Fight Dirty

by CJ Lyons

  “I just want to live my life without regrets,” he finally said.

  Exactly what she wanted. No regrets, like the blood on her hands ending with her locked up in a cage . . . or a prison. She glanced around and laughed. Off to a helluva good start.

  He jerked his head up. “Are you laughing at me? Ending up in this hellhole protecting a woman who didn’t want or need it?”

  “No. I’m laughing at myself.” She wrapped her arm around his, drawing his body back to her until their sides touched. Usually she didn’t like people in her space, but somehow she didn’t mind with Micah. And it wasn’t because she’d already cataloged his vulnerabilities and was confident that she could kill him before he could hurt her.

  For once—for the only time she could remember—it was because she simply wanted another warm body next to hers.

  But then he slid his arm free of hers. She sucked in her breath, disappointment chilling her, waiting for him to reject her, abandon her.

  Instead he pressed his body closer and wrapped his arm around her shoulders, holding her to him. “We’re a pair, aren’t we?”

  Morgan said nothing. If he only knew.

  “Now you know my sob story,” he said. “Your turn. Why are you here, Morgan?”

  She lowered her face, avoiding his scrutiny. Debated on maintaining her cover. But if he could help her get out of here faster . . . She followed her impulse to trust him, looked up, and met his gaze.

  “I’m here because BreeAnna Greene is dead.”

  CHAPTER 36

  Bree is—” Micah couldn’t finish his thought. His chest felt hollowed out, as if an Arctic wind had swept through him, snatching up his heart and leaving nothing but ice in its place. “No. She can’t be.”

  The ice dropped deep into his gut while his throat closed with anger. He wanted to hit something; he wanted to hit someone. He wanted Morgan to take back her words, to say it wasn’t so, to tell him she was a liar. He wanted to leap up and rip the clock from the wall above him, tear it apart, and turn back time.

  He wanted so many things as tears filmed his vision, sparking rainbows in the glare of the overhead lights. Most of all, he wanted none of this to be real, because even if that meant that Bree wasn’t real, that she was just some crazy messed-up hallucination, then she wouldn’t be dead. Gone forever.

  “What—how—why—” Single syllables were all he could manage.

  Morgan didn’t move to comfort him but neither did she move away. Instead she simply watched, staring at him with that unnerving expression that was no expression at all. As if she wore a mask labeled “Teenage Girl.”

  Not at all like Bree. Bree’s face was a constant symphony, changing faster than clouds rolling in before a storm or butterflies swirling in a summer breeze. He’d drawn her in his mind so many times, and yet, he’d never really been able to capture her. Had hoped maybe someday he could try again in person . . . “What happened?”

  “She hung herself. The same night she left here.” Morgan’s tone was as chilled as her words.

  “No. Bree would never—” Again he stopped himself. His shoulders heaved so hard and fast he felt as if he was going to be sick. Suddenly his heart returned, pounding fast like thunder in his head, and he felt flushed.

  “No. She was going to save us. She wouldn’t kill herself.” He pivoted on his knees, facing Morgan, gripping her shoulders tight. Wanted to shake the truth from her but stopped himself. “Bree did not kill herself.”

  Morgan kept staring at him. No fear despite his hands on her body, able to bash her head against the wall or throttle her or do anything. Or do nothing. He dropped his hands, looked at them as if they belonged to a stranger.

  “Okay,” Morgan said, more like talking to herself than to him. “Maybe she didn’t. But she died. Less than twelve hours after leaving here. And it looked like suicide. Who would want her dead? Did something happen while she was here? Something more than—” She waved her hand at the doors on the opposite side of the room, the ones leading to the commons room. “Did Deidre break her?”

  Micah shook his head back and forth, whipping his vision until the world blurred. “Bree never broke. Not for Deidre, not for the Rev. Never.”

  “But they tried?”

  “Deidre did at first. But something happened—” He stopped, staring into the ceiling, hands dangling uselessly between his knees. How to explain, how to possibly explain what life was like here? How could this strange girl from the outside ever understand?

