Once you meet the woman of your dreams, you never want to wake up…
Graham checked out the Tuesday night crowd, glad he’d skipped on his usual shot of bourbon. The dwindling December business had him itching to hit the ring and turn things around If a fan shelled out their hard earned cash to see him wrestle, he wanted to make sure they got their money worth.
His heart started racing when he saw her long red hair sweeping down her back in stark contrast to a white velvet dress. She looked hotter than hell in lace stockings and go-go boots that made her legs seem about a mile long.
Knowing Odessa, she’d strutted in the back door like she’d owned the place. He should have said something to her about how she’d been flaunted their relationship. She’d taken to showing up at the office whenever she felt like seeing him and coming to the matches, always insisting someone bring her a chair a respectful distance away from the paying customers.
He bit his lip thinking about how she’d gotten into a snit the day before. The mean reds, she called those days when her temper flamed brighter than her hair. When she got like that he’d deemed it best to let her be and pretend to be glad to go home to his wife.
There had been a lot of pretending going on lately.
None of that tonight.
Dess caught him checking her out, pursing her lips to blow him a kiss.
He considered calling her back behind the bleachers, thinking how he always did love the way she’d squat down in front of him to lace up his boots. There was something about watching her red nails work that string in and out while she chanted one of her witchy spells.
Sometimes, if she felt the pressure getting to him, she’d tuck a silver pentacle inside his sock. Call him crazy, but he’d gotten to where he’d started believing in her magick.
“This shall keep my beloved safe,” she’d say, smiling up at him in a way that kept her deep under his skin.
Business before pleasure, he reminded himself, going back in the dressing room and taking a seat over by the window. One of the boys asked him something about a finish and they got to talking. He’d laced up his wrestling boots so many times he could practically find the eyelets with his eyes closed.
A searing pain shattered through his skull. He screamed, collapsing onto his knees. It felt like a hurricane tearing his brain apart. Smothering heat and alternating frigid chills. Lighting flashing across a pitch black sky. Thunder blasting loud enough to make his ears ache. Waves crashing. Blood pouring down his face, thick and slick, pungent like motor oil.
A whole shitload of nothing.
No more stars.
Not even a moon.
A world gone dark.