Killer

by Heather C. Leigh

  The older man closes the door to my office and I sag in my chair, rubbing my tired eyes. How am I supposed to work with Keller if he won’t look at me or talk to me? My heart clenches in my chest. What if Keller wants to get me fired like he did Max?

  No. I can’t believe Keller would stoop that low. But if he doesn’t want me anymore, maybe he could. Can I work with Keller without touching him in moments of passion, feeling the heat of his skin against mine? Without him protecting me and holding me and making me feel alive?

  The thought of losing Keller nearly paralyzes me with fear. I finally found someone who can bring me out of my constant misery. Someone who treats me as if I’m strong and capable. Someone damaged like me. Someone who I thought respected me and what I need.

  I let out an unamused huff. If Keller respected me, he wouldn’t dodge me like I have a contagious disease. Blowing out a long breath, I give myself a pep talk.

  “Okay, Britt. Get a hold of yourself. It’ll be fine. It’s work and you need to be professional.”

  I’ve only been at the gym a few hours. There could be a good reason Keller hasn’t come to see me yet. Or returned any of my calls over the weekend. There’s a good possibility I’m blowing this way out of proportion.

  I grab my laptop and decide to treat Keller the same as I do every other day. All I can do is wait and see what happens. If nothing else, I’m certainly not a whining, insecure baby who is going to force a guy into a long, drawn-out fight with tears and begging. Even if every cell in my body wants to cling to Keller and beg him not to leave me.

  Better to just go with the flow. My stomach flips anxiously and sweat beads up between my shoulder blades.

  Go with the flow. Right. Tell that to my frazzled nerves.

  Killer

  It’s nearly impossible to avoid Britt at the gym, but somehow, I manage. Yeah, I’m an asshole for cutting her off with no explanation, but it’s better this way. Talking leads to emotions and emotions lead to messy, human shit. Shit I can’t deal with.

  Besides, Killer doesn’t give a fuck about some girl’s feelings.

  “Killer, come to my office.”

  I cut a glance at Gabriel and scowl under my hood. I’ve been a dick to him as well as Britt, and I can tell by his stilted voice his patience for me is waning. Tough shit. I’m here to fight and train, that’s it. They can take their touchy-feely crap and fuck right off. I stalk to his office, head down, and flop down into a chair. It’s not until Gabriel speaks to someone else that I realize Britt is in the chair next to mine.

  “Britt, have you studied Killer’s most recent tapes?”

  “I have.” The sound of her voice sends vibrations to my dick.

  No!

  Gritting my teeth, I will the thoughts of painting Britt’s face with my cum right on out of my head. I’m strong. If I can deal with the grief of killing my sister, spending six months in jail, and finding my mother dead in the pool, I can deal with working beside one fucking girl without sporting wood.

  “Killer, have you discussed the tapes with Britt?”

  Jesus. I can tell Gabriel already knows the answer to his question.

  “No. Been too busy,” I grunt, still hiding behind my low hood.

  “Well, I expect you to do that by the end of today. We only have a week until the fight and you need to make your modifications before then.”

  “Fine,” I reply in an icy voice to let him know I’m pissed.

  “Fine,” Gabriel responds.

  A shuffling sound next to me accompanies Britt’s tiny feet passing by my chair. “I’ll be in my office waiting, Killer.”

  Fuck me.

  Before I can follow Britt, Gabriel speaks. “I don’t know what you did, but fix it.”

  What the—?”

  I shove back my hood, making eye contact with Gabriel for the first time since my dad fucked up my world last week. “Don’t start shit you don’t know about, Gabriel,” I snarl.

  “I know enough. You hurt Britt after I warned you. Whatever problemas you have in here,” he taps the side of his head, “You get them straight and fix what you broke.”

  I stand up, ready to rip Gabriel apart with my bare hands. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.” I step closer, nearly nose to nose with one of the only people to believe in me. “I can’t be fixed. Britt will survive.”

  “Hmmmm,” he says, rubbing his fingers on his chin. I pull back, glaring at the man.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.” Gabriel shrugs and turns away, effectively dismissing me.

