Shattered (A Bad Boy Romance Novel)

by Natalie Baird

  Finally, the limo rolled up before the red door with the silver number eight. Robert counted up our little party and scowled. “Five is too many to go in at once. It’s poor form to send more than three people in at the same time. Anderson, you go ahead with the boys and get ready. Kaela and I will follow.”

  My stomach turned to lead at the suggestion, but Anderson seemed unperturbed. “OK,” he said, “Sounds like a plan. Kaela, I’ll see you after the match.”

  “You sure you don’t want me to walk you in?” I asked, trying to keep my voice calm.

  “It’s OK,” Anderson said, “I’m sure these guys can take care of me.”

  He planted an affectionate kiss on my cheek and climbed out of the limo. I had to sit on my hands to keep from grabbing onto his sleeve. The two lumbering bodyguards followed him from the car and slammed the door, leaving me alone with Robert. I swung my gaze toward him as bravely as I could. All the false cheerfulness had drained from his expression—Robert looked at me with utter contempt.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” he growled, his voice sending icy fear running through my veins.

  “What do you mean?” I asked, fighting to keep my body from trembling.

  “I thought I made it perfectly clear that I didn’t want you back here gain,” Robert continued, leaning menacingly toward me, “I don’t want you anywhere near Anderson. Are you so dense that you didn’t understand that?”

  “Anderson asked me to stay with him,” I said, “He asked me to stay in his apartment. To come to his fights. He wants me here.”

  “He wants a piece of ass,” Robert spat, “And, by the looks of you, I’m sure he’s already gotten in a hundred times over.”

  Anger mixed with the overwhelming fear that was blooming inside of me. “I don’t think I like what you’re implying,” I said to Robert.

  “What,” Robert said, “That you’re a cheap, fickle little slut who wanted a piece of someone more famous, attractive, and successful than you? For god’s sake, look at you. Do you really think you’re good enough for Anderson Cole?”

  “Anderson seems to think so,” I shot back, ignoring his hurtful diatribe as best I could, “And that’s good enough for me.”

  “Anderson is a boy,” Robert said, “A boy who doesn’t know what’s best for him. I’ve known him since he was an infant in his mother’s arms. He’s never had any idea what was good for him. Clearly, he still doesn’t. It’s always been up to me to be the voice of reason for Anderson, to steer him toward what’s right. Sometimes, it proves to be a difficult, ugly task, but it’s one that I perform gladly.”

  Chilly terror descended over me as Robert’s intense blue eyes flamed with anger. “What if he doesn’t want your help?” I asked, “What if he wants to live his own life, without you?”

  “Anderson has no life without me,” Robert said, “I’ve given him everything. Everything in the world. I’ve done everything in my power to give him the best life that anyone could possibly dream of. And here’s the thing, sweetheart—that dream most certainly does not include you.”

  “I don’t think that’s your call,” I said angrily.

  Robert let out a cold bark of laughter. “I control Anderson’s finances, career, home, and comfort. I’m pretty sure that all the shots are mine to call.” He straightened his tie and pushed open the car door. “Time for the show, I’d say.”

  “Anderson’s expecting me in there,” I said, “He’ll only get thrown off if I don’t show.”

  “Oh, I know,” Robert said, “We wouldn’t want that, would we?”

  He held out his hand to me, offering to help me out of the car. I stared at him incredulously, afraid and angry with him for all he’d said. Still, I wasn’t ready to give up. If Robert really did control Anderson’s entire life, I’d find a way to make nice with him. I took his hand, stifling a shudder as I did so. We walked to the red door, the unnoticeable entryway to Anderson’s underground world. I expected Robert to mutter a password, like I’d had to the first night. But as we approached the portal, the door swung open before us as if it was enchanted. Robert laughed at my surprised expression.

  “I’m rather important around here,” he said drolly.

  “Clearly,” I said.

  We stepped into the darkness together, and the door snapped shut. I’d fumbled through the pitch blackness the first time I’d ventured through the red door, but Robert walked with authority. He obviously knew this place like the back of his well-manicured hand. We walked down the gently sloped hallway in silence. My high heels clicked against the hard ground, echoing in the close quarters. Finally, we drew up before the second doorway, and I held my breath as the blackness opened before us.

