The F King: A Bad Boy Romance (Still a Bad Boy Book 3) (30 page)

By the time I fully occupied my body again, Austin had completely spent himself into my depths, and I could already feel a rivulet of cum starting to spill out around his girth. I looked up at the clock and was shocked to find that there was only five minutes left until my tutorial was supposed to start.

“Ahhh!” I squealed and struggled to find my feet so that I could push the desk forward and get myself off his cock.

When I turned around, Austin was standing there with his hands on his hips, eyes closed and his head rolled back so his face was towards the ceiling. His cock was still standing out hard and proud, glistening with our combined juices, and for the first time since I’d known him, it looked like he was catching his breath after fucking me.

I smoothed down my skirt and then bent over to plant a big kiss on his manhood to bring him back to reality. “Put it away, I’ve got a class starting!”

Austin shook his head as if in a daze, but began to perform his next magic trick, which was fitting his cock back into his pants. The room was hot with our exertions, and I opened the windows after putting my panties back on, lest I made a slipping hazard on the floor with all of Austin’s seed beginning to leak out of me.

Once that was done, Austin had himself looking respectable again. I strained up on the tips of my toes to give him a kiss and he wrapped his arms around me, lifting me in the air as our lips embraced.

“Love you, babe, see you tonight, OK?” I said.

“Love you too. See you then.”

He set me down on the floor and walked back to the door. When he unlocked and opened it he found the post-grad tutor on the other side just reaching for the handle.

With slack-jawed awe, my tutor scanned upwards from handle-level until he made it to Austin’s face and stuttered out a request for an autograph.

I
felt awful
, but not as awful as I had earlier. The clock on the bedside table said it was a little after eleven in the morning, so I had apparently dozed off for a while.

Yesterday I woke up with what I assumed was a stomach bug of some kind, and decided to stay at home instead of going in for my classes that day. The last thing I wanted to do was to be sick for Austin’s title fight on the weekend

I took it pretty easy all day, and the symptoms more or less cleared up. It wasn’t until I was flicking through a magazine and saw a full-page ad for diapers that my heart froze for a second, before bursting through the ice-shell with a blast of hot and frantic beats.

What if…

I’d been through sex ed, and biology 101, it wasn’t like I
didn’t
know how these things were supposed to work, but somehow between the desperate lust of my wedding night and now, it had somehow faded in importance. I’d become addicted to feeling Austin’s bare manhood inside of me, and the thought of a condom had transitioned from common sense to some kind of foreign concept.

I was nineteen years old, healthy, in a
vigorous
sexual relationship… and I’d never used any kind of protection. Faced with this nausea, it was a stark reminder about basic human biology.

Feeling paler than snow, I’d sheepishly gone to the pharmacy to get a home pregnancy kit, but didn’t have a chance to use it before Austin was home for the evening. Even though I was feeling better physically, I was nervous enough that I must have still looked ill, and he didn’t ask any questions when I went to bed early.

I couldn’t tell him what I thought might be going on. What was the point of dropping that bomb on him before such an important fight, when I wasn’t even sure myself?

When I suggested maybe I should sleep in a spare room to help make sure he wasn’t sick for his fight, he just shrugged, gave me a big germ-sharing kiss and said “If you get sick, I get sick.”

This morning, the nausea was back again, and once Austin was out of the house I dragged myself out of bed to puke in the toilet and then pee on a stick. While waiting for the recommended fifteen minutes, I drifted off again.

Now awake again, I knew that in the bathroom at the end of the hallway there was a little stick sitting next to the sink that might change my life. Every limb was made of lead as I hauled myself to my feet and slumped out of the bedroom.

When I shuffled into the bathroom I kept my eyes level, holding my own unsteady gaze in the mirror as I approached. I looked scared, and the sight of that stick in the lower periphery of my vision wasn’t helping.

Without glancing down, I picked it up and held it in front of me. I could see it in my hands in the mirror. Such a little thing. So much power.

If I looked down and saw two lines, who would be staring out at me from the mirror when I looked back up? Not Skylar Cross, the scared small town girl fleeing to find her own life. Not Skylar Aquila, the proud young wife of a rising MMA star. It’d be an expectant mother. A mommy.

It was almost like there was some kind of iron bar under my chin when I tried to look down, forcing my head back up, but I managed it, and turned the stick over in my hands. My heart bounced all over my chest like a ricocheting bullet as I focused on the little result window.

Two lines. Two.

The home pregnancy test clattered to the ground and I didn’t even spare a glance at the mother-to-be in the mirror. I needed to sit down. Fast.