  I curl my fingers into tight fists and storm out of the room. “Fucking people can’t stay out of my goddamn business,” I mutter to myself. Halfway to the locker room to grab my shit and leave, I remember I have to meet with Britt.

  Son of a bitch.

  I storm outside to get ahold of myself. I can’t meet with Britt while I’m wound up and pissed off. I had no choice but to toss her aside without any explanation, and I’m okay with her thinking I’m a douchebag, but she definitely doesn’t deserve me acting like a hostile dickhead right to her face.

  I pace in front of the door, clenching and unclenching my hands. An engine starts nearby and I look up, my hood shading my eyes from the bright sun. I catch a glimpse of a beat-up silver car peeling out of the lot and my entire body goes rigid.

  That little fucker, Max. What is he doing here?

  Before I can chase him down, he’s gone.

  I growl in frustration. Today just gets better and better. This. This right here is why I don’t get involved. This messy, complicated bullshit. Max, Gabriel, Britt… all it does is make my life more difficult.

  Except I was happy for the first time in ten years, because of Britt.

  I want to punch the little voice inside my head for reminding me of that fact, but when I barge into Britt’s office and see those big blue eyes staring up at me with a look of longing, I know the voice is right. I was happy. I felt something.

  Then I remember my dad and the upcoming anniversary and shut down. I keep it quick and to the point. “Let’s watch the tapes.”

  The hope in Britt’s eyes melts away, replaced by sorrow. She swallows, nodding her head, and pushes play on the computer.

  If Killer doesn’t feel anything, why does the look on Britt’s face cause actual physical pain?

  I focus on the tiny laptop screen, unwilling to delve any further into my reaction to Britt.

  Britt

  The fact that Keller’s next fight is in Atlanta is both a blessing and a curse. I’m glad we don’t have to travel together, share a flight, cars to and from the airport, hotels where we’d see each other around all the time. But with the anniversary less than a week away, getting out of the city would do me a world of good. My nerves are completely frayed.

  Plus, my mother won’t stop texting and leaving messages on my phone. She’s run the gamut from demanding I at least go to the anniversary as a guest and not a speaker, to threatening me that I better show up “or else.” With everything else falling to pieces around me, the last thing I need is a guilt trip from my mom. But if there’s one thing I can definitively say about Rose Shelton-Reeves, it’s that she’s a bulldog—she knows what she wants and clamps her strong jaws on it, not letting go without a fight.

  Exhausted, I take a deep breath and open the door to Sousa MMA, unprepared for another long day of training with Keller, touching and manipulating his body while pretending it doesn’t affect me. Trying not to cringe at the way he ignores me, refusing to make eye contact and hiding under that damn hood of his.

  “Britt, you look awful!”

  My gaze flicks over to Roxie, standing behind the front desk slash juice bar with her mouth hanging open.

  “Thanks a lot,” I say, twisting my lips into a pout.

  “No, hon. I mean, you look so tired. Are you sleeping at all?”

  I give her a small smile, appreciating her concern, but honestly, no one can stop the nightmares and panic attack
s.

  No one but Keller.

  My smile falters and embarrassing tears well up in my eyes when I think of the man who so coldly turned me away without any explanation.

  “I’m fine, Roxie.” When the tall woman gives me a look of disbelief, I reassure her. “Really, I’m okay. Just a lot of late nights and early mornings. Once this fight is over, I’ll get more rest.”

  And once the anniversary passes.

  The gym is fairly quiet, and why wouldn’t it be? I’m an hour earlier than usual because the only thing worse than not being able to sleep is sitting awake in my apartment, freaking out. At least here, I feel more safe than I do at home alone. One of our new fighters is chatting with Jack near cage three and there’s someone else on one of the cardio machines. Other than that, the place is deserted.

  I head to my office and close the door. The last thing I want is to talk to anyone. It hasn’t been five minutes when there’s a knock on my door.

  Ugh. It wouldn’t be professional to scream “go the fuck away” like I want to, so instead, I tell them to come in.

