Fix You: Bash and Olivia, Book 3

by Christine Bell

  Fix You

  Bash and Olivia

  Book Three

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Epilogue

  Copyrights

  Chapter One

  Olivia

  He left.

  I told him I loved him, and he just up and walked out.

  Sure, he said he loved me too, but the timing had been pretty sketchy. Everyone knows that anything a guy says to you when his dick is in you doesn’t count. Not that it couldn’t be the truth. Just that I had to take his behavior after the fact into account. And judging by the way he ran out of my room like his ass was on fire? It wasn’t a stretch to assume he had major buyer’s remorse about uttering the L word.

  It would have been okay if I knew for sure that was his only regret. That it was too much, too fast. It was the thought that he’d changed his mind about me altogether that had me sick to my stomach.

  I rolled to my side and groaned, covering my head with a pillow. Things had seemed good. More than good. For once, it was like we were both in the same place at the same time, mentally. Both of us willing to do whatever it took to make a go of it. So what had happened between a great night of pool, chicken wings, and laughter, and him walking out so soon after we’d had sex that my legs hadn’t stopped shaking yet?

  At 1:00 a.m., I was still wide-awake, agonizing over those questions and more, when my phone rang. Pulse pounding, I snatched it up like it was the last candy cane at Christmas.

  “Hello?” I didn’t recognize the number, but it was a Boston exchange and I hoped maybe it was Bash calling from the landline at the gym.

  “Olivia? It’s Crystal.”

  “Hey, Crystal, what’s up?” I said as I flipped on the lamp next to my bed, trying not to let the abject disappointment I was feeling show in my voice. Crystal was my RA from down the hall. Had she somehow found out about Bash sneaking in earlier without signing the guest book? Seemed strange, because she was pretty laid-back most of the time and that was hardly egregious enough to merit a middle-of-the-night call. Then again, it had been a strange night.

  “There was a guy buzzing the intercom at the front door like crazy for the past ten minutes. He wouldn’t stop until I went down. He says he needs to see you.” The phone went all muffled as she whispered, “He’s, um, super cute.”

  I leaped up, thanking the gods that General Jody had gone off door watch duty for the night as my heart skipped a beat. “Thanks, Crystal, I’ll be right down.”

  “Okay. I’ll look the other way if you want to go outside once he’s given me his name and contact information, but he can’t come in the building this late at night.”

  “I totally understand.”

  I got dressed and made it downstairs in record time, walking into the front lobby just in time to see a sleepy and disheveled Crystal sliding a driver’s license through the slot in the door. She turned around without a word and headed upstairs, biting her knuckle at me as she passed.

  I ran a nervous hand over my hair and approached the door like it was made of snakes. Bash had left on awkward terms, and as excited as I was that he’d come back, I was also petrified he’d come back with a speech to give me. Something with the phrase “It’s not you, it’s me” making an appearance toward the end.

  I worked up my nerve and looked through the heavy glass door to see Matty McDaniels standing on the steps. His handsome face was pinched and pale, and my stomach dropped to my toes. I unlocked the door with icy fingers and stepped onto the concrete landing. The look in his eyes only added to the sense of dread washing over me.

  “Matty?” I couldn’t ask the question. The one that trembled on the tip of my tongue. What if he was— “What happened? W-was there an accident?”

  He shook his head quickly, and I closed my eyes, slumping in relief.

  “Nothing like that. He’s okay for right now, but we’ve got to move if we want him to stay that way.”

  I let him pull me toward his car, my thoughts and emotions a jumbled mess. I kept replaying the most important part of the conversation over and over in my head to stave off the panic. He was okay. Bash was okay.

  For now.

  “Did they come after him for the money?” Were they working him over right now to make some sort of point? Bile rose, burning the back of my throat, and I wanted to kick myself. I should’ve just sold the damned car and been done with it. Boys and their pride. I shouldn’t have let him talk me out of it.

  “No.”

