Fuck.
I have to look away. Images of my sister hit me hard. Kinsey needed me and I fucked up. Who’s to say I won’t do the same with Britt?
“Please?” She scoots closer, brushing her lips over mine. “Keller.” My name is a soft whisper against my skin.
I breathe in her scent, citrusy and soft. Desire coils in my spine, along with an odd, knotted sensation in my chest. Britt parts her lips and kisses me passionately. My dick very much wants in on the action, but the new, unfamiliar feeling has me pulling back.
“No. I can’t. You’re injured.” I untangle myself from Britt’s embrace and climb off the bed, confused by my warring reactions. I want her like I’ve never wanted anything, anyone, but what kind of an asshole would I be if I fucked her one day after she cracked her head and had a seizure?
Britt leaps to her feet on the other side of the bed, her face and neck flushed crimson. Her beautiful mouth is pulled into an angry scowl. “I’m not broken and I’m not made of glass, Keller!”
What the—?
I grab my shorts, yanking them on. “I didn’t say that.”
“Fuck you,” she snarls, snatching her own clothes off the floor and dressing quickly.
“Britt, what are—?” I begin to circle the bed to get to her, my head spinning from the sudden fury emanating from this tiny girl. I need to touch her, breathe her in and let her scent fill my soul.
“No!” Britt holds up a shaky hand to keep me from approaching. Her eyes are panicked and wild. “I need to get out of here.”
I move toward her again, and this time, her reaction is shocking. She holds up both hands to stop me and shrieks.
“Stay away! There’s nothing wrong with me! I don’t need your pity!” Britt snatches her purse off the couch and storms out of the room, leaving me stunned.
My instinct is to go after her, throw her over my shoulder, toss her down on the bed, spank her ass red, and fuck her into submission. I groan, clenching my hands and reining in my lust. Britt just had a fucking seizure and spent time in the hospital. I can’t toss her around like my plaything, even if she begs me for it.
Confused by her reaction, I collapse on the bed, tugging at my hair in frustration. It’s so much easier to be a cold bastard—unfeeling, uncaring. Then I remember the icy fear I felt when Britt collapsed on the ground, convulsing, and I wonder if I’ll ever be able to be that emotionless guy again, to be Killer.
If Britt is going to shut me out, I won’t have a choice in the matter. If she doesn’t need Keller, I don’t need to be him. Killer doesn’t have feelings, Killer doesn’t miss anyone’s touch, Killer doesn’t need anything but the cage.
I clench my jaw and rebuild my shattered walls.
* * *
Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!
The heavy bag shudders under my relentless attack. I flick the sweat out of my eyes and switch to knee strikes, kicking the bag over and over until every muscle burns and my lungs scream for relief.
“Killer, come with me.”
I grab a towel and rub it over my head and face. “Not now, Gabriel.” I toss the towel and get into my stance to continue my workout.
“Now! Get in my office!” His Portuguese is sharp and his tone indicates he’s not to be argued with.
Frustration boils over, scorching my veins. Britt hasn’t been to work in four days. It’s been six since she stormed out of my room in Vegas, leaving me bewildered, with no explanation whatsoever. She went from passionate kissing to furious screaming in the span of a heartbeat, and I have no fucking clue as to why.
The powerlessness I feel has me on edge, snapping out at anyone who dares to cross my path. The entire gym has noticed. Hell, just the fact that I’m not ignoring everyone is enough to earn me strange looks and hushed whispers whenever I’m around.
Fuck them. I didn’t care before, and I sure as fuck don’t care now.
I yank off my gloves and enter Gabriel’s office.
“Close the door,” he says, still speaking Portuguese. “Sit.” Gabriel glares, pointing at a chair.
I scowl, ready to argue, but he won’t have it.
“Now. Don’t talk, sit.”
With a huff, I drop into the chair and cross my arms over my sweaty chest, focusing on a seam in the tiled floor. Damn, I wish I remembered my hoodie. I feel exposed. I’m losing my edge. My armor isn’t what it used to be and Gabriel is an astute man.
