Owned: A Mafia Menage Romance(86)

“You sure could,” I said, as blandly as I was able as Declan sauntered up.

“Now this is genius,” he proclaimed. “It’s like a statement of consumerism versus our culture’s pervasive disregard for the artifacts of progress. You know?” I shook my head stupidly. “You smash trash and get rewarded with more trash,” he prodded. “Well I think it’s awesome.”

“It’s really something,” I offered.

Jackson took my hand and guided it to the crook of my elbow so we could keep walking.

“So, Edna lives in the hills… We like to pick her up something when we travel. It’s sort of a family tradition,” he said with a smirk. I wondered what sort of things Edna was forced to collect.

“Oh, she loves it,” Declan assured me, taking my other hand so we could resume our side-by-side trio stroll. We started toward the carousel but the insane blaring of the backwards-played calliope music was too much to take from up close and we veered away.

“I’m sure she does,” Jackson agreed. “Well, sort of. Anyway, she’s a really interesting lady. I think you will like her, Margot.”

Margot. Oh lord he said my name again. I hope that continues.

“Will like her?” I echoed, realizing what he had said.

“Well, yes… We’ll arrange it with Bridget of course, but your work is right in her wheelhouse. Just what she’s been looking for.”

“It will look awesome next to the Tilt-A-Skull,” Declan offered.

“That’s… Wow you guys,” I breathed as the realization hit me. They were offering me a buyer.

“It’s just business,” Jackson said lightly.

No, it’s saving my life, I sighed inwardly. Hallelujah and pass the bacon!

“Now if you did work like this,” Declan declared, holding out both his arms to the spectacle before us, “you’d be set for life.”

“Ha… Really?” I said, notably more buoyant than I had been just a few moments before.

“Yes… let’s get in line,” he demanded. Jackson maneuvered me toward the short queue of collectors and spectators. I begrudgingly looked over the installation. The words “Tunnel of Love” were painted in a garish arch over a portal, but the box was smaller than a shipping container, as far as I could tell.

“This isn’t a tunnel… Who knows what they’re going to do to us once we get past that gate?”

“Only one way to find out! This is why we have tickets!” Declan suggested, grinning from ear to ear.

I looked to Jackson for a more sensible attitude, but he was no help, really. He just winked at me in encouragement and gently pulled my arm forward as the line advanced.

“It’s best to just play along when he’s in this sort of mood,” Jackson suddenly whispered, very close to my ear. My shoulder broke out in goose flesh and I stifled a gasp. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure he doesn’t go too far.”

Something twinged deep in my belly as his warm breath tickled my earlobe and I shifted my weight, instantly feeling my panties go damp.

Oh great, now I was going to have to sit through the Tunnel of Love in a puddle.

Just cool your jets, I told myself. Think of your impending sales and the disappearing tax bill.

As we waited in line, I snuck glances at the collectors and assorted faux-circus-freaks that walked by. Even in a warehouse full of people dressed as bearded ladies and aerialists, our threesome got a lot of attention. My skin prickled under the universal scrutiny, and then lit up with every brush of Jackson’s or Declan’s sleeve or trouser leg. I was held between them like the M on my pendant, and the sensation was just a little unnerving.

Everybody probably thinks we’re part of the show, I moaned inwardly.

But was that so wrong, really? I was used to a little more privacy in my work and love life - Bridget even used the word “agoraphobic” occasionally - but I could appreciate a good spectacle as much as the next person, couldn’t I? I could live with a little more attention, at any rate.

I tried to imagine Bridget’s reaction, hoping for a Oh honey, sure, everybody wants to be in a billionaire sandwich from time to time. You should run with it. But instead I got a clear picture of her purple-puckered lips and painted eyebrows raised sky-high. Oh, girl...

As we got to the front of the line, Declan held out his mylar slips to the ticket taker. The faux-carnie bit an unfiltered cigarette between his teeth and nodded at us with his chin.



“You together?” he drawled as the trio of art students in front of us ducked through the multi-colored vinyl curtain.

I nodded briskly, sort of impressed with his convincing depiction of a strung out carnival worker. He reached over and unhooked the chain from the post, his eyes diving unapologetically down my cleavage.