Fighting for What’s His: A Warrior Fight Club Novel

by Laura Kaye

  By two o’clock, she was nearly done and completely spent.

  Especially when she tried to add writing an email to Ryan on top of it all. She drafted and deleted it at least a half dozen times because it kept ending in a way that essentially said I fell in love with your stupid friend who doesn’t feel anything in return! Thanks for nothing, thundercunt!

  Yeah, that wasn’t happening. Even though she knew he’d give thundercunt a solid A.

  Finally, she just wrote:

  Hey Ry—I just wanted you to know that I found a new place. I’m going to be subletting from a colleague at work who has a really nice three-bedroom rowhouse in NW DC (address below). His name is Malik Morrison and he’s a new reporter at the Gazette, too. I’m pretty psyched about it. Everything else is good. Take care of yourself!

  Love, Shayna

  It was mostly true. Which was the best she could do just then.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Billy drove around the city for more than an hour. Just drove. To nowhere and everywhere.

  It was a perfect fucking reflection of the chaos whirling in his head.

  Shayna was leaving and it was his own goddamned fault. And on top of it all, she was moving in with another man. That didn’t necessarily mean anything, of course, and maybe it shouldn’t have crawled underneath Billy’s skin. But it did. Bad. Because it made him feel replaced and replaceable.

  And really fucking jealous.

  On top of his terrible session at WFC and his realization that he probably needed to talk to his shrink again, it all combined to brew a toxic cocktail that had turned his blood into a raging fire. He’d suddenly been overwhelmed with a feeling like he was going to explode. And rather than chancing spewing any of that at Shayna or his friends, he’d bounced on dinner like a sonofabitch. He was well aware that nothing about his departure had been inconspicuous or natural, but he couldn’t help it.

  Because Shayna was his.

  Except, because he was a total fuckhead, she wasn’t. And, really, he hadn’t even fought for her, had he? He’d taken too long to get his damn head together and been too late. So every bit of the shit sandwich that was his life right now was on him.

  And hell if the guilt over surviving when others hadn’t wasn’t beating his ass a little harder as a result.

  Which was maybe why Billy ended up in front of an old warehouse in Upper Northeast. One he hadn’t been to in a long string of months. One he’d convinced himself he wouldn’t need to come to again.

  Warrior Fight Club hadn’t taken the edge off the way he’d needed it to. And the idea of turning to one of his former lays to try to find some release was a total non-starter now that his heart had set its sights on Shayna.

  All of which left him one option—the underground fight club ring another Army buddy had first invited him to more than a year ago.

  The guy had come out for WFC but been frustrated that it hadn’t been more about fighting. A few weeks later, he’d found what he’d dubbed “the real thing” and sent Billy the information in case he was interested, too.

  Billy’s curiosity had been piqued.

  Especially once he found that getting pounded on helped to quiet the accusing voices in his own head. Not that he couldn’t give as good as he got. But here, the guys didn’t fight by the rules of any particular style of martial arts or and they didn’t fight fair. And back then his recovery hadn’t been quite far enough along to give him the physical edge that he’d since gained. Thanks to Warrior Fight Club, which had provided enough release and solace for him that he’d stopped coming here.

  Until tonight.

  Billy pushed out of the car. He needed the fucking voices to shut the hell up. He went to the door around the corner in the shadows and knocked.

  A metal plate slid to the side, revealing a pair of dark eyes that immediately went wide in recognition. The door swung open and a giant mountain of a man filled the breach.

  “Billy Parrish, what the fuck are you doing here?” Abe said. Billy only knew him by his first name. They clasped hands.

  “Same thing everyone does here,” Billy said. “I’m here to fight.”

  “Well, come on in then.”

  Billy nodded and went in the direction of the voices, not that he needed that clue since he’d been there before. At the back of the warehouse, he founded a set of stairs down and followed them to a basement level. Twenty men stood around, some already shirtless and shoeless. Others were heading in that direction.

