything about this Richie Rich jackass, it was that he didn’t give up easily.

He pushed that thought down and tried to settle his nerves, center himself and get ready for the bout.

Get in, tap out. Get in, tap out.

Get in, tap out.

“Should I back Twister then?” Winsor crooned.

Auger swallowed hard and let his weight sink, finding his feet. He knew Twister didn’t have a chance. Every part of him hummed with strength and confidence.

“You do what you want,” he said finally.

Orion huffed disgustedly and tried to guide Winsor toward Jimmie and Nickie at the end of the row. Winsor stared at Auger for an uncomfortable few more moments as though he had already bought the fight, then let Orion lead him to the end of the row.

“Mr. Cooke,” Orion said through his gritted teeth as he walked away sullenly, “he will come around. He will.”

Not tonight, Auger thought with a smile.





CHAPTER 3


Winsor



Despite everything, Winsor Cooke always enjoyed the fights. It was a fine tradition, he believed, to have all this spectacle organized around the simple sport of two men contesting through strength. No tricks, no sleight of hand, no broadcast equipment between the spectators and the athletes: just two men at a time, beating each other until one was the winner and the other was not.

It was raw. Honest. Brutality at its most refined. Elegant at times, horrifying at others. Sometimes both at once.

Orion had never impressed the billionaire as a superior businessman, but he had to admit that Orion had assembled exactly the right crew for the occasion. Starting the exhibition with the heavyweights wasn’t the right choice, but it probably wouldn’t matter too much. They should have been saved for the main event, the finale.

The guests were going to enjoy the lightweights tussling in their foppish trunks. The light heavyweights looked evenly matched, and that was pushing the betting to outrageous volumes as people shouted back and forth about their favorites. But the heavyweights… yes. That was impressive.

Odin v. Twister? It sounded like an epic match.

Even though Odin seemed to be a bit of an idiot, Winsor was looking forward to seeing Twister getting his steroid-swollen ego knocked around. A lot of money was going to be lost on that bout tonight, he knew. Some of the guests were betting on the wrong guy. His money was on the overgrown Viking farm boy, even if he was too stupid to accept the sponsorship.

After leaving Orion at the line he headed for the bar. The guests parted and he gestured for a soda water just in time for the bartender to have it ready. He turned to his reserved table, expecting to find it ready as well, but it wasn’t. Someone was there.

Blonde, tall, thick. She looked like the farm boy’s cousin.

“Mind if I join you?”

Callie glanced around, startled. Then she scowled prettily, her full lips pursing out in a kissable bud.

“This table is reserved,” she pointed out, gesturing at the card that read Winsor Cooke next to the flickering votive.