  “Hi, Britt.”

  The tall man enters the office, leaving the door partway open as he crosses the room. His brows are pulled low and his eyes reflect concern.

  Exactly what I don’t need. Pity, worry, questions I can’t answer…

  “Jack, what can I do for you?” I say, my voice tight and my posture rigid. I just don’t want to do this right now.

  “Are you…? I mean, Britt, you’re not yourself lately. You don’t smile anymore—”

  “I appreciate your concern, Jack, but I’m fine. Too many long hours is all.”

  Jack closes his eyes and clenches his jaw. I notice his fists balled up at his sides. When he fixes his gaze back on me, I already know what’s coming. Jack’s eyes are shining with hatred.

  “Did that fucker hurt you, Britt? Huh? Because I swear to god, if he did—”

  This place is worse than a damn soap opera with all the gossip and butting into everyone’s business.

  “Stop, Jack. I’m fine, and it’s none of your concern. Now,” I sit behind my desk and pull out my laptop. “Unless you need me for anything medically related, I need to get to work.”

  I look down at my computer, but can see Jack warring with himself out of the corner of my eye.

  Please just go, Jack. Don’t do this.

  “You might not want to hear it, but I need to say my piece, Britt. Then I’ll go.” My fingers freeze on the keyboard, but I don’t look up at the man as he speaks. “Ever since that, that… creepy motherfucker showed up here, you’ve changed. You don’t smile anymore, you’ve lost the spark in your eyes. I’ve watched you shrivel up into a husk of who you were.” Jack comes closer, splaying his big hands on my desk to lean over. “He’s not worth it, Britt. Something’s… not right about him. Don’t let that asshole ruin you. You’re better than him.”

  Jack waits another second before turning and leaving my office, gently closing the door as he goes. I slump over my desk, resting my head in my hands.

  “Don’t let that asshole ruin you.”

  Jack’s words run through my head. They’re so similar to what Keller said back in the hotel room in Vegas.

  “Things I want to do to you. I can’t… I refuse to ruin you.”

  A single hot tear trickles down my cheek. What neither of the men know, what no one knows, is that I’m already ruined. Ruined by a madman’s bullet tearing through my skull. Ruined by a brain that refuses to keep the memories buried, showing them to me one by one, haunting me twenty-four hours a day. Ruined by the pressure from my mother to be someone I’m not. Ruined by my inability to feel safe, to stop the panic attacks, to not lose myself to fear whenever I’m alone.

  I bark out a sad laugh. Ruined.

  Too late. I was ruined long before Keller Bishop came into my life. The only thing he did was show me I could live a different way. Without fear, without being numb, without succumbing to the tidal waves of anxiety. Keller dangled a future in front of me, a future I badly want, only to shatter it into dust.

  No, I was always ruined. What I am now, is drained of all hope, and that might actually be worse.

  Killer

  Fight night. Finally. The need to get into the cage and unleash the monster has grown since the visit from my dad last week. Plus, I swear I saw Max driving past the gym a few times like the creepy pervert he is. The monster is desperate to get free, scraping and clawing at my insides as the anger and violence churn and swirl, growing like a dark cloud, seeping out of every pore in my body.

  Killer is back, and ready to do what he does best. Cause pain.

  Except for a few sad glances in my direction, Britt hasn’t spoken to me at all outside of professional interactions. I’m not sure why it bothers me so much that she hasn’t tried harder to find out why I simply cut her off, but it does. Then I shrug off the idea, knowing it doesn’t matter. I can’t be who she wants me to be, not if I want to maintain my sanity.

  Jerry, the guy who replaced Max on my team, finishes wrapping my hands. I’m so fucking glad that pervy douchebag is gone. Spotting him sitting in his car in the gym parking lot, driving off before I approached, had me furious. It makes me want to find out where he lives and beat him to death.

  “There you go, big guy,” Jerry says with a pat on my shoulder, snapping me out of my fantasy.

  “Time to go.” The AFL employee leads us to the ring, through the sold-out crowd at Phillip’s Arena in downtown Atlanta.

