by Love, Amy
He jogs down the steps, a plan beginning to form in his mind, and he calls the one person he knows he can turn to in a time of need. Morrison had said not to tell anyone, but short of tapping Grayson’s phone, he would never know about this conversation with West. Besides, no matter how much he wants to, Grayson knows that this isn’t something he can handle on his own. Where Adriana’s concerned, he can’t think straight. The last thing he wants to do is fly off the handle and make a mistake that gets her hurt or worse. No, he can’t think about that, just the idea of something happening to her makes his entire being feel like it might shut down, and he couldn’t afford for that to happen. Adriana is depending on him; he can’t let her down.
“West, something’s happened. I need your help.”
ADRIANA
She slowly opens her eyes, but it’s harder than it should be. Her eyelids feel heavy, like they have weights attached to them. When she finally manages to keep them open, her surroundings seem as dark to her as her own fuzzy mind. Her mouth is dry, and her head is aching, like she’s been hit over the head with a hammer.
She tries to get to her feet, but her legs don’t seem to want to cooperate. It’s like they’re not part of her body anymore, not under her control. What happened? Why is everything so out of focus, so hazy? she thinks.
She moves to brush her hair out of her eyes, only to find that the simple action is not so simple after all. Her hands are bound in front of her; she can feel the restraints rubbing against her skin, cutting into her. That’s when it all comes rushing back: the mystery man and his goon in her apartment, the comments he’d made about Grayson not being the person that she thought he was, and the hand that covered her face and brought her to her knees with chloroform.
The memory of what happened in her apartment brings with it a sense of panic, of blind fear. Adriana feels her breathing quicken and a lump form in her throat, as she tries to work through her feelings. It’s okay, she tells herself, Grayson will come for you. He’ll find you.
After a few attempts, she manages to stand up shakily and, in that instant, the lights go on. She blinks against the brightness that feels like it’s seared into her eyes. The grim realization hits her that she is not alone; someone is watching her, watching what she’s doing.
“Hello?” She looks around at the damp brick walls of what looks to be a basement. “Is anyone there?” She strains, listening for a response, but none comes. She is alone.
Adriana scans the room. In the corner, she sees a table with a glass of water. She has no idea how long she’s been in this place or even what time of day or night it is, but the sight of the water makes her realize that she’s desperate for a drink. She grabs the glass, gulping the cool liquid down greedily and when she’s halfway through she stops abruptly. What if this is the last water she’s going to get for a while? She has to make it last. She tries to train herself to take small sips, but it’s like asking a man dying of hunger not to eat when food is put in front of him. It takes all her strength to leave some water in the glass, and she pushes it away from her clumsily with her tied hands.
That’s when she notices the other item on the table. It’s an old newspaper article, from The Philadelphia Chronicle. Her eyes scan the date, telling her that what she’s reading is over ten years old. Ten years, the thought echoes in her mind. Her senses get jacked up to red alert, as she processes the headline.
Suspected Underground Fighter Found Dead
A chill goes through her, but she forces herself to read on. It talks about a body being found in an underground warehouse, which had a reputation for hosting underground fights. It looks like he was pummeled to death, the injuries catalogued ghoulishly by the reporter. The man—Vinnie ‘Destructor’ Jones—had been known to the cops. He’d been in and out of jail for burglary, assault with a deadly weapon, rape, and the list went on. From the interviews with the local cops, it wasn’t hard to get the impression that no one particularly missed Vinnie.
There was speculation on the part of the reporter that he had been killed in an underground, unlicensed fight where bookies ran the show. Apparently, it wasn’t uncommon for these kinds of matches to end with one of the fighters dead or in a vegetative state. In a fight where there are no rules, no medics, and no accountability, anything goes—including homicide. There had been a sighting of a young man fleeing the warehouse in the early hours of the morning, but details were sketchy at best.
The article ends with the reporter’s opinion that despite the police asking for anyone who knows anything to come forward, it’s likely that this case will rest among the many unsolved crimes of the city. These fights are underground for a reason; they’re organized by people who believe themselves to be outside of the law. This wasn’t the first and wouldn’t be the last body found under these circumstances.
Adriana reads the last few lines with tears forming in her eyes. She brushes them away with her bound hands, as her mind races through all the possibilities of what she’s just read. She looks at the date again, knowing exactly why it makes her feel feverish—hot and cold and then hot again. It was the day after she had last seen Grayson all those years ago. It was the first day he hadn’t been there to walk her home, the first of what would stretch out to be an endless number of days.
Grayson had said to her that she didn’t know what he was capable of, that he had left because he didn’t have anything to offer her. Even last night he had said that there was ‘more’ he needed to tell her, but she hadn’t given him the opportunity. Now, she wonders if that was because whatever he had to say it didn’t matter, that nothing he could say or do would make her feel any differently about him. Or perhaps it was because she didn’t want to hear what he needed to confess to her; perhaps she was scared of what he might say.
