17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

ORION

There’s something hypnotic about the rhythm I fall into delivering blows to the punching bag at the training gym. Left hook, right hook, roundhouse. Left hook, right hook, roundhouse. Left hook, right hook…

The steady tempo of it reminds me of the beep, beep, beep of Jack’s heart monitor that’s seeped into my dreams after too many nights of sleeping next to his hospital bed. He finally started to turn around yesterday after two days on an experimental antiviral treatment. He’s not totally out of the woods yet, but I might be able to convince myself to sleep at home tonight. Maybe .

I’m positive Elio had something to do with the specialist who showed up on Saturday morning and took over Jack’s care, all but shooing Doctor Ross out of the room and closing the curtain right in his face. She was no nonsense, rattling off a bunch of shit I didn’t understand to the nurses before switching his treatment. It’s not like his previous medications were helping, so I was up for trying anything. Whatever gets my brother off the ventilator and back to staring at the four walls of his Shady Oaks room rather than the four walls of the hospital room will be a fucking improvement.

There’s a familiar itch in the back of my mind, of course, creeping under my skin and tightening fresh knots along the back of my neck to replace the ones Elio massaged loose only a few days ago. Jack and I don’t need anyone’s charity. I’ve always found ways to take care of him and managed to pay his bills no matter what it cost me. Just like he did for me when we were teenagers.

Left hook, right hook, roundhouse. Left hook, right hook, roundhouse.

“ Yeah, Boss. We’re dating. ” That sweet, confident way he said it when I was spiraling, nothing to grab on to but his hand, has echoed in my ears for days now.

Is that why I didn’t argue when Doctor Hopkins showed up? I’m not just in bed with the mob anymore, I’m dating the mob. I can’t figure out how exactly I went from hate-fucking Elio to all this. I don’t know when I set my list of reasons to steer clear of the Morettis on fire and stepped into the flames without a second thought. But here we are. And I don’t have any plans to turn back now. I’m going to see this thing through, even if it means I end up burned.

Does being with Elio mean bending to the Mafia shit though? Can I have one without the other? Does taking this favor for Jack now mean I’ll owe something else later? I’d love to think relationships don’t work that way, but I left that kind of wide-eyed optimism behind a long damn time ago.

Left hook, right hook, roundhouse. Left hook, right hook, roundhouse.

My muscles ache the way I need them to, and sweat forms on my back, making my shirt cling to my skin as I huff out steady breaths in between each attack. But clearly, I need something more mentally stimulating to stay out of my head. Unless I want to spend all day chasing what-ifs and worries around my mind, I need an opponent who’s going to fight back and keep me on my toes. I catch the bag when it swings towards me, and drag in a slow breath, glancing around the gym for any potential sparring partners.

I zero in on Tito Vasquez, just coming out of the locker room, looking fresh and ready to go a few rounds. He’s been beefing up lately, spending a hell of a lot of time on speed drills and strength training. He might actually give me a run for my money this afternoon, which is exactly what I need.

“Yo, Tito,” I shout.

His steps stutter and he stops mid-stride to look over at me. “Barros, hey.”

“Jump in the ring with me.” I jerk my chin towards the ring, hoping the force of the demand will tip the scales better than requesting a sparring partner has lately. It’s been like pulling teeth. Fucking impossible to get anyone other than Fitz to go a few rounds with me.

“Uh…” Tito shifts his weight and I notice a few other guys slowing down or stopping what they’re doing altogether to eavesdrop without an ounce of subtlety. “I don’t think…”

“Okay, what the fuck is going on here?” The frustration in my chest bursts free, adding an edge of a growl to the question I bark. Even more people stop lifting, stop pounding away at punching bags or each other, turning to stare. “Did I do something to piss you all off?” I look around at all of them, not just Tito this time. “Your egos can’t take that I’m still undefeated? My deodorant isn’t up to par? Did I miss out on some circle jerk and now I’m out of the loop? What ?”

A couple of the guys trade looks, and I get the feeling they’re all playing a game of waiting to see who cracks first.

O’Malley sits up on the bench press and wipes his hands on his shorts. “The whole belonging to the mob thing… Nobody wants to hit you too hard and end up whacked by your boyfriend, Barros.”

I blink once. Twice. A third time. But no amount of clearing my vision or shaking my head gets O’Malley’s words to make any more sense.

“Fucking excuse me?” My throat is tight, and my voice comes out low, deep, vibrating with an unintended threat that has Tito and a few other guys taking a step back. Like I’m a bomb about to go off.