More by good luck than good management, I made it to the living room and collapsed on to the couch. With my head in my hands I tried to wrap my brain around what was happening.

What was Austin going to say? What was he going to do? Everything was almost perfect, and now it was all going to change.

He loved me, I was sure of it, but he was only a handful of years older than I was. Had his sexual hunger for me blinded him about basic biology as much as it had done to me?

Before we were thrust together, he had a well-deserved reputation. Fighting his way through the NHBFC ranks and fucking his way through every desirable woman he happened across. How could the concept of fatherhood have ever seeped its way into the haze of that lifestyle?

A lump formed in my throat. If I looked at myself in the mirror would I see a
single
mother-to-be?

A tear escaped the corner of my eye before I could shake my head to clear it. That was crazy terror-talk.

Austin had looked at me like he wanted to eat me all up since the day we met, but since getting married, that hunger went deeper, it was something else. He
wanted
me. Mind, body and soul. I was
sure
of it.

I sat up straight and took several deep calming breaths before looking down and putting my hand on my stomach. Under my palm I couldn’t feel anything out of the ordinary, just my stomach the same as usual. What would it be like to feel a little kick?

The thought brought a tentative smile to my face.

“Don’t worry, little one, everything is going to be OK,” I cooed as much to myself as to my barely-macroscopic child.

I startled when I heard those words, amazed at how much my voice sounded like the memory of my own mother. A knock rang out on the door, and I startled again.

When I answered it, there was a group of three men in dark business suits standing there, the smallest nearer the door and two bigger guys behind him, looking like well-dressed bodyguards.

“Hello?”

“Hi there. We’re business associates of Austin’s.”

“Oh… business associates? He’s not home right now, he’ll be down at Ross’ gym. Do you have the address?”

“Yeah we know where that motherfucker is, you dead bitch.”

The smaller guy held his finger up and then waved it in my direction. Before I could get out of the way enough to slam the door, the two bigger guys rushed in and grabbed me by the arms, dragging me outside kicking and screaming.

R
oss
and I were in the media room, halfway through watching a slow-motion replay of Brenton Southgate’s twentieth fight from a few years back, when the knock came on the door. Ross had told everybody not to bother us, and most of the time everybody in the gym had their own shit to get on with, so Ross muttered a few choice words as he paused the playback and opened the door.

The light from outside flowed in and I looked over my shoulder to see Ken Horn standing there. He looked more serious than a heart attack.

“What the fuck did you do, Austin?” he asked.

“What needed to be done, man, fuck them.”

“What’s he talking about?” asked Ross.

Ken stepped in the door and Ross closed it behind him. “Oh, he hasn’t told you?”

Ross looked from Ken, to me, and back again as Ken walked over and half sat on a desk before continuing.

He pointed at me. “This crazy asshole killed a Bertolini soldier, fucked up another two, Renato Picolli
and
Renato’s nephew too.”

“What the
fuck
?” said Ross.

Ken threw up his hands.

“Fuck them,” I repeated. “I didn’t fuckin’ shoot that guy. They never should have pulled a gun on me.”

“What the
fuck
is going on?” Ross said again as if I’d ignored him.

“They called me into a meeting on Wednesday, said the Picollis were in charge of the MMA match fixing now and I was supposed to throw the Southgate fight. I told them to go fuck themselves and it went south from there.”

“Dammit, Austin,” started Ken and then shook his head. “These aren’t random guys from a nightclub. These aren’t people you can disrespect, let alone what you did. Renato is a made-man, and now his jaw is wired shut.”

“So I did you a favor, now nobody has to listen to his stupid fuckin’ voice.”

“No, he’s still got plenty to say, man. That’s why I’m here.”

I stood up. “You really wanna do their dirty work when it comes to me?”

Ken held up his hands. “Whoa there. I haven’t forgotten where we came from. Maybe you have, but I haven’t. I
begged
them to let me bring you in.”

I waved him away. “Fuck that. Like I told Renato, or Pussyface, or whatever he goes by now, the deal is off. I’m done with them.”

“You don’t get it, man. This was no bar fight, no ‘haha, you got me this time, next time I’ll get you’ fuckin’ bullshit. This is way beyond that. If I don’t bring you in, then other guys are gonna come. Lots of guys, with lots of guns and maybe some fuckin’ rocket launchers.” Ken pointed in the general direction of the rest of the gym. “Everybody out there will
die
and you’ll still end up coming in. You want their blood on your hands?”

“Holy fuck, Austin.” Ross sat down.