“I want to talk about Vegas.” Gabriel puts his elbows on his desk, tenting his fingers in front of his mouth.
I continue to stare at the ground, wholly unconfident of my ability to be Killer, and desperate to keep Gabriel from seeing Keller.
“Look at me.” Gabriel snaps his fingers in my face.
Pissed, I whip my head up. I’m not a damn dog. Gabriel’s demand causes a snarl to rip from my throat.
Gabriel smiles. “Ah, there he is. I’ve been wondering where my fighter went.”
Yeah, me too.
“Listen to me, son. I don’t know what is going on with you and Britt.” I open my mouth to deny it, but he holds up a hand. “I don’t care. I only care that you both are happy.” Gabriel’s eyes soften. “Britt, she is like a daughter to me, but you must know, she is proud. Independent. But inside,” he thumps his chest with a fist. “She is broken, scared.”
“Scared of what?” Gabriel grins and I realize he sucked me right into a conversation I didn’t want to have.
“That is for her to tell. Anyway, I don’t know what it is that troubles her. You must not regard her as weak. That I do know. I’ve seen her tear down men twice her size when they treat her as delicate.”
I consider this information, connecting Britt’s fury to me rejecting her advances because she had a seizure.
“She has demons, that one.” Gabriel stares right at me, unwavering as usual, unafraid of the monster staring back. “Just like you. Maybe you are good for each other, maybe not.” He stands up, circling the desk to lean on it in front of me. “But if you hurt her,” Gabriel bends down until we’re eye-to-eye, nose-to-nose. “You will regret it.”
Who is he to assume what or who is good for me?
“Gabriel, I don’t want or need a shoulder to cry on, a buddy, a friend, a girlfriend, or any of that goddamn bullshit. I’ve been alone for ten years and it works for me.”
“Does it?” Gabriel stands up straight, clapping me on the shoulder. “Now, you focus on fighting. Let Britt figure it out on her own. Go.” Gabriel waves me out. “You have another fight in two months, mid-September. I will meet with you and Britt in two days to discuss technique.”
I hurry out of his office, my mind reeling at the thought of seeing Britt in forty-eight hours. When I start to get excited, I shove that shit right back down.
Fuck it. If she needs time, that’s what she’ll get. Killer doesn’t give a fuck how long she takes to figure shit out or if she ever comes back. Killer doesn’t feel hope or get fucking butterflies in his stomach. I feel the walls snap fully back into place, strong and tall and impenetrable. As they should be.
I should have known Keller couldn’t still exist inside my hollow, blackened heart. Not after ten years of hard, cold living as Killer. Britt wants to be treated like everyone else?
You got it, sweetheart. I hope you’re prepared.
9
Britt
The phone rings from the other room. Ugh! I don’t have the energy to deal with whoever it is, so instead of answering, I bury my head under my covers where I’ve spent the last five days, too afraid to leave my apartment.
The memories dredged up in the hospital plague my dreams at night, my thoughts during the day, my every single moment. I can’t escape them. They’re so real—the smell of the gunpowder, the trickle of sweat down my back, the arms of another girl around me as we shiver with fear.
I exhale, my entire body shaking. A panic attack is on the horizon—the signs are all there. If I can just get to the gym, surrounded by my tough, strong fighters, the anxiet
y will recede. Unfortunately, I can’t seem to get out of bed to get there.
I need Keller.
The phone rings again, its shrill sound piercing the quiet in my gloomy apartment. When it stops, there’s a minute of silence before it starts up again.
My heart thrums, the familiar tightening in my chest making it difficult to pull air into my lungs. Stop it, Britt. The door is locked, no one else is here. On some level, I know I’m safe, but my brain refuses to accept the truth. Trembling, I force my legs over the side of the bed.
My mind is torn in half. I feel too much. I don’t feel enough.
Deep breaths, in… out, in… out.
I remember my physiotherapist, Nina, and her kind encouragement in rehab. Heel, toe. Heel, toe. Slowly, so slowly, I whisper the words, putting one foot in front of the other until I reach my phone on the dresser.
My hand shaking, I collapse onto the couch, curling up into a ball, cradling the phone. “H-hello?”