  I flinched as the blaring music and bright lights hit me full in the face once more. Robert grinned at me meanly, tugged me over the threshold and into the chaos. His bodyguards were waiting at the entrance, and moved to their places beside him at once. Robert dropped my hand and made off into the crowd, leaving me to scurry behind him like a serving wench.

  Though the arena had been overwhelming the first time around, it seemed even more colossal that night. There were even more people jammed into the space, chattering and yelling, smoking potent cigars and sipping fine liquor. I could feel eyes following me as I made my way through the crowd, surely people recognized me as the girl who had been with Anderson the week before. I wondered if they all despised me as much as Robert seemed to—though his was a pretty high level of contempt to match.

  We made our way to the special box seats once more. This time, Robert wasted no breath with cordiality. He sank into his seat and ignored me as I sat beside him. When he sent Roy, the bodyguard, away for some bourbon, he didn’t bother asking me if I wanted something to drink. He kept his gaze averted, refusing to acknowledge my presence. I did my best not to care, to carry on with the fun and exciting event as though nothing were wrong. But I had never been a good liar, and I was especially bad at fooling myself. It was shaping up to be a rather lousy evening.

  “Anderson said the other guy’s pretty good,” I said, trying like hell to make small talk.

  “Pretty good?” Robert scoffed, “Yes, sweetheart. ‘Pretty good’ is one way to put it. Another way is damn near undefeated.”

  “I’m sure Anderson will still win,” I said with a determined smile.

  Robert turned his icy blue eyes toward me. “For your own sake, you’d better hope that he does.”

  “What?” I said, my heart racing, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  But a sudden roar from the crowd drowned out my voice. Robert smiled wickedly and put a finger to his lips. It’s starting, he mouthed, turning to the ring. The blasting lights swung overhead and washed over the fighting pit as the announcer took to the microphone.

  “Gentlemen!” the voice blared above the din of the crowd, “Welcome once again to our fine establishment. This week’s first fight is sure to leave you all seeing stars. We have two incredible fighters facing off. First, please welcome back one our most talented warriors, and our still undefeated champion, Anderson Cole!”

  I leaned over the railing as Anderson strode into the pit. My fingers tightened on the golden rail, my nerves rattling. I had no idea what Robert’s threat had meant, but I could tell that there was more riding on this fight than I could have guessed. Anderson jogged a lap around the pit, his fists raised triumphantly. Why was he acting so cocky down there? He hadn’t been this way before the fight last week. Then, he’d been all focus and raw energy. Now he seemed relaxed. Leisurely, even. I didn’t like the look of his easy attitude one bit. A quick glance at Robert revealed that he didn’t like it either.

  “And facing off against our champion,” the announcer went on, “Another fighter of impeccable skill. A somewhat new arrival to our club, but a distinguished fighter in his own right, please welcome Brayden Fusco!”

  The assembled crowd let out a collective cry of anticipation as the second fighter stalked into the ring. My br
eath caught in my throat as I took in the man who’d be battling Anderson. He was a good three inches shorter than Anderson and not as broad, but that didn’t diminish his intimidating nature one bit. He was compact, and looked like solid rock. His head was shaved completely bald, and thick veins stood out in his muscular neck. If Anderson was built like a marble statue, Fusco was built like a wrecking ball—and I was fairly certain which would come out on top in that matchup.

  “Please,” I whispered as Anderson and Fusco retreated to opposite sides of the ring. “Oh please, oh please, oh please...”

  “Gentlemen,” the announcer shouted, “The fight starts...NOW!”

  The blast of the horn blared through the arena, its intensity matched only by the crowd’s excitement. Anderson shuffled from foot to foot, bouncing on the balls of his feet. An easy smile splayed across his face. It was pretty clear that he didn’t take the other fighter seriously. But Fusco, on the other hand, looked ready to do serious damage. His muscles shifted and collected with an intensity I’d never seen before. He began to circle around the perimeter of the ring, his eyes boring into Anderson with what could only be called hatred. The two men stood across the ring from each other, neither willing nor ready to make the first move. The tension crackling between them was unbearable, and the entire arena was vibrating with anticipation.

