by Evelyn Glass
“Hello, my dear. I think it’s about time we had a little chat, don’t you?” The voice that reaches her ears is ice cold. She feels her insides clench, as she recognizes the short man who had instructed his goon to incapacitate her in her apartment.
“I don’t have anything to say to you.” Her words come out like venom, an anger that she didn’t even know she was capable of escaping her.
“Now, now, my dear. I’m sure that’s not true. After what you’ve read, I’m sure you have a great many questions that only I can answer for you about your beloved Grayson.” His eyes glitter with something close to glee, as he bears witness to the conflict playing out within her.
CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT
GRAYSON
“It’s not as simple as just throwing the fight, Grayson.” West clearly has no intention of letting this go, his dogged line of argument hasn’t changed since the start of the conversation.
“I came here for help, West, not for a lecture.” Grayson delivers a roundhouse kick at the punching bag, as he feels his nervous energy running away from him. He has to keep focused, for Adriana. “I have to do whatever Morrison wants.” He says the words dully, hating them as they come out of his mouth.
“Well, Morrison didn’t want you to tell anyone about this, so I’m guessing you’re not quite his little puppet yet.” Tommy shakes his head, as if he’s disappointed in Grayson, the man he’s always looked up to like a hero.
“Tommy, you’ve never been in love. Come back to me when you know what the fuck you’re talking about.” Grayson waves his friend’s comment away, but that doesn’t make it sting any less.
“Cool it! Both of you!” West uses his best coach’s voice to cut through the animosity between the two men. It’s only when he’s happy that they’ve both stood down that he continues. “I’m not trying to lecture you, Grayson, but we’re not talking about some little underground fight back in Philly.” West’s expression is hard, as he tries to make his protégé understand what he can see so clearly. “It’s not just about making the fight look real to the judges, to the crowd, and to the cameras. We’re not just talking about the potential of someone outside of the three of us finding out about this and ending your career. That’s not what the big risk is here.” He levels a look at Grayson, making it clear that Grayson knows very well what it is that West is talking about.
“You’re talking about Dexter, about what he does in the ring.” Grayson nods in understanding. He had been so crazy over what Morrison had done, using Adriana as a bargaining chip, worrying about what she might be going through, that he hadn’t even taken his opponent in the ring into account.
“He doesn’t go easy on the other guy.” Tommy nods his head in agreement at West’s words.
“I don’t care. I’ll take whatever he throws at me.” Grayson’s voice is grim determination personified.
“Doesn’t go easy?” West lifts an eyebrow, highlighting the understatement in Tommy’s comment. “Dexter has put the last three guys he’s fought in the hospital. One of them is still in a coma, and his wife is facing the very real probability that if he ever does wake up he’ll be about as conscious as a stick of celery. The other two guys aren’t likely to ever fight again.”
“It doesn’t matter.” Grayson starts to shake his head, not wanting to hear all this again, but West has no intention of giving up that easily.
“It doesn’t matter if you end up a vegetable by letting Dexter win? Or that you can never fight again because one more blow to the head would result in permanent brain damage? Can you really look me in the eye and say that none of that is important?” West narrows his eyes at the man he looks upon as a son and holds his breath.
Tommy looks between the two men, probably wondering if he’s going to have to step in again to avoid a fight, something that he’s been doing a lot of recently. “G, think about this, Dexter doesn’t take any prisoners in the ring and, after the little pissing contest at the party last night, he’s going to go all out on you. You know that as well as I do. If you were fighting to win, it would be one thing, but if you’re fighting to lose, then that’s a whole different ballgame. Grayson, he could really hurt you—permanently.”
Grayson rakes his fingers through his hair. He had come to West for answers, but now all he has is more confusion. “I got Adriana into this mess; I have to get her out.” It’s the only thing that he can accept; he can’t let her get hurt because of his mistakes. He’s never let anyone fight his battles for him; he’s not about to start now.
“And do you think that’s what Adriana would want? That she would want you to give up everything, maybe even your life? Do you think that she would be able to live with herself, knowing that?” West rubs his temples to alleviate the headache that is probably hovering somewhere behind his right eye. “I don’t know her well, but I think I know her well enough to be able to say that girl wouldn’t want you to do this.”
“Good thing she doesn’t get a choice then.” Grayson smiles, but there’s no hint of humor in his eyes. There’s nothing remotely funny about this situation. He rubs his chest absently. Before he’d met Adriana, he had never thought that it was possible to miss someone so much that it actually created a physical ache. He’d felt it since that night ten years ago when he knew he could never see her again, not after what he had done and after what he had become. He’d managed to fool himself into thinking that the ache was gone, that it had disappeared, and that he’d forgotten about her and how she’d made him feel. However, all it had taken was one look that night in the club and he had felt everything all over again. In that moment, he had known that he would do anything for her and be whoever she needed him to be.