  “What happened, Micah? Did someone hurt Bree?”

  “No. Just the opposite. Bree saved us. From ourselves.”

  Jenna stared up at Robert Greene’s fury-filled face. He wanted her to feel intimidated, dwarfed by his larger body, trapped in her chair. To hell with that.

  Andre stepped toward her, ready to tackle Greene, but she waved him off. She met Greene’s gaze calmly and said, “Maybe if you and your wife are done keeping secrets, we can do our job and find out who killed your daughter.”

  Silence as he glared down at her. Finally he turned away. “It was Benjamin. You know it was.”

  “No sir.” She leaned back, kept her voice calm. He stood, looking away from her, shoulders hunched. “We can suspect anyone—well, anyone except you, your wife, and her former lover since apparently you alibi each other—but we need proof.”

  “I don’t care about proof.” He grabbed Caren’s arm and yanked her to her feet. “You. This is all your fault. You took her there, to that place.”

  He shook her like a rag doll. She made a sound between a sob and a screech. Andre moved to intervene, placing his hand on Greene’s shoulder and wrenching him away from his wife. Caren fell back onto the love seat as Greene raised his fists, ready to attack Andre.

  Andre backed off—not in surrender but to give himself space to maneuver. Jenna knew from the way he held his body that he was restraining himself from giving Greene the fight Greene so obviously wanted.

  She pushed to her feet, ready to step between the two men, but it was Nick who defused the situation. He touched Greene’s elbow—a simple, nonthreatening touch—and brought the man’s attention to bear on him.

  “Your little girl didn’t kill herself, Mr. Greene,” Nick said in a low tone, each word rocking Greene like a blow. “Maybe you could sit down and help us find out who did?”

  Greene wavered, hands bunched into fists, but then his face lost focus and he sank onto the love seat beside his wife. Caren immediately draped her arms around his shoulders as Greene ignored her, burying his face in his hands, shoulders heaving. “My baby, my poor baby,” he moaned. “I wasn’t here for her. She was all alone.”

  Jenna gave him a few minutes of self-pity. Hoped it might soften his need to control the investigation and let her finally do her job without interference. She waved Andre and Nick back and crouched beside him.

  “Mr. Greene, is there any way someone associated with your lawsuits could have come here that night?” She couched her words carefully in order to not expose the fact that Greene was using his daughter’s assault to blackmail a federal judge.

  He shook his head, still staring at the floor. “No. Like you said earlier, why would they? I still have all the leverage I need . . .” His voice choked, and he paused to swallow. “With BreeAnna gone.”

  “BreeAnna opened the door that night. Would she have done that for a stranger?”

  Caren answered. “No. Never. Even if it was a police officer, she wouldn’t have opened the door without seeing some kind of identification.”

  “So it was someone she knew.”

  Greene finally raised his head to meet her gaze. “It was Benjamin. Had to be.”

  “Why?” The simple question was impossible to answer.

  “I don’t know. I don’t care. It was him. I know it.” He shook free of Caren’s clingy arms. “Good thing I already
have someone on the inside.”

  Jenna stood. “Who?”

  He stood as well, facing her. This time he was calm, but despite that, Andre still stepped closer, ready to defend Jenna. “After our discussion this afternoon, I knew I couldn’t trust you to get the job done. So I hired your associate.”

  “Morgan? You paid Morgan to go undercover at ReNew.”

  “Why not? We were all set up to do it until you got cold feet.” His smirk returned. “I even paid extra for an expedited pickup, same as how they took BreeAnna.”

  Jenna rocked back on her heels, speechless.

  “You sent men to grab Morgan?” Andre demanded. “Do you have any idea—”

  No. Of course, Greene didn’t. Damn it. Totally her fault, she knew who, what Morgan was.

  “Relax. I followed them to the school, she was fine.”

  “She was fine,” Nick echoed. “Despite being jumped and dragged into a van.” He was trying to reassure her and Andre, Jenna knew.

  “Of course, she was fine,” Greene said. “We walked in together. My point is, we now have eyes and ears in place at ReNew. Thanks to me.”

