Caged Warrior: Underground Fighters #1

by Aislinn Kearns

  “You’re right, you didn’t. You live in your little ivory tower and think you’re better than us. That you can judge us for what we have to do to survive.”

  “My articles were both very measured—” she tried.

  “And written without our permission.”

  She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. Her hands shook with emotion overwhelm and she clenched them into fists to stop the tremble. “I’ve worked so hard for this job—this life. It’s all I’ve wanted. I dragged myself out of foster care hell to have a chance at an article like this one. My boss gave me one shot—one—and I had to take it. Would you have consented to an interview if I’d asked?”

  “No. And there’s a reason for that,” he told her snidely.

  “Well, there’s a reason I acted the way I did, too. This was a chance of a lifetime.”

  “Whose lifetime?”

  “Mine,” she cried. “I have fought and fought for an opportunity like this. Pulled myself out of the gutter, shed myself of the thick, grasping darkness of my past. For this. To tell the stories of forgotten people like you. Like I was.”

  He glared at her, but something sparked in his eyes, maybe a shard of understanding. But it was quickly gone.

  “Maybe we were forgotten for a reason,” he said.

  Rosalyn shook her head. “No. I don’t believe that. You all deserve better. Maybe you’ve become immune to it, but you said yourself people die in these fights. No one should have to risk that simply to survive. I thought if I could write the article, and show the desperation of these fighters, maybe people would help.”

  He scoffed. “Because you think everyone is so good and wonderful? Always so willing to help? Not a chance.”

  “You might not think there’s a chance, but I do. It’s happened before. I honestly wasn’t really thinking about my career when I wrote this article, other than the power I had to help in any way I could. I was thinking about you, and this life, and all the men forced into it.”

  “You wanted to save us?”

  “Yes.” She shook her head. “I don’t know. Maybe. But I thought it was worth a try.”

  “You still used me. Endangered me.”

  “Yes, maybe when I initially pitched this article, I didn’t know who any of you were, and why you’d choose to do this. I didn’t exactly see you as people with lives and difficult choices ahead. And when I wrote the article, I didn’t know why you were in hiding. You hadn’t told me about Victor, or his son. I thought you were running from a past you didn’t want to face. All I knew was you were a fascinating man with a story to tell.”

  “A story that would benefit you, not me.”

  “It wasn’t meant to be like that. I wanted to help.”

  “So all those nights you were pumping me for information was what? Pillow talk?”

  “No, I genuinely wanted—want—to know you.”

  He scoffed. “You betrayed us. You didn’t ask us for our consent, or tell us why you were really there. You didn’t tell me.”

  A crack opened in his armour of fury, showing the hurt and vulnerability beneath. He’d opened up to her, and she’d betrayed him. Unintentionally, sure. But intention didn’t always matter.

  Taking a chance, Rosalyn leaned across the centre console and placed a gentle hand on his arm. “Nothing that happened between us was a lie,” she murmured.

  He stared at her hand for a long moment, emotions warring on his face. Without her permission, hope bubbled within her. Maybe he could still forgive her. Maybe there was a chance.

  Then, he shook her off and squeezed his hands tighter around the steering wheel. Rosalyn’s heart sank to her toes.

  “Just get out,” he told her, sounding tired and worn.

  “But…” she trailed off when he sucked in an angry breath.

  “Get out of my life, get out of this city, maybe even the country. That is, if you want to live.”

  “I know you still care,” she said, even as she opened the car door.

  His head whipped around so he could glare at her. “I don’t care about you. I just don’t want another death on my conscience.”

  Rosalyn’s stomach clenched. She slid out of the car and shut the door behind her. The truck sped off down the street and disappeared at the next turn, leaving Rosalyn standing in the cold night air, completely alone.

  Chapter 17

  The clock ticked relentlessly onwards, bringing him ever closer to the night ahead. An oppressive sense of dread gripped him until he almost choked on it.

  This was a bad idea. A very bad idea.