  His friend wasn’t there, though. Billy was glad.

  And didn’t that tell him a whole helluva lot about what he thought down deep about being here. He didn’t want anyone from his real life to know. Because talk about fucking reckless. He knew it was. But he also knew it’d been effective before at releasing the pressure valve in his head.

  Right now, the benefit outweighed the risks.

  Billy kicked off his boots and stripped off his T-shirt. Earlier, he’d worn his compression vest under his tee at WFC to protect a back already achy from all the hours of sitting. But that wasn’t allowed here. He felt the eyes on his ruined skin before he saw them. And he met the gazes of every goddamn man.

  Go ahead and underestimate me, assholes.

  He grinned and a lucky-if-he-was-eighteen-year-old nearly scampered away.

  By the time Billy was called out to fight, four pairs had already gone at it and he was nearly itching to get this over with.

  And then he was in the ring with a twenty-something guy with a lot of ink and even more attitude. Sneering, the man came at him.

  His defensive instincts kicked in and Billy dodged and caught the man with a hard back elbow strike into his kidney. His opponent careened into the circle of onlookers around them, who helpfully shoved him back into the center.

  Billy could’ve probably taken the motherfucker out with a few well-placed jabs to his vulnerable rib cage, but winning wasn’t what he was here for. He let the guy get squared off again. He even let the guy gain a little confidence by not dodging some easily avoidable hits.

  But in the end, the asshole was all powerless, unfocused bluster, and it was pissing Billy off because it wasn’t giving him what he needed.

  So he finished him with a combination of hooks and uppercuts until the guy was laid out on the floor and yelling, “Stop!”

  Which brought Billy another opponent.

  A much more promising one. A little taller and bulkier than Billy, and with an air about him that was entirely unrushed and relaxed. The guy wasn’t arrogant and didn’t gloat, both of which were often hallmarks of someone whose confidence was backed up by actual skill.

  Billy smiled.

  The match began. They circled each other for a few seconds, and then it was on. The guy knew how to mix up the kinds and pacing of his strikes so that Billy couldn’t predict him, and he was good at defending his own vulnerabilities. He obviously had some training.

  Which explained how his opponent landed an absolutely brain-rattling hook to Billy’s face.

  Jesus fucking relief.

  The feeling that erupted throughout Billy was almost euphoric.

  It made him smile even more. He recovered himself and was right back in it. He landed a few fucking satisfying hits himself, making the guy bleed from the corner of his mouth. And leaving Billy feeling more alive than he had anywhere else for a long time.

  Except for when Shayna had been in his bed and at his side.

  The thought was a total fucking distraction, of course, giving the guy an in to deliver a brutal hammer strike to Billy’s bad shoulder that just barely missed his face. And even though it hurt like hell, Billy relished it.

  Because those voices? They weren’t saying one goddamned thing.

  So he didn’t stop the fight. He didn’t give up despite the fact that he was bleeding from a cheekbone and his shoulder. No. This guy knew how to fight. They were well matched and gave each other real competition.

  Exactly what Billy needed. Which was why h
e went right back in for more.

  Shayna should’ve been more excited this morning.

  This Big Brothers Big Sisters assignment was a fantastic opportunity for her career. And while she was excited, she was also exhausted, strung out from how poorly she’d slept, and increasingly pissed off at Billy for making her feel this way.

  Maybe food would help.

  She was downstairs toasting a bagel and spreading peanut butter on apple slices when the front door sprung open.

  Shayna nearly jumped out of her skin. “Holy crap, you scared me,” she said, surprised to see him home.

  Billy closed the door with a strength that could only be described as slamming it. “Sorry,” he mumbled, chin and eyes down. He staggered towards her.

  “Dude, are you drunk at ten o’clock in the morning?”

  “No,” he said, making for the fridge. He reached in and grabbed the half-gallon carton of milk. And then he tilted back his head and chugged it.