  I gasped as Anderson suddenly broke away from the wall and tore across the ring. In a few long strides, he was closing in on Fusco. Anderson cocked back his powerful fist and swung at his opponent, but Fusco ducked under Anderson’s arm and skipped away like it was nothing. Anderson slid on the sandy ground with a surprised expression on his face. He slammed his shoulder into the unpadded wooden wall, a sickening crunch ringing out through the arena.

  He staggered away from the wall, dazed by the collision. I was on my feet before I had a chance to think, watching helplessly from afar. Fusco was approaching Anderson, a maniacal smile spread out across his face. Anderson pulled himself together, his focus narrowing at last. He’d gotten some sense knocked into him, it seemed, but was it too late?

  The fighters circled each other in the center of the ring, deliberating and adjusting, daring the other to strike. There was a delicateness in the way Anderson was holding up his arm that made me worry for the state of his shoulder, but I doubted that anyone else could see. Could he still take Fusco with a handicap like that?

  In a heartbeat, Fusco coiled himself up like a spring and flew at Anderson. Anderson lunged out of the other fighter’s trajectory, swinging out his right leg to catch him. Anderson’s foot caught Fusco in the gut and sent him spiraling off into the sand. Fusco tucked himself into a neat roll and made it back to his feet, winded but more determined than ever. He launched himself at Anderson again, coming from the side of his injured shoulder. Anderson tried to adjust, but Fusco was too quick. Anderson’s head snapped back as Fusco’s fist collided with his jaw. I let out a shrill scream that was lost in the crowd’s rabid howling. I was horrified to hear that they were cheering. Cheering.

  In that moment, I felt utterly alone in the throbbing sea of humanity that had gathering to witness the fight. It wasn’t until then that I realized how heartless these people really were. It had seemed like they loved Anderson, cared about him, but it was all fleeting. They loved him when he won, but they’d love even more to see him defeated in an upset. I could smell it in the air. And as I watched Anderson’s face twist into a pained mask, I could tell that he could too.

  But he wasn’t about to give up that easily. He squared off against Fusco, rallying all his strength. Before the other fighter could get comfortable, Anderson was on him. His fists and feet flew through the air, landing blow after blow. The sickening smack of fist upon flesh rang through the arena. Fusco deflected and tried to strike back, but Anderson’s fury was overwhelming. Anderson drove his opponent across the floor, chasing him across the sandy ground. There was a raw animal intensity in Anderson’s motion that I’d only seen while we were making love.

  “He’s going to win,” I said, transfixed by the action. “He’s going to do it!”

  “Let’s hope so,” Robert said from beside me. I didn’t dare look his way.

  Fusco was drawing into himself as Anderson continued to pummel him. How much would it take for this guy to finally give up? I held my breath as he seemed to grow weaker and weaker, his movements smaller and smaller. Just when he’d gone all but still, just when I let myself think for a moment that it was finally over, a bloodcurdling scream ripped from Anderson’s throat. Time seemed to stop as I saw what had happened in the ring. Fusco wasn’t weakened at all—he’d been luring Anderson into a false sense of security. In Anderson’s rage, he’d forgotten to defend his weak side. Fusco had seized the moment and wrenched Anderson’s arm behind his back, straining his injured shoulder. It looked for the world like he was getting ready to tear Anderson’s arm off. I feared for a minute that he really would.

  “No!” I shrieked, as Fusco dragged Anderson across the sand. My fighter had gone stiff, his back arching in agony. Fusco slammed him down onto the sand, falling with his full weight on top of Anderson’s body. A cloud of sand rose up around them, and the crowd was blinded. A thousand people jostled and shoved, trying to see what was going on. I could very well have torn the gold railing away from the side of the pit, I was gripping it so hard.

