Submission Specialist(Still a Bad Boy #2)(25)

Once I was rinsed and I could open my eyelids again, Austin got to work with the soap. This time it really was a massage, as best as could be done under the circumstances. I guessed he owed me one of those.

His skilled hands rubbed and squeezed my sore muscles, getting the circulation going while giving me the kind of show with his dripping wet naked body under the shower that women around the world would kill for. He was poetry in motion. Violent poetry when he needed to be, but still poetry.

When he was done, I could support my own body weight again, and I returned his favor, slowly exploring that exquisite body of his as I rubbed shower gel all over him. I glanced up, as if for permission, but then caressed his manhood before he granted it, before I could lose my nerve.

We were married now, this had been inside me. Surely this was my wifely prerogative?

After the urgent need of last night, this slow shower dance in the light of day was so different, but it felt no less sexy, and even more… liberating.

I never wanted it to end, but it did. Thankfully, once we were each bundled up into incredibly soft bathrobes and I had a towel wrapped around my hair, we shared our first breakfast together as man and wife.

The warm food had made the cold food heat up a little, and vice versa, but I’d have been lying if I said it wasn’t the best meal I’d ever tasted.





Chapter 13

Austin

“He’s just not fast enough, and you’ve got him out-conditioned by a mile. Look how gassed he was in the third round against Coles. He was lucky to get the knockout before the bell rang. And his only loss?”

“Was to a leg-lock,” I finished for Ross.

“Exactly right, which is why we’ve been brushing up on those so much. What I want you to do over the next couple of days is come up with some new set ups for some old submissions, leg-locks specifically. We’ll go over them on Thursday, see how they work in the real world, see if they match up against any of Ernesto’s other weaknesses, all that shit.”

“OK. We’ve got this motherfucker, you know?”

“Yeah, but we’re gonna make a statement too. If he doesn’t tap out quick enough, that’s the end of his career.”

Ross’ MMA gym was closed for the night, everybody else was long gone, and we were just talking strategy in his office. The bulk of my training was done, and these next few days leading up to the fight would be much lighter to make sure I was at one hundred percent for Saturday night.

The intercom for the front door buzzed and the shitty low-resolution video feed lit up to show three blurry characters in suits. Wiseguys if ever I saw them.

“Fuck sake, what do these assholes want now?” Ross muttered then pressed the button. “Hello?”

Shit. There was only one thing they ever wanted. They wanted to arrange the outcome of the fight so they and their friends could profit from it.

Fuck. What if they wanted me to throw this one? There went my fucking title shot. My blood began to boil and I gripped the armrests. Why the fuck did they have to come now?

“Hey, it’s me. Let us in.”

The familiar voice of Enrico Bertolini, nephew of the big boss himself, came through a lot clearer than the video feed. Ross glanced at me and then held the button down until we heard the clunk of the front door being pushed open.

A few seconds later Enrico entered the office, followed by some guy I’d never seen before, and lastly Ken Horn, a guy who grew up in the same neighborhood as me. He gave me a tiny nod as he entered.

Ken used to train with Ross, but didn’t quite have what it took to go pro, and kind of just fell into the life he ended up with like so many others. I’d once fucked up a couple guys who were giving him shit, so we got along OK, but we didn’t have much to do with each other these days.

Ross stood up to shake Enrico’s hand, but I stayed in my seat. Enrico introduced the stranger.

“This here’s Renato Picolli, he’s a good friend of the family, I want you to show him the same respect. Ken you know already, I understand.”

“Picolli? Like from Port Magnus?” Ross asked, shaking his hand. “Sounds like a warzone over there these days.”

Renato shrugged. “Hey, that’s the business.”

The two of them shook my hand too, but the dirty look I gave them didn’t escape their notice, and the thin veneer of friendly bullshit got that much thinner. Enrico sat in the chair next to me and Renato sat in the chair next to him. There were none left for Ken, so he leaned against the wall by the door.

“So what can we do for you?” Ross asked.

“The boss was wondering why he didn’t get no invitation to your wedding,” Enrico asked.

“Didn’t realize we were that close,” I said. “Never met Gavino, after all.”