by JJ Knight
I have no idea what I'm going to find on the other side of this door. I picture the worst, Chloe on the ground crying, bleeding, or worse. But if The General was planning on bargaining with her, he's bound to have left her alive. At least that's what I hope. I’ve grossly underestimated all of them.
The door has a wide metal handle. I grip it tightly and ease it down. It’s unlocked, but a very audible click indicates that I am past the locking mechanism. I don't know if I should slip inside or go in full tilt. The element of surprise worked for me before, so I decide to go for it.
I shove the door open and burst into the room. Two men standing near a practice cage whip around as I barrel across the floor, heading straight for them.
I get a solid punch to one's face and whip around to deliver a hefty kick to the other before I turn to see if I can spot Chloe. There’s no sign of her, and in my adrenaline-fueled rage, I grab one of the guards by the collar and sweep his legs so he falls to the ground.
“Where is she?” I growl as I drop to my knees with a hard elbow into his gut.
He doesn't answer, and his companion jumps on my back.
The Velcro beneath the cage bursts outward, and Chloe rolls out.
She dashes for the door, then spots me and stops dead. “Hudson!” she cries.
I'm not able to do anything about her with one guard underneath me and the other on my back. Chloe lets out a little scream and jumps on the man on top of me.
He throws her off, and she hits the floor with a hard thud. I let go of the man below me and twist around in a red haze. I loop my arm around his neck and perform one of the most heinous of illegal MMA moves, bringing him down hard in an arm lock that would break a lesser man's neck.
He falls on his belly, gasping for breath.
Chloe scrambles away, and I'm glad she's out of range of their blows. The guard who was below me gets to his feet. He turns to speak into his lapel, but before he can call for reinforcements, I rush forward and slam a shoulder into his gut. He falls back with an “oof.”
Chloe returns with a pair of hand weights. “I remember how to use these,” she says, and clocks the guy next to us on the side of his head. It doesn't knock him out, but he definitely falls back, hands in his hair.
“Let's go,” I tell her.
We don't use the passageway, but run straight outside into the night.
“I've got her!” I shout to the nearest guards. These should be The Cure's people.
They rush over and surround us.
“We have the girl,” one of them says into his radio.
When we head into the house, it’s pure chaos. Men I don't recognize from the dinner are running every direction, The Cure's guards hot on their tails.
Furniture and bits of broken glass are scattered everywhere.
“What the hell?” I say.
Chloe clutches my hand. “You fighters really know how to throw a dinner party.”
We duck and dodge men fighting, The Cure's guests against these mystery men, until we make our way back into the dining room. I see their entry point in the smashed window just alongside the main table. The General and The Cure are up on the table, duking it out. Both are bloody from nose to jaw.
Eve stands in the corner, cool as a cucumber, shaking her head. We head over to her. “What is going on?” I ask.
“Duck!” Chloe shouts. We both drop to our knees as a chair flies over our heads and smashes into the wall.
“Let's just say, negotiations broke down,” Eve says. “I think they have had enough fun, don't you?”
“You call this fun?” Chloe asks.
Eve opens a small drawer near the corner and takes out a tiny silver pistol.
Chloe's eyes get wide. “Who are you going to shoot?” she asks.
“No one,” Eve says. She takes aim at the chandelier above the table. With one quick shot, the chain holding it snaps and the expansive web of crystal crashes to the table. Both her husband and The General are partially tangled in its elaborate system of wires and glass.
Everyone pauses at the shot.
“That's it,” she calls out. “Party’s over. The girl has been found. Get out of my house.”
I don't really expect this to work, but it does. The men back off each other. The General looks over, sees Chloe, and grimaces.
Eve walks up to him and points the gun at his nose. “And you, you need to realize that you have shoddy security in your fights. If a twenty-year-old college girl can figure out how to bust you two weekends in a row, then that is your problem, not ours.”
I look over at Chloe and draw her close to me.
Around us, men pick themselves up out of broken china and puddles of wine. They straighten their tux jackets and run their fingers through their hair.
“It’s over?” Chloe asks. “Just like that?”
“Just like that,” Eve says. “It’s not the first time this has happened, and it won’t be the last.” She locks her pistol in the drawer and tucks the key inside a sleeve.
“He’s going to leave us alone?”
Eve pats Chloe’s arm. “Yes, he will. Negotiations are over.”
“You call this a negotiation?”
Eve nods again and moves toward the table to help untangle The Cure from the chandelier.
“I don’t get it,” Chloe says.
I draw her close to me. “Me, neither,” I say. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Colt enters the room, looks over the table, and spies us. He heads over.
“What the hell is this?” I ask.
He shakes his head at the mess. “I hate it when we host one of these things. I really liked that chandelier.” He turns to his father and The General, who are still brushing off bits of glass.
“So this is how fighters settle their problems?” I ask.
Colt shrugs. “I can’t speak for everyone. But as long as I’ve been alive, it’s how we’ve settled ours.”
I take Chloe’s arm. “I think we should get out of here.”