All it takes is one article for you to question everything about the man that you love, Adriana? She shakes her head in disgust at herself. She’s more willing to believe some newspaper article that was probably bogus anyway over Grayson, over the man that she fell for instantly all those years ago.
Grayson can’t be involved in what she’d just read; it isn’t possible. He isn’t a killer; he is a fighter. By all accounts, he’s one of the best in the state, maybe even in the whole country. But why then is he so cagey about the time he spent in Philly after he’d disappeared from her life? She thinks about all the possibilities, all the things that he’d said or omitted to say that never quite added up.
Just because he’s not a big talker doesn’t automatically make him a killer, Adrie, she reminds herself. But her eyes go back to the article, scanning it over and over again, searching for something that will exonerate Grayson from any wrongdoing. However, there’s no proof of any kind. It seems that no one knew what had happened to Vinnie Jones.
Yet, she can’t stop her hands from shaking. She tries to persuade herself that it’s just a result of being in this cold, damp basement, but she knows it’s more than that. It’s not just about the fact that she’s been assaulted, kidnapped, and hidden away in some dark hole where no one may ever find her. She’s scared and alone, but those aren’t her only concerns. It’s not just for her sake that she’s shaking. The same question goes round and round in her head, refusing to be quieted. Grayson, what did you do?
GRAYSON
It’s late, and the gym is closed…but not to him, not tonight. He heads straight for the mats where he expects to find West but stops short in surprise. It isn’t just West who appears out of the darkness; he’s not alone.
“I told you not to tell anyone about this.” Grayson looks at West accusatorily.
“So I’m ‘anyone’ now?” Tommy crosses his arms, leveling Grayson with an amused stare.
“Not now, Tommy. This doesn’t concern you.” Grayson doesn’t even look at his friend. Instead, he directs all his attention on West who doesn’t show any signs of shrinking away.
“The hell it doesn’t!” Tommy’s voice echoes loudly around the empty gymnasium. “You’r
e my best friend, man, and if something’s happened to your girl, then I’m going to help—whether you want me to or not. Besides, Adriana’s a helluva cool girl. Whatever you need, I’m in.”
Grayson swallows the retort that was playing on his lips. Tommy’s words have disarmed him, making him grateful once again for his friendship. He clears his throat, too many emotions to count circling around his soul. “We have to get her back.” It’s not a question. For Grayson, there is no plan B.
West nods grimly, reading the determination in Grayson’s expression. “Tell us everything, from the top.” He nods towards a bench by the side of the mats, and Grayson collapses onto it, letting his legs give way beneath him.
He hadn’t realized how much the events of the past hour had taken out of him until he’d sat down. It kills Grayson to think that not so long ago Adriana had been sitting on that bench, watching him and Tommy spar, that he’d taught her some moves on the mat, and that he’d had her so close he could touch her and smell her. It was hard to believe that it had only been this morning that he had made love to her. Now, she seems so far away from him.
Grayson looks at West uncertainly. “There are some things that Tommy doesn’t need to hear.” He grits his teeth at the thought of having to tell him all about his past; there are things that even Tommy didn’t know, dark things.
But Tommy has other ideas; he crosses his arms over his broad chest and gives Grayson an unimpressed glare. “This isn’t the time to go all shy on me, G. I’m in. Whatever it is, I’m in. So just get on with it already; we’re wasting time.”
There’s no hint of amusement in Tommy’s voice. He’s deadly serious, and it strikes a chord with Grayson. His friend the joker, the player, the good-time guy is prepared to do whatever it takes to help him get Adriana back. That realization is enough to push through the walls he’s built up around himself. The whole story comes tumbling out: the years he spent with Morrison fixing his own fights, throwing them when he was told to, and how West had to bargain to get Grayson away from the bookie and into the legit fighting ring.
Finally, he gets to the part that’s hardest to tell, the story that Grayson wishes was just that, a story. He can’t meet Tommy’s eyes as it all comes out, but he feels West’s steadying hand on his shoulder, giving him the strength to tell it. “It was an accident. But that doesn’t make it any easier to deal with.” Grayson shakes his head to get the memory of that night out of his brain. “It changed everything.”
When Grayson finally looks up at his friend, the expression of shock on Tommy’s face is a picture. He rocks up and down on the balls of his feet, as he thinks about what it is that Grayson has just told him. “Alright, so I get that this Morrison guy is a Class A scumbag who knows how to get what he wants. So, what happens now?” Tommy looks between Grayson and West, waiting for orders.
“Did you hear what I just told you?” Grayson’s expression of shock says it all. He’s known Tommy for years and thinks of him as his little brother, but even so he couldn’t muster the courage to tell him about the awful things in his past. Now that he finally has, his reaction was like nothing he could have anticipated.
“I heard you, G.” Tommy’s expression hardens, as he looks at his friend, the conflict in his eyes clear. “I’m not gonna lie; it’s not ever going to be my favorite bedtime story, but, like I’ve said a couple times already now, I’m in. So, what happens now?”
