You Don't Own Me: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance (The Russian Don Book 2) (24 page)

Layla

I
n the middle of someone’s farm we find a barn that is alive with music and people. We pay our entrance fee and enter. Inside, I gaze around in surprise. The barn is packed to the rafters with far more people than there are cars outside. At a guess, I would say there are at least 300 people. Mostly men, but women of all ages too. Ria tugs my hand.

‘Let’s place our bets then get a drink. I want to be up front.’

I nod and follow her as she pushes her way through the crowd.

A man in a green sweatshirt and two missing teeth grins at her. ‘What’ll you have, love?’

‘How much will I get if I put a hundred for BJ ‘The Bat” Pilkington to win in less than 2 minutes?’

‘A hundred and one pounds.’

‘One pound profit? For a hundred quid? That’s nothing!’

He shrugs. ‘The Bat has won 92 fights and drawn once. You’re talking about a favorite, a machine that renders men unconscious, love.’

Ria rubs the back of her neck. ‘How much for him winning in less than one minute?’

‘Twenty.’

‘That’s just crap. Less than thirty seconds?’

‘I’ll give you fifty for that.’

She looks at him doubtfully, and then makes her decision. ‘All right, I’ll just take less than a minute.’

She gives him five twenty pound notes and he passes it to another young man standing behind him, and writes something in his tatty notebook.

He turns to me. ‘What about you, young lady?’

‘Me? I’m not…’ I pause. Why shouldn’t I? Why shouldn’t I bet like Ria? It’s just for fun. ‘What would give me a really good payout?’

He grins. ‘The Bat to lose.’

‘Other than that?’

‘That The Devil’s Hammer lands a swing on The Bat’s face.’

I frown. ‘Why’s that?’

‘Because except for his fight with Jake Eden, The Bat has never been hit in the face.’

‘How much will I get for my hundred?’

‘Two grand.’

‘Wow! That’s huge.’

‘Yeah, right. The payout’s so damn good, because it’s never gonna happen. Don’t do it, Layla. You might as well burn your money,’ Ria advises with a frown.

‘I like to live dangerously,’ I say with a grin and hold out my money. The bookie secretes it away in single hand movement. Like oil pouring from a drum. A smooth, effortless miracle of nature. 

He jots my bet down in his little book and we move away towards the bar. The bar is a collection of huge metal drums filled with beer bottles, ice, and water. We each order a bottle of beer, drinking straight from the bottle since there are no glasses available. I am strangely excited. The mood of the crowd has affected me. There is anticipation in the air.

We go right to the front of the pit, a small area cordoned off with bales of hay, and find ourselves a spot where we have a good view of the fight. In minutes the first fight starts. Two young men, who seem evenly matched to me, start walking towards the pit. One of them takes a step into the pit and establishes his jab straight away. Moving his head from side to side and jogging around. Suddenly, without warning, his clenched fist shoots out. Bang, a body shot that leaves his opponent reeling backwards into the hay. The fight is over in seconds as the aggressor then lunges forwards and knocks him out in one punch.

‘Wow,’ I say to Ria. ‘He’s brutal.’

‘Wait ‘til you see BJ.’

The next fight lasts a lot longer and is astonishingly violent.

I see it then for what it truly is, a festival of physical abuse. Men going for it, egged on by a baying crowd. There is no holding back. It’s in their blood. To decide who is the hardest of them all. The sport of legend, guts, honor, and heart.

Both men are bloodied and in bad shape when one of them spits out his mouth guard and falls to his knees. His friends have to carry him away. My heart is pounding hard. That had been too brutal. I hadn’t enjoyed it, but all around me the crowd has woken up. A thrill runs through them. An air expectancy hovers over us like that crackle in the air before a thunderstorm.

‘BJ is next,’ Ria says.

‘Now for the fight you have all been waiting for,’ the MC announces excitedly. ‘Tony “The Devil’s Hammer” Radley versus Billy Joe “The Bat” Pilkington.’

The crowd cheers and whistles.

‘Tony “The Devil’s Hammer” Radley,’ the announcer screams over the whistles and calls. Queen’s
We Are the Champions
fills the air and BJ’s opponent, a huge, bearded man appears. He lifts his hands high over his head in acknowledgement and runs energetically towards the pit. 

‘And now for the undefeated champion, Billy Joe “The Bat” Pilkington.’

Meatloaf’s
Bat Out of Hell
blares out and BJ walks out to the pit. The crowd goes absolutely crazy, clapping and cheering, banging their bottles on the wooden surfaces in the barn. There is no doubting the crowd’s favorite.

He is wearing a plain black t-shirt and khaki trousers. As he walks into the pit, I notice that everything about him is different. His eyebrows are drawn straight, his eyes are pitiless, chips of black ice, and his face is devoid of any expression. It is like looking at a cold-blooded psychopath or a heartless machine. I try to imagine this cold, cold monster fighting warm, kind-hearted Jake and feel a tight knot of fear inside. No wonder Jake didn’t want Lily to see the fight. This man is exactly what the bookie called him – a machine that renders men unconscious. He is here for one reason and one reason alone: to completely decimate the other man.

He is so different than the BJ I know, I am actually shocked.

The way he angles his head forward combined with his shoulders rounded and his hands slightly curled at the elbows reminds me of a charging bull. At that moment he is the most coldly aggressive man I have seen in my life. He doesn’t look at the crowd. He has eyes only for his opponent. My gaze skitters over to The Devil’s Hammer. He is holding his hands up in readiness and jabbing the air while jumping around with quick nimble steps, but in his eyes, I see fear. In his head he has already lost. The only question left is how badly he’s going to lose.