“Go back to my house,” Colt says. “We’ll make sure all the loose ends are tied up, so Chloe can go home. Sometimes there’s a rogue element.”
“The guards were mad at me personally for busting them,” Chloe says.
“We’re working to aim their anger at the people funding you,” Colt says. “Your company was just a middle man in a much bigger fight.”
“Oh.” Chloe looks up at me. “I had no idea.”
“I’ll see you in a few,” Colt says.
We cross the grand foyer where members of The Cure’s house staff are wrapping gauze around the hands of a couple of the men in tuxes. One has a bag of ice on his forehead.
The guards open the front door for us, and the valet radios someone as soon as we’re spotted. We wait by a tall white column for a car to come around.
“So if I’ve got this right,” Chloe says, “The General and The Cure are actually on the same side.”
“Sounds like it,” I say. “Probably The Cure was going to explain that, but The General made a dick move to take you instead. It’ll all hash out.”
“So I can go to work tomorrow?”
“I guess so. Colt will probably know more.”
I expect a limo to escort us out the gate, but my red Ferrari arrives instead. I guess the fight really is over.
Only when we’re driving through LA again, back to Jo’s house, do I wonder — does this mean Chloe and I can stop worrying about the busts?
I can only hope.
Chapter 20: Chloe
On Monday morning, I dress for work, feeling unsure about everything. Hudson and his family really had my back. It turns out Clarissa was being manipulated by donors. The two men we’d been helping were plants. Their story wasn’t true. Colt came home and laid it all out in the wee hours. The Cure made sure The General understood where the true threat stood.
The money we were getting was real, though, and Clarissa might not be interested in my explanation about what’s
really going on. I won’t know until I meet with her.
Jo and Bear sit in the breakfast room downstairs. Jo cuts up a banana to set on Bear’s high chair tray. I see no sign of Colt or Hudson.
“The boys are already off to the gym,” Jo says. “They had to get an early start. Hudson has a match next weekend. A real one. Not one of the illegal fights.”
“He does?” I guess somewhere deep down I had hoped Hudson would quit. Who would want to be part of the craziness we saw last night?
I guess all of them.
“That’s for you,” Jo says, pointing at a covered plate. “The chef just left, so it should still be hot.”
I sit down. Beneath the cover is a bowl of steaming oatmeal with small containers of granola, brown sugar, and mixed fresh berries next to it.
“If you don’t like oatmeal, there’s also fruit and granola bars in baskets.”
“This is great,” I say.
“Your car is outside,” she adds. “They brought it by before I was up.”
That’s a relief. I wasn’t sure how I was getting to work.
I mix everything into the oatmeal and stir. It smells divine. I will definitely miss the food.
And the easy nights with Hudson.
“I guess I’ll move back home tonight?” I ask.
“You can stay as long as you like,” Jo says. “But you’re cleared to return.”
“Thank you for all you’ve done.”
She drops a handful of Cheerios on Bear’s high chair tray. He has bits of banana stuck in his hair. “It was our battle all along. You just got swept up in it.”
Bear gurgles at me and slaps his sticky hands onto his tray. “Co Co Co Co!”
I spoon the oatmeal into my mouth, watching Jo and Bear. He holds out a chubby fist. “Co Co Co.”
“What is it?” I ask.
“He wants to give you something, I think,” Jo says. “Sometimes even I can’t figure him out.”
I hold out my hand, and Bear leans forward.
“Oh, gosh,” I say, accepting the soggy wad of Cheerios he smears on my palm. “Thank you!”
Jo passes me a wet wipe. “He loves his Co Co.” She watches me clear off my hand. “Hudson told me about that fighter who was involved with your father.”
I focus super carefully on my hand and the wipe. “He did?”
“The Cure is going to find out who did it. Fighters and meth dealers don’t cross as much as you might think. Sometimes meth lords hire fighters as security. But abusing a drug like that isn’t compatible with our sport. You just can’t get very far.”
“So it limits the possibilities.”
“It was just a year ago. That’s not much time for men like The Cure. Their memories are long.”
Something shifts in me. A fighter might have killed my father. But it wasn’t the fact that he was a fighter that caused it. It was the situation. A moment brought about by my sister and her addiction. By her bad boyfriends and the dealers and the people who made it.
I was wrong about Carlos and Jamison, the two fake-fighters who had injuries.
Maybe I was wrong about everything else.
I take my empty bowl and the entire collection of containers over to the sink.
“Leave all that,” Jo says. “Ethel already complains that I don’t give her enough to do.”
I head back to the table and pick up my bag. “Thanks for everything.”
“I’m sure I’ll see you again,” Jo says. She catches a chunk of banana right as Bear is about to chuck it off the tray. “Hudson sure is taken with you.”
“I like him a lot too.”
“Good.”
I head to the front door, excited to see Jonesie sparkling in the morning sun. She’s so clean! I open the front door. The inside is vacuumed and smells like spring.
I pat her dashboard. “I’m so happy to see you!”