“Britt?”
“Max?” I’m not sure who I expected, maybe my mom, but the last person I thought would be on the other end of the line is Max.
“Are you okay? You haven’t been to work and I heard what happened with the hospital, and—”
His familiar rambling helps ground me in reality. The panic recedes somewhat, if only temporarily. “Max, I’m fine.”
“You don’t sound fine. Can I come in?”
“What?” Suddenly tense, my eyes dart over to my door. The three separate deadbolts are all in place.
“I’m outside. I brought you some food. I was… I was worried about you.”
Max brought food? Even after we argued at Keller’s fight? Strange, but he’s a familiar face. He doesn’t give me the comforting aura of safety the fighters do, but he’s here. I won’t be alone.
“Okay. I’m coming.”
I hang up and on wobbly legs, walk to the door, sliding each lock open.
“Britt!” Max comes inside, holding a takeout bag in one hand and pulling me into a hug with the other.
I stiffen in his embrace. It feels… wrong, weird. I wriggle out of his hold and lock the three deadbolts behind him. Max wrinkles his brow at the sight of so many locks, but says nothing.
“I uh, brought tacos from your favorite place.” He stares at his feet uncomfortably and holds out the bag.
“Thanks, Max.” Stop stressing, Britt. This is Max.
I relax, finally able to think somewhat rationally. Max isn’t a fighter, he can’t protect me, but having someone else here with me is better than being alone. I head into the kitchen and pull out a couple of plates, quickly dishing out the food.
Once seated at my tiny table, Max begins his interrogation. “So, are you okay?” His eyes take in my disheveled, unwashed appearance.
I should be embarrassed, but I could care less right now. Looks are the last thing on my list of things to worry about. “I’m fine. I’ll be back at work Thursday.”
“Not tomorrow?”
I shake my head. “No. I’m having lunch with my mother. I haven’t seen her in a while and she’s… talkative.”
Max lets out a strained laugh, but if he only knew. I’m sure my mother is making a last-ditch attempt to bully me into attending the upcoming ten-year anniversary of “the incident.” Why I agreed to meet her, I don’t know. I was at the airport in Vegas, fleeing Keller’s rejection—that look of pity he gave me. I was so distraught at the time, I said yes to my mom without thinking.
We finish eating in silence. Max helps bring the dishes into the kitchen. He doesn’t seem to be in any hurry to leave, and it’s awkward. I walk to the door, hoping he’ll take the hint.
He does, following me, stopping much too close. I back up, pressed against the door, the locks digging into my spine.
“Britt…” Max raises a hand to touch my face.
I flinch, turning my head to the side to avoid his fingers. The panic I finally had under control surges in my chest, squeezing, tightening, closing in on all sides.
“Don’t,” I whisper.
His hand drops, curling up at his side. “Why him? Huh, Britt? He’s a fucking psycho. You deserve better.”
I’m both shocked at Max’s hostility, yet I expected it at the same time. “I’m not explaining myself to you.” I shimmy to the side and unlock the bolts, holding the door open. “Thank you for dinner.”
Max scowls. I see him struggling to hold his tongue. With a narrowing of his eyes and a quick nod of his head, Max slips out the door. I slam it shut, flipping the bolts.
My lungs constrict, the panic I held back bursting though the dam, flooding my body. I sink to the floor, lightheaded, numb, alone, and curled up in a ball.
Keller. I need Keller.
Keller
Done with practice, I sit on a bench to pull my gloves off with my teeth and begin unwrapping my hands.
“Good session, man.” Sawyer North, one of the other fighters, nods in my direction.
I throw on my hoodie and cover my head, letting it fall over my eyes. “Yeah.”
We grappled for about an hour and while he’s good, he’s no match for me. I held back several times just to make it challenging.
North leaves without another word. He knows. He saw it in the cage, the monster. Freaked him the fuck out, too, I could tell. At least I know Britt didn’t turn me completely soft. I pack up my stuff, slinging my bag on my shoulder.
