“I can’t go with you,” I start, but he strides across the ring and jerks my head back by the hair. He pulls so hard I feel chunks of it coming out by the root. I swallow down the scream that threatens to break free and force myself to focus.
“You say that like you have a choice.” He presses a bruising, brutal kiss against my lips. Mashing them together until I taste the metallic tang of blood. “Remember, what I’m capable of. Little Emma will only be the beginning. If you won’t cooperate, there’s always Livvie. Donnie. Rafe.” Then I notice the reflection of light off of the silver knife clutched in his shaking hands. He brings it up to press into my throat.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
He pulls away again and resumes pacing. “We don’t want to spoil the surprise.”
In the few days since I last saw him, he’s visibly deteriorated, and I wonder if the madness I remember seeing in his eyes has eaten him up, made him erratic. Based on the way he’s waving the knife around, that doesn’t bode well for me. Or for Jack.
I change tactics. “What the hell did I ever do to you? Why me?”
Damian scrubs a hand over his face, stops pacing, and then changes directions. “Fucking Jack. On his high fucking horse. He thought he was hot shit. Him and his daddy. They didn’t give two shits about me.”
“Jack did, he was your friend.”
“He wasn’t shit,” he shouts, spit flying. “Perfect family, perfect life. Took away some of that perfect, didn’t I? Stole it right from under his nose.” He refocuses on me, his smile a chilling evil I’d only seen once before in my life. “Right from under his nose.”
“You are a sick son of a bitch,” I say.
His smile falls. “You better rethink the way you’re talking to me, bitch. I’m the one with the knife here, so I’m making the rules. If you don’t remember how this goes, I can give you a reminder.”
“Oh, trust me, I remember plenty. I remember what a pathetic limp-dick loser you were. Couldn’t get a woman unless you forced one. And even then you weren’t worth the time I wasted trying to forget you.”
Blood mottles his already bloated face and he strides across the ring to backhand me with the hand wielding the knife. My eyes cross and my ears ring, but the satisfaction of seeing him fumble knows no parallel.
“That all you got, asshole? Need to feel big and bad so you prey on women? Taking something doesn’t mean you earned it. Doesn’t make it yours. You didn’t get anything from me. The only person who mattered, who matters is Jack and no amount of your pinkie dick or cheap shots will ever change that.”
I spit out the blood pooling in my mouth on the floor by his dusty boots, letting the disgust show plainly on my face.
“You liked it,” he said, the horror turning his face white.
“I threw up for days trying to get the taste of you out of my mouth. I couldn’t take enough showers could make me feel clean. If I could bleach my brain to forget that night and everything about you, I would do it in a second.”
When he doesn’t have a word to say, I smirk in triumph.
He roars. “You’re a fucking liar, I know you came.”
“A vibrator and a couple batteries can do the same thing, that doesn’t make them a good lay.”
“You fucking bitch,” he says and raises the knife up.
I take a deep breath. At least, I took away the power he had over me. At least, I didn’t give him that.
And thank God Jack isn’t here.
Closing my eyes, I wait for the strike to come.
Then the doors open and the object of my thoughts strides through.
Present
NOTHING WILL EVER come close to the bone-deep fear that courses through me when I open the door and find Damian with a knife pointed at Sofie’s bared body.
No bomb or threat of war can compare, and I’ve seen my fair share of them both.
“You made it,” Damian says, his attention and the arc of the knife switching to me as I step into the gym.
That’s right. Keep it pointed at me, you mother fucker.
“Don’t hurt her,” I say, holding my hands in the air and sliding along the outer wall to keep his focus on my ever-changing movement, instead of on my girl.
Damian cocks his head, considering, then replaces the gag on Sofie’s mouth. “So glad you could make it. I thought the text message was a little too obvious for you, but I was in a hurry. You should see this, after all. Besides, it felt like a reunion.” He motions with the gun and Sofie jerks against her restraints. “Keep your hands above your head and get up here in the ring. It’s a shame we never got to fight before now, but we both know who would have won, don’t we?”
I do as he says, keeping my eyes trained on the hand holding the knife. Sofie struggles in my periphery, her pleading voice hampered by the gag. I circle around the wall until I get to the far side where the practice rings are located. Ducking under the ropes, I inch around the ring, his beady eyes following me until he says, “Stop there.”
“Do whatever you want to me,” I tell him. “Just let Sofie go.”
“No,” he says, eyes wild. “I don’t think I will. She’s a part of this.”
“You don’t need her. Whatever you want to do, whatever you have planned, you can do it to me.”
“Sorry,” Damian says. “You’re not exactly my type, but there is a reason I brought you.” He nods to the corner of the ring, opposite Sofie. “Go stand over there.”
I move to the other side of the ring with jerky movements. “You’ve got me here, obviously this is about me. Untie her and we can do whatever you want.”