I ran my hand over my chin as I thought about this clusterfuck.

“Let’s say I go in. What am I walking into? They shoot me there instead of here?”

“No. They said that wasn’t on the cards anyway. You make too much money for them, you know, when you’re on a short leash. Gavino Bertolini himself wants to talk to you. Both of you. You’ll get through this if you can control yourself.”

“You believe that?” I asked.

“I do.”

After a long pause, during which Ross cussed me out with his eyes, Ken leaned forward.

“
Please
, Austin. Come in and talk with Gavino.”

“Fuck it, let’s meet him,” I said.

* * *

T
he Bertolini headquarters
turned out to be a big old mansion on a large estate on the east side of the city. Ken drove us through the gates and right up to the courtyard in front of the doors and from the moment we stepped out of the car, I counted at least three guns pointing at our heads at any given time.

“Easy… easy,” Ken said under his breath as he walked close behind us.

I had no choice, really. It seemed like they’d learned their lesson from yesterday and the people with guns were well out of reach, leading us down the wide hallways and trailing behind.

Even when they led us into a smallish room, the odds were impossible. Ten guys, armed to the teeth, lined the walls of the sparsely furnished area.

Behind a desk sat an older guy right out of the old gangster movies. Hell, he might have even
been
one of the guys out of the old gangster movies for all I knew, except he was carrying an extra hundred pounds or so of fat these days.

In front of the desk were two steel-framed chairs, bolted to the ground, with handcuffs permanently attached to loops on the backs. Off to the side was one of those old TVs and DVD players, on the trolley they used to roll into the classrooms at school on the days when the teachers
especially
didn’t give a fuck.

“Sit down,” said the guy who
had
to be Gavino Bertolini.

“Fuck-” I started.

“Do it, Austin,” urged Ken.

Fucked if I wanted to be tied up with my hands behind my back, but at least five fingers moved from the guards directly on to the triggers around the room. Ross was already sitting down before I slowly followed suit.

Ken secured the cuffs on us, presumably because nobody else wanted to get too close to me, while Gavino regarded us from across the room with a disdainful look he might give to a cockroach. He didn’t say anything until Ken stepped back.

“So you’re the fighter that’s been causing so much trouble. I thought you’d be bigger.”

I raised my eyebrows. Given his own size, comments like that were going to make it pretty fucking hard for me to feign the respect these Mafiosos wanted so desperately.

“Like I said to Renato, it’s-”

Gavino shook his head. “They told me you were a stubborn little piss-ant fuck. So I’m not going to be wasting more words on you than I have to. I want to show you a little multi-media presentation and then re-enter negotiations. Can’t hurt, right?”

“Do what you gotta do.” I shrugged. “Won’t make any difference.”

“Always.” He looked up at one of the guys in the corner. “Frans.”

A kind of metallic jingle caught my attention as Frans came out of his corner, pulling out a spool of some kind of wire from behind his back. I craned my neck to get a better view and saw he was wearing heavy gloves. Of course, he needed them. That was
razor
wire.

Four other guys put away their handguns and pulled out similar gloves, as Frans slotted the razor wire over a short pole bolted to the ground near the corner. Fuck… this wasn’t good. I looked at Ken, and he was staring resolutely at his own feet.

“What are you doin’? What are you doin’ with that?” Ross asked.

Nobody paid him any attention, least of all Frans himself, who was pulling the wire out in Ross’s general direction. When he had enough length, he wrapped it around the front of my coach’s throat and the razors bit in immediately.

Ross screamed and tried to move his upper body back as far as the bolted chair and handcuffs would allow, but Frans kept the wire taut enough to maintain contact without sinking in too far. In a few heart-stopping seconds, all five of the glove-wearers were behind us, lined up like a tug-o-war team as the first trails of blood started flowing down Ross’ neck.

“Stop! Stop!” I yelled, over Ross’ unintelligible pleading. “Fucking stop! I’ll throw it!”

“All questions are to wait until the end of the presentation,” said Gavino and nodded at Frans.

“Austin!” screamed Ross.

“
Heave
!” yelled Frans.

All five of them hauled the wire backwards, running razor after razor over and
through
Ross’ neck like an impossibly sharp chainsaw. His screams were quickly lost to gurgling sounds, as blood bubbles turned to froth on his neck and his very life sprayed all over the place.

“
Heave
!”

“
Fuck
!” I howled, as my oldest friend’s blood, skin and cartilage was cast off on to me.

