Forever Consumed (Consumed #3)
Page 26She puckers her cherry red lips and blows a kiss to me, but I don’t reciprocate. Why the hell would I? I shake my head at her, questioning why she’s blowing kisses at me. Turning my attention back to the cage, I look to Don who’s dancing around the ring, mocking me. He has the crowd chanting ‘Don’ and the sound turns my stomach. Don doesn’t deserve their affection. He isn’t a role model or someone you can look up to. Granted, neither am I, but I’m a better choice, that’s for sure.
My entire body hums with newfound motivation and hate. I feel it consuming my body until it’s seeping from my pores. I watch, building up my anger as he flaunts how happy he is. He stole the happiness from me, just like his spot on the MMAC. Nothing he earns has come from hard work. It’s all been stolen.
Turning his back to me, Don beckons for Olivia to come closer to him. With a cute smile, she leaves her seat and flattens her sexy red gown with the palms of her hands. She looks good—as usual, but this time it’s not for me. She’s a gorgeous woman practically wrapped up in a big, red bow and I’m not the one who gets to unwrap her. She grips the cage and pulls herself up, leaning her frame against the wire. Don leans in, muttering something I can’t hear. Whatever he says makes Olivia giggle and her glowing, green orbs flick to me. Her eyes stay trained on me as Don leans in. Closer and closer he draws to her perfect mouth, and I remain still, waiting to see if she lets him kiss her.
She does.
His fucking lips touch hers and she closes her eyes, opening her mouth against his. From there, all I see is red—a red redder than the dress that covers Olivia’s body. I launch forward, moving faster and heavier than a freight train. I growl as I grip his neck, pull him back and punch him square in the face. He falls to the floor with a thud, shaking the whole cage. As he lies on the floor, gripping his face and groaning, I look at Olivia, who glares at me through thin slits and I don’t like the way it makes my heart hurt. Why doesn’t she love me anymore? Why him? I’m screaming the words in my mind, but refuse to voice them.
“That’s who you want now?” I demand. “Don-fucking-Russell?”
“Yes.” She seethes. “I don’t love you anymore.”
I flinch. It’s funny how those five little words can shatter an entire, physical human heart. It’s funny how those five teeny tiny words can make a soft piece of muscle and tissue feel sharp, like razor blades.
“…and that’s your fault, not mine,” she adds dejectedly. “I love him.”
Not on my fucking watch. I launch forward and grab her fingers, clenching the wire with them. She can’t love anyone else—I won’t let her. “I won’t let you.”
“Let me go,” she snaps, snatching her fingers away. “You can’t stop it, Seth.”
Oh yeah? “Fucking watch me.”
“Why are you doing this to me, Seth?” she demands, her voice loud and stressed. “We’ve been through this. Stop ruining my life!”
“I’m ruining your life?”
“This isn’t my fault,” she snaps. “You chose Selena.”
I shake my head, pleading on my knees. “I’d never choose anyone over you. O, I love you!”
Out of nowhere, she slaps me hard across the face. It burns—it fucking stings, but I don’t dare drop my eyes from hers.
“You don’t get to say that to me anymore. I’m not yours.”
I don’t care that she hit me. I just want her to love me again. I want her to look at me like she used to—touch me like she used to.
“You’re out of your fucking mind if you think I’m going to let you be anything but mine,” I tell her. “You’ll always be mine. You know it, I know it.”
She raises her hand again, but this time I catch it before she connects and yank her down onto her knees. She slumps into herself, defeated. Tears fall freely down her cheeks as she lifts her hands to cradle my face. “I fucking hate you.”
I slide my hands up her arm and onto the cool, petite hands that rest on my cheeks. “You fucking love me.”
And just like that, she smashes her mouth to mine. She claws at my body, pulling me as close as physically possible. I miss her… mentally, I have no idea how long she’s been gone and none of this makes sense, but I miss her regardless. I breathe her in. She smells exactly how I remember—like the fruity body wash she uses that I love so damn much.