  “When?” Jenna asked.

  “A few hours ago. How are we going to listen in?” Greene was eager now.

  Jenna took a breath, tried in vain to decide exactly when she’d totally lost control of the situation. “You and your wife obviously have a lot to discuss,” she said, using her voice of command.

  Greene bristled at that, but Nick took the hint. “I’ll stay.”

  “Good. Andre, you and I are heading back to the office to monitor those transmitters.” Technically they could listen to the bugs from any smartphone or computer, but she needed to get out of this house, away from Greene and his manipulations.

  “I want to hear—” Greene protested.

  “You’ve done enough for today, Mr. Greene,” Jenna said.

  Before he could argue, Andre brushed past him, inserting his body between Greene and Jenna as they walked out.

  CHAPTER 37

  Morgan waited for Micah to explain more about Bree, but he sat in silence, his face shuttered by grief. Maybe it was a mistake telling him the truth. Too late now. She tried a different tack. “Were you here when Bree arrived?”

  He nodded. “I’d been here a week, was still overwhelmed, trying to find my footing. Didn’t help that other than Deidre and Nelson, the leader of the Red Shirts, I’m the oldest here—guess that made me threatening. I spent most of that first week in isolation. But then Bree came and they turned their attention to her.”

  “Like they did with me?”

  “No. No. You’re the only person—” He stopped then began again. “Bree began at Step Zero like everyone, but she seemed to understand Deidre, saw right through the games and stupid challenges. Bree didn’t let Deidre or anyone manipulate how she felt, but it was clear she already felt bad about something. She never confessed, at least not to the group, but—”

  “She never went through the Purge?”

  “I guess she made her own variation. That very first day she was here, she begged the rest of us to help her. Said she needed to earn our love.”

  He turned his face away, staring up at the far corner of the ceiling. “Bree was just so . . . lost. First time I saw Deidre cry—really cry, like weeping, tears that wouldn’t stop. I’ll never forget the two of them sitting on the floor surrounded by all of us, holding each other, crying. After that Deidre and Bree were inseparable. Until the day she left, that was.”

  She bet the Red Shirts didn’t like that bond between Deidre and Bree. Upsetting the balance, gaining access to the person with the most power, circumventing the normal chain of command. “How did Nelson feel about that?”

  “He was jealous of Bree—before her, he was the one Deidre confided in, kept close.”

  “But nothing bad happened to Bree while she was here?”

  “Nothing anyone else did to her. We all loved her. She brought us music—no one here played, but Bree convinced Deidre to open the music room, and she would play for hours and hours. Anything. Silly songs we all could sing along to. Music I’d never heard, not classical but rich like that, complicated. Bree would be like in a trance when she played that stuff, but she never finished the song, she’d always wake with a jerk, notes crashing around her.”

  He stopped, rubbed his palms against his knees, as he remembered. “It was like waking a sleepwalker from a dream. The look on her face, startled by the real world—and desperate to return to the dream.”

  Morgan restrained her impatience. She already knew Bree played the piano. She needed to understand more. “What about the Reverend? Did he single Bree out for special attention?”

  He nodded slowly. “Yes. He saw her every day. Would keep her for hours. I thought maybe—I was afraid, I mean, an old guy like that—but she said nothing ever happened. Said he never touched her, he only wanted to make her talk. Said she never did and that’s why he kept making her come back.”

  “And you believed her?”

  “Yes. She never acted afraid to go when he called for her. Treated it as if it was some kind of game and she was winning.” A tiny smile flitted across his face. “I had the feeling Bree never had a chance to feel like a winner before.”

  “Did she ever talk about why her parents sent her here?”

  He shook his head. “No. You could ask, but she’d never answer. Just said she needed to become a better person before she could go home.”

  Didn’t sound like a rebellious teen to Morgan. Sounded like someone who’d been pounded down so hard that she blamed herself for everything.