  My heart is beating slow and steady, my mind ready for the fight. I don’t get nervous, I don’t show fear or hesitation. I get in the cage, and I take down my unlucky opponent. That’s what I do. Unfortunately, as I stand ringside, waiting for the officials to clear me, my one weakness shows.

  I scan the crowd for Britt.

  Our eyes lock and the crowd, the noise, the fight… all of it fades into nothingness. There is only her and me. Even though the monster is inside, begging to be set free, Britt meets my eyes without fear. As the official walks over to do his pat-down, Britt winks and just like my last fight, she mouths, “you got this,” before breaking eye contact.

  And just like that, she’s buried her way back under my skin. No matter how big of an asshole I was, no matter how shitty I treated her, she still believes in me.

  “All good. Fighters to the ring.”

  I step up into the cage, my thoughts still confused and filled with Britt, images of her smiling, laughing, lying beneath me moaning in pleasure. Everything I want, but can’t have.

  When the ref calls us to the center, I blink and clear my mind. Focus. The anniversary is tomorrow, and Killer needs to purge his demons.

  We tap gloves, and I let the monster free.

  Britt

  Gabriel told me that Keller was fine after the fight and didn’t have any concerns. I took that information, and decided to sneak out of the arena before having to come face-to-face with Keller. Cowardly? Maybe, but not any more so than Keller and his inability to flat-out tell me he didn’t want to see me anymore. Besides, tomorrow is the anniversary, and I plan to go home, lock my doors, and hide in bed until Monday morning.

  Hiding proves more difficult than I thought. When the cab drops me off after the fight, that damn envelope haunts me from its place on the kitchen table. Even buried under a pile of mail, I know it’s there and can feel the horror emanating from it.

  I check the locks multiple times and finally, after three hours, I’m satisfied that no one can get in. A microwaved bowl of soup isn’t appetizing, but nothing is. I manage a few bites before rinsing the bowl and putting it in the dishwasher.

  My phone rings over and over again, every fifteen minutes. There’s no point checking it—I know it’s my mother. If she had any clue how much worse she makes my anxiety, would she stop? I shake my head. No, she wouldn’t. It’s about her, not me. It’s never about me. Even a bullet to my head wasn’t about me. My mother managed to turn that around into a cause,
into a career, using her daughter the “survivor” to garner attention and sympathy.

  After taking my meds, I climb into bed, pulling the covers up over my head. This is one of those times I wish I could have a drink. Of course, alcohol mixes with my seizure medication so it’s out of the question, but I would give anything for the numbness it brings.

  The minutes tick by and in the early hours of the morning, I finally fall asleep.

  The car squeals to a stop, tires smoking on the hot pavement.

  “Britton, run!”

  The girl’s voice is distorted, as if in slow motion. A hand grabs mine and my body is tugged, floating up a staircase.

  “In here!”

  The arms of another girl wrap around me and I close my eyes. Without vision, sound becomes magnified. Sobs. Tears. Screaming. Blood. It’s too much, so I open my eyes.

  And find myself facing down the barrel of a gun.

  I shoot up in bed, clutching my head and gasping for breath. My heart is beating so fast it hurts. Air becomes a precious commodity, so I concentrate on sucking it in, blowing out as slowly as I can. Dizziness swamps my head, black spots dancing across my vision. I gulp down breath after breath until the panic recedes. I raise a violently trembling hand to my face and wipe away tears.

  The dream comes back to me, slamming into my chest like a freight train.

  Oh god. My memory. It’s coming back. It’s going to destroy what’s left of me.

  * * *

  It took four hours for me to get out of a fetal position and get up, and that’s only because my bladder gave me no choice. I check my phone—seven missed calls. Six from my mom, one from Max.

  Odd. I haven’t spoken to Max since he was fired. In fact, he really freaked me out the last time he was in my apartment. He was… off.

  I check the time and sigh in relief. Three in the afternoon. The ceremony is over. Now I can move on with my life.

  I snort. Yeah, some life. Horrific dreams, panic attacks, and a man who won’t give you the time of day.