  We reached his beat-up Honda and he yanked open the door, half thrusting me into the passenger’s seat before making his way around to the driver’s side and climbing in.

  “They didn’t have to,” he said, cranking the engine. His mouth was set in a grim line as we pulled out of the parking lot, tires squealing. “He went to them. Mickey runs an illegal fighting ring in a warehouse down by the docks. I got a call from a guy who used to know my dad. He said Bash’s name was added to the lineup for tonight.”

  The hum of blood rushing to my ears nearly blocked out the rest of his words as it all started to gel.

  Not knowing that I’d pieced together the cash as well, Matty had borrowed money from a local gangster to help get Bash out of jail. When he realized that he might be taking them from a bad situation to a worse one, he’d changed his mind, but Mickey wasn’t about to let him off so easily. Now Matty owed the shyster another ten grand in interest for his troubles. Apparently, Bash felt responsible. He wanted to get the debt cleared before it compounded, and fighting was the only way he knew how to do it.

  Jesus, Bash. Why?

  “Should we call the police? Maybe if they show up, they can shut it down before Bash’s bout?”

  “Half the cops in Boston are on his payroll, and the ones who aren’t look the other way because it’s safer. Not an option.” His lips went taut and he slammed a hand on the wheel. “Shit, I can’t believe he’s doing this. I knew the whole break-in got him spooked, but we were working through it. We could’ve figured something out. But no, he couldn’t stand the thought of me owing Mickey.” He shook his head and bit out a harsh laugh. “Your boyfriend is a real asshole sometimes.”

  Funny, I hadn’t ever seen Matty anything but angry except on the very first day I’d met him, and that was before he knew who I was and the drama I’d unintentionally brought to Bash’s life. But now, even though he sounded pissed off as usual, it was obvious it was all bluster. He was terrified for his brother, and it showed as I peered over at him in the dim glow of the streetlights.

  His brows were drawn tight in a worried line and I resisted the urge to pat his shoulder, which he would surely not appreciate coming from me.

  I leaned forward and rested my forehead on the cool dashboard for a second before straightening again. “Talk to me. What can I do?” I could barely get the words out through the tightness in my throat.

  He flicked the clock on the dashboard with a snap of his thumb and forefinger. “He gets in the ring in a half hour or less, and I need you to stop him.”

  I could tell it killed him to say the words, like maybe he thought I’d gloat now that he needed me after the way he’d treated me, but that was the furthest thing from my mind. All I knew about illegal fighting was what I’d seen in movies, and as I dredged up those images, I was less than comforted.

  “How?” I whispered, wrapping my arms around my middle, a sudden chill coming over me. Bash was stubborn, especially when it came to protecting people he cared about. If he thought
this was the only way to help Matty, there would be no reasoning with him. “How am I going to stop him?”

  He sped up as the green light in front of us went yellow and blew through it as it turned red. “He won’t listen to me,” Matty said, voice harsh. “You’re the only chance he’s got. If he goes through with this, it could ruin his career. This is balls-out, bare-knuckle fighting. He could break his hand, or worse. Even if he doesn’t get pulverized in the ring, whatever happens is going to take a major toll on his body.” He gripped the wheel and blew out a sigh. “Not to mention him showing up to court in a cast or something. That won’t help his case.”

  I let the words sink in and tried to keep a clear head. This had all started because Bash rescued me from my ex-boyfriend Andy, who had grown increasingly violent. Bash wound up punching his lights out, and Andy had gotten him arrested for assault. With Bash’s grand jury hearing coming up, we needed more than ever for him to keep his nose clean and make like a model citizen if we hoped to get the case thrown out. Fighting in some sort of barbaric and illegal contest was right up there with the worst possible thing he could get caught doing right now.

  Bottom line? Matty was right. I needed to find Bash and convince him that this was a terrible idea. But how to get him to listen to me? Begging seemed like a good place to start.

  By the time the warehouse was in view, the shaking in my limbs had subsided, but my stomach was an oil slick of nausea as a hundred and one possible scenarios ran through my head, each more horrific than the last.

