by Shandi Boyes
Instincts tell me to go after him, but my head is so fucking messed up right now, I doubt my legs would move even if demanded. There are a million questions I need to ask, and only one person who can answer them.
“What did he mean he’d finish what he started? What did he start, Demi?” I almost choke on my last question when my eyes land on her face. It’s more fucked up than first realized. The graze across her cheek is deep enough she’ll most likely need stitches, and the red welt on her cheek is now purple. “What the fuck did he do to you?”
Demi waits until her uncle’s car is lost in a stream of traffic before she shifts her focus to me. Even then, she isn’t really with me. Her eyes are wide and terrified, her lips are trembling so much every time her tongue delves out to replenish them with moisture, I’m afraid she’ll gnaw it off, and the dams in her eyes are close to spilling over. She’s petrified, so you can imagine my utter shock when she steps back before murmuring, “You can go. I’m fine.”
With her words impacting my heart more than any punch I’ve endured, I almost fold in two. “I’m not going anywhere.” When I take a step closer to her, her dilated gaze bounces between mine. “Except here…” I tap the card she’s holding so tightly, a large crease careens down the middle of it. “So you don’t have to face whatever he’s holding over your head.”
She shakes her head so fiercely, I’m shocked big salty blobs don’t topple down her cheeks. “You can’t fight for him, Maddox.”
“Why not? I’m a good fighter. I’ll win.”
“It’s not about winning,” she screams like our freeway confrontation isn’t being live-streamed on Facebook by the dickheads causing the bumper-to-bumper traffic creeping past us to back up further than needed. “The underground fight circuit he runs is always held on a Friday. Tomorrow is Saturday.”
Oh fuck.
“Exactly,” Demi says on a sob. “He doesn’t want you to fight in the normal circuit, Maddox. He wants you in the… the…”
She can’t finalize her sentence, and neither the fuck can I.
The brutality that comes with boxing has never bothered me. You show up, fight, and the stronger competitor leaves victorious. From what Agent Moses told me, that doesn’t happen in Col’s new monthly circuit. If you don’t win, you don’t leave the ring breathing.
Although I’m cocky about my winning streak, nobody wants to be undefeated in a syndicate that ranks victories by how many men you kill. I’m not a killer. I’m just a man who wants to do a bit of good for his community.
“That’s why you need to go home, Maddox,” Demi says when she reads the horrified expression on my face. “You don’t want to do this anymore than I don’t want you to do it.”
I want to tell her she doesn’t know me well enough to know what I’m thinking, but since that would be a lie, I go a different route. “How bad will your punishment be if I don’t show up?”
“It doesn’t matter,” she replies while shooing away my concern as if it’s inconsequential.
“It does matter. You fuckin’ matter, Demi.”
Who knew four little words could break someone’s heart? She’s as brave as a soldier on the front line and ten times prettier, but it takes everything she has not to let the tears in her eyes spill from my comment, even more so when she asks, “Do I matter more than your family, Maddox? Am I more important than them?”
I don’t know how to answer her question, so I don’t.
My lack of reply doesn’t harness Demi’s campaign. If anything, it doubles her determination. “That’s why you need to walk away. This isn’t just about you and me. He will drag your entire family into this mess.” When her voice cracks during the last half of her statement, she grits her teeth before heading toward the stream of traffic to hail a taxi.
“You can’t take a taxi home, Demi, and act as if what just happened didn’t.”
“Why not, Maddox?” she screams after whipping back around. “Why can’t I look out for myself for a change? Why can’t I put myself first?”
“Because that isn’t who you are! You’re not him, Demi.” I point in the direction her uncle’s car just traveled. “You’re not a selfish prick.” I’m a fucking asshole for using her fears against her, but if it’s the only way I can get her to see sense through the madness, so fucking be it. I’ll accept the label and wear it with pride. “What do you think Sloane will do when you turn up looking like that? She saw you get into your uncle’s car. She and Saint were standing outside the restaurant. The only reason she stopped ordering for Saint to follow you was because I promised I would.”
