Wrong (A Bad Boy Romance)(80)

“Thanks, honey.” He reaches up to her, and she takes his hand, lets her fingers trace across his palm as she moves away. It’s a loving gesture, and she gives him a gentle smile. He returns the smile, fatherly. I fight to keep from grimacing at the saccharine nature of it. But as Jess turns toward the door where I’m standing, her eyes catch mine for a split second, and I see in them what she really feels for her father. It’s not pretty.

When she’s gone, and the door has clicked shut behind her, Phil Spada makes a wide gesture toward the chair in front of his desk. “Have a seat, Cain.”

I swing a leg over the back of the chair and settle into it, nonchalant. Like I don’t give a shit what he says to me. I just look Spada right in the eye and let him think whatever he thinks about me.

Spada’s eyes narrow slightly. I don’t think he’s happy that I’m not cowering in front of him, begging for my life. Fuck that. I don’t beg anybody for anything. Besides, I think, my mouth twisting a bit, I fucked your daughter. And she loved it.

That thought keeps me centered. Just that knowledge that I took something he thinks is his. I cross my arms over my chest and just keep staring him down.

“I think you know why I asked you to come talk to me this morning,” he says finally.

I nod. “I’ve got a fair guess.”

“Then why don’t you explain to me what happened last night?”

“I won the fight.”

Spada leans forward in a sharp movement. For a second I think he might actually slap me from across the desk, but that’s not in the cards. Mostly because his arms are too short. Otherwise…

“You,” he bites out, “were supposed to lose.”

“Yeah. Well. That was the plan. Unfortunately nobody told the other guy.”

Spada leans back again, his expression shifting from anger to a questioning annoyance. “Okay. What happened, Cain?”

I decide to back off a little. No point giving him still more excuses to hurt me. “It was an accident. I was trying to make it look real—that’s the way you want it, right? It has to look real, or people might start looking too close.”

He gives a terse nod. We’re on the same page on that one. Nobody wants anybody looking too close, because that path leads nowhere good.

“Well,” I go on, and at this point I manage to look a little contrite. Just a little. “I was making it real—but not too real, you have to understand me on that one—and he couldn’t take it. When he went down, it was as much a surprise to me as it was to you.”

The tension in Spada’s shoulders eases a little, and he breaks eye contact, looking down at the surface of his desk. “All right.” He looks back at me again. “I can believe that. You swear to me it wasn’t on purpose?”

I shake my head. “No. It was a fluke. Or maybe your scouts overestimated the guy.” I shrug. “Either way, it wasn’t my plan to take him out.”

“All right,” he says again. “All right. But you understand I’ve got to answer to people, too.”

“Sure. We all do.” I resist the temptation to take a relieved breath. He’s not going to kill me, after all. Not this time, anyway. I’ve been too reliable, too much of a cash cow. Although that thought twists my stomach, too.

“So you’ll have to pay.”

“Fine.” The word is clipped. What’s he going to do to me? I expect a beating, maybe out back. He can do that—he hasn’t given me a new fight schedule yet, so I’ll have time to recover.

“That was a pretty big purse you won last night. You’ll give me half of it.” Again, he leans forward, the movement sharp, like a snake striking. “And, Cain—this happens again? You’re a dead man. You got me?”

Well. There we go. He’s not even going to rough me up. Got off easy this time, didn’t you, Cain? “I got you. And it won’t happen again.” Unless Spada’s scouts fuck up again, but now that I know they can, I’ll keep an eye out for the signs. Last night I was just blindsided at how bad the guy was. It was like fighting a twelve-year-old.

“Good.” He pushes to his feet, and I do the same, shoulders wide, facing him squarely. He wants to intimidate me, but I’ve never let him. I don’t think he likes that about me.

There are a lot of things he probably doesn’t like about me. And one of them he doesn’t even know about. I smile a little—just a little, since I don’t want to piss off Spada now that I’ve dodged that bullet. But it’s hard not to. Because Jessica’s mine. She’s got my smell on her now, all over her skin, all up inside her. I own her. And he doesn’t. Not anymore. Never again.