  When the sand finally settled, I felt the air rush out of my lungs entirely. Fusco was lying in the sand, a bloody gash opened up across his forehead. Anderson was rising to his feet as the sand beneath them grew red. Though he could only bear to lift one arm, he lifted it in victory. The arena exploded with sound as the crowd realized what had happened. The very air seemed to vibrate with the force of the audience’s ecstatic glee. My knees began to tremble as feeling finally returned to my body. It was over. Anderson had won. My fighter made a slow, labored loop around the pit, taking in the incredible noise and praise that was being rained down upon him. As he drew even with our box seats, I felt sudden tears spring to my eyes.

  He stood looking up at me from the ring, his injured arm and shoulder hanging limp at his side. And though he managed a smile for me, there was a hurt shining in his eyes that I knew had nothing to do with any physical injury. Anderson was in pain, that much was clear, but it was a soul-hurt, heartache. I wanted nothing more than to leap down to where he stood so courageously and wrap my arms around him; cradle him to my chest and tell him that everything was going to be OK.

  He tore his eyes away from mine and turned to make his way out of the ring. I watched as two medics rushed into the pit with a stretcher for Fusco. The cut across his face looked shallow, but he was bleeding profusely. A sudden wave of nausea forced me back into my seat as I spotted the bright pool of blood that was left in the other fighter’s wake. The crowd’s excitement suddenly seemed barbaric, mean spirited. Couldn’t they see the pain in Anderson’s eyes? Did they care at all about whether Fusco would recover from his own wounds?

  I desperately needed some air. The entire arena seemed to be closing in around me—I felt like my lungs were on the edge of collapse. I stood up, shaky from the fear and relief that were vying for authority over my body. Robert stared straight ahead as I staggered past him. I didn’t dare meet his gaze, or venture a word in his presence. The anger that had been smoldering in his eyes before the match was now a blaze that I could practically feel against my skin. The match had been far too close for anyone’s comfort.

  Struggling for breath, I pushed my way out into the seething crowd of people. Handsome men in well-tailored suits cackled and slapped each other on the back, congratulating each other on bets won. I was sickened by every last one of them. Didn’t they realize that Anderson was hurt, this person they all professed to adore so much? No one cared a bit what happened to the fighters in the ring—they were just there to rub elbows with their elite buddies and get a little thrill at the expense of young men. They were disgusting, each and every one.

  I finally
found the near-hidden door to the outside world and tore it open. I hurtled into the dark expanse beyond the arena and slammed the door closed behind me. The cacophony of the underground stadium was cut off instantaneously. For a moment, I simply stood still, breathing in the quiet and calm. I began to put one foot in front of the other, heading for the red door once again. Anderson would know to come look for me outside, I was sure. From the look on his face after the match, he wouldn’t be up for greeting his fans that evening.

  The ground slanting up under me, and I began to hurry through the darkness, eager to be as far away from the fight as possible. Just as I imagined I was drawing close to the exit, I felt a thick, meaty hand slam down over my mouth. I was too terrified to scream as a vice-like arm clamped down around my waist. My feet left the floor as someone yanked me to the side of the hallway, through a space in the wall that I hadn’t known existed. I was carried through the dark, my legs kicking wildly, my arms struggling to break free. My captor skidded to a sudden halt somewhere in the pitch black labyrinth surrounding the arena and tossed me onto the floor.

  My hands and knees collided with cold concrete, and I let out a scream of pain. The scream caught in my throat as fingers dug into my hair and pulled. My neck was wrenched back, and I felt the cool kiss of metal against my skin. A stinging pain shot through me as an impossibly sharp blade was pressed against my throat. My body was paralyzed with ice cold terror.

  “You are officially banned from this place,” said a gravelly voice I’d never heard before. “If you dare to step foot in this arena again, I will find you, and I will kill you. Now get the fuck out.”

  A door opened beside me, and two strong hands tossed me through. I landed in a heap of rotting trash as the doorway slammed closed behind me. I raised my hand to my neck and felt a ghastly wetness. My fingers came away bloody—but the blade had only wounded me superficially. I scrambled to my feet and looked around wildly. I was in an alley somewhere—the smells of garbage and urine thick in the air.