Curses, Fates & Soul Mates

by et al Kristie Cook

  I should have run far away, escaped while I could, leaving this fucked-up shit behind and never thinking about it again. But I wasn’t a runner. I was a fighter. And Leni was involved in this, too, and I couldn’t abandon her. Not anymore. Everything had changed.

  The entrance to the state park came up, which meant I had nearly completed the circle around the entire lake. Granted it was dark, but I remembered little about the landscape around me. How far had I run in such a short time? Not far enough. I slowed to a walk and found a log by the water, where I sat and leaned my elbows on my knees. I pushed my hands through my short hair, trying to calm my temper before returning to Leni. She had to be freaking out, too.

  A bright light shone over me. A vehicle turning into the area.

  I watched as a light-colored cargo van shut its headlights off, even as it continued down Lake Road. A little suspicious, but maybe the driver was being courteous, not wanting to shine lights into any of the campsites this late at night, despite the fact the sites were mostly empty. About a hundred yards down the road, the van’s brake lights shone, then it turned right into one of the driveways that climbed its way up the hill. Yep, a courteous neighbor.

  I unfolded myself from the log and stretched, rolled my neck and shoulders and headed for a tree to take a leak. I’d just pulled my zipper down when two figures, dressed darkly to look like nothing more than shadows, darted out of the same driveway the van had entered, and ran down the road away from me. Now that’s definitely suspicious.

  I couldn’t piss fast enough. After a couple of hurried shakes, I began jogging through the trees while still zipping and buttoning up. Chasing after these guys who were obviously up to no good might not have been my brightest idea, but I couldn’t help myself. All I could think about was Leni in her camper alone. The pull in my gut was greater than it’d ever been.

  Since I couldn’t hear if my steps snapped twigs as I ran, I stayed on the sand near the water’s edge, but as close to the cover of the trees as possible. They passed an old RV that was closed up and battened down, apparently vacant tonight. That wasn’t their target. Somehow, I knew what was. Another half-a-mile down, they cut off the road and into the trees. They slowed their pace, and I slowed as well, keeping my eyes trained on the moving shadows in the darkness. As expected, they stopped on the edge of Leni’s lot, with its camper aglow from the inside and the Christmas lights twinkling from the awning. They paused only for a moment.

  They split off, sticking to the shadows as they crept around her trailer in opposite directions. While they were on the far side, I seized the opportunity to plant myself behind her truck, hoping to God they hadn’t heard my footfalls. Sweat rolled down my back as I crouched down and peered around the bumper. They both returned to the front and stood at the door. I was at the perfect angle. When one raised some kind of tool to jimmy the lock, I bolted from my hiding spot and sprang at them.

  The element of surprise allowed me to bowl both of them over at once, all of us crashing onto one of the folding chairs Leni had set out earlier. We jumped to our feet at the same time. Hoods made of a thin, black material hid their faces. One of them held a small knife out at me while the other simply held up fists. My heart pounded against my ribs, pumping adrenaline through my veins. Except for the occasional bar fight, I hadn’t seriously fought in a few years—a black eye or a swollen lip could have breached my modeling contract—but the cage-fighting instincts immediately rushed back to me and took over.

  With a sidekick, I knocked the knife out of the guy’s hand, my first priority. The other guy’s fist flew through the air at my head, but I jerked away in time so it only grazed my temple. I shot my own fist at his gut, and he doubled over. As I kneed him in the chin, the first dude’s foot came toward my ribs. I grabbed it from the air and twisted, flipping him over. He fell hard against the ground. While he was down, I focused on the other guy. Blood dripped from under his hood, but he wasn’t deterred. With one swift motion, his fist smashed into my cheek and his foot swept into my calf, knocking me to my knees. With a hard shove, my face planted into the ground, my arms pinned underneath my torso.