That isn’t a total lie. Sloane and Saint did witness her getting into her uncle’s Audi, they just assumed it was an Uber I hired for her. I followed her because the knot in my gut wouldn’t stop twisting until I caught up with Col’s Audi. Now I’m so fucking glad I trusted my intuition.
I might have found her in a ditch if I hadn’t gone off-script.
Agent Moses wanted me to step back and see how things played out. I told him to shove the badge he keeps promising me up his ass before I hot-footed it to my bike.
“Sloane is probably blowing up your cell now. Who knows what else she’ll blow up when she sees what he did to your face?”
I want to start a war. Sloane’s family has the capital to fund one.
Demi curses under her breath. “He has my cell.” She twists to face the traffic. “My uncle has my cell phone.” When she fails to locate his Audi, she rejoins me in the emergency lane. “Where’s your phone? I need to borrow your phone.”
She snatches my phone out of my hand when I dig it out of my pocket. Although she immediately logs into my phone app, it takes her a few seconds to dial a number she must know by heart. She could blame a technology-dependent world for her slow response time. I’m placing the burden on the frantic throb of the vein in her neck. She’s aching all over, and the knowledge has me struggling not to track down Col Petretti to wring his fucking neck.
“Sloane… hey.” Demi stops, peers up at me, then nods. “Yeah, he found me.” She licks her lips before lowering her eyes to my midsection. “Things got a little heated on the side of the freeway.”
Don’t misconstrue her words. She isn’t confessing to neither her physical altercation with her uncle nor our verbal one. She’s making it seem as if we’re about to get down and dirty.
“I was thinking about taking things back to our apartment. You were right, this has been years in the making, so why not scratch it off my list?” In between the screeches bellowing down the line, Sloane must alter Demi’s plan of attack. “Oh… you’re heading back there now? C-can you not go to Saint’s house tonight?” Her eyes snap to my lips when they curve into a grin from her verifying, “He still lives with his parents? Oh, okay… umm…”
Some of the fear in her eyes shifts to pleading when I remove my phone from her ear and squash it to mine. Sloane stops rambling about how it’s fine Saint hasn’t cut the apron strings yet when I say, “It’s okay, you guys continue on course. I’ll take Demi back to my place.”
“You don’t live with your parents?” Sloane doesn’t wait for me to answer her. She directs her focus to my brother, who I can’t see but can imagine him wringing the steering wheel when she asks, “Maddox is younger than you, so why are you the only sibling still living at home?”
I miss Saint’s reply since I pull my phone down from my ear before hitting the disconnect button. “Then, I guess it’s sorted. You’re staying at mine for the night.”
While acting as if the pulsating of my veins is adrenaline instead of the desire to kill, I head for my bike, punching out a quick message on my way. I technically live out of home, but it isn’t exactly how I implied when I told Sloane Demi can stay with me.
I remove a second helmet from a saddlebag on my bike, straddle the leather seat, clear the pleading from my eyes with a handful of blinks, then raise them to Demi. She’s standing almost in the exact spot her uncle left her. Her eyes are still wide and terrified, but t
he blood dribbling down her nose has cleared away, and the swelling of her cheek has almost closed the gash under her right eye. If I were unaware of what she faced tonight, I could almost pretend the coloring under her eye is from a lack of sleep. Unfortunately for Demi, I’m not willing to do that. I let her leave with Col, so I’m partly responsible for the pain she’s enduring.
“Please,” I silently beg, knowing I’ll never leave her here, but praying like fuck I don’t have to fear her into doing as I’m asking. She’s scared enough. I don’t want to add to the terror she was forced to endure tonight.
My silent prayers are answered when Demi stuffs her purse under her arm, then pushes off her feet a couple of seconds later. Her steps are shaky, and not an ounce of trust is seen in her eyes, but she took a leap of faith. I can help her regain the rest.
“Lift your chin for me.”
When she does as requested, I place my spare helmet on her head, then tighten the straps under her chin before holding out my hand to help her onto the back of my bike.
“Have you ever ridden on a bike before?” I feel the shake of her head more than I see it. “The sissy bar will ensure you won’t slide off, but if you’re worried, you can hold onto my waist.”
