Page 94 of Embriagado

But first things first, I had to meet that moron and toss him a treat—a small reward for being a good boy. After all, if I wanted him to continue fighting for me, I had to keep him close, as disgusting as it might be. And yes, he was disgusting. Big, strong, and resentful. With bright eyes I wanted to gouge out and a smile so dumb it made me physically ill. But the worst part was his lust. Same as any other man, he thought with his dick, and what was a bigger turnoff than that?

* * *

“Didn’t I tell you not to wear joggers anymore?”

Pushing back from the wall he leaned against, Mr. Rivas turned to face me, both hands shoved in his hoodie’s pocket.

“It’s to keep my muscles warm after the fight.”

I tsked, hating that he had an answer, then took a bunch of bills from my pocket and shoved them in his chest.

“There you go,” I said, ready to leave, when he placed his hand on my waist and kept me close.

“Do you want to die⁠—”

“Since when do you smoke?” he asked, his face too damn close.

My brows furrowed as I stared at him, my lips slightly parted while I tried coming up with a response. But something was wrong with my head because I couldn’t, not when his hand grabbed me like that.

“I don’t,” I whispered hoarsely.

His eyes studied me a second more before he sniffed me, literally sniffed me like a dirty dog. But instead of the regular repulsion, an odd sensation tightened my stomach.

“You smell of cigs,” he murmured, his lips almost on my neck. “It doesn’t suit you.”

Now, be a sweet boy and bring Mommy her cigarettes, okay?

My eyes widened.

“What did you say?” I hissed.

“I said the scent doesn’t suit you.”

My breath caught, and for a moment, I froze. That bastard Sinclair. He smoked in that windowless room—no wonder the smoke stuck to my clothes.

I’ll have to burn them now.

Placing my palm on this idiot’s chest, I pushed him back and moved away.

“Touch me again and I’ll cut off your arm,” I snarled, brushing a hand over my clothes.

“But then I won’t be able to fight for you.”

I looked up to glare at him after his smart-ass response, only to see that he was counting the cash. Somehow, it annoyed me beyond words, and I had to bite my lip so I wouldn’t act impulsively.

What are you waiting for? I said, bring me my smokes, you stupid kid!

Once again, that witch’s words flooded my mind like a disease, and I was struck with the urge to retch. But not here, not in front of this weakling.

“I’ll see you next week,” I said, already moving.

“You mean tomorrow.”

“What?”

Shoving the money into his pocket, he stared at me.

“I’m working tomorrow, in the hotel. Remember?”