  Getting there too late and finding Bash on the floor, covered in his own blood.

  Getting there too late and finding Bash on the floor, covered in someone else's blood.

  Getting there right on time to see Bash get pulverized by some gargantuan cage fighter named The Crusher and wind up getting hobbled.

  Or worse.

  "It's going to be all right, Olivia,” Matty said gruffly. He reached out and gave my hand an awkward squeeze. “We both have to keep our shit together right now if we want to convince him to leave with us. A united front for one common goal. I know I've said some shitty things to you, and I'm not going to lie. I said some even shittier things about you behind your back, but when I saw you tonight, I realized something that I didn't get before. You actually care about him, don't you?" He glanced at me quickly before turning his attention to finding an empty parking spot.

  The question should've offended me, but it didn't. Matty was only doing what he thought was right in order to protect his brother. The fact that he was even open to seeing the truth now gave me the tiniest glimmer of hope that this was a good sign. A portent of things to come, and that maybe this night wasn't going to end with yet another horrible turn of events.

  "I do." I turned in my seat and faced him, taking in the concerned lines bracketing his mouth. "More than you can imagine."

  He nodded slowly and went silent. I followed suit, using the opportunity to work on my strategy and begging techniques. When we found a spot in the crowded lot a few minutes later, I’d managed to get my game face on. This was a task that needed doing. Like going to the gym or getting wisdom teeth pulled. I was going to face it head-on like a woman, and I needed to stay strong. I could do this. Bash’s future might depend on it.

  We stepped out of the car, and Matty made his way around the front end, taking his sweet time about it.

  "Jesus, hurry up," I muttered, already in motion toward the sprawling brick building.

  He reached out with a playful grin teasing his lips and took my hand, pulling me to a stop. I could feel my eyes bulging out of my head.

  "What the hell are you doing?"

  "What I'm doing is making like we're on a date going to see a fight. What I'm not doing is running into the building where they're running an illegal gambling operation like someone who’s about to start trouble. Got it?"

  His smile never wavered, but I could see the warning in his eyes as he tipped his head furtively toward the front of the warehouse twenty yards away.

  "We need to fit in here, Olivia, or we're going to get turned away."

  I swallowed hard and nodded, noting the wide doors manned by three hulking men in black T-shirts with “security” emblazoned in white on the front.

  Matty pulled me gently and we strolled leisurely to the entrance, him chattering nonsense in my ear, none of which I even attempted to process. I was too busy trying to look cool. Like the kind of girl who went out on dates to warehouses where men beat the shit out of each other for money in the middle of the night.

  "Can I help you?" The largest of the three guys eyed us both up and down and folded his arms over his chest.

  Matty squeezed my hand lightly and I squeezed back. If that was a warning to let him do the talking, he needn't have worried. My mouth was bone-dry with fear and I couldn't have managed a single word.

  "We're here to catch the main event. Did we miss it or…?"

  The three men exchanged glances and one of them—the one with the face tat—lifted his chin and leveled a challenging gaze at Matty. Shit. This wasn't going to be as easy as we'd hoped.

  "I'm not sure what you mean. This is a machine shop. There have been some burglaries in the area and we're just here to keep an eye on the third-shift workers, keep everyone safe. Why don't you head on out?"

  "The Red Sox are going to win the World Series this year," Matty said.

  I stared at him as a cold wave of dread ran through me. They weren't going to let us in, and Matty had lost his ever-loving mind, spouting nonsense. Bash was inside, in who knows what kind of condition, and we were out here with just a wall separating us as his brother regaled the door thugs with baseball predictions.

  I pulled my hand away and worked up some saliva and opened my mouth to speak, but before I could get a word out, the three men parted to make space for us and the one closest to the door pushed it open.

  “Enjoy yourselves."

  Matty nodded his thanks and took my hand. "Come on, babe, it's going to be great."

  He pulled me in and led me down a short hallway toward the noise that was getting more raucous with every passing second.