I stop imagining Col gargling in a pool of his own blood when Demi’s arms slip around my waist, and her unbruised cheek presses against my back.
After squeezing her hands, wordlessly ensuring her I’ve got her, I kick over my bike, then merge into traffic. Even with the hour late, traffic is thick. The cars that forever clog the streets of Ravenshoe are one of the reasons I got my bike license. I can whip in and out of traffic with ease, meaning our twenty-mile commute is done in less than fifteen minutes. It would take more than three times that in a car.
I park my bike at the side of a set of stairs before helping Demi off the back. Our ride through the hilly streets soothed her shakes as well as it dampened my anger. I’m still on the brink of blowing my top, but since I’d rather make sure Demi is okay than go on a murderous rampage, it isn’t as obvious.
After dragging her eyes over a wooden cabin nestled in the foothills of a national park, Demi asks, “Is this—”
“The Walsh family cabin everyone this side of the country has partied in at least once in their life? Yes, it is.”
While handing me her helmet, Demi mumbles, “Not everyone. I’ve never been here.”
“You were invited. Many times.” I know this for a fact because it was a lakeside party five years ago that had me pushing on the brakes. Demi’s name was the first one Saint scribbled at the top of the invite list that year. That spot is only ever reserved for the girls he’s interested in. Usually, if his invitation went unopened, he scratched her name off the list, then moved on to another wannabee conquest. Demi’s name is the only one that’s remained at the top of the list for as long as it has.
Considering the circumstances of her visit, this isn’t a conversation we should be having, but since it will keep her focus off her swollen eye, I continue guiding us down the slippery slope. “If I recall correctly, one year you had to wash your hair, the next year your grandmother died, and the year following that—”
“My grandmother actually did die.” I can’t tell if it’s remorse dangling off Demi’s vocal cords or guilt. It may be a combination of both. “I wanted to come, Maddox. I just… couldn’t.”
“I know,” I reply, weakening the groove between her dark brows. “But you’re here now, and that’s all that matters.”
As she follows me up the marble-clad staircase, she chews on her bottom lip. I really wish she wouldn’t. I’m not a teen boy who can’t control his cock. I’m afraid she’ll inflict more damage to her delectable mouth. It’s not split like her cheek, but it’s pretty damn close.
I’ve barely worked my jaw side to side two times when a gruff voice says, “Hot-fuckin’-damn. I can finally scratch your name off the list. Demi she’s-so-pretty Petretti, the holy grail of Seacoast Private Academy, has finally rocked up to a Walsh get-together. My every desire has now been catered to. I can die a happy man.”
After rolling her eyes at Caidyn’s dramatics, Demi gallops up the stairs to throw her arms around his neck. Caidyn is the Mr. Popularity of our family. The girls love his ‘sensitive’ side, the boys want to learn his ways, and more than once, I’ve strived to emulate him, although that’s far from my mind when I realize what he’s wearing. He’s shirtless and almost fucking pantless. Nothing but a super-thin pair of boxer shorts are between Demi and his cock.
I’m seconds from knocking out some of his teeth, but the panic in his eyes when he locks them with mine over Demi’s shoulder stops me. “What the fuck happened to her face?” The redness on his face matches mine to a T. As does the murderous gleam in his blue eyes.
“I’ll tell you later,” I mouth back before I pretend Demi is here under an entirely different set of circumstances. “I texted that we were coming, Caidyn, so why the fuck aren’t you wearing pants?”
Caidyn’s laugh reveals he understands my ruse, but Demi is utterly oblivious. She whispers an apology to Caidyn when I remove her arms from his shoulders, spin her away from his buff body, then whack him in the stomach. “Go to bed, grandpa. Everyone knows you haven’t been up this late since high school.”
I jerk up my chin to Caidyn’s unvoiced request for us to have a word once Demi is settled before guiding her into the bathroom attached to the master suite. I’m not a paramedic, but I’ve got to do something to lessen the chance the split in her cheek will scar. Her eyes are so mesmerizing, I doubt anything could steal their devotion. I just don’t want to pop into her thoughts anytime she sees her scar. I want to be there for far better reasons than that.