“G, you’re not thinking straight! Listen to what West is saying. There must be another way to get her back. We just need to think clearly and analyze this from every angle, like we would a fight.” Tommy’s earnestness is infectious, but Grayson will not allow himself hear what he’s saying.
Grayson’s ears are closed off, and he is settled on what he knows he has to do. “And while we’re sitting here debating this and throwing ideas at the goddam wall to see if any of them stick, what do you think Morrison is doing to Adriana? What do you think she’s going through every minute that we’re just fucking talking?”
CHAPTER THIRTY NINE
ADRIANA
The lights are back on and the goon has manhandled her down the stairs, tying her restrained hands to a water pipe running down the wall. Then, he hurries to get a chair for his boss.
“It’s just a precaution, my dear. It’s nothing personal.” The short man gestures towards her restraints before he settles himself elegantly down into the chair. The goon takes a step back, but continues to stare at Adriana as if she is the first hot meal he is likely to get all year.
“Well, excuse me if it’s a little hard to believe you. You broke into my apartment, drugged me, and locked me in your little dungeon of doom here. That feels pretty personal.” Her voice is dripping with sarcasm, but she holds onto that anger. Anger is better than fear and better than the tears that completely overtook her on the stairs.
“It’s just business, Adriana. May I call you Adriana?” The man looks at her deferentially. The situation would be funny if she wasn’t pretty sure that he is going to kill her at the first available opportunity.
“I don’t think I’m really in a position to tell you what you can and can’t do.” She looks pointedly at the pipe that she’s been tied to.
“Smart girl.” He nods appreciatively, as if he’s impressed with her reasoning abilities.
“And what should I call you? You have me at a bit of a disadvantage on more than one front.” She tries to keep her voice calm and confident, not letting him see that inside she’s feeling anything but.
“You may call me Morrison.” He looks at her a little expectantly as if she should react somehow.
“Should that name mean something to me?” She frowns, looking as unimpressed as possible.
>
“Grayson never mentioned me? I should have assumed as much.” He sighs loudly. “After all the time we spent together, it’s sad that he doesn’t talk about our little adventures. But, what can you do?” He shrugs, his hands open as if to show how powerless he is. It’s a little hard for Adriana to believe his little act when she’s completely at his mercy.
“You said you were a friend of Grayson’s. What kind of a friend kidnaps his girlfriend to blackmail him?” Adriana’s tone is as biting as her words. She doesn’t have any intention of making nice with this man, not after everything he’s put her through and whatever he’s about to do to Grayson.
“You should be less worried about what kind of man I am, Adriana, and more concerned about what kind of a man your new boyfriend is. If you’re as smart as I think you are, you’ll see this as an opportunity for you.” He smiles at her benevolently, but it doesn’t even come close to reaching his eyes.
“An opportunity?” Adriana’s laugh is bitter. “I wouldn’t call being held captive in some rat-infested basement an opportunity! Not unless you and I have two very different interpretations of the word!”
“Perhaps after you’ve heard what I have to tell you about Grayson, you may decide that our meeting was fortuitous, that I saved you from giving yourself to a man whom you know so little about.” His eyes land on the article that still sits on the table in front of him, and he raises an eyebrow at her, clearly wanting her to ask him what he knows.
Adriana has no intention of doing anything that he wants her to do, so she waits him out, swallowing down her own curiosity and her own need to know how the article has any bearing on the Grayson whom she knows and loves. She meets Morrison’s eyes, staring him down and watching his reactions. She allows herself a small smile of satisfaction when she sees the frustration plain on his face before he softens his expression.
“It’s a shame. I really did think that you weren’t quite so naïve.” Morrison scrapes his chair back, as he moves to get up. “But if you’re honestly not interested in what happened,”—he taps the article, pointedly—“then I suppose there’s nothing left to talk about. I’ll leave you with your little furry friends.” He smiles wolfishly at her and turns to go, followed by his goon.
“No! Wait!” The words are out of her mouth before she can stop them. Much as she doesn’t want to give Morrison the satisfaction of participating in his little scenario, equally she doesn’t want to be left in the dark again, with the rats scuttling around her feet.
Morrison turns around slowly, raising his eyebrows at her questioningly. Goddam him, she thinks to herself. He’s mocking me; he’s actually enjoying this. Whatever he has to say about Grayson, there’s one thing for sure, Grayson isn’t a malicious man. He doesn’t enjoy inflicting pain on other people, physical or otherwise.
“I want to know. Tell me what happened to Vinnie Jones.” She takes a deep breath, preparing herself for whatever he may tell her.
Morrison remains standing, looking at her expectantly, as if she’s forgotten something.
She squeezes her eyes shut. “Please.” Her voice seems to be just desperate enough to convince him, and he nods with that same goddam amused expression on his face.
“Of course, my dear.” He smiles at her deferentially, mocking her. “What would you like to know? I have nothing to hide.” He spreads his hands, like a magician who wants to show he has no surreptitious cards.