  He drove a knee into my back, dug his fingers into my forehead from behind and yanked my head backward. He crouched over me, twisting my head back and forth as he seemed to be looking for something on my face or neck. When he didn’t find whatever it was he sought, his head twisted, as if trying to get a better look at my shoulders and arms. Something grazed down my spine, feeling almost like a tickle, and then my shirt fell away from my shoulder blades. He shifted his knee from my middle-back to my ass and sat there for a long moment. Then he sucker-punched me in the kidney before springing to his feet and yanking me up to my knees by my neck.

  My muscles tightened as I prepared to do a backwards head-butt into his groin, but I froze at the sight in front of me. The other fucker had Leni by the back of her neck, the point of a knife skimming down her bare arm. She wore sweats cut into short-shorts and a thin top with only strings over the shoulders, what the female models had called a cami. Her eyes caught mine, then darted away, down to my right. My gaze followed hers to a shotgun halfway under the camper. She must have heard the ruckus we’d created and come out to stop us, but was easily overtaken. Foolish girl.

  Her captor seemed to have the same fascination with her head as mine. He moved his hand from her neck and dug his fingers into her curls, grabbing a fistful close to the crown of her head. He jerked her head side to side and pulled it back, also searching for something. Also not finding it. My muscles bunched, prepared to fight again, as he moved the knife to one of the cami’s strings and flicked it in half. The front fell loose, exposing the top curve of her boob. An angry fire burst within me.

  Before I could move, a white blur shot through the air and landed on the douche’s head.

  He immediately released Leni, his hands flying to the cat, but its claws attached to his head and face. I didn’t waste the opportunity. Using the strength of my whole upper body, I threw myself backwards and my head slammed into my captor’s gut. I used the momentum to get my feet underneath me, then jumped upwards. Pain shot through the top of my head as it met his chin. I spun, ready to throw a punch, but his body was already sagging to the ground.

  I turned back to the other guy, who still fought the cat on his head. Long tears ran through his hood where the feline had clawed him. I didn’t particularly like cats, but this one rocked. While the white ball of fur distracted the guy with another claw across the chin, I punched him in the ribs. As if the cat knew I had this, it sprang from the guy’s head and out of sight.

  The asshole fought back, apparently skilled in martial arts, but not fast enough or strong enough to take me down. But he still remained a tough opponent. My breaths came harder as we continued trading punches and kicks. Then, with a good shove from his shoulder, I stumbled backwards and right into the other guy’s arms. He’d apparently regained consciousness. The first guy lifted his fist to aim for my face, and I felt a blow, but not from either of my assailants. They both suddenly froze. I didn’t understand for a long moment, until the smell of burnt gunpowder filled my nose. In a heartbeat, the two men were gone.

  I turned toward Leni as she lowered the shotgun’s barrel from pointing straight up into the air to pointing at me. My chest and shoulders heaved as I panted, and I didn’t think my heart could race any faster, but the gun pushed it a little more. “Put the gun down,” I finally signed. “They’re gone.”

  She shook her head violently, but the barrel remained trained on my chest.

  “What are you doing, Leni?”

  “Did you bring them here?” her lips demanded.

  “No! What are you talking about?”

  “Then how did they find us?”

  I shook my head. “I’m sure it was random. Some thugs looking to rob us.”

  “No. They came after me, Jeric. Me. They basically said as much. And you weren’t here when they did. You disappear into the darkness, and they sud
denly show up. What do you expect me to think? Has this all been some crazy set up? What do you want from me?”

  “I want answers, just like you do. But this isn’t me. If I’d wanted to hurt you, I’ve had all kinds of chances. You know I could take that gun away from you right now if I wanted to.”

  “I’d like to see you try,” she said, but then she lowered it to her side.

  I took a step toward her, my hand reached out for her, and the gun was back up, pointed at my chest again.

  “You’re bleeding,” I signed.

  I hated that she was hurt. I hated those guys for making her bleed. I hated myself for leaving her alone in the first place. But more than anything, I only wanted to make her better, to hold her and tell her I would make everything okay again. I didn’t know if and how I could keep such a promise, but I would die trying.