She starts up as beautifully. Her gas tank is full, too. Those guys think of everything. We cruise through town and get stuck in our usual heavy traffic spots. When I pull up to the little office of Action for Action, I can’t miss the long black limo sitting out front.
Oh, geez. Is that The Cure?
My heart speeds up as I park and shut Jonesie’s door. Why would he come here?
When I get inside, The Cure and Clarissa sit at the long table in the center of the office. Declan and Shelly are hanging out at Shelly’s computer, their eyes big when they see me walk in.
Clarissa waves me over. “I believe you know Geoffrey,” she says.
Geoffrey? This is literally the first time anyone has said The Cure’s actual name. “Yes,” I murmur, sitting across from them.
“He’s made some important points about the situation involving the MMA circuit,” she says. “We’re suspending those operations until our lawyer can look a little more deeply into the background of the donors.”
And there goes my scholarship. All that risk and trouble for nothing.
Clarissa reaches across the table to press her hand on top of mine. “I’m also here to let you know that you are no longer an employee with our organization.” Her voice is kind as she says it.
“What? I need a job. I can’t …” My voice cracks. This isn’t fair! It’s not my fault she got duped by people. I did what I was told to do!
“Don’t fret,” Clarissa says. “From what I understand, you were working until you could get loans and scholarships to finish your degree. Is that correct?”
I nod numbly.
She stands up. “I’ll leave the rest to you two,” she says. “You give me a call when you graduate. I’d love to have you back on staff.” She gives my arm a little punch. “You’re a good one.”
She waves Declan and Shelly into her office, the only one that has an actual door, and shuts them in.
I’m alone with The Cure.
Who has just gotten me fired.
“Ms. Settle,” he says. “It has come to my attention that one of our own fighters may have used his skills in a way that impacted your family to great tragedy.”
“You mean my father,” I say.
“I have no doubt that we will find him and bring him to justice,” The Cure says. “If not through the traditional channels, then our own.”
“Okay.”
“Until then, it would please me to no end if you would allow me to arrange for you to finish your degree. You only have one year left, do I have that right?”
I’m not sure how to feel. He waits for my answer, sitting back in his chair. His elegant gray suit and short-cropped gray hair seem out of place in our dingy office space filled with cascading boxes of files and third-hand furniture.
“What did you have in mind?”
“No strings attached. And unrelated to your relationship with Hudson. The scholarship will come from the university itself, designated to you. It should be ample to cover room and board as well as tuition and books.”
“When will I hear about it?” I say. Registration for fall will begin in a few weeks. That’s not much time to arrange something like this.
He taps his watch. “You should receive the call in about…” he pauses. “Thirty seconds.”
“What?”
He sits there calmly, his eyes on my face. “You have a fire in you,” he says. “You’re a good fit for a fighter’s wife. Like Jo. Have you considered getting in the cage?”
“No! Gosh. No!”
“I thought not,” he says. “Well, good day. You know how to reach me.”
As he stands, my phone rings.
“Forty-five seconds,” he says. “I’ll have to speak with them about their promptness.”
I pull my phone from my bag. The caller ID reads University of Southern California.
I look up. “Thank you,” I say.
He waves me off as he heads for the door. “Thank me when I’ve paid for your outrageous wedding to my next prize fighter.”
I stare at him a moment longer, then press my thumb to my phone.
; And I take the call.
Epilogue: Hudson
“This is literally the worst place in LA to park,” I say to Chloe as we close the door to my red Ferrari.
“You see any other place to go?” she asks.
I look out at the highway and the blind curve next to the trail. “I guess not.”
Chloe pats my car. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she just drives right off without you anyway.”
“What? Why?”
“You haven’t ever even given her a name. I wouldn’t stick around.”
I lean against the door, on the passenger’s side, away from traffic.
“You’re the expert,” I say. “And you’ve been riding in her for several months now. What should it be?”
Chloe strokes the car along the top of her frame. “She looks good sitting next to Dystopian Jones,” she says.
“But she’s the opposite of Jonesie,” I say. “She’s everything good and perfect in the world.”
“So what is a good and perfect name?” Chloe asks.
“Valhalla,” I say. “Heaven for Vikings.”
She leans against me. “Vikings, eh?”
“You named yours after the end of the world.”
“No, that’s Armageddon. Dystopia is for the survivors.”
“So your car takes survivors of hell. Mine takes the fallen into valor.”
“Valhalla,” she says. “I can see calling her Val. Valiant. Valerie. All good.”
“Val,” I say. “I like it. Should we break a bottle of champagne over her?”
“And wreck her perfect paint job? No way!” Chloe picks up our picnic basket from the ground and hands it to me. “Let’s go eat.”
We trek through trees and rock to make it to the secluded beach we visited on our very first night.
Chloe comes up behind me to peek past the opening in the stone. “Anybody there?”
“All empty,” I say.
“Perfect.” We cross the sand. Chloe spreads out a red and white checked blanket that has seen better days.
“Is that the one you’d bring with your dad?” I ask.
She nods, smoothing down the frayed edges.
I set the basket down on one corner. “We can imagine he’s here.”
