A/N: Thank you so much for your reviews, favorites and follows after last chapter! You can follow me over on tumblr (nauticalparamour) where I post sneak peeks, story updates and answer questions.
Please let me know what you thought of chapter fourteen and be on the lookout for chapter fifteen soon!
Despite Fenrir's initial reluctance to introduce her to Antonin, it seemed that now that she was helping with the boxing match, their paths had much more overlap than she wanted. Hermione wasn't even entirely sure why she was helping with the planning of the boxing match in the first place. She wasn't needed for anything with the fighting. In fact, she didn't feel like she was qualified at all. All she needed to do was swoop in at the end with some fancy accounting at the end to disguise the profits with the rest of the betting winnings.
But, it seemed like Fenrir liked having her at his side during any of the negotiations, so he insisted on her coming with him, even if she should have been tucked away with the dryer, working her way through the remaining stacks of cash from his horde.
And, it seemed that despite his initial skepticism of her, Antonin Dolohov was warming up to her as well. He always greeted her with a perfunctory handshake (much more than what Draco Malfoy got, she noticed) and a sly smile. Sometimes, when she said something witty, she noticed him fighting back a smile.
She wasn't sure how to feel about all of this. It almost seemed like with each day, she took a step further away from her former life, entangling herself in a life that wasn't meant for her. Hermione Granger didn't launder money. Hermione Granger didn't fix boxing matches. Hermione Granger didn't secretly delight at getting Russian gangsters to grin. Hermione Granger didn't snog dangerous men.
But, the truth of the matter was, as much as she wished she could deny it, she was enjoying her time with Fenrir, far more than she should. Very little of it had to do with the work that she was accomplishing. Most of it had to do with the tall man who loved to keep his arm around her shoulders, stealing kisses from her when he could. His possessive nature sent such a thrill through her. It was not something she ever thought that would get her going, but it did.
Maybe, she wasn't as honest about who she was as she thought.
It didn't matter the reason, she supposed. She still found herself being led into Antonin's gym one blustery afternoon, with Fenrir's arm tight around her waist — heavy and warm, equal parts comfort and burden — to firm up the details with the boxers so that they could begin promoting the fight.
Fenrir let her free when he greeted Antonin, shaking his hand and pulling her in for a hug. Then Antonin turned his attention to her, gripping her hand tightly, before giving her a brief hug, too.
"Thank fuck you are here," he said, loud enough for the room to hear. "Maybe with a woman watching these boys will not be so difficult."
Hermione snorted, making eye contact with Draco Malfoy across the room. "I don't think they are interested in impressing me," she countered, thinking that the idea was preposterous.
"Don't sell yourself short," Antonin insisted. "It's subconscious. They can't help it."
Greetings aside, they walked over to where the men were milling about. All six of the fighters had gathered in the newly constructed ring, hanging over the ropes to get a better look at her and Fenrir. There were the two in the lightest weight class, who didn't look like they could be much taller than Hermione. Grant Rosier, she understood, was the youngest of a whole gaggle of Rosier brothers. Terrance Higgs would be well matched against him, though he was destined to be the loser of the bout, owing to Rosier's eldest brother's connection to Antonin.
Always playing favorites. She had argued against doing something so transparent, that all of Antonin's favorites should come out on top, but she'd been overruled. It didn't matter to her in the end. It wasn't as if it was her money that was on the line. Not really, anyway.
Next was who she assumed was Rabastan Lestrange. She remembered from their first conversation that he might have a bit of a coke problem and when looking at him, she found it easy to believe. He was tall, but very thin, which still put him in the same weight class with Draco, even though he had a good couple of inches on him. She wondered how anyone could think to put any money on him, but with his reach, he might still have a chance.
Rabastan barely even bothered to look at her, deep in conversation with Mundungus Fletcher, the promoter. He was shirtless, revealing a handful of tattoos, including a skull and snake on his arm. The look of it was rather unpleasant.
Draco Malfoy was in his training gear, but had a cigarette hanging out of his mouth once again. He looked at her with a sour face, perhaps not liking the chummy way that Antonin had greeted her. Hermione rolled her eyes, determined to ignore the prat.
Ilya was... well, Ilya as usual. He was so hyper-focused on being a boxing champion that he rarely stopped moving, always practicing his steps and parries. He would shadow box when someone wasn't directly speaking to him, not that he spoke much Russian to begin with.
That just left the last man in the ring. Hermione looked him over and decided that he could be none other than Marcus Flint. Finally, there was another person who Ilya didn't make look puny. He was tall and broad and while he didn't look prepared to weigh in just yet, Hermione had no doubt that he was built of solid muscle. His dark hair was neatly trimmed and his grey eyes looked over her with vague interest.
