Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 88656 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 443(@200wpm)___ 355(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88656 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 443(@200wpm)___ 355(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
“Jamie,” he said in a smooth, deep voice. “I’m Peter Santori.”
I swallowed and tried to find my own voice. “Mr. Santori? I can’t believe I’m finally meeting you.”
He shrugged, but his eyes were shrewd. “I stay busy. It’s not a simple affair to set up meetings with employees these days.”
Employees. Yikes.
The guy was good at maintaining distance and superiority. I wondered how superior he’d feel if he knew about the intimacy his nephew and I shared. If he knew I’d wrapped my lips around his cock and swallowed his cum. Would he welcome me into his inner circle then, or would he have me taken out into the desert and dismembered to a soundtrack of opera music?
Looking into his calculating eyes, I’d have to say I was leaning toward the latter.
“Interesting place you have here,” I said. When he didn’t reply, I continued. “So this is where Kage fights. I can’t wait to see him in action. So far I’ve only seen him train.”
“Marco tells me you’ve been present at a lot of training sessions, and that you’ve even taken to utilizing his services for yourself.”
Funny, when Mr. Santori said it, it sounded like I was stealing from the company. Like I was swiping staplers and post-it notes from the supply closet.
“Um, well, Kage invited me to participate in the workouts. Of course, I don’t do anything major. None of that advanced stuff they work on.”
He nodded slowly. “Well, I need to speak to some colleagues of mine before the fight begins, so I suppose we’ll say goodbye for now.” He shook my hand, and somehow he made it feel like a great honor was being bestowed upon me. I disliked him for that— for making me feel truly inferior.
I stood by myself in the center of that small sea of glitterati, watching Mr. Santori make his way deliberately through the crowd, occasionally stopping to speak to someone.
This was his place. In this warehouse, he was the man. That much was crystal clear.
There were folding chairs set up all around the octagon, and I found one near the front, plopped down in it and stayed there. Long minutes of boredom stretched into even longer minutes of awkwardness, until finally there was a commotion near the entrance of the cage. A stocky middle-aged man in a red t-shirt stepped into the ring, and people began moving in and claiming all of the seats around me. Soon, it was standing room only.
An announcer stood behind a corner podium and spoke into his microphone, his voice booming over the sound system. “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to another exciting fight night. As always, if the fighter in the blue corner can best the as-yet-undefeated Michael “The Machine” Kage, he will walk out of here with a hundred-thousand-dollars in cash. Let’s wish both men good luck as they embark on this virtually no-holds-barred evening of fun and games.”
The small crowd cheered for a moment, and then the challenger came trotting through a door at the back of the room. He had a small entourage of his people with him. It was nothing like the dramatic entrance of the fighters on UFC pay-per-view. It was somber and a little scary, with no music to dress it up. No theatrics. This was going to be nothing more than a fight, plain and simple.
After the first fighter, who remained nameless and was referred to only as the challenger, entered the octagon, Kage appeared at the door. My breath caught in my chest when I saw him.
That’s my guy, I thought. My lover.
He stalked intimidatingly into the ring wearing nothing but a pair of red trunks, his hair pulled into that cute little queue atop his head. But that was where the cute ended. This Michael Kage looked alarmingly unlike the guy I was falling for. His green eyes appeared darker and more calculating than I’d ever seen them, even that day in the restaurant. I hated to admit it, but he looked frighteningly like his uncle— whom I had no problem believing would have me assassinated and dumped in the desert.
Kage walked into the ring looking neither hyper nor plodding. He had an air of confidence about him that made posturing unnecessary. I waited for him to notice me, but he seemed oblivious to the fact that I was even present. Probably a good thing. It meant he was focused, and according to Marco, that was half of winning.
The referee called the two men out to the center of the ring, had them touch gloves, and sent them to their respective corners. Then the announcer rang a bell, and the fighters were on the move.
The contender was aggressive, pressing in on Kage even before the echo of the bell had died. He released a combination of powerful if predictable punches— jab, cross, left hook to the body— presumably to get Kage off balance and on the defensive, but Kage was light on his feet. He easily sidestepped the guy’s attack before catching him with a right cross to the side of his head. It rocked the guy good, but he recovered quickly, and smacked Kage with a leg kick before moving out of reach. Kage didn’t flinch, though I saw an ugly red mark spreading on the outside of his thigh.