  Which was when she saw all the cuts and dried blood.

  “Jesus, Billy! You’re hurt. What happened?” Her pulse exploded into a sprint as she tried to catalog his injuries.

  There were cuts on his cheekbone, the bridge of his nose, and the corner of his mouth. A bruise was blooming at the corner of one eye. And a bloodstain on his shoulder in the same spot where she’d patched him up before seemed to indicate that his scars had opened up again.

  He shook his head and gave her more of that weirdly flat and overly mellow tone. “Not hurt. Actually feel pretty decent. For once.”

  She gawked at him. “What does that mean? Did you get in a fight? Or a car accident? Or…just tell me what the hell happened to you.”

  He ignored her. “You moving out today?”

  Shayna frowned—both at the non sequitur and because they’d discussed this the night before. Did he not remember her telling Tara? Or, oh God, did he want her out today? “What? No. I have to cover an event at the Northeast Rec Center. Don’t you remember?”

  He chugged another long drink of milk. “Oh, that’s right.”

  “Billy, you’re really worrying me right now.”

  “You don’t have to worry about me, Shayna.” He gave her a look that was…so sad it made her chest hurt.

  “Of course, I have to worry about you. You’re my friend.” The word was so wholly inadequate as to be ridiculous. But it was the best word she had. The parameter they’d both agreed to.

  “Right. Well, friend, I appreciate it, but I’m good.” He dropped the milk back into the fridge.

  “You’re bleeding. And your shoulder’s open again.” A knot of emotion lodged in her throat. She was truly worried about him. And she wasn’t sure he should be alone. But she also couldn’t be the one to stay with him. Not that she was sure he’d want her to if she could, given his strange mood.

  Billy just shrugged. “Gonna go get some sleep.”

  She frowned again. This was just all so unlike him. “You don’t have to work?”

  “I will later,” he said in that same monotone.

  “What about the conversation you said you wanted to have with me?”

  He paused at the bottom of the staircase. “Just, uh, just forget I said anything about that.” He disappeared up the steps.

  She stood there staring and wondering what the hell had just happened. Glancing down at the counter she saw her now-cold bagel and the apple she’d been peanut-buttering. She ate a few slices of the latter, but her stomach was so in knots that she couldn’t finish.

  On a deep breath, she went upstairs. And found Billy leaning against the doorjamb to her room.

  “Why don’t you let me clean up some of those cuts?” she said. “At least the one on your shoulder. If your shirt sticks to it—”

  “You’re packed,” he said. Had he even heard her? Or was he purposely ignoring her?

  She rubbed at her forehead, where a headache was spreading like spilled ink. “Yeah, I just figured I’d get a head start—”

  “Maybe you should go today then.”

  Shayna’s heart stopped. For a moment, she would’ve sworn it did. And then it restarted in a booming beat that made her tremble. “You want me to go?”

  Still peering into her room—and not even deigning to face her—he shrugged with one big shoulder, as if it didn’t matter to him either way.

  It would’ve hurt less if he’d stabbed her with the butter knife she’d been using.

  “Wow. I feel bad for whatever happened to you, Billy, but that doesn’t mean I’m okay with you being an asshole.” She crossed her arms and bore a death glare into the back of his head.

  He finally turned to look at her. “I kinda specialize in asshole, Shayna, so all the more reason for you to go.”

  She flinched. That was how hard the words hit her. And they cut her even deeper.

  “Fine. I’ll ask Mo to meet me here after my event.” Her eyes had the weirdest stinging sensation. Like she needed to cry but couldn’t. Like he’d stunned her so badly that her body wasn’t functioning right.

  Something flashed behind Billy’s dark eyes. For just a moment, she would’ve sworn it had. But then it was gone again. And there was just the two of them facing off in the hallway. The same place their story had started a month before

  Except all the hopefulness she’d felt then was gone. And all she had in its place was a broken heart. One she’d thought couldn’t have shattered any more than it already had two years before.