  Her stormy eyes softened as she watched me, then her face crumpled, and the shotgun fell to the ground. Tears pooled in her eyes, and she wrapped her arms around herself, but that didn’t stop her from shaking like a leaf. I stepped forward once more and pulled her into my arms. Trying to ignore but also enjoying the way my body reacted to her, I held her tightly against me and pressed my cheek against the top of her head. The fruity scent of her shampoo made my head swim. She eventually stopped shaking and stepped out of my hold. My heart jumped when I saw the blood smeared on her top.

  “I’m going to get some towels and ice,” she signed. “You’re bleeding, too.”

  I looked down at my bare chest and found a couple of shallow cuts. Nothing serious. At least a ring hadn’t been torn out. Now that would have been some real pain. I was fine, more worried about her. Leni dialed her phone on her way inside, probably calling the police. I sat on one of the folding chairs to wait, and the white cat jumped into my lap and curled up.

  “Best cat ever,” I signed to Leni when she came back out. I took a towel and a bag of ice from her.

  She sat in the chair next to me, only a plastic table between us. One plastic table too many, as far as I was concerned, but I wouldn’t push it with her. The cat jumped off my lap and brushed against her legs when I leaned over and pressed the cloth to the cut on her head. An ugly little bump was already rising, a murderous rage rising within me along with it.

  “So you have no idea what that was about?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “They were looking for something, but I don’t know what. One kept saying, ‘It’s gotta be inside. We gotta get in there.’ Whatever they wanted, though, I wasn’t about to let them in my camper.”

  Before we could discuss it more, red and blue lights flashed across her face. The police had arrived . . . and did little, as I’d expected, except take our reports and say they’d keep an eye out for the white van. I had a feeling they’d never find it.

  “Where did you learn to fight like that?” Leni asked after the cops had left, and we were seated in the folding chairs again.

  “It’s a long story. You sure you’re up for it?”

  She watched her finger pick at something invisible on her shirt before she looked back up at me. “I have to be, don’t I? We’re both involved in this crazy shit. We should probably learn as much about each other as possible. Don’t you think?”

  Getting her meaning, I glanced over at the picnic table for the book. It was gone. I sprang to my feet. I’d wanted to burn the thing an hour ago, but that would be stupid. We needed it—hopefully it held answers for us—and we definitely didn’t need it falling into the wrong hands.

  “Relax,” Leni signed. “I put it away as soon as you left. I didn’t want to be tempted to read ahead.” Her eyes widened. “You think it was the book they were looking for? They kept talking about the brand, too.”

  My brows lifted. “The brand?”

  She tapped her finger on her bracelets that hung together like a band, hiding the flame on her arm. Did she ever take them off?

  “These?” she asked.

  “But they were searching our heads and necks.”

  “One said, ‘It’s always on the torso.’ He thought maybe we weren’t the ones they were looking for.”

  “Then maybe we’re not. Maybe it’s a coincidence.”

  We stared at each other for a moment, neither of us really believing it.

  Then Leni nodded and put on her fake grin. “Yeah. We’re probably just being paranoid, with everything going on. So you going to tell me your long story or what?”

  Before taking my seat again, I stepped inside to my bag and fished out my half-full bottle of whiskey. This could be a long night, and I needed something to take the edge off. I easily found two cups in the kitchenette, brought it all outside and set them on the table between us. Leni shook her head, but I poured her some anyway in case she changed her mind, which could be very likely. I picked up my own glass and threw the liquid to the back of my throat.

  “So, I wasn’t always deaf,” I began, and Leni nodded because I’d told her this already. “When I was fourteen, I had an awesome life. I was the lead singer and guitarist in a band, and we were pretty damn good. Everyone thought we were so cool, coming to our gigs at local bars and everything. School was no problem for me—was easy, even the advanced classes—and teachers loved me. Life was good. Perfect. Then there was the accident, and I woke up from a coma with no family and no hearing.”

  Leni interrupted me. “Wait—you can sing?”

  I gave her a sad smile. “I used to.”

  The smile she returned was as sad as mine. “It must be horrible to lose that.”