“Holy shit,” Demi murmurs when our entrance into the bathroom has her spotting her reflection.
“It’s okay,” I assure her when she pivots away from herself, too horrified to look at the damage a member of her family did to her. “You don’t need to look. I just want to clean it up a little.”
To back up my pledge, I grab one of the king-size towels off the rack, then curl it over the mirror’s frame. Once it’s covered, I snag the first-aid kit out of the cupboard before placing it onto the vanity. Demi watches me with her arms curled around her midsection and her eyes fixed on the floor. When I nudge my head to the first-aid kit, she sheepishly shakes her head.
“I don’t care what I look like. I just don’t want you seeing me like this.”
Her eyes float up from the floor when I ask, “See you like what? Brave? Fucking strong?” I pull her arms down from her waist before carefully tugging her toward me. “I’ve seen grown men go down crying after one hit. You’ve yet to release a single tear.”
Her lips quiver as she struggles not to respond to the pride in my voice. I’d be a lying prick if I said her unshed tears aren’t cutting through me like a knife. I’d give anything to stop them from occurring, but since I know that will hurt her more in the long run, I have no choice but to encourage them.
I lift her to sit on the counter before saying, “While I get you cleaned up, why don’t you tell me about the time you made Robert Flint come in his pants with only a peck kiss.”
Demi waits for me to soak a handful of cotton balls in iodine before replying, “I’m not telling you about that.”
“Why not? It’s a funny story.”
“It is,” she agrees, smiling even with the gentle dabs of a cotton ball causing her pain. “But I don’t need to tell you what happened because you were right there, stalking me like you always were.”
Once I have the dried blood under her nose taken care of, I shift my focus to the gash in her cheek. “I wasn’t stalking. I was…” I’ve got fucking nothing. “Fine. I was stalking, but it wasn’t for me. I might have been pissed as hell that Saint showed an interest in you first, but that doesn’t mean I’d let any random guy mosey in on his turf.”
Demi hisses. I assume it’s from the iodine swab inching close to the gash in
her cheek. I couldn’t be farther from the truth. “His turf? Jesus, Maddox. I’m not a piece of property.”
Since her voice doesn’t have an ounce of humor in it, I lower the cotton ball from her face, then lock my eyes with hers, ensuring she can see the truth in them when I say, “I know that. That wasn’t what I meant.”
“Then what did you mean?”
With her mood not as hostile as it was moments ago, I give her the straight-up honesty she deserves. “I love my brother, so I didn’t want him gutted like I was when I realized I had blown my chance with you.”
Her drenched eyes bounce between mine for several long seconds before she whispers my name in a husky tone, “Maddox?”
“Yeah?”
After wetting her suddenly bone-dry lips, she asks, “Can you dab my cut with the iodine, so I have an excuse for my tears?”
I’d rather kiss her until crying is the last thing on her mind, but as my mother likes to say, crying is how your heart speaks.
“I could.” My response is short and direct but impacting. “Or you could let them fall and trust me to take care of you while they do.”
When she shakes her head, the first tear splashes onto her cheek. “I don’t want to cry.”
“Why not, Demi?” I ask while brushing away the salty blob sitting high on her cheek as if it’s insignificant.
She loses her battle to hold in her second and third tear when she replies, “Because if I cry, he’ll think he won.”
I’m as stoked as fuck she remembers the time I defended her in the second grade, but I keep my excitement on the down-low. This bully is worse than any we’ll face, and he’s related to her by blood.
After dumping the dirty cotton ball into the bin, I press my hands to each side of her thighs, then lower my head so we’re eye to eye. “I was wrong back then, Demi. Crying isn’t a sign of weakness. It usually only happens when you’ve been strong for too long.”
“Are you sure?” she asks through a sob.
I nod. “And if it isn’t, he’ll never know he won because I’ll never tell him you cried.” I brush my hand across her cheeks, being extra careful with her bruised one before lifting her into my arms and carrying her into my room. “I won’t tell anyone. It’ll stay with me until the day I die.” As I hope you will too.