Grayson reacts purely instinctually; he stands and envelops Tommy in what could only be described as a bear hug, virtually squeezing the life out of him before he releases him. Grayson is not a man given to spontaneous displays of affection, which makes the embrace even more meaningful. Tommy looks down at his feet as if he’s dropped something, not wanting anyone to see the emotions playing on his face.
“What happens now is that we get Adriana back. Poor girl, she doesn’t have anything to do with this.” West rubs a hand over his bald head, his standard gesture of frustration.
“And that’s why the only thing that’s important is getting her back; everything else takes a back seat.” Grayson looks from West to Tommy and back again. “I’m going to do whatever Morrison wants.”
West frowns at him, looking wary. “What do you mean?”
“We’re not going after her?” Tommy seems equally confused at Grayson’s words.
“Where Tommy? Where are we supposed to even start looking for her?” Grayson starts pacing around the men, moving on the balls of his feet like he’s primed for action. “We have no idea where she is, where Morrison might have taken her. He has all the cards, and we’ve got nothing.” He punches the sandbag with his injured fist, leaving a bloody print of his knuckle, as he expels some of the anger and frustration that he’s trying to keep just below the surface.
West and Tommy exchange a silent look. “I hear what you’re saying G, but you can’t just let Morrison win. We can call in some favors, do some digging, and find out where he might be keeping her.”
Grayson rounds on him, his anger threatening to boil over the lid he’s so desperately trying to keep fixed on his feelings. “And how long will that take, Tommy? A few days? A week? We don’t have that sort of time! Morrison has Adriana and, from his little note, he doesn’t seem to be planning on keeping her safe and sound while we run around Miami trying to track him down!” He throws the note that he found in Adriana’s apartment down, like he doesn’t even want to touch it.
It floats to the ground, landing in front of West. As he picks it up and reads the words, his face darkens. “He wants you to throw the fight.”
Tommy’s eyes flash, the anger in them clear. “No fucking way! You can’t do that, G, not after everything you’ve worked for! You deserve that title, more than that snake Dexter, more than anyone!”
“Is what I’ve worked for more important than Adriana’s safety, more important than her life?” Grayson swallows hard at the thought of the danger that she’s in. He can’t stand to think about where Morrison might be holding her or what he might be saying or doing to her.
Tommy clams up, unable to contradict Grayson, but too angry to speak.
“Throwing a fight like this is anything but simple, Grayson.” West keeps his voice even, not wanting to rile Grayson up any more than he already is. He knows that when Grayson’s angry he can’t think straight and that’s not the way to get Adriana back. “The UFC has strict rules about this sort of thing; they can spot a fixed fight a mile away.”
“Then, I guess I need to make it look good. Because there’s no way I’m putting Adriana’s life in danger just to win some goddam title.” Grayson virtually spits the words out. A few weeks ago he would never have considered that he would have to make a choice between the woman he loves and everything he’s worked for, everything that he’s good at. But now that the moment has come, the choice couldn’t be clearer. “There will be more fights, guys. There’s only one her.”
ADRIANA
She’s fallen asleep; she has no idea how long for, and there’s no way to tell. There’s no natural light in the room where they’re holding her. Once she’d read the article they’d presented her with a couple of times, the light they’d turned on, as if by magic, was extinguished, and she was plunged into deep darkness again.
Her wrists ache from the restraints around them, and she flexes her fingers to work some feeling back into them. She concentrates on the things that she can change about her situation, the things that she can control. She stands up gingerly, the effect of the darkness giving her a sensation akin to vertigo. She paces the room, her hands dragging along the walls, trying to measure how big the place is where she’s being held.
She concentrates on the number of steps that she’s taking, counting the feet. She hits a corner at the count of thirty and follows the next wall; but, as she gets to the count of twenty, her foot catches on something and she tumbles down. Out of habit, she puts her hands out to break her fall, but the restraints cause her to land awkwardly, and she feels her left wri
st give. She cries out, as she pushes herself back up, twisting her wrist.
Breathe, Adriana, breathe, she tells herself. She moves her left wrist gingerly, trying to rotate it and grits her teeth against the pain. Then, she moves it up and down, testing the range of movement. She tries to pretend that the joint is someone else’s that she’s testing in the hospital. She feels as much as she can with her right hand and notices that the wrist is already swelling. At least it doesn’t seem to be broken, only sprained.
She almost laughs at that thought. She’s been assaulted, drugged, and kidnapped; so, the fact that she has only sprained her wrist seems like cause for celebration. It’s very nearly funny, until she remembers exactly where she is and who has brought her here. She has to get out; there’s no two ways about it.
Slowly, she edges her way along the wall, retracing her steps until she comes up against what had sent her tumbling to the floor. She kicks out at it, using her foot as a probe, trying to concentrate on what it is that she can feel. It’s like she’s pretending she’s blind and only has use of her other senses. It’s a step! The simple discovery is equivalent to all Adriana’s birthdays and Christmases rolled into one. If there are steps, then there’s a staircase towards something, towards the door, towards freedom.