The silence that follows my question rings in my ears. But no one seems willing or able to elaborate. Belonging to the mob . No one wants to spar with me because Elio showed up here to pick me up last week?

No. O’Malley refused before Elio walked in.

I grind my teeth and try to think back. Did it somehow get out that he’s been visiting the locker room after fights for over a year? Even so, it’s a pretty big goddamn leap to assume we’re dating or to think that their lives are at risk over a friendly bout or two. Did Elio say something to someone?

As soon as the thought occurs to me, I can feel the truth of it in my bones. It’s exactly the kind of shit he would do. A memory of the way he asked if Nelson hurt me after the last fight, with worry and simmering rage in his eyes, sends a jolt of heat and irritation through me at the same time. Was Nelson pulling his punches in the last fight? I mentally run through every fight I’ve had in the last six months, trying to pinpoint if anyone else felt like they were holding back. How long has Elio been fixing my fights without me knowing about it? Is that why I’m still undefeated? Because every fighter in the city is afraid to look at me too hard, let alone knock me out?

A whoosh of air has heads swiveling towards the entrance. Maybe they’re hoping for a distraction, or they just can’t stand the building tension in my silence and need somewhere else to look. I whip my head towards the door too, hoping whoever just walked in will have more balls than the rest of the guys in here, and be willing to tell me what the fuck O’Malley meant by me “belonging to the mob.”

Just my luck, it’s better than another fighter who may or may not have any answers for me. My hands ball into tight fists and my heart beats so hard I’m surprised it doesn’t crack a rib.

Elio’s eyes land on me and his face lights up in a casual grin, completely unaware of the uncomfortable silence echoing around us, or the fact that half the guys in the gym abandoned their workouts to flee for the locker room the second they recognized him. I’m moving towards him before my brain catches up with my body, striding across the tile floor with long, purposeful steps.

Halfway to him, and he must notice the fire in my eyes because his smile finally falls. “Hey, Boss, what—”

I grab him by the lapels as soon as I reach him, forcing him backward. He stumbles over his feet but manages to move fast enough to correct his balance as I shove him back through the door.

“What the hell did you do?” I hiss through my clenched teeth, still walking him backward, forcing him up onto his toes to keep up with me. His pupils blow wide, and his cheeks turn that light shade of pink that’s barely noticeable under his olive skin unless you’re looking, or unless you’ve become so addicted to turning him on that you can’t help but see all the signs.

My cock swells to life, making me dizzy but not doing a damn thing to soothe the rage clawing at my chest.

“Help me out here, is this foreplay, or what?” he asks, licking his lips as I push him the last few steps, shoving him right up against his car.

I crowd into him, noticing the smell of citrus on his skin and the rapid flutter of his pulse in his throat. Even through the haze of fury that’s currently clouding my mind, something feels different from the last time I had him in a position like this, pressed up against the wall in his entryway, nearly naked and clutching a pistol he never even tried to threaten me with.

“You know what O’Malley just said to me?” I tighten my grip on his suit jacket, taking a weird amount of pleasure in feeling the silky fabric wrinkle in my sweaty fists. Elio opens his mouth, no doubt to give a smartass answer, but I don’t have the patience for it right now, so I beat him to it. “He said that him and all the other fighters in this city are afraid to hit me because they think my boyfriend is going to whack them.”

He snorts a laugh. “Did he really say whack? Am I Bugsy Siegle now?”

The muscle in my jaw ticks hard, and I shake him. Elio moans and his cock hardens against my thigh. This is just a game to him like everything else, and I should be pissed. I am pissed, but somehow not in the way I expected to be.

He’s fucking with my career. He’s painting me with a permanent fucking black mark that will never wash off. He’s making me question every win I’ve had since the first night he cornered me after a fight. All the reasons I had to hate him before were vague and theoretical. They were moral reasons to be against his lifestyle, not really anything about Elio himself. This right here is personal. It’s as personal as it gets.

The moment crystallizes around me, coming into sharp focus. Twenty minutes ago, I was asking myself when things changed. When I went from hating Elio to falling for him. I had shit backward though, I think. He’s been wearing down my defenses and burrowing under my skin, and I let him. Elio plays the submissive role when things are getting heated, but there’s no doubt that he’s been the one in control of every step of this dance from the beginning. And I let him. I let him get off on my violent side, I let him pull me into his world, and I let him decide the other night at the hospital that this was more than just fucking.

