If he said anything else, I didn't hear it for a few seconds because of the blood pumping in my ears. I didn't particularly care what he said about me, I'd certainly earned that title at least, but to hear this worthless fuck talking about Skylar filled me with senseless, wordless rage.
The thundering of my heart in my ears faded away as I started to talk. "Listen to me very carefully. That's the last time you ever talk about Skylar. You understand?"
Enrico and Renato looked at me as if I'd started speaking in tongues. Ross held his hands up, trying to calm everybody down. He opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, Renato Picolli piped up.
"Hey, don't forget whose bitch you are, kid."
"Who the fuck do you think … " began Enrico.
I shot to my feet, towering over them with fists bunched up at my sides. "You wanna find out who the fuck I think I am?"
"Whoa, whoa, whoa." Ross was frantically trying to put out a fire.
Renato stood up and pushed his chair away, reaching inside his jacket. By the door, Ken already had his hand on his gun, still in its holster. He was looking at me with wide eyes, frantically shaking his head ‘no', as if he desperately didn't want to have to make that choice. Hell, for all I knew, he might shoot one of these motherfuckers for me.
Enrico recaptured his cool and stood up between Renato and me. "Sit the fuck down. Everybody."
Nobody moved.
"Maybe not such a fake marriage, huh? I'll remember that," said Enrico. "Look, I understand. Nobody disrespects your girl. I can respect that. I wouldn'ta said anything if I thought she meant anything to ya, OK? Fuckin' OK? Can we get back to business now?"
I slowly lowered myself to my chair. Around the room, asses came back into contact with seats and hands left guns.
"So we've been thinking, you've got this big high profile fight comin' up and we've kinda left you to your own devices for a while, so it might just be time to make some money."
The three of them looked at me and I held my tongue, looking right back at Enrico. When I didn't say anything, Enrico turned back to Ross.
"So Mr. Strong-But-Silent over here gets submitted in the third. You'll get your usual fee."
"No," I said.
"Are you seriously gonna let … " Renato started to ask Enrico.
"Kid, you're fuckin' up the wrong tree here. You've always been mouthy, but we've never taken it too seriously, you boxers, MMA fighters, whatever, you gotta think you're the baddest motherfuckers on the planet or you wet the bed at night and can't perform in the ring or some shit. Don't make me give the order that fucks up your world just to remind you who you work for."
There's fifty ways I could kill you before you knew you were dead, cunt, I thought.
"Once I beat Sanchez, I get a shot at Southgate. The title," I said.
"What the fuck do I care?" asked Enrico.
I took a deep breath. "Business."
"What?"
"This is business, right? Well let's make some fuckin' money. Sanchez, let's say that instead of submitting him like usual … I knock him out in the third. I always win by submission, nobody will see that coming, big payout. Then I get my title shot and you back me to win that. The odds are going to be long on that one. Nobody's beaten him in ten years, but he's never fought anybody like me."
Enrico sat back and tented his fingers in front of himself while he thought about it. "I don't know, kid. It's not good business to back somebody to win, you can't control that the way you can the other way round."
"No fee for us on the Sanchez fight. I can fuck him up, no problem."
Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Ross looking at me incredulously. I kept my focus on Enrico though, as did Renato.
Enrico rubbed his chin and tilted his head from side to side, eyes turned up to the ceiling. "OK, fine. You fight for free. Sanchez gets knocked out cold in the third."
He held out his hand and I shook it.
"Pleasure, as always," said Enrico. "Let's get outta here, guys, let the killer get some rest. Big fight comin' up."
Enrico and Renato filed out, Ken stayed behind for a second until they were out of earshot.
"Hey man, I wanted to give you a congrats on the wedding, she looks like a nice girl."
"Thanks."
"You wanna do me a favor and not make them tell me to shoot you?"
"Fuck them, man. Who's that Renato guy anyway?" I asked.
"Fuckin' Picollis. Shit went real bad for them in Port Magnus and now they're all over the place here. Buncha cocksuckers."
"I believe it."
"See you around."
"Bye."
Ken followed the others while Ross gave me the stinkeye until the front door was closed and locked behind them.
"Great negotiating. I could have done with a new car after this Sanchez fight. Now what?"
"I'll double your cut on the Southgate fight, don't worry," I said.
"I see. But first, we need you, a submission specialist, to knock out Ernesto Sanchez, a former kickboxing world champion. Correct?"
"I've got a plan."
Skylar
Vegas, baby! I'd never been before and now I was going in style, flying first class with Austin. Apparently not many airlines even had a first class service anymore, that luxurious section I'd walked through on my way to economy on previous flights was actually just business class.
This was a whole other level of awesome. There were only six areas in the first class cabin, and they literally were areas rather than seats, cordoned off from each other by half-height walls like office cubicles. Only one of the other areas was occupied, by a little old lady that held her hand up to her ear and said "Heh?" any time an air hostess tried to ask her anything.
Everything looked like it had been designed by the most artistic space-age engineers on the planet. Everywhere you looked there was something that folded up, slid out, twisted around or tilted to change its functionality or maximize space. Instead of cheap plastic and tired fabric, it was all perfectly maintained, with organic curves, sleek lines and seamless joints between different things.
The late flight was going to arrive in Las Vegas at around four in the morning. As such, we had a kind of light dinner service. The food was amazing and came on actual plates, though the utensils were still plastic.
Something was up with Austin, though. We'd been married for about a month, and in that time I thought I must have had about as much sex as the average woman has in her lifetime. A couple days ago, basking in some afterglow and pillow-talk, I'd plucked up my courage and asked him for something I'd never dreamed of asking anybody.
I said, the next time he fucked me, I wanted him to call me a slut, a whore, every name under the sun, and when he did it, I wanted him to fuck me rough. Harder than he ever had before.
My request was met with a thick silence, but when I dared look up at him, there was no disgust or judgement on his face, just a thoughtful expression … and a twitch under the sheets that turned into a tent-pole. With the kind of relentless assault on my pussy he'd shown me over the past month I half expected him to grant my request right away, as if he'd already been holding himself back.
But he didn't. In fact, he did exactly the opposite, and he hadn't fucked me since. After nineteen years of no sex at all, Austin had rewired my brain since we'd been together and my body craved his attention almost constantly now.
A couple of days of abstinence, yet having to be around Austin so much, was utter torture for me. No matter what I did, he wouldn't give it to me. I rubbed myself against him, I grabbed at the bulge in his pants, I begged for it.
He teased me with his hardness, but that was it. So near and yet so far, he was driving me crazy.
I never told him why I wanted him to do it, and he never asked. For almost as long as I could remember, my father had been using those words against me. Using them to make me feel small, worthless, bad, evil. Whatever.
I didn't want them to hurt anymore, I didn't want them to mean the same things anymore. I wanted those words back.
When I thought of those words, I wanted to think of Austin and me. I wanted to think of the two of us making each other feel good. My sexuality wasn't hurting anybody else, and it shouldn't have to hurt me.
It all made sense in my mind, but that didn't make asking for it any easier. Then having him make me go cold turkey added another layer of difficulty to this whole thing.
And then, when we were boarding the plane, Austin whispered to me. "Remember this. Your safeword is ‘Kimura'."
"Kimura? Safeword?"
"Shhhh. Yeah. You're probably going to need it on this flight."
From that moment on, I was as wet as the ocean. Every second of exploring first class was a thrill of anticipation. What was he going to do? And when?
Those questions were answered when the first class air hostess made her final round before letting everybody try to get some sleep. Her check on the little old lady was greeted by light snoring.