BJ steps into the pit and … and like a bull rushes towards him. It is an ambush, clear and simple. Blows rain on the unprepared man’s body so quickly and so relentlessly he is overwhelmed by the ferocity of the attack. The Devil’s Hammer flails uselessly. One power punch catches him flush on the chin and he flies backwards, landing on one of the hay bales. The crowds bays its approval. But The Devil’s Hammer is not beat. There is life in him yet. He pulls himself up painfully, and lunges unsteadily towards BJ.

BJ stands still. Like a bull readying itself for a matador. He doesn’t move a muscle. And suddenly I know what he is going to do. It’s the oddest thing, but I do. He is going to land the punch that puts The Devil’s Hammer to sleep. At the exact moment, as The Devil’s Hammer prepares to throw his own punch, I open my mouth, and with all the power in my lungs, scream BJ’s name.

‘BILLY JOE PILKINGTON.’

Every person in the barn turns startled eyes in my direction. But my eyes are on BJ. He has turned towards my voice, an expression of total incomprehension on his face. I am the last person in the world he expects to see. His eyes find me and he looks as if he has seen a ghost. The Devil’s Hammer’s punch lands. It socks him in the face. A direct hit. The momentum causes BJ to stagger back slightly. His eyes rush away from me. When he straightens, he is an avenging angel. 

He is so furious he looks as if he wants to tear the other man’s head off. BJ pummels his opponent with such barbaric brutality that I have to close my eyes. I hear the dull thud of the man falling, then the crowd going crazy. I feel hot and claustrophobic. My heart is beating too fast. I turn towards Ria.

She looks at me strangely. ‘Congratulations,’ she says. ‘You won your bet.’

I nod. People are giving me sidelong glances. I’ve made a spectacle of myself, but I don’t feel embarrassed. In fact, I feel oddly detached. I think I am shocked at myself. At the harm I have caused to another. I have never harmed another human being before. I even hate it when I accidentally snap an insect or a frog in the garden with my hoe.

‘Can I borrow a cigarette?’ I ask Ria.

‘Sure.’ She gives me a packet. ‘The lighter is inside,’ she says.

‘Thanks,’ I say with a tense smile, and pushing my way out of the barn, go outside. It is freezing. I don’t normally smoke, but I feel jittery. Even my hands are shaking. I walk to the side of the barn and light a cigarette. I have taken only one puff when I feel the air around me change. Become thicker. I turn my head slowly. Our eyes touch.

‘Are we quits now?’ BJ asks.

His left cheekbone is badly swollen and starting to discolor. I turn away from his cold, cold eyes. I feel raw. ‘Yeah, we’re quits.’

‘Can I have one?’

I fit my cigarette between my lips and hold open the cigarette packet. He takes one. There is blood on his hand.

‘Does it hurt?’ I ask.

‘No.’

‘Why not?’

‘I’m buzzing.’

I flick open the lighter and hold the flame up to him. My hand is shaking. His other hand comes up to cup the flame. In the intimate glow, I see the heat rise from his skin like steam. And I smell the sweat and the trace of endorphins and adrenaline radiating from it. Our eyes meet again and we stare at each other. Yes, I am shocked, and yes, I am shaken, but there is something else struggling to show its face. He inhales, the cigarette burns orange, and I kill the flame with a click.

I turn away, dropping the lighter back into the packet. I return my forefinger and middle finger back on either side of my cigarette and inhale a lungful of warm smoke. It makes me feel light-headed. I exhale it out slowly and put my hand down to the side of my body. There is a foot between us, and an unmistakable element of danger. Like being on one of those roller coasters that inverts you. You are scared to death and unbelievably excited at the same time.

I grasp that I’m not only aroused by the violence I witnessed in the pit, I am excited by the tightly packed, rippling muscles of his body. He is giving off vibes that are calling to me. My life-long hatred of him seems to belong to another place and time. By a strange trick of the light it has morphed into an intense desire to meld my body with his. Shocked by that realization and super aware of him, I carry on staring out into the empty frozen fields.

He doesn’t say a word and neither do I. There is nothing to say. Words are superfluous in the wake of the thick, sexual tension crackling like electricity between our bodies.

Suddenly Ria is calling me. ‘There you are. I’ve been looking for you.’

I let the butt of my cigarette drop to the ground and grind it with my foot. I hand her the packet. ‘Thanks.’

BJ flicks the end of his cigarette away from him.

‘Hey Ria,’ he says quietly.

‘That was a great fight,’ Ria says.

‘Thanks,’ he says devoid of any emotion. As if he is totally unaffected by her compliment.

My phone rings. I take it out of my purse. Shit. It is my mother. I consider not taking the call, but I know what she’s like. She will persist and persist until she gets me.

‘Hi Ma.’ My eyes flick over to BJ. He is watching me intently.

‘Where are you?’ she asks.

I gaze down at the frozen ground. ‘I’m with Ria,’ I reply. I don’t dare tell her where I am. I know she won’t approve. She’ll probably tell Jake and he’ll go mad.

‘Right. Can you be home in an hour?’

‘I guess so. Why?’

‘Shane’s coming around to your place. I’ve sent some food for you.’

‘Oh, OK.’

‘Call me when you get home, OK?’

‘Will do.’

‘But call Shane first,’ she says, and rings off.

I put my phone back into my purse and look up at Ria imploringly. ‘I’m sorry, but I’ve got to get home. My ma is sending my brother around to my place in an hour.’

‘Blimey,’ Ria says, widening her eyes. ‘You better call him and make it an hour and a half.’ She turns towards BJ. ‘I’ll see you this weekend then.’

He nods and looks at me.

‘Bye,’ I say awkwardly.