It’s finally my turn to make a choice. There are only two ways forward as far as I can tell. I can end it now, tell him to fuck off one last time and to stay out of my life. Would he listen for a change? Something makes me think he would. Even the way his eyes are softening with worry over my long silence tells me that this is it, this is my chance to cut ties without looking back.

Or…

My chest collides with his every time I drag in a deep, shuddering breath. The wind whips through my loose hair and cools the sweat on my skin. All my muscles are tense and coiled, ready for action.

“Did you tell someone that I belong to the Morettis, or otherwise instruct another fighter not to hurt me?” My throat is tight, but I manage to get the question out, my voice just as low and deadly as it was when O’Malley dropped the bomb.

Elio squirms, his eyes glued to mine. He’s silent for half a second before he nods once.

“I didn’t mean those guys.” He waves vaguely in the direction of the gym behind me. “I told that prick with the razor blade at the underground fight that he’d better not fight dirty with you like that again. I might have implied that if anyone else fought dirty with you, I’d hold him responsible for that too.”

I huff through my nose and loosen my hold on his jacket, shoving him a little harder up against his car, just for good measure.

“This isn’t going to work for me, Elio,” I say gruffly. He opens his mouth again, but I’m not done saying what I need to say. “I can’t untangle you from your family any more than you could unravel the pieces of me from all my own bullshit and trauma. But it’s not going to work between us if you can’t give me the fucking breathing room I need. You can’t wave your pistol around just because I get roughed up at a fight that I fucking signed up for. You’ve got to keep the Moretti shit away from my career. Do we understand each other?”

He sags against his Jaguar with what looks like relief, and maybe a little bit of guilt. He jerks his head in a single nod again.

“Yes, Boss.”

“Good.” I drag my eyes over him, frustration still simmering in my chest, but it feels like the volume has been turned down. We have a hell of a lot to sort out if this is going to work. It doesn’t feel impossible though, and that’s terrifying and maybe a little exhilarating. But I’m not quite done with this particular disagreement yet either. “Drop your pants and bend over the hood of your car. I’m going to make sure this is a lesson that sticks.”

“What?” Both of his eyebrows shoot up as I take a step back to give him space to do what I told him to.

“You heard me, Brat.”

Elio’s eyes dart past me, towards the gym a few dozen yards away. There’s no one else in the parking lot besides us, and there are other cars blocking anyone from having a full view of us from the gym windows.

“Someone could drive up or leave the gym any time.” There’s a quiver in his voice that might be fear or excitement—probably both.

“I guess you should have thought about that before you caused trouble.” I cross my arms and fix him with a steady, authoritative look. “I’m not going to ask again.”

ELIO

There are plenty of things I never thought I’d do. Pulling my pants down for a spanking in broad daylight is right at the top of the list. I look one way, then the other, my insides thrumming with electricity. My cock has been rock hard since Orion grabbed me and shoved me outside, but it’s dripping now, precum soaking my briefs.

I drop my gaze and start to fiddle with my belt buckle. My cheeks heat and a hot, tight feeling of humiliation writhes in my gut, making my skin prickle and my balls ache.

“I hope you’ll have a good excuse for the cops if they show up to arrest us for indecent exposure,” I mutter, dragging my zipper down.

He lets out a dark chuckle, his arms still crossed over his chest, his eyes dancing with anger and something warmer and deeper underneath. Affection? Is it too bold right now to hope it might be love? Hope like that feels cruel, even if it’s only in my thoughts. But I let it seep in anyway, filling me with a painful need that’s more of a punishment than the public spanking I’m about to get.

“I haven’t seen a cop around Wildcliff since your brother took over the family. Funny coincidence, huh?” He cocks his head, then reaches out to hook two fingers in my pants and underwear, yanking them down. I gasp as my cock springs free. “I told you to quit stalling, Brat.”

My cock jerks, like it can’t decide whether it’s thrilled with the kinky turn of events, or if it wants to shrivel up and hide from anyone who might happen to walk by. Orion doesn’t wait for me to work it out. He wraps a hand around my upper arm and spins me around to face my car. My breath hitches and a hot stinging feeling tightens behind my eyes.

He puts a hand between my shoulder blades and pushes me, but I’m already bending over, ready to take whatever he wants to give me. The hood of my Jaguar is hot from the sunlight and the engine that hasn’t been off for more than a few minutes. It warms my skin and heats my cheek as I sprawl my upper body over it. My belt clangs around my thighs, and the weight of Orion’s hand on my back grounds me.