Everything, she thinks but doesn’t say it. There’s only so much power she’s willing to give away at a time. “How did you two meet?”
Morrison smiles and settles himself in his chair, looking for all the world like the question had made him nostalgic. “Well, Grayson and I officially met the night of the infamous fight.” He nods his head towards the article. “But I was aware of him before then.” He looks up to the ceiling, as if he’s watching his memories play out above them. “He’d started coming to the fights a few months before. At first he kept to the back, you wouldn’t have even known he was there. But as time went on, he got a little more confident and started getting as close to the action as he could. That’s when I realized, he wasn’t watching the fight; he was watching the fighters, studying them.”
“He wanted to be like them.” Adriana finishes the thought for him, trying to imagine what had driven Grayson to the underground illegal fights. However, it wasn’t much of a stretch to figure that out. “He wanted to support his mom and sister. Violence was all he’d known growing up.” A lump in her throat forms, as she thinks about how hard Grayson’s childhood had been…if it could even really be called that. He’d never had much of a chance to be a kid; his father hadn’t given him one.
Morrison waves her explanation away, clearly not interested in the reason behind Grayson’s fascination with the fighters. “He needed the money.” He shrugs, as if that was all that mattered, as if Grayson had needed it to spend on designer clothes and girls.
“So, how did you figure into the story? You said you met at the fight.” Adriana prompts Morrison, wanting to hear the facts, not just the idle speculation of a man who clearly doesn’t know the first thing about Grayson, or perhaps he just doesn’t care.
“I should say I suppose that we officially met at his fight, his first one.” Morrison pulls the brim of the hat that he’s wearing low on his head. He looks like an old-style gangster from the movies in his expensive outfit, but he doesn’t fool Adriana. She knows that he’s just a two-bit villain.
“His first fight was with the man who died.” Adriana swallows hard, not trusting herself to say anymore without her voice breaking.
“It was when I saw him in the ring that first time that I knew he would go far; I knew he would be somebody.” He sounds more proud of his own foresight than of Grayson’s natural abilities. “He had the makings of a great fighter.”
“Turns out you were right. He is a great fighter.” Adriana can’t help but revel in Grayson’s talent. She had never seen anything quite like the way he’d moved in the ring that night, the night that he’d told her he wanted to make her proud. “But he was somebody already, before he walked into that ring.”
Morrison smiles at her indulgently, making her feel like a little kid. “Young love! It sees what it wants to see. Before he met me, Grayson was white trash. He was on the road to a life of asking, ‘Do you want fries with that?’ and drinking himself to death. I made him what he is today.” Morrison stabs his chest with his index finger, emphasizing his own importance. It’s something that he seems to need to do. Short man syndrome, Adriana thinks to herself.
She remembers the conversation that she’d overheard in Grayson’s house that morning. I’m done with you pulling my strings. It had been Morrison; he had been the mystery caller that Grayson had dismissed as some whack-job fan. He had lied to her face. The realization hits her stomach like a bowling ball, but she forces herself to focus on Morrison.
“How did you make him? What did you have to do with what happened that night?” Adriana narrows her eyes at the short man, searching through his expressions and tics like a human polygraph.
“With the murder? I had nothing to do with that.” Morrison lifts his hands, palms up. The word murder sends a shudder through her. “I just helped Grayson realize that no good would come of him being found, holding the body, so to speak.”
“The body?” Adriana’s voice is a whisper.
“Yes, our friend Mr. Jones.” Morrison gestures towards the article. “What, did you think that he ended up with those injuries by hurling himself against a wall?” He shakes his head at her ignorance.
Adriana bites her lip so hard she tastes blood, but she refuses to cry in front of this man. She refuses to give him the satisfaction of seeing her brought to her knees. “Grayson killed him?” Her voice is so cracked and quiet it’s almost inaudible, even to her.
“I’m sorry, my dear, I didn’t quite catch that.” Morrison cups a hand to his ear, straining to hear her.
“Did Grayson kill him?”
She repeats herself, louder this time, but it’s like trying to pull her own teeth out of her head.
Morrison sighs again, theatrically. “I’m afraid so, Adriana. It really was a terrible business.”
“How?” The word comes out half-strangled, and she swallows hard, her mouth suddenly dry.
“I’m sure you don’t want to hear all the gory details…” Morrison looks at her as if he’s assessing if she’s strong enough to hear it, but he’s just toying with her like a cat toys with a mouse before it eats it.
“I’m a nurse; I can take the gory details. Tell me.” She steels herself against what she’s about to hear, remembering that it’s just Morrison’s words against everything she knows about Grayson. But somehow that doesn’t make it any easier.
“He broke his neck. You could hear the snap right from the back of the warehouse.” Morrison smiles, as if he’s telling a family-friendly story, and he plummets another few feet in Adriana’s already low estimation of him.
