Untamed (64 page)

“He’s
so
sexy.”

The words float through the black speaker grill in the front of the limousine. Beside me, Frank grins.

“I love his eyes. They’re so blue, like water at the perfect beach.”

“Like sapphires!” another girl says.

I roll my eyes. Regular bunch of poets back there.

“Who are these girls, anyway?” I ask, jerking my thumb back toward the two-way partition glass that separates the back of the limousine from the front.

They can’t see us or hear us up-front – it’s just a mirror on their side – but we can hear everything they say, see everything they do. I peer back, and right now they’re drinking champagne liberally from the limo’s bar.

“And can we turn the speakers off?” I add.

“Sorry, Deidre,” Frank says. He turns his ruddy face and sleepy eyes toward me, wears an apologetic expression. “Your father’s orders.”

“You have to
listen
to them? That would drive me nuts.”

“I listen to everything,” he tells me. “Re-re… I don’t know the word.”

“Redundancy. So who are they, anyway? Just some girls for Dad?”

Frank frowns, shakes his head quickly. “Not your father, no. They’re for his friends. But don’t worry, Deidre, they’re here of their own choice.”

I make a face. Usually, you wouldn’t need that qualification.
Usually
. Dad swears he doesn’t do prostitution, but I know that’s a lie. He only says it because I’m a woman and he thinks I can’t take it, thinks I’ll burst into hysterics or something over it.

Like women haven’t been living in this fucking world, too.

“You’d think they’d have something better to do. God, they’re practically my age. Why do they do this?”

All of Dad’s friends are
his
age… just the thought of it icks me out. I wonder again if these girls have a choice. Nobody has a gun to their head, but life is tough for a lot of people. The barrel is not always made out of metal.

Dad preys on those people specifically.

I glance back, look through the mirror. The girls, three of them, seem off. They’re hyper, jittery, almost trembling, but not from cold. The limo’s heated.

“They’re really here to see
Duncan
, Deidre. You know that. They just entertain some of your Dad’s associates, that’s all. It’s a transaction.”

The girls in the back, three of them all dressed up – impossibly-high heels, tiny dresses, glittering jewelry – squeal with laughter. I wince as the speakers erupt into a static hiss.

“Damn it,” I whisper, rubbing my ears, thankful I missed what they said. No doubt it was something about Duncan. No doubt it was something I wouldn’t like to hear.

Words float through the speakers, but I try to ignore them.

“I don’t think they’re talking about anything important,” Frank says, and he lowers the volume. He offers me a kind smile.

“Thanks,” I tell him.

“They’re obsessed with Duncan,” he says before briefly clearing his throat. “All the girls are. Every fight now, they’re all talking about him. More girls turn up to fights than guys now. Can you believe that? I shuttle more girls to these fights than I do guys. It’s… I never would have thought it, you know?”

I raise my eyebrows. “Yes, I know,” I say. I hate that they all come to watch him fight, call out his name, scream ‘marry me’ at him, flash their fucking tits at him.

I hate that they can’t see me on his arm. I’m his, and he’s mine. It’s petty… but why can’t I indulge in a little smallness every now and then?

“And yet,” Frank says. “I never see Duncan bring one of them home. He’s never cozying up with them, you know? He could have any he pleased, all at the same time if he wanted.”

My eyes narrow, and I turn them on Frank.

“What?” he asks, shrugging, a guilty and dirty smile prying his lips apart. “What I would give to be his age again with all them girls after me like that.”

“Frank, I
really
don’t need to hear this.”

But the truth is he’s right. Duncan’s practically a superstar. It’s not just people clued in to underground fighting, either. Even middle-class people from the suburbs are starting to get wind of him. Dad really took underground fighting and blew it up big time.

Despite everything wrong with it – the corruption, the betting, the dirty money, the sheer violence of it all – it is the sting of jealousy that I feel the most. I can’t stand all these girls rubbing their hands on Duncan’s body as he leaves the cage after a win, walks back to his private room. I can’t stand the thought of any other girl getting to
look
at him, let alone
touch
him.

They like to crowd around him, fancy themselves groupies, cell-phone flashes going off as each tries to get a selfie, as each tries to strike a good pose
and
get a non-blurry snap.

It’s completely ridiculous. They all look so stupid doing it. The selfie-sticks have only made it all worse.

I feel the indignation start to turn to anger, and force myself to just forget about it. There’s nothing I can do. What, am I going to control what other people think?

To his credit, Duncan never entertains them. He never so much as looks at them. Their hands grope him and he ignores all of them, never lingers.

I got on him once about it before. I was in a bad mood and looking to start a fight. He asked me what he was supposed to do… lay hands on them, push them away?