  Clearly, she’d been wrong.

  Without saying another word, she marched past him to where her camera bags sat laid out on the foot of her bed.

  No, his bed. Get it right, Shayna.

  She did a quick double check of her equipment, making sure she had a decent variety of lenses, sufficient batteries, her notebook, and her Nikon D850 in case she wanted to grab some video, too.

  Shayna was good to go. In every way.

  Billy was still standing near the doorway when she turned around. An ache bloomed harder in the center of her chest—hard enough it nearly stole her breath. So she forced her gaze away and left.

  She had a job to do today and she wasn’t letting anyone get in her way.

  Kids made it really hard to stay in a bad mood or wallow in sadness.

  Which made Shayna feel even more grateful to be working on this assignment. She and Andy had been at the Littles Celebration for about two hours, and she’d met about half the people on her preliminary contact list and gotten dozens of shots. Everyone was friendly and helpful and only too happy to talk about their experiences with the organization. Plus, it was a gorgeous day, so they’d decided to host the whole thing outside on the rec center’s grounds.

  Everything was going great. Shayna had even been able to set aside some of her worry about Billy when she’d mentioned to Mo by text that she thought something was wrong with him. Mo said he’d go over to their house before she got home to check on Billy and then he’d be there to help her move when she was ready.

  That was all as good as it could be. Which really wasn’t saying much.

  She was setting up to take some video when Barry came up and peered into her bags.

  “Whatcha doing?” he asked.

  She pulled out the D850. “This is my favorite camera, and it takes both photographs and pretty amazing video. I thought I’d shoot some of the latter and put together a little movie for the Big Brothers website or Facebook page.”

  “Oh.” He watched her like a hawk. Shayna smiled. She easily remembered how fascinated she’d been by cameras at a pretty young age, too. “Are cameras expensive?”

  “There’s a pretty big range, actually. You can get a high-quality compact with 25x zoom for about two hundred dollars. Or you can spend a couple thousand dollars or more on a DSLR, which is just a digital single-lens camera as opposed to one with film, that has all the bells and whistles.”

  “Huh,” Barry said. “I hope I can have a camera someday.”

  “You will. Know how I kn
ow?” she asked him as she zipped her cases closed again.

  “How?”

  “Because you already know this is something that interests you. And I believe you can do anything you put your mind to.”

  He grinned, and that smile did a ton to make her feel better. Kids had a way of putting your problems into perspective, that was for sure.

  After that, Shayna had an assistant for the next thirty minutes while she grabbed video of kids jumping in the moon bounce and playing games, of families gathered around tables heaped with food, of toddlers dancing without a care in the world in front of the DJ’s table, and of the event signs rustling in the breeze. She’d get it all edited into a forty-five-second spot in between other things at work this week.

  When she was done, she found Andy with his notebook closed and recorder turned off just sitting and enjoying the event. “Ready?” he asked.

  “I got everything I need,” she said. “And had a lot of fun besides.”

  They said their good-byes and walked out to their cars together.

  “I’m down the block there,” Shayna said, pointing past a line of utility repair trucks that had taken up a lot of the street when she’d looked for parking earlier.

  “Here, give me one of your bags and I’ll walk you down. I wanted to touch base with you on a few scheduling things.”

  “Sure, no problem,” Shayna said. “But you don’t have to carry anything. How did you feel today went?” They started down the block, then crossed after the last of the utility trucks.

  “Better than I expected. Everyone was very open. It was clear that Big Brothers Big Sisters did a great job laying the groundwork and explaining why the article would be important to the program. This feature is almost going to write itself.” He smiled.

  “Bet it’s nice when that happens.”

  “So nice.”

  They reached her car, and Shayna popped her trunk. “Did you have some interviews you wanted me to accompany you on?”

  Andy nodded. “Three so far confirmed for next week, but I expect two others, too.”