Her tongue collides with mine and she’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted—like Skittles, the blackcurrant ones.
I push her onto her back, lowering my body on top of her. The lights above us are bright and warming on the skin. It makes sweat bead between our naked torsos instantly. Olivia desperately pushes at my shorts until my hard cock springs free. Lining myself up, I impatiently thrust into her and the second I feel her soft, velvety tunnel confining me, squeezing me beyond belief, I pull my lips from hers and look into her eyes. A single tear rolls from the corner of her eye and she smiles at me. “I love y—”
I gasp and my eyes fly open after a strong surge of arousal makes my entire body shiver. My breath is heavy and quick, filling an otherwise silent room. Another kick of pleasure licks my entire being as I try to get my bearings. I’m spooning Olivia… we’re naked and my erection is right between her legs, pressing against her lips. She’s wet and leaking all over me.
“Olivia?” I whisper, rocking her shoulder slightly. No response. “Olivia?” I try again… still nothing.
“Seth,” she moans, still drifting around sleep land.
I find myself grinning at the fact she wants me even when she’s sleeping and then I catch myself and swallow it back. I don’t want her to think that I purposely put myself there… that’d be extremely awkward and I doubt I’ll be able to smile my way out of that one. I grip her thigh and lift it slightly—enough for me to pull myself away without catching any skin. As I lift her leg, she grips my arm and I freeze—caught in an even more compromising position. Without a word, she pulls her leg free and plants my hand on her hip as she pushes back into me.
“Stay like this,” she murmurs. “I like it.”
She snuggles into me and instantly falls back asleep, leaving me to stare into the darkness. There are worse sleeping positions, I suppose. I close my eyes, trying not to focus on how hard I am, how warm she is, or my nightmare. The first two I manage to block out, but the last… I can’t.
That was it.
My first guilty dream about what I did behind Olivia’s back. It was a nightmare to rival any nightmare… because there’s a possibility it’ll come true. There’s a possibility that she’ll hate me… that she’ll leave me. I pull her even closer. She can’t leave me, I won’t let her.
I’m up bright and early. God knows why, I barely slept last night thanks to my horrific nightmare. Why can’t I dream about being stabbed or shot? Hell, I’ll even take falling from a seventy story building over Olivia being with Don. That shit is mentally scarring and I shudder at the recollection.
“You ready, Seth?” Darryl asks over his shoulder from the driver’s seat.
Olivia squeezes my hand and rests her head on my shoulder. Every movement she makes eases the anxiety that constricts my chest. It eases the effects of last night.
“Too bad we have to see Don’s face so early in the morning,” Jackson says, sticking a leg up on the dashboard and making Selena giggle. “It would’ve been a perfect day, otherwise.”
I smirk and Darryl slaps down Jackson’s leg. “What’s the matter with you, boy? Your parents didn’t teach you any manners?”
Jackson looks back at us, grinning. He loves to mess with Darryl and he does it whenever he can. Like the photo he took of Darryl passed out in the cab after our not so awesome visit to the Spearmint Rhino a little while back. He sent it in a text to all of the contacts on his and Darryl’s phones. Now, Darryl watches how many drinks he has around Jackson and I don’t blame him. Once at a beach party in Newport, I passed out and Jackson dragged me right to the edge of the ocean. As the tide came in and the waves rolled up, I got soaked, losing both my cell phone and my wallet. Screw sleeping when Jackson’s around.