I thought he was going to tell me it was over between us. “ This isn’t going to work for me ,” sounded like I wasn’t going to work for him. And I was ready to fall to my knees and beg him if that were the case. My chest feels too tight and somehow hollow at the same time just thinking it, just imagining those words coming out of Orion’s mouth.

I deserve the punishment that’s coming. And I’ll happily take it, because punishment means he’s not done with me. Punishment means he wants me to do better for him next time. It means there will be a next time. Hell, I’ll let him spank me in the UFL ring in front of a million screaming fans if it means this isn’t over between us.

Even though I’m expecting the blow, it still manages to come as a surprise, hard and sharp, searing across my right ass cheek. Shame pulses low in my gut, and I squeeze my eyelids tightly closed.

“You’ve been bad, Elio.” Orion’s voice is quiet, but no less powerful for the lack of volume. If anything, having to strain my ears, listening to hear if he’ll say anything else over the rhythmic sound of a few more sharp swats, only makes it carry more weight. I don’t miss the fact that he didn’t call me Brat that time, either. He called me Elio.

“I’m sorry.” The words rush out on a sob. I didn’t mean to say them, but they pull something loose inside me as soon as they’re free. “I’m sorry,” I rasp again, feeling hot tears leak from my eyes and tumble down my cheeks.

Orion pauses for just a second, then he grunts and rains down another series of hard slaps across both ass cheeks and the backs of my thighs. My skin heats and so does the embarrassment in my stomach.

“What are you sorry for?” He stops spanking and kneads my left cheek roughly. I hiss, my insides vibrating from the pain.

“For…” I squeeze my eyes closed hard again and try to think of the right answer. I’m not sorry for trying to protect him, that’s for damn sure. I guess I’m sorry for getting him mixed up in the Mafia shit, but it’s not as simple as keeping it all separate. I am who I am, and that’s not going to change.

“How about for treating me like I’m some porcelain doll you need to protect?” he suggests, pulling his hand back and cracking it against my ass again. My cock throbs and jerks, and the sting of it ricochets through my organs.

“I… He had a fucking razor blade ,” I argue, the shame that bent me over to begin with receding behind a wave of defiance. “Fair enough, I don’t want to fuck with your career, but those underground fights…”

Orion growls and grabs my pants, yanking them back into place and taking a step away from me.

“What am I going to do with you?” he mutters. “Put yourself back together.”

I swallow and push myself off the hood of the car, tucking my dick away and zipping up before turning to face him. I can feel my face glowing from the warmth of the car, along with the lingering humiliation and guilt.

“I am sorry that dipshit took things too far with my warning and caused problems with your career.”

He tilts his head back towards the sky, like he’s praying for patience from a god I’m pretty sure he doesn’t believe in. Then he pinches the bridge of his nose and looks at me again.

“Putting the blame on someone else isn’t going to work for me. I want a real apology. I want you to tell me what you did wrong. Now.”

I shiver and stuff my hands into my pockets. I remember my dad once telling me that apologizing is weak. It’s like rolling over and showing your soft spots to someone who might go ahead and tear your guts out for your trouble. Maybe I’m okay with Orion tearing my guts out. I’ve sure as hell already showed him all of my soft spots. But that doesn’t make the words come any easier.

“I’m sorry… for being a goddamn Moretti instead of a regular, fucked-up guy.”

His face stays stony for another beat, then crumples with a bark of laughter. “I guess I’ll take that. For now, anyway.” Orion steps closer again, closing in on me in a blink, his hands on my face and his body up against mine. “Were any of my wins fixed?”

I shake my head. “No. I swear on my life, I would never do that.”

His nostrils flare and his eyes darken again, but he seems to accept the answer. He rests his forehead against mine and drags his thumb along the stubble on my jaw. “I don’t care if someone leaves me half dead after an underground fight, you stay out of it next time. Got it?”

“Absolutely not.” My answer stills the stroke of his thumb.

“Elio.”

“No,” I say again, firmly. “You shouldn't even be doing underground fights.”

Orion sighs. “You’re not planning to make any of this easy for me, are you?”

“No,” I answer a third time, my lips twitching with a smirk. “But I don’t think you like me because it’s easy.”

His eyes search mine, probing and intense, ratcheting my heart rate up again, reaching deep down inside me like he’s making himself at home there, among all the cobwebbed skeletons.

“No, I guess you’re right,” he murmurs in agreement, slamming his lips into mine in a hard, claiming kiss. I pant against his mouth, grabbing a fistful of his shirt and twisting it, pressing myself against him and melting into his body.

It’s definitely not going to be easy between us. Easy is fucking boring anyway.