Tomorrow, I’ll see Britt again. I have to stay detached. So we fucked, big deal. I’ve fucked lots of women. I don’t need her and I don’t feel anything. I can’t feel.
“Hey, Killer.”
As much as I want to avoid everyone here, the snide tone has me turning to see who the asshole is. Max. Creepy little fuck. He’s got balls of steel to speak to me, I’ll give him that.
I wait, staring, letting the icy silence speak for me.
He sees me, but I see him. We’re two different types of monsters, but both monsters all the same.
“So… I saw Britt yesterday,” he says with a smirk.
My entire body goes rigid. That sick piece of shit was with her?
In three long steps, I’m standing in his space, towering over him. Max’s confidence wavers and I watch him swallow nervously.
“What did you say?” I growl, inching closer.
To his credit, or maybe his sheer stupidity, the idiot stands his ground. “Yeah, I had dinner with her at her place. She looks good.”
Motherfucker. He knows I can’t hit him or I’ll be thrown out of the league. My hand itches to wrap around his skinny throat and squeeze.
“What’s your point, Max?”
I tilt my chin down, giving him a clear view into my eyes, my empty, heartless soul. Only, he doesn’t react and I sure as fuck don’t feel empty. I feel angry and defensive. The need to claim Britt as mine courses through my veins hot and electric, waking those buried emotions again.
I feel… alive.
“Fuck off!” I hiss, stepping around Max, “accidentally” bumping him with my shoulder on my way to see Roxie at the front desk.
She’s chatting with someone, but I could give a fuck. “Roxie!”
The tall woman startles, spinning to face me. She doesn’t flinch either, her gaze steady and somewhat annoyed.
Am I losing my touch?
“Yes?” Roxie puts her hands on her hips. Her bright blue hair is slicked back today, making her look like a comic book heroine.
“I need Britt’s address.”
She puckers her lips, having an internal debate over whether or not to give it to me.
“Please? I’m worried about her.” I push the hood off my head.
Roxie’s eyes bulge. Certainly no one here has ever heard me ask for anything, let alone say please. Dumbstruck, she reaches under the counter, producing a small address book.
“You better not make me regret this,” she says as she scrawls the address on a scrap of paper, pushing it across the counter.
“Thanks, R
oxie.” I snatch it up and hurry outside.
The oppressive summer heat has me instantly dripping with sweat. I punch the address on the paper into my phone and realize Britt only lives a few blocks away. As I start to jog in the direction of her apartment, I try to figure out what exactly I’m going to say when I get there.
Britt
Why did I agree to this? I stir my sweet tea with my straw, watching the ice cubes dance around the glass.
“Britton Shelton Reeves, I’d appreciate it if you’d at least pretend to pay attention when I’m speaking to you.”
“Yes, Mother.” I sit up straighter and grab my fork, poking at the food on my plate.
“So have you given it any more thought? The city is closing government businesses for the day so everyone can come to the school, and Mayor Cheetham will be speaking. Plus, Robin Bateman, the daughter of the principal is going to speak in his honor.”
I stare at my food, unblinking, until my vision goes fuzzy.
“Britton? Did you hear me?”
“Yes, Mother,” I reply automatically. It doesn’t matter what I do or say—she doesn’t listen. She’ll never understand. My only saving grace in all of this is that immediately after “the incident.” my parents had the foresight to keep my name out of the press to protect my privacy. Yet now she wants me to stand up on stage and tell everyone who I am.
“Are you hearing a word I say?”
What a joke. If anyone isn’t hearing what someone is saying, it’s my mother. My eyes roll of their own accord, earning me another verbal slap down.
“Don’t roll your eyes at me, Britton. It’s disrespectful.”
That’s it. My blood pressure soars. I feel my skin prickle with heat. The dreams, the memories, the seizure, Keller, the anniversary, her nagging… it’s too much.
“If anyone is disrespectful, it’s you, Mother!” My mom’s mouth falls open in shock. “For ten years I have told you I’m not going to play the victim. I refuse to be the face of this… this tragedy, to live it over and over in front of crowds of strangers when I can’t even remember what fucking happened that day!”
Killer Page 13
