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.
The cop continued to ask questions, but Rosalyn didn’t answer them, no matter how tempting. She knew she was protected by the law. What she couldn’t understand was why the cops had such an interest in this fight ring.
It was illegal, yes, but warranting this kind of investigation? Rosalyn wasn’t so sure.
Eventually Rodriguez gave up. Just sat back in her chair and stared at Rosalyn with a weary expression.
“Who are you protecting?” she asked softly.
Rosalyn smiled sadly and said nothing. But thoughts of Diego filled her head. She regretted what she’d done. She wished she could turn back time to fix her mistakes, but she knew first-hand life didn’t work that way. She had to hope he’d be alright, and safe. That he’d get out of this country safely and start the life he wanted. Her heart cracked open at the thought of never seeing him again, but that was her punishment.
Eventually, Rodriguez let Rosalyn go. She was on her way out of the station, Rodriguez’s eyes boring into her back, when she caught sight of Carrie talking to the same African American cop that had made Rosalyn so nervous previously. She stopped, then waited until her friend was done.
Carrie’s eyes widened when she turned and saw Rosalyn standing a few feet away. “What are you doing here?” Carried hissed. “You’re not stealing my story are you?” she asked with only mild suspicion.
Rosalyn smiled a shaky smile and shook her head. “No, I was interrogated over the article that went live last week.”
Carrie’s eyebrows shot up. “No way. Why?”
Rosalyn shrugged. “I don’t know, but they wanted information on this case. I can’t imagine why.”
“Are you okay?” Carrie asked, stepping closer to Rosalyn to let a cop pass behind her, placing a hand on her arm.
Rosalyn nodded. “Yeah. I’ll be fine.” At least about this. The aching hole in her heart where Diego should be would take longer to heal. She felt his loss like a physical wound. It was her own mistake, she knew. But that didn’t make it suck any less. She’d also known—Diego had stressed it often enough—that their time together would be limited. He’d always intended to go, to leave her.
But it still pained her to think of what might have been. How he’d become such a large part of her life in such a short time. How she already missed him now that he wasn’t there. She’d thought about him all night instead of sleeping, wishing how things might have been different. But they weren’t.
She shook her head to clear it. “What are you doing here?”
“You haven’t heard?” Carrie asked, her eyes lighting in excitement. Rosalyn shook her head and tried to smile, even though Carrie’s excitement instantly exhausted her.
“The Ruby Robber was caught! They’re saying he acted alone, now, and it wasn’t a gang. I’m not sure I believe that, but I desperately want to interview him and hear his side of the story. Can you imagine the exclusive? Anthony will go through the roof.”
“That’s…” Rosalyn swallowed as dread crept up the back of her neck. “That’s great. Do they have an ID?”
Carrie nodded. “Yeah. Some guy from up north.” She bent her head and flicked through her notepad. “Ah, here we go. His name is apparently Diego. Diego Johnson. Though everyone thought he was dead.”
The bottom dropped out of Rosalyn’s stomach at the words. Diego? She couldn’t be serious. But the information fit. The name, the circumstance.
What had possessed Diego to do such a thing? The Ruby Robbers were a gang of violent criminals—or one violent man. Surely not. Surely he couldn’t do such a thing.
But hadn’t he warned her time and again that he wasn’t a good man? Maybe this is what he’d meant. Maybe his criminal past wasn’t as far behind him as he’d led her to believe.
Rosalyn stumbled back and sat heavily on one of the waiting room chairs. It creaked under her weight but she barely noticed, staring blankly ahead.
Diego had been robbing people all this time? Even assaulted people in the process? Nausea welled up in her at the thought that she’d shared her life—her bed—with such a man. But doubt nagged at her, growing larger with every passing second.
The Diego she knew wouldn’t—couldn’t—do that. He may have wanted money to escape his life, but that’s why he was fighting. He wouldn’t resort to hurting innocent people, would he? She couldn’t be sure. She wanted to believe he wouldn’t, but he’d said himself that he had a dark soul.
It was too late to know, now. She’d never see him again. But had she really fallen for a man so evil? She couldn’t fathom it.
Thoughts swirled in her head, making her dizzy.
“Are you okay?” Carrie asked from the seat beside her, a comforting hand stroking across Rosalyn’s back.
Rosalyn shook her head, the words sticking in her throat. She wasn’t okay, not even close. What had she done? Surely Diego wasn’t who they claimed. There had to be more to what Carrie had been told.
Thankfully, she was just the person to get to the bottom of a story.
Chapter 19
The stark grey walls pushed in on him, suffocating him. Or perhaps that was his broken rib pressing against his lung. He had no doubt Weston had done further damage to him at the jewellery store considering the aches and bruising covering half his body. But the doctors at the hospital had discharged him to police custody, clearly believing him well enough to be interrogated, or not caring either way.
He studied the one-way glass that dominated the wall ahead of him. Was there someone on the other side watching him? Waiting for him to crack?