  “I’ll tell you one thing, though,” Micah continued. “Bree wasn’t excited about going home. If it wasn’t for helping Deidre and the rest of us, she would have never agreed to leave when her mother came. Especially after she saw how upset it made Deidre. Deidre accused Bree of abandoning her. I’ve never seen her so angry. Bree was torn—she wanted to stay with Deidre, but had no way to stop her mother from taking her.”

  Okay. She hadn’t been expecting that—she was more than ready to blow this joint and she’d only been here a few hours, not two months. Maybe Bree’s time here at ReNew had nothing to do with her death? If so, then Morgan was wasting her time.

  “She never said why she didn’t want to go home? Maybe she and Deidre were more than friends?” Their relationship sounded intense, maybe a love affair? It would explain why Deidre had grown so angry and volatile after Bree left her.

  Micah shook his head and gave another one of those shrugs, this one enigmatic.

  Okay. She needed more answers. And she wasn’t going to find them here. She pushed up to her feet. “Let’s go.”

  Micah seemed reluctant to leave the quiet of the intake room. “Are you some kind of cop or undercover investigative reporter? What do you think really happened to Bree?”

  “Not a cop or a reporter. And I have no idea.” When he remained sitting, she lowered her hand to help him up. “But I’m going to find out.”

  They pushed through the doors to the commons room together. The room was empty except for two Red Shirts and Tommy. One of the Red Shirts, Nelson, watched and snickered as the second held Tommy’s face down to the puddle of vomit Morgan had left.

  “Stop it,” Micah called out.

  The two Red Shirts spun around. Tommy tried to escape, but Nelson grabbed him by his shirt collar, twisting it viciously to hold the boy in place.

  “You’re a Zero again, Micah. You can’t talk to me that way,” Nelson said.

  “And you can’t touch him,” Micah protested. “Deidre said—”

  “Deidre isn’t here. She’s off getting saved by the Rev. How come he never sends for you, Micah?”

  “Deidre must give better head,” the other Red Shirt snickered.

  “Let’s see how good this one is
.” Nelson wrapped his arm around Tommy in a choke hold. The little boy whimpered. His face twisted as he tried to prevent the noise from escaping. He seemed to realize that showing weakness would only encourage these two hyenas.

  Micah stepped toward Nelson. “Let him go.”

  The second Red Shirt, a beefy red-faced wrestler-type, grabbed Micah’s arm and pivoted him into a wristlock, forcing Micah to either bend forward or risk dislocating his shoulder.

  “Maybe the new girl here wants to volunteer.” Nelson leered at Morgan and nodded to the other Red Shirt who twisted Micah’s arm harder to pivot him toward her. Micah had no choice but to comply, the Red Shirt shoving him until Micah’s face was in Morgan’s cleavage.

  “How about it, Micah?” Nelson sang his name in a high-pitched approximation of Deidre’s voice. “All that time you two spent in the showers. She must have been mm-mm good. Why don’t you two give us a demonstration?”

  Morgan assessed her options. No weapons within reach—if you could call those damn broomsticks or the plastic chairs weapons. The Red Shirts took her silence as fear. Fools. She rubbed her right side, her fingers dancing over the fake scar above her right hip, and decided the one holding Micah would be the first to die. Then, with Micah free, it would be two against one.

  “Leave them alone,” Micah said, his words gritted with pain. “Take me. Do anything you want.”

  The Red Shirts laughed. “What makes you think we won’t, anyway?” said Nelson.

  “Stop it!” Deidre’s voice sliced through the air like a machete. “Let them go.” She stood in the doorway, the light from the hall silhouetting her, making her seem taller, majestic.

  Nelson released Tommy who scurried to Morgan, hiding behind her, clutching her waist. She shook him free, needing to be able to move without him holding her back.

  “How was your personal salvation lesson, Deidre?” Nelson asked with a sneer. “Did you see the face of God?”

  Deidre strode forward and slapped him so hard he rocked back. His partner in crime took advantage of the moment, released Micah, and sidled out the door. Hopefully not to get reinforcements. Morgan doubted it; the guy had seemed like strictly a follower, not an alpha. Micah moved to stand with Morgan, Tommy behind them.