I turned my head away, staring at the ground in front of the desk, as the first cold fingers of fear were swamped by the wave of pure rage that swept over me. If they made the mistake of ever letting me out of these handcuffs…

Somehow, Ross stayed conscious for a few more seconds, but it wasn’t long before the person I’d known the longest was just a corpse in a chair next to me. Over the pounding in my ears I could hear the heavy breathing of the chain gang responsible for my friend’s death, and I started to form a strategy for what I’d do if I could just get my hands free.

“What is the matter, tough guy? What’s the matter, Killer?” asked Gavino.

I didn’t answer. He’d have a heart attack if he knew what was going through my mind right now, and that would be too easy for a cunt like him.

“Cat got your tongue? Or are you finally listening to your motherfucking instructions and you want to wait until the end of the presentation for your burning fucking questions? Ken? Turn on the TV and press play on that fuckin’ thing there, then give me the remote.”

After a hesitation, Ken circled around me. Out of reach, even if my hands hadn’t been secured I fuckin’ noticed.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw him press a button on the TV and then pick up the remote, studying it for a second and then jabbing it in the direction of the DVD player. The screen flickered a couple different colors as Ken handed the remote to Gavino, and then I heard a voice that poured liquid nitrogen down my spine.

“
A-Austin… please-”

“
Only what’s on the script, bitch,”
came Enrico’s voice.

With my jaw clamped shut so tight that I thought my teeth were going to shatter, I turned to face the TV and saw Skylar front and center, sitting in a chair just like the one I was in, with her hands also behind her back. In front of her was one of those stands that people put sheet music on, with some paper on it.

To the right of the screen, I could see part of some guy with a shotgun pointed right at Skylar’s head. Worst of all, I could see the terror on her face, the tears streaming down her cheeks as she tried to focus on the writing in front of her.

If they hurt her…

“
Austin, th-the Bertolini’s have me. Th-they have a new deal for y-you t-to c-c-”

The shotgun wavered a bit. “
Speak up, you worthless cunt!”

Skylar cringed away from the deadly weapon only a foot from her head. “
They h-have a new deal for you to c-consider. If you say no they’ll… they’ll kill me. If you t-talk to the police… they’ll kill me. If you can’t do what they say, they’ll k-kill m-me… Austin! Help m-”

“
Shut the-”

Gavino paused playback as somebody else entered the frame from the left, knife in hand. Skylar’s eyes were wide with fright, frozen there to haunt me as Gavino sat back in his heavily-burdened chair.

“Austin, I didn’t know…” said Ken.

“What the fuck?” said Gavino. “Get your ass the fuck outta here. Fuckin’ apologizin’.”

Ken looked from Gavino, to me, and then left the room with his head hung low. A disgusted expression flickered across the face of the mafia boss for a moment, aimed in the general direction of the door.

“If you
fucking
hurt-”

“Shut the fuck up and listen to your orders. I hear you don’t wanna throw the fight tomorrow, so I got good news for you. Now you don’t have to throw the fight, I want you to win.”

My mind was whirling at a million miles a minute, trying to cope with the extremes of anger, desperation and fear that surpassed even my first ten years of life. What the fuck was he saying? After all this shit, they were going to let me fight the way I fucking wanted to?

“That’s right,” Gavino continued. “But here’s the thing, I wanna make it interesting. I want you to win in the first minute of the first round. If you don’t do that, then Renato is going to cut that bitch’s face off, and then blow her brains out all over the wall for your disrespect. Sound like fun? We’ll record the whole thing and make sure to get a bigger screen for you to watch it. Movie night, motherfucker.”

“How do I even know if she’s still alive now?” I asked, feeling my hate for this fat fuck rising up in my throat like poisonous black bile and dribbling out the corners of my mouth.

“You don’t. I could tell you she’s alive and well, here in this very house, but I ain’t fuckin’ wasting my time provin’ it to ya.” Gavino leaned forward again, looking me dead in the eye. “First
minute
. First
round
. You understand? Now let’s finish the presentation before you get back to the gym.”

Gavino pointed the remote at the screen and the video sprang back to life.

“
-fuck up and stay still, bitch!”

The guy with the knife swatted the music stand out of the way and grabbed Skylar’s hair at the front of her head as he straddled her, bringing the knife down as she struggled. I couldn’t see what was happening, but when her screams went up sharply with pain I was driven
out of my mind
and started screaming too.

Every muscle strained until I thought they were going to tear. The handcuffs dug into my wrists until I felt trickles of blood, and on screen, I saw Skylar’s face appear under the guy’s arm for a few frames. It, too, was smeared with blood.