He sighed. He was too weary to crack. They must know who he was by now. They would’ve run his prints through the system, his name through their databases. He was exposed, vulnerable. With the evidence they had on him, he’d be in jail by tonight.
All his visions of a beach in Mexico had disappeared, replaced with the iron bars of a cell block. He couldn’t go back to prison. He’d do whatever it took to stay out. It was his worst nightmare, worst fear.
And he had to stew in it while he waited for a cop to show up and question him. Would they believe he was blackmailed into this? Probably not.
He shifted, the chains clinking against the table, the cuffs digging in to his wrist. He was torn between wanting this interrogation over with and wanting to avoid it for as long as possible. The longer he sat here, the more time he’d have before being shunted off to prison. But this room was a special kind of suffocating all on its own, the claustrophobia of the unknown.
The door opened. A female detective strode in, tall and lanky. She held a file folder under one arm, and wore a cheap black suit with a white shirt. He eyed her with suspicion, wondering if she was here to interrogate him or to take him straight to prison. Would he have a chance to explain himself first?
“I’m Detective Rodriguez,” she told him.
“Okay,” he said, eyeing her carefully.
“And you’re Diego Johnson, former right-hand man of Victor Garrera.” She slipped into the seat opposite him.
Diego stared at her for a long moment, and she looked impassively back
.
“And?” he said eventually. “What will you do to me?” He held himself still, bracing for the inevitable.
Instead of condemning him straight into prison, she raised an eyebrow at him. “I’m going to ask you some questions.”
He sighed, preparing himself. Questions were okay, since they might give him a chance to explain the situation. Maybe get a reduced sentence.
But the thought of spending even another second behind bars choked him.
“Tell me about the robbery.”
“I was set up.”
She flicked through the files disinterestedly. “So you claim.”
Diego drew in a breath to elaborate. He wasn’t sure if he should rat out McCready and Weston. If he did—if he told the police about McCready especially—then it’d be no different to Rosalyn publishing that article. Worse, even, because McCready would be arrested and the fights would cease to exist. Yes, they were brutal, but they were the only way for some men to make a living. Good men in bad situations, like Alexei and Chen.
But Diego didn’t even get a chance to decide whether he was going to tell this cop about the real thieves, because she broke in with an unrelated question of her own.
“Why did you fake your own death?” she asked him.
So they definitely knew his real identity. Damn it. Outwardly, he shrugged. “It seemed like my one chance to get away from the life I’d been living.”
She tilted her head. “And why did you want to get away?”
Diego’s jaw clenched. It didn’t feel right telling her this stuff. It had been hard enough to tell Rosalyn. A sharp stab of pain ripped through his heart at the thought of her.
“I—” he began.
They were cut off by a knock at the door. The detective made a sound of annoyance, then stood to answer it.
A short plain-clothes detective stood on the other side, only partially visible through the crack in the door. He shifted nervously as Rodriguez glared at him.
“I’m in the middle of an interrogation,” she hissed beneath her breath. Diego shifted his eyes back to the one-way glass as if he wasn’t eavesdropping on the conversation. Buzzing energy ran through his veins, a fight-or-flight response to the presence of cops.
“I need to know what happened with the Rosalyn chick,” he said, and Diego straightened with alertness. “You didn’t have time to file your report. Did you get anything out of her?”
Rodriguez made a sound of annoyance. “No. She didn’t tell me anything. She’s protecting her source. We’ll have to find another route to get at this fight ring. I don’t think she’ll crack. Seemed to have a pretty good reason for staying silent.”
Diego’s heart beat thunderously in his chest. Rosalyn had protected his secret—the secret of all the fighters—because he’d asked her to. She’d had the perfect opportunity to expose them to the cops, which is pretty much what she’d wanted when writing the article, but she hadn’t taken it. She hadn’t exposed him and the others. Not that it mattered to him now—he was out of that life. But the other men there, Alexei and Chen and even the new guy Wyatt, deserved the livelihood they’d chosen. She’d given them that by staying silent, by not thinking she knew what was best for them.
Diego breathed a sigh of relief, and his simmering anger towards her slowly dissipated. She really hadn’t meant to hurt and expose them. She’d really thought she was doing something good. That meant a lot, even if she’d never know he appreciated her gesture.
He wanted to see her again, just once, now his initial anger had faded. Now he understood her reasons and she’d made the effort to fix her mistakes.
And he forgave her. In the end, it hadn’t been her actions that had made the law catch up to him, but his own. He never should have trusted McCready. His desperation had made him do something unforgivably stupid, and now he was paying the price.
Maybe he could’ve learned to forgive Rosalyn. The empty ache in his chest told him he missed her. He still wasn’t over her, not even close. But he wouldn’t have a chance now. He’d be back in prison before the night was through. He couldn’t subject her to living that life. Didn’t even want her to see him that way, to know how far he’d fallen. He wanted her to remember him as he’d been with her.