  There was something wrong with this whole situation and his instincts screamed at him to get out. Flee now before he got caught up in whatever McCready was doing. But what choice did he have but to do this one last thing before he left? He’d been exposed. His past could knock on the door at any moment, and Diego was fairly certain he wouldn’t survive the encounter. He needed this money to get out, to set himself up in a new place with a new life. Starting over wasn’t cheap. For his wallet or his soul.

  He never should have trusted Rosalyn. He’d known that, but he’d been too stupid to listen. Too caught up in her beauty and kindness and affection for him. Now, he was paying the price, falling back into the world he’d fought so hard to escape.

  Just the once. He had to promise himself it would just be this once.

  And then he’d be free, sitting on a beach somewhere in South America. Mexico, maybe, or Brazil. He could just…relax. No more fighting. No more hiding. Simply himself, a drink, and the endless ocean before him.

  And if that sounded a little lonely? Well, that was the price he’d pay for his freedom. He could live with that.

  He couldn’t push Rosalyn from his mind, though. She was there like a tick, burrowing under his defenses. He knew she’d been through some rough things in her childhood. Did that make it okay to violate his privacy? No. But he wasn’t hypocrite enough to condemn her too harshly, when he knew all too well what choices some people had to make to escape the darkness in their pasts.

  And she’d said time and again she’d only wanted to help. She believed that, he was sure. But good intentions could be just as harmful as bad ones.

  He couldn’t forgive her. Not when her article had toppled the carefully constructed world he’d fought so hard to build. Not when her exposure of his past sent him into McCready’s clutches. Not when he had to leave his life before he was ready.

  On a sigh, he turned the key in his truck engine. The lights splayed across the eggshell wall in front of him, lighting the cab of the truck. In the stark brightness, Diego could no longer hide from the truth. He was returning into the world he’d fought to escape, and this time, he expected it would be even harder to leave.

  But he had to face himself. This was who he was. Who he’d always been. A criminal. To pretend otherwise was a lie to himself and the world. He couldn’t escape this. Couldn’t be someone else, someone better.

  He was back where he belonged, and nothing he said or did would change that.

  Though a sick feeling of denial still curled in the pit of his stomach. He couldn’t listen to that. He had to become Diego Johnson, enforcer of Victor Garrera, once again. There could be no room for doubt, for error. He needed to be sharp and focused, and do what needed to be done.

  His conscience could wait.

  He jammed the truck into gear and reversed out of the parking spot, heading towards the meeting point where Weston would be waiting.

  Ten minutes later, his headlights illuminated a group of four guys. Weston stood at the front with his arms crossed, watching Diego pull up with a sneer on his face. Behind him was Pete, who’d been there briefly the night Spider had made his move on Rosalyn. The other two guys Diego didn’t recognise, but he didn’t care. He wasn’t here to make friends.

  He cut the engine and hopped out.

  No one said anything for a long moment as Diego and Weston eyed each other. Eventually Diego rolled his eyes.
r />   “Is this the crew?”

  “Yeah,” Weston said defensively. “And we know what we’re doing, so don’t fuck this up.”

  Diego raised a brow. “Sure thing. I’m only here because your boss didn’t trust you to do this right, so I guess I should be telling you not to fuck this up.”

  Weston glared for a long moment and Diego almost thought the guy would throw a punch. Instead, a grin split Weston’s face. “I’m looking forward to this.”

  With that, he jumped into the driver’s seat of a nearby truck. The other three guys followed him, so Diego slid into the last remaining seat, next to Pete. The guy kept darting glances Diego’s way and shifting in his spot. Squirrelly. Diego’s suspicions mounted.

  “You want to tell me more about this job?” he asked the car in general. Everyone but Weston shrugged.

  “Just keep your mouth shut, hold the bag for us, then get the fuck out of dodge. It’s not hard.”

  “Which store are we hitting?”

  “You’ll know when we get there.”

  Diego gritted his teeth. “And what’s the exit plan?”