  "What the hell was that?" I asked him, so relieved I could hardly contain the tears rushing to my eyes. We weren't out of the woods, but at least we'd made some headway.

  "That was tonight’s secret phrase to get us in. My buddy told me it when he called."

  I shook my head, bemused and feeling even more out of my element. How quickly life could turn. On a dime, I'd gone from sorority mixers and women's studies classes to pawn shops, mobsters, and fight clubs with secret passwords.

  I reminded myself again that as long as I had Bash, it was all worth it. Although I had to admit, I’d be glad when the dealings with Mickey Flynn had come to an end. A life without mobsters would be ideal right now.

  A few seconds later we stepped out of the dim hallway into the main warehouse. The smell hit me first. Like sweat and stale cigarette smoke. The space was huge, and jam-packed with people. The noise level was at a dull roar and I leaned in to hear Matty when he spoke again.

  "We have to get through the crowd and get close to the betting booth. I know a girl who works there and I'll see if I can get some info on where the fighters hang out before their bouts."

  I nodded my comprehension rather than shouting and he started to cut a path through the crowd across the sticky concrete floor. It was strange, but more than the smell of sweat and the sheer number of people packed into the space, the thing that was most discomforting was the vibe. It was like what I imagined the Colosseum was like during gladiator times. The frenetic energy had its own pulse, and it felt like something truly amazing or truly terrifying could happen in an instant.

  We’d almost made it to the booth when a tinny voice boomed over the cheap speakers set strategically around the room.

  "You guys ready for it?"

  The already amped crowd got even more riled and loud. Two men in front of me started chest-bumpi
ng each other, and one came stumbling back into me. I fell back and my hand jerked away from Matty's. Suddenly I was alone, swallowed by the mass of people.

  "Hey there, sweetie."

  The hot breath on my neck made my skin crawl and I tried to pull away from the pair of hands that were treating me all too familiarly. Those hands didn't let go, despite my struggle, and instead moved up my rib cage toward my breasts.

  I didn't take the time to think, I just acted on instinct, jerking my arms down to chop into his wrists. Free, I wheeled around and kicked my assailant straight in the balls with all my might.

  I met the stranger’s stunned gaze for a second before the pain must have registered and he dropped to the floor like a stone.

  "Oh, shit!" The guy closest to him laughed and pointed, covering his mouth. "Shorty just whooped your ass, bro."

  My heart was still pounding when Matty pushed his way back to me, taking in the scene before him, brows raised. "Nice. But we gotta go—"

  A loud boom cut him off, and the speakers crackled and exploded with sound.

  "We have a special surprise for you tonight, ladies and gentlemen. This main event is going to be amazing.”

  Matty's face dropped, reflecting the sensation in my stomach.

  "We're too late."

  This was terrible. Not absolute worst-case scenario, because at least he wasn’t half-dead on the ring floor, but definitely not what we'd hoped for. The weight of the failure was crushing. I looked to Matty, hoping to see something in his expression that would comfort me. Some hint that it wasn't that bad. That maybe things could still turn out okay, but I shouldn't have looked at him. It only made it worse.

  "This is probably going to ruin his career, whether he wins or loses," he muttered. I strained to hear him over the roar of the crowd.

  "Why are you saying that? Surely if he wins, it will be okay. He can pay Mickey Flynn the money you owe and it will all work out."

  I stared at him, begging him wordlessly for some reassurance, but he offered none.

  "You don’t get it. A fight like this takes it out of you. I don't think you get the punishment your body takes in a fight. Most boxers get in the ring once a year. The prep is grueling and it really is like recovering from a car wreck after the fact. Deep tissue bruising, concussions, stitches, sometimes broken bones." He shook his head miserably. "And that's in a sanctioned boxing match. These fights are even worse. They don't stop them unless someone's out cold. Breaking bones is par for the course. There's no way he'll be in condition to fight Spada in a couple months. He’s going to get his block knocked off. A loss on his record would be a huge blow."