Page 85 of Forgotten Comeback

“A pet?”

Inferno grabs his phone, showing me the security feed.

The Parisi soldier Enzo is bound to a chair in a holding cell.

My eyes go wide as saucers. “Why is he here?”

“Yes, John, why is your pet here?” Inferno’s voice is an arctic blast over my head, and I turn around to find John storming toward us.

He surges forward, tackling Inferno to the ground as the two of them lay into each other.

“What the hell?” I cry, trying to pull them off of each other, but I catch a stray fist to the ribcage.

“Fuck this. I’m not getting injured before the damn bell rings. Someone can fill me in on what’s going on later.”

They continue tussling as I walk out the door.

Taylor

I should’ve called the cops. I should’ve called Kat and Fabio. I should’ve done something other than finishing this canvas with Gavin’s cum on it.

Cum that’s dripping from a woman’s plump lips, with the canvas distressed by Gavin smacking it with his dick and my paint-soaked panties. It’s fucking madness.

I step back, examining it.

No, it’s fucking genius.

Gavin Webb is my muse, and isn’t that a bitch?

I sign my name at the bottom corner, and before I chicken out, I snap a photo and upload it to my new artist account on social media.

“Madness’s Muse,” by Taylor McKenna.

What’s also madness? Me calling in sick at the Diamond so that I can take a nap and be prepared for tonight’s fight. “But hey, my therapist told me naps were good for my mental health!”

“Yes, Bonnie, I know,” I tell my cactus. “I’m nowhere near flexible enough for those mental gymnastics.”

I step out of the shower, wrapping my towel around myself. A sound pricks my ears, and I jerk my gaze to the mirror. Gavin’s smirking face greets mine.

“How the hell did you get in here?” I ask.

“I have a key. How the hell did you get in here?”

Looking around, I’m in the locker room of Ace’s.

I don’t know how…

He slides to his knees, draping his body over the bench with his ass in the air.

The man’s naked.

Looking down, I realize I’m now naked, wearing my strap-on.

“Make me your bitch, Taylor. You know you want to,” he says with laughter in his voice.

“I don’t think little fuckboy could handle it,” I taunt.

“Only one way to find out,” he challenges.