We roll slowly through the parking lot of the official MMAC building. It looks all grey and cold. At the very front, underneath the massive red and black ‘MMAC’ sign is their slogan: ‘Be strong. Be smart. Be great.’ It makes me cringe. I hate that such a meaningful thing is being used by people who don’t understand the meaning of it, and I hate that a company that I used to hold in such high esteem isn’t the company I thought it was. It doesn’t matter anymore, I suppose. Once I’m done with Don, I’m finished with the company and I’m going to take their pretty little lie of a slogan and use it for myself. ‘Be stronger. Be Smarter. Be Greater.’ Yep. That’ll look real nice on a billboard on top of my gym. I’m not going to take the high road, either. I choose to take their slogan as a reminder that I am stronger, smarter and greater than them. I’m better than them—better than their entire company, and I can’t believe I gave everything I had to train and learn how to make it into their world. Since being with the MMAC, not once have I been happy. They’ve crushed my soul… taken away my passion to fight for them. We don’t realize that the thought of something is often nicer than the reality. On T.V. and in interviews, Matt Somers looks like a nice guy who drops the ‘f’ bomb too often, but behind closed doors, he’s a fucking shark at the head of a multi-million dollar franchise. Our passion as fighters fuels his career. Without us, he doesn’t have a job, but without him, neither do we. I’ve thought it through quite thoroughly. Instead of relying on each other and treating each other as mutual business partners, Matt Somers treats us like Goddamn show ponies—like fucking dogs. He rubs money in our faces and lets us off our leash to find more and bring it back to him, submitting at his feet. No matter how I think it through—positively or negatively—I always come to the same conclusion.
Fuck the MMAC.
The room is silent. No one makes a sound. Instead, they watch Don’s weigh in on a mute T.V. I don’t look. I don’t think I can stomach seeing his face this early in the morning—especially after the dream I had. As ridiculous as it sounds, I want him to pay for my nightmare. I want to blame him for it, beat him until he apologizes…what the hell is wrong with me?
I lift my eyes from the floor and glance around the plain room. It’s empty, filled only with a sink, a bench, a couple of chairs and a tiny speaker in the corner of the room. Matt Somers has put on a full show for everyone today. The conference room at the back of the building is packed to the rafters—filled with eager reporters and fans. One after the other he wants us to go out and he wants us to put on a show.
“He’s right on weight,” Darryl tells me and I nod, still avoiding the screen. “Did you weigh yourself this morning?”
“I’ll be fine,” I tell him. Darryl worries about my weigh-ins, he always has, even though I usually follow his regime down to a ‘T’, excluding his sex rule, obviously.
“Seth, you’re up,” a husky, female voice announces through the speaker box. Darryl jumps to his feet quicker than any of us and opens the door. I stand up, straighten my shirt, and grab Olivia’s hand when she brushes past me. I squeeze it tightly, keeping her strapped to my side. Her fingers tighten around mine and she rests her other hand on my forearm. When I peer down at her and she smiles up at me, I’m ready to leave the room.
The corridor is long and empty and there are no colors, only dull shades—depressing dull shades. I hear shoes connect quickly with hard concrete and echo in my head. In the distance, I can just make out Matt’s voice beaming through a microphone as he tells the crowd about the history behind Don and I. Over and over he repeats how much we hate each other, and I can almost feel the crackle of excitement penetrate the walls and crash into me. As I draw closer to the doors, adrenaline builds, making my veins fill thick and my head spin. It’s a feeling I’ll miss once I quit.
I stop as Darryl and Jackson step in front and push the doors open. The semi-large crowd cheers, the sound causing goosebumps to erupt over the back of my neck and spread over my cranium. My gaze settles onto the banner hanging behind the stage. It’s of Don and I. My photo is an old one—from when I first signed with the MMAC, and the memory makes me grimace. I move quickly, making my way to the stage in front of me. Olivia keeps up with me, taking longer strides to match mine. As I round the front of the stage, she gives me one last squeeze of reassurance and lets go of my hand. I let her finger slip from mine as she stops and I keep going, angling my head down to avoid camera flashes that go off from every direction. Jackson and Darryl are close behind me, and once I’m up the stairs and on the stage, I waste no time. I yank my shirt off over my head and toss it at Jackson. One by one I kick off my shoes and pull off my socks. The air conditioning billowing out of the vent above me is cold on my skin and I quickly step out from underneath it as I pop the button to my jeans. I ignore the wolf whistles as I drag my jeans down my legs and kick them into a heap on the floor. I glance down at my tight, blue shorts. They make me feel more feminine than I like, but it’s these or go naked, and today, I’m not in the mood to show the whole world my junk.