A better man. The man he’d always hoped he could become.
The detective slid back into the seat opposite him, but Diego was still wrapped in his own thoughts.
“Where were we? Ah, yes. Why did you want to get away from your old life?”
He inhaled slowly. His eyes focused on the detective, and he knew with sudden clarity she was testing him for something. If he wanted a shot at seeing Rosalyn again, his instincts told him that he had to open up to this woman, tell her the truth about who he was.
“It was never who I wanted to be. I took the chance in the hope I could start my life over. Become someone else, not plagued by his past. I wanted an opportunity to see who I really was. See if I could strip away the years of darkness and violence and become the kind of man I could’ve been if circumstances hadn’t got in the way.”
The words were heartfelt, and true. Unfortunately, his little experiment had failed. Turns out, he wasn’t capable of being that man. He’d been too corrupted, too poisoned by the life he’d led for a decade.
The detective’s gaze thawed a little as she studied him. Maybe she sensed the truth behind his words, and some forgotten piece of empathy within her was reacting. Or perhaps she recognised his frustration with himself, the hatred at his inability to change and move beyond his past.
It reminded him a little of what Rosalyn had said to him. That he’d been too scared to confront his past, and instead he was running away. Perhaps she’d been right. It had been easier to keep moving forward and not look back. To hold himself away from temptation as if that was a true test of his will. Instead, he should have confronted his past head on. Dealt with it before trying to start over. Perhaps then he would be strong and worthy enough to start again. But he’d taken the coward’s way out.
If he could do it all over again, he wouldn’t have kept to himself in this new life. He would have built a support network around himself, made friends, been honest about his past and made true amends for the things he’d done. Maybe that would have atoned for his sins. Maybe that would have kept him away from the position he was now in. Maybe then he could have kept Rosalyn, rather than driving her away with his fear of his past.
He sat back in his chair, feeling the weight of all his mistakes pressing down on him.
“And how do you feel about your old crew now, Mr. Johnson?”
He rolled his eyes. “There’s no warm feelings there, if that’s what you mean.” He’d never had a particular loyalty to them. He’d done what he’d had to so he could survive, nothing more. Maybe he’d felt beholden to Victor, but that had disappeared when the guy had murdered his own son.
“That’s good to know.”
“Why are you asking questions about that?” he demanded. Maybe he wasn’t here on the burglary charges as much as he was for Victor’s murder. Terror clutched him at the thought. If they put him on trial for murder, he’d get locked up without any questions, and he’d never make parole. Shit.
“Do you have much contact with your former crew?” she asked, seemingly oblivious to the panic Diego wrestled with. He had to stay calm, to think of a way out of this.
He shook his head. “I haven’t seen or spoken to them since I left.”
“Were you aware Mickey had taken control of the operation?”
Diego blinked. “No. I figured they’d scatter after Victor’s, um, death. I didn’t think he’d have the balls to pull it off.”
The detective nodded slowly. “Well, he seems to have not only pulled it off, but expanded the operations. In the last year, he’s managed to spread his supply routes across half the US. He’s making quite a name for himself.”
“That little rat bastard. I knew he was brutal, but I had no idea he was clever.”
> “Apparently he’s surprised a lot of people. There’s an FBI taskforce around now, just to deal with him. But between you and me, they’re scrambling.”
“Huh.” Diego wasn’t sure what else to say. This was certainly not the direction he’d expected this conversation to go. What did this have to do with him?
“Said FBI task force is trying to build a case against Mickey.” A strange inkling started in the back of Diego’s mind. “Unfortunately, his current crew members don’t seem to want to talk.”
Diego breathed shallow breaths. Detective Rodriguez shuffled her papers in the file with studied casualness, drawing out the moment. He wanted to grab her, shake her, force her to spit it out. Instead, he waited with coiled energy beneath his skin, ready for what might come next.
“How would you feel…” she began finally. “About testifying against Mickey?”
A pin could have dropped in the room and echoed to every corner. He stared at Rodriguez as he tried to process what she was saying, and she stared back impassively, waiting for his answer.
“In exchange for what?” he managed to choke out.
“Immunity from prosecution,” she told him without hesitation. “For this little burglary you were barely a part of. There were two security cameras there, and your friend only noticed one, so we know what happened. You have no other pending warrants against your name, but if any other historic charges come up, you’ll also be immune. You’ll get a clean slate.”
“It’s tempting,” he said. More than tempting. He could avoid prison for good. And, shit, it was good news he wasn’t wanted for Victor’s murder.
But if Mickey was as dangerous as Rodriguez said, then by testifying against him he’d essentially sign his own death warrant.
“If Mickey is as powerful as you say, I’d be dead before this ever went to trial,” he continued.
Rodriguez hesitated. “Depending on your information, the FBI are prepared to put you into WITSEC.”
Underground Fighters Trilogy Boxed Set Page 14