"You all know Fenrir," Antonin said, waving at the man she'd walked in with. "This is Hermione, his accountant. So if you want to get paid, you won't give her lip, okay? She controls it," he continued, holding up his hand and rubbing his fingers together.
Fenrir pressed himself against her back, his arms wrapping around her from behind, clearly telegraphing that there was more between them than just a business relationship. Hermione felt her cheeks go red and his possessive move.
Turning to face him, she gave him a smirk. "Alright, caveman. I think they all know not to bother me," she teased. It wasn't as if she was going to be interested in any of them anyways.
"I just don't want anyone getting any ideas," Fenrir countered, grabbing her chin so that she would meet his eyes. "Antonin and I have some things to sort with Fletcher. You'll be alright on your own?"
A few weeks ago, she would have been absolutely shaking at being left alone with these guys (even if none of them were criminals), but at this point, she was well aware that she could hold her own. Malfoy was likely the only one who'd give her any trouble, but she'd already gone toe to toe with him more times than she could count.
"You know I will be," she reassured him, before watching him go.
The other three men had barely closed the door to Antonin's office before Rabastan was approaching her. "Hey, if I give a really good performance, do you think you can get something in my contract about a little bonus?" he asked, tapping the side of his nose.
"You'd have to talk to Fenrir about that," Hermione answered. She had absolutely nothing to do with his drugs, even though she had her fingers all over his drug money.
"But you're the contract girl," he countered.
Hermione scoffed at him, wondering how he'd managed to make it sound so demeaning. And, if she was so in charge of the contracts, surely he knew that he'd get further with flattery. "I'm sure that they'll take care of you," she said, with a frown. "Besides, surely you have your own... arrangements."
"Don't like to dip my ink in the company well," Rabastan explained, crossing his arms over his chest.
Biting her lower lip, she shrugged. It didn't seem like he could be that far removed from Fenrir, but if it worked for him, she wasn't going to put up a fight. "I'll speak to Fenrir," she promised him, wondering when she'd started brokering deals. God, if only Sirius and Remus could see her now! "But no promises."
That was all Rabastan needed to hear, before he was flittering off, away from the ring. She wasn't too interested to figure out where he was off to.
"I understand that I have you to thank for this bout," a gruff voice said from beside her.
Hermione turned to look and saw Flint standing right next to her. He seemed so much bigger when he was stood right next to her, looking down his nose, which had obviously been broken before, at her. "Oh, I don't know about that," she said, suddenly unsure of herself. "I just suggested your name."
"Well, I'll thank you all the same. I've been dying to come out of retirement for a year or two now," he told her, giving her a grin that showed off crooked and overlapping teeth. He wasn't the most handsome person, but there was something in his overall look that was endearing. "So, if your voice gave them the nudge, I'm grateful."
Hermione wasn't sure what to do with herself. She wasn't used to having so much thanks heaped on her, especially when she didn't feel like she'd done anything at all. "I'm glad for you, then," she responded warmly. "I saw you box about... well, five years ago now. You obviously left an impression."
"Oh yeah? Which one was it?" he asked.
"Erm, Weasley. I think you knocked him out in the third round," she answered, trying to recall. She hadn't really enjoyed it much at all. There was something about seeing your friend's normally cool and unflappable older brother in such a vulnerable state.
Marcus chuckled. "That was a good one," he said. "Weasley was underprepared, overconfident."
She gave him a tight smile, wanting to snap back that no, actually, he wasn't. But, there was no good reason for her to reveal her connection to Charlie Weasley. It could only end with her getting hurt. "So, why did you retire anyway?" she asked, hoping to steer the conversation in a different direction.
"Er, well, one too many concussions in a row," he said, rubbing a wrapped hand across the back of his neck. "I was getting a bit slow there towards the end and I lost a couple of big fights. It seemed like it was the right time to hang up the gloves."
Her stomach dropped. Suddenly she felt completely awful that it was her who had suggested his name to fight Ilya of all people. She only needed to watch Ilya practicing for a second to know that he was going to absolutely destroy Marcus Flint. "What made you want to come back?" she squeaked, wondering if she was going to feel responsible for this man's injuries in a few weeks.
"I've just been feeling restless, you know?" he said, as if she would understand his competitive drive. "I don't really know what to do with myself without boxing. I'm... I'm useless without it."
Hermione frowned. "Perhaps you should try training someone instead," she suggested. "In case this comeback isn't as spectacular as you hope."
Marcus laughed — a booming laugh that got everyone's attention. He pressed a hand to her arm, touching her casually, like they were old friends. "Hey now, don't count me out of the fight already," he teased. "I'm not that washed up."
"You forget that I'm in on the fix," she said, giving him a half smile. "I already know who all the winners are."