  “You have no idea.” Hell if I didn’t miss singing and music more than anything else, even more than hearing girls scream my name at the shows. Except for one girl . . . I scrubbed my hand over my face, then continued. “So when I finally got to go to school—I was held back a year because I’d missed so much—I wasn’t so cool anymore. The rumor mill kicked up and for some, I was the poor orphan who lost his family, and others blamed me. Nobody knew how to act around me. My ex-band mates, my best friends, became the biggest dicks, and I went from being the cool kid to being a loner and the weird deaf guy. My home life sucked, and kids picked on me all the time. I tried to fight back, but I’d always been a music geek, not an athlete. I got my ass kicked I don’t know how many times.”

  “Why didn’t you just run from them?”

  I gave her a look. “I. Don’t. Run. But I did get tired of the bruises and the nosebleeds, and my grandparents calling the bullies’ parents and embarrassing me even more. Their parents never did a damn thing except fuel the fire. So I decided to do something about it.” I took another swallow of whiskey before continuing. “I began lifting weights, bulking up and learning how to fight. I got pretty good at it, to the point where parents were now calling my house to whine about how I’d broken their kid’s arm or nose. So my grandparents took me on a Sunday drive in the country, where we conveniently ended up at the state’s deaf school. My grandparents said being around people like me would help, but they were trying to get rid of me, the reminder of all they’d lost. They dropped me off and never came back.”

  I poured more of the amber liquid into my cup and took another drink. “I didn’t belong there, either. I’d been taught Signed English after losing my hearing, which had been hard enough. The school wanted me to learn ASL, but I refused. The kids and teachers never did accept me.”

  “I thought the deaf community was close-knit and very accepting, though.”

  “Close-knit, yes. Accepting, no. Not when you don’t want to be like them. Hell, I was 17 by then, pissed off at life and the world because I’d lost everything. But most of them didn’t see deafness as a loss because they’d never had hearing to begin with. They didn’t understand me, and I didn’t want to understand them. I just wanted out of there. As soon as I could leave on my own, I did. Street fighting—kind of like that movie Fight Club?—was how I supported myself for a while, then I got involved with MMA and the UFC.”

  Leni looked at me for a l
ong moment, and I was glad to see no pity in her eyes. Empathy maybe, but not pathetic pity. She reached for her cup and took a swig, then kindly moved the conversation along without harping on the painful parts. This. This was what I liked about her. This was what made her different than other girls who’d be all teary and “poor baby this and poor baby that.” She was so laid back, accepting and non-judgmental. This was why I told her when I’d never told anyone the full story.

  “Do you still fight?”

  I shook my head. “The further I went in the UFC, the harder the poundings and the less fun it was. And there’s no purpose except for bragging rights. Not the same as defending yourself or someone else who can’t.” I shrugged. “Something else with a lot better money and much less pain came along, so I took it.”

  “Modeling?” she asked.

  I peered at her knowing smile. “How’d you find out?”

  “I saw an ad in a French magazine on the plane the same day I first met you.”

  “Must have been an old magazine. I haven’t modeled in over a year.”

  “And it happened to be in the hands of the lady sitting next to me. Isn’t that a . . . coincidence?” She rolled her eyes as she signed the word. “So what have you been doing for the last year?”

  “When I had enough money put aside, I began the search for my mother.”

  “But . . . I thought your mother died?” She lifted her eyebrows with the question.

  I tried not to cringe and fought the urge to change the subject as I normally would do. Leni was right—we needed to get the truth out there. “My adopted mother and father died in the accident. That’s why it was so easy for her parents to blame me and then forget I ever existed. I don’t think they ever truly accepted me as one of their own. Especially my grandfather.”

  She reached out and placed a hand over mine.

  “I’m sorry, Jeric,” she mouthed, and she had no idea what that meant to me. It wasn’t the pitiful, poor-baby kind of look she gave me or an insincere touch to get my attention. She was genuinely sorry I was the toilet life shit in. Nobody had ever given a damn about me before. Not like this.