  Weston’s eyes met his in the rear view mirror. “Leave the way we came before the cops show up.”

  Apparently that was all he’d get. Diego settled further back into his seat, trying to ignore Pete’s squirming. Hopefully this wouldn’t be as much of a disaster as he feared. Hopefully.

  They parked across the street to one of the large jewellery chain stores. Security lights lit the front of the building, and Diego could see at least one security camera and motion detector at first glance.

  “You can’t be serious,” he muttered. Diego almost got out of the car then and there, unwilling to trust that Weston knew what he was doing—or wouldn’t somehow betray him. But he didn’t have time.

  “Just in and out. Nut up, DJ.” The other four guys pulled masks over their heads, obscuring their features. Diego had a moment of panic, since he hadn’t brought one for himself, but he didn’t have a moment to dwell on it.

  Weston slammed his foot on the accelerator and spun the wheel. The car jerked forward, heading straight towards the glass front of the jewellery store. Diego braced himself against the seat in front of him even as he yelled for Weston to stop, but the guy paid him no attention.

  The front of the car slammed through the windows and stalled halfway into the shop. The door went flying off into the store and shattered the glass case opposite them. Shards of glass rained down on the car, scattering all over the vehicle, the shop, and the sidewalk behind them.

  An alarm screeched, piercing Diego’s ear drums.

  “We’ve got to get the fuck out of here!” he yelled towards Weston, but the man was already halfway out of the car.

  Diego stumbled out, pressing his palms against his ears.

  Weston dug a can of black spray paint out of a cloth bag and sprayed it over the security camera lens, blocking the vision. Then, he threw the cloth bag in Diego’s direction and he caught it automatically. He winced as the shrieking alarm rattled his brain.

  “Hurry up,” Weston yelled over the noise. “Cops will be here any second.”

  Diego blinked, trying to wrap his mind around everything that happened, trying to think. He glanced at the sidewalk behind him, tempted to run. But before he could decide what to do, the other four thieves smashed the cases and dropped shiny objects into the bag he was holding. Bracelets, necklaces, earrings, rings, loose gems, all of it went into the bag.

  They’d fetch a pretty penny, of which Diego would get a nice cut. Then, he’d be free to leave. Free of this life, hiding from Mickey, the cops, McCready, and whoever else might want him dead.

  It took all of two minutes before the cases were empty.

  “Can we go now?” Diego yelled, inching back towards the car.

  Weston turned to him with a grin. “We can.” Diego didn’t even get a second to process that.

  The kick came out of nowhere, landing in the centre of Diego’s chest. He stumbled back from the unexpected impact, tripping over the remains of the shop door in the process. He fell on his back with a whump, all the air leaving his lungs.

  Broken glass crunched beneath him as he rolled automatically as he landed.

  He blinked to clear the surprise from his mind, then dropped the bag of loot and focused on Weston.

  “What the fuck was that for?” he growled, still trying to get his breath back.

  “You didn’t really think McCready wanted you on his team, did you? But this little operation had gotten too hot and he needed a scapegoat.”

  Diego struggled into a crouch. “You fu—”

  Weston’s foot slammed into the side of his head. Diego crashed back to the floor, his mind going blank. A few more kicks for good measure—to his head, ribs, and stomach—and then Weston was gone.

  Diego vaguely heard the sound of an engine starting, then roaring away. Seconds later, sirens came. The flashing lights penetrated his closed eyes. His head rang from the blows and the still-screeching alarm.

  It had all happened so fast. Barely five minutes had passed since the car had crashed through the front door. Diego was still desperately fighting to wrap his head around it, even as blackness encroached on the edges of his vision.

  He fought to stay conscious, telling himself to get up, to run. But his body wouldn’t obey.

  Instead, he slipped all the way into darkness, and he knew only one thing clearly.

  He was fucked.