Malfoy reared his ugly head then, unable to help himself. "Oi, Flint, you better watch yourself," he warned, taking another drag of his cigarette, not caring where the smoke went. Hermione gagged. "Fenrir doesn't want to share his juicy Peach with anyone, least of all you."
"Honestly," Hermione said, marching up to Malfoy and pulling the cigarette from his lips, before tossing it on the ground and stomping it out. "You say you want to be a boxer, but then you smoke more than a chimney! And keep your nose out of my business. You don't have any say over who I speak to."
"I wasn't talking to you, Granger. You can do whatever the hell you like," Malfoy said, immediately cowed by her commanding presence. "It was Flint that I was warning."
Before she could open her mouth to further argue that she and Flint were just making small talk, Fenrir returned from their discussions. "Peach," he called out, getting her attention. He wore a smirk on his face that suggested he'd heard everything that had gone on. "It's time that we were leaving."
She had wanted to tell Malfoy that Fenrir wasn't in charge of what she did or who she talked to either, but the words evaporated before she could say them. She was an independent girl, but in this case, maybe she did listen to him. She bristled when he threw his arm over her shoulders, once again, walking her out of the gym.
"You know that you're not the boss of me, right?" she demanded, not wanting to give up this bit of autonomy in her life.
"Well, I am your boss," he teased, letting his arm drop to her waist once they were alone in the hallway. "You do work for me."
She scoffed at him. "I know, but... but I can talk to whoever I like," she insisted. "And Flint was just being friendly. It wasn't anything... you know." His concerns about her relationship (imagined or not) with Remus clanged around in her mind. She couldn't stand being with someone who thought they could dictate her friendships just because they were together.
Only, she and Fenrir weren't together. Not really at least.
He stopped short and grabbed her shoulders, pushing her until her back was pressed up against the wall of the hallway. Hermione felt her heart skip a beat and wondered if she'd overstepped in some horrible sort of way and angered him. Had she grown too comfortable, too familiar with Fenrir, and forgotten who he really was underneath it all?
Another step had him pressed fully against her, one of his legs slipping between her legs. She was completely pinned against the wall. Her breath hitched.
"I might not be the boss of you, but do you know what?" he asked, dropping his head so that he could whisper into her ear.
"What?" she asked, panting. Feeling his breath tickle against her skin sent a zing up her spine and she wondered if there was something wrong with her to be enjoying this.
He gave her a crooked grin and pressed his thigh tighter against the juncture of her legs, giving her the promise of friction. "I love watching you boss around Malfoy," he revealed.
Hermione laughed, relieved that it was something so silly.
"Gets me hot under the collar, seeing you in charge," he added. He pressed his lips to hers, immediately deepening the kiss, his tongue sliding against her own in a familiar dance. They'd done this enough that he knew exactly what to do to get her grabbing for him, her arms wrapping around his neck to keep him in place.
She was just as eager for him. She gave just as good as she got, an enthusiastic participant in this seduction. Without even realizing it, her hips started a subtle rock, hoping to get a little bit more from him. God, she hated being at this crossroads, not sure what was really going on between the two of them. Was he only going to kiss her or was he finally going to give them what they both wanted, judging by the hardness she felt pressing into her belly.
Fenrir broke their kiss so that he could kiss her neck, a familiar brief sting of teeth before he soothed her skin with firm licks. Hermione moaned and let her fingers trail down to the top of his jeans, fiddling with the button. She didn't even care if they were out in the middle of the open at Antonin's gym, where anyone could walk in on them. She wanted him now. She needed him now.
But, it seemed like Fenrir had more self control than she did. As soon as he felt her hands on him, he was batting her curious fingers away. He stopped kissing her and dropped his head back to stare at the ceiling, taking a deep breath to calm himself.
Hermione was disappointed, but unwilling to give up. "Are you all bark and no bite?" she asked, coquettishly, cocking her head to one side, hoping to entice him into further action.
He laughed, a pleasant rumbled that she could feel in her own chest. "As much as it pains me to say this — and I mean, truly Peach, I'm in pain —" he said, before pressing his cock against her once again, so she could really feel him, "I'm not going to fuck you in Antonin's gym."
Frowning, she gently pressed against his chest, opening the space between them once again. This time, she didn't care if he thought she was childish for pouting. "Then don't get me so worked up," she insisted, wondering when or even if things would change. Something had to give.
"It's hard to keep my hands off of you, Hermione," he revealed, looking at her seriously. "Come on, let's get back to the warehouse. I've got a bit more work yet today and I'm sure you can find something to do, too."
"Okay," she agreed, though she couldn't shake the feeling that was twisting away in her stomach. The want was still gnawing at her and she wished that she could ask him to just drop her off so she could take care of things by herself. But, also, as her passion cooled, she couldn't help but feel the cold fingers of guilt grab at her, too. She shouldn't let herself get so carried away, not when she knew what she'd been sent here to do.