Page 98 of Hate Game

Malice must win.

36

MALICE

Isaac keeps my girl from me. She is staying at Mason’s sister’s place until I can convince Isaac that I can control my temper when around Rue.

I text and call her. Rue doesn’t return my messages or calls. Isaac informed me he took away Rue’s cell phone, and she can have it back when I beat the fuck out of Big J.

Twenty thousand dollars is at stake, but the money is not what matters, though it’s a bonus if I do win. I’m good for my word to Rue. I’ll donate the money to the local food bank.

A different reason had me suggesting a dangerous and reckless bet to Isaac. Get the McCabes to bet on me beating Big J, and Sawyer McCabe will pay him twenty grand. Isaac is about the money. I’m after Isaac’s safety.

Isaac is in deep shit for daring to put his cock in a Mafia princess. Only the McCabe name will save him from a beatdown or a mark on his back from the Russian Mafia. Sawyer gave me his word he’ll extend his family’s name and protection to Isaac if I win the fight. If I lose, he’ll make Isaac pay him twenty grand that I know Isaac doesn’t have.

Shit, why did Seven run his mouth off about Leigh hearing the latest in Irish mob and Russian Mafia gossip from Maddox Stassi? Men don’t gossip; we shoot the breeze. Except I needed this tale verified.

Seven did me a favor and hacked into the princess’s father’s encrypted emails and found mention of Isaac’s name in an email thread. That was enough for me to go to Sawyer with the bet.

Afterward, I let Seven drive my GT-R, grateful for the help, though he burned the clutch on my precious ride. That boy of mine is following in his mother’s footsteps. Seven plans on majoring in computer science with an emphasis on cybersecurity. Cybersecurity, my ass.

“Ready, kid?”

Mac clamps his hand on my shoulder and squeezes, bringing me back to the reality of my situation. No one has ever beaten Big J since he started fighting in these cage fights two years ago.

How will I fell the lumbering, tatted giant with the perpetual scowl on his face? Damn, that dude needs more sunshine in his life.

I headed into my first round with a smile on my face. Rue has been on my mind since I saw her leaving with Isaac and his boys. Isaac made it difficult for me to get ahold of her, but Rue and I have friends in common. I checked on her through Leigh. Leigh stopped by and visited Rue. We FaceTimed. Seeing her beautiful face and knowing her headaches, because of me, were gone didn’t soften the blow of how right Isaac was.

Isaac is spot-on. I need to curb my temper when around Rue. Or anyone, for that matter. I sent a dozen bouquets to Mason’s sister’s place. A bouquet for each month. An apology note is in each bouquet. Handwritten, in cursive, by me. Before I prepped for the fight, I baked her a smiley face cake.

Mason was kind enough to deliver it for me. He said Rue couldn’t stop smiling as she shared my peace offering with him, his sister, and her kids.

Rue was happiest when we spoke of the desserts she would love to make and name should she ever open her own shop. I know she’s over the moon that Ben suggested that we come up with our own desserts and their names from scratch.

On the drive to Dumas, after we made love again in my truck, Rue shared the desserts we’ll be making and naming.

Sunny Side Up would be a cupcake topped with yellow frosting and finished off with a marshmallow. A Drop of Joy would be this chocolate souffle with a drop of lemon tart for the topping. She described the dessert as a burst of chocolate in your mouth, followed by a tartness that would tease your taste buds.

That girl of mine will be the death of me with how happy she is whenever she talks about all these sweet treats she’ll be making. And I won’t let her do it alone.

I have to win—not just to see her happy again, but also to ensure that she’ll go where I go, knowing the guy she cares for is safe.

Shit, how do I get the lumbering giant to tap out without him pounding what Rue calls my beautiful face to a bloody mess?

37

RUE

The cage fights have started, and Red tells me Malice isn’t doing well.

“Elaborate.” I have my cell phone on speaker as I head from one darkened warehouse to another on the outskirts of the Eastside.

I accepted Malice’s apologies, which were expressed through bouquets, a to-die-for cake with a red smiley face on top of yellow frosting, and notes written in beautiful cursive, but I never told him “I love you.” I have to tell him.

The money that will help me hire a private investigator to look for my parents isn’t important. I can deal with Isaac’s ass-chewing once he finds out I stepped foot in the Eastside. What I can’t bear is for Malice not to know that I love him. Telling him will help me move on from what I felt for him as a sixteen-year-old. I loved him only to later lose him when I closed off my life to him after I lost our baby. It wasn’t him who ghosted me, as my dream suggested.

I did the ghosting. I stopped contacting him and broke all ties as though we never existed. No wonder I felt emptiness followed by a deep ache in my chest. Regret. Sadness. I never want someone to regret something because of me, yet Malice said his one regret was that he wasn’t there for me.

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