  Chapter 18

  Rosalyn thought about leaving, she really did. But somehow she couldn’t make herself believe Diego’s threats were serious. And if they were? Well, it would be better if she fixed the problem rather than run away from it.

  Unlike Diego.

  She asked Anthony to retract the story, or at least some parts of it. He said he’d consider it, but Rosalyn didn’t have much hope. The article had some of the most shares and page views their website had had in months, and Anthony was in no hurry to mess with a good thing.

  She even contacted his boss—the guy that owned the paper—even though as far as Rosalyn knew he had no experience with the day-to-day running of the business. He, too, blew her off, leaving Rosalyn in desperate straits. She had to fix this. Had to make it right. She just didn’t know how.

  The answer came at 9am Monday morning. Her phone buzzed, waking her up from a restless night of tossing and turning and occasional tears. When she answered it, Rosalyn took a minute to understand what the person on the other end of the line was saying.

  “Wait,” she said eventually. “You’re a cop and you want to interrogate me about my article?”

  The woman on the other end of the line made a sound of annoyance. “About the people in your article, yes.”

  “I’m sorry, I won’t give up my sources.”

  “Just come down to the station. Please.”

  Annoyed, Rosalyn agreed, because she sensed a bull dog determination behind the woman’s words and knew it would be easier to show how serious she was in person.

  She arrived an hour later. The precinct was a busy hub of activity, with cops in uniform mingling with plain clothes officers, all moving from one place to another while phones rang shrilly in the background.

  Rosalyn announced her presence to the woman at the desk—a large African American woman that eyed her with distrust. Rosalyn’s stomach squirmed as she took her seat to wait for Detective Rodriguez. This would be harder than she expected. She was alone here, surrounded by skilled interrogators that wanted information from her. Information she was determined not to give up. She’d betrayed Diego once. She wouldn’t again.

  Detective Rodriguez eventually arrived and introduced herself. Rosalyn stood and followed her into an interrogation room, feet dragging with reluctance. She should’ve let the phone call be the end of it.

  They settled into the white room, sitting opposite each other with a metallic table between them. Detective Rodriguez said nothing for a long minute, eyeing Rosa
lyn with a blank expression. Rosalyn had no idea what she was thinking and the sensation was quite unnerving.

  “You know why you’re here?”

  “The article I wrote?”

  Rodriguez inclined her head. She was beautiful, with thick dark hair, dark eyes, and clear skin. But her stoic expression kept Rosalyn on her guard.

  “Yes. I need to know the names of your sources.”

  “I won’t tell you that,” Rosalyn replied.

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’m a member of the press, and I don’t reveal my sources. Reporter’s privilege.”

  Rodriguez narrowed her eyes. “These people are violent criminals. You have no reason to want to protect them. Unless you’re one of them.”

  Rosalyn’s eyebrow shot up. “Is that the way you’re seeing it? Well, in that case, I won’t talk to you at all.”

  Rodriguez’s eyes sparked in challenge. “Is that so?”

  Rosalyn simply smiled. She might think the world Diego had fallen into was violent and terrifying. She might want these fights shut down and these fighters to be free of their master. But she knew now that was not her choice to make. Diego had said the men who fought there did so for a reason, and she believed him.

  She knew Diego wouldn’t forgive her. And she didn’t expect him to. What she’d done in her attempt to protect these men had been selfish, stupid, and dangerous. Completely unfair to Diego and the other men. Her heart was shrouded in agony and regret at what she’d done, at what she’d ruined. She hadn’t realised how much she’d miss Diego until he was gone from her life for good.

  She swallowed the lump in her throat and blinked back tears, trying to stay strong in the face of the police officer. She could cry again later, mourn the loss of Diego.

  But in the meantime she could stay silent for him. Preserve this last layer of anonymity. Protect him from the cops, if not from anyone else. It couldn’t undo the damage she’d wrought, but it wouldn’t make the situation worse. For now, the public had no details. They didn’t know who the fighters really were, where the fights were held, who ran them. And she planned to keep it that way.