“She’s not yours,” he says. Spit sprays from his lips. “She’s mine.”
Sofie renews her struggles against her restraints. Tears spill down her cheeks and she forces her head back and forth trying to work the gag off her mouth. Damian presses a finger to her lips. “Quiet, sweetheart.” He looks at me and I want to pummel the smug look off of his fucking face.
“What are you talking about?”
“She came for me…or didn’t she tell you? She liked what I did to her.”
My eyes flash to hers as recognition dawns. By now she’s sobbing outright against the gag, her limbs sawing back and forth against her restraints to find a point of weakness.
I don’t have time to consider the implications of his statement because he straightens and points, taking the first few steps toward me, knife raised. I may be hell in the cage, but I’m no fucking match for a psychopath armed with a blade the size of a goddamn machete.
He waves it around. “We’ve got somewhere to be, so tell her good-bye, Jack.”
Sofie’s foot jerks free of the restraint and she swings wildly, nabbing his elbow and causing the knife to skitter wide and slide out of view.
Turning back to Damian, I watch as alarm filters through his eyes. Violent, unfettered rage shoots into me and I charge for him, even as he dives in the direction of the knife. Aiming for his middle, I spear into his midsection, forcing him against the ropes only a few short feet away from Sofie, who’s now struggling to free her remaining hand.
Damian glances around with wild eyes and dodges my fist aimed for his head. He flips over the top rope and lands awkwardly on his shoulder with a grunt. I follow soon after, though he’s already starting to make his way for the knife.
I’m close, but not close enough, and his hands close around the handle before I can beat him. He swings wildly and the knife slices through the material of my jeans and splits my thigh, spawning a fierce fiery pain in its wake. I go down on one knee and try to get up, but I collapse onto my side, clutching at the deep gash in my leg.
Blood streaks the ground behind me as I drag myself across the gym floor, trying, and failing, to make it to the ring in time before Damian makes it to the ropes where Sofie’s torso is still tied. My useless leg feels like dead weight and encroaching death, but I belly crawl, grunting loudly with each foot gained, until I’m pulling myself up the ropes of the r
ing by sheer will.
Damian has finished untying Sofie and instead of killing her like I pictured a million times in the eternity it took to reach the ring, he’s pulling her along, aiming to escape through the door. I manage to leverage my body up into the ring and attach myself to his legs, bringing him down. Sofie stumbles back out of my line of sight and I focus on severely maiming him before he can do her any more harm.
He tackles me and and I land on my injured leg with a shout, his weight on top of me. My vision wavers and I shake my head to clear it. Damian rises up and lands a blow to my cheek that doesn’t help the vision situation.
The glint of the knife arcs up from a corner of my blurred vision and I use the last remaining vestiges of my strength to overpower him with a right hook to his temple. One or both of us knock the knife across the ring, where it lands by Sofie’s feet.
Sofie picks it up, surprisingly calm, her face a mask of rage and determination. “Last chance, pencil dick. Get the fuck out of here and don’t come back.”
“No!” I manage to wheeze out. “Fucking run!”
She just lifts her chin and says, “He doesn’t scare me.”
If I could move, I’d fucking beat her ass. The second I can walk, she better be able to out run me.
With one last howl, Damian lunges for her and in a fatal mistake, doesn’t take heed of my injured leg stretched out in front of him. He trips and goes down, Sofie either doesn’t have time or makes the conscious decision not to move. Either way, he lands, stomach first, on the blade, gravity driving it deep into his stomach with a sickening spray of blood.
Sofie releases her hold on the knife as momentum takes Damian down. He does one twisted spin in the air, then lands, probably already halfway dead, in the center of the ring. She’s by my side before he even hits the ground.
She lifts my head, gingerly, and places it in her lap. Smoothing away my hair, she digs in my pants pockets to find my cell phone. As she speaks with the operator, she strips off her shirt and holds it against the blood still seeping from my wound.
“Just fucking get here,” she snaps, before tossing the phone on the ground.
“Got something…tell you,” I say.
“Shhh,” she says. “Just rest. They’re on their way.”
“Gonna sell…gym. Too dan-rous. Joinin’ ‘Rines.”
Her brows furrow. “You think reenlisting in the Marines is safer than owning a gym?”
“Never got stabbed in…’Rines.”
She shakes her head. “Shut up. We’ll talk about this when you aren’t bleeding all over me.”
“Love you,” I say.
“Stupid man,” she says, then kisses my forehead. “I love you, too.”
Six Weeks Later
I DIDN’T NEED the extra work, the promotion I’d gotten after a mere month at my new job more than covered our expenses, plus the benefits were generous, but I took it anyway to keep my hands and mind busy. Anything to quiet my mind and ease my fears.
Besides, I like the work, but most of all, I like that it allows me to work at home. I still go in to the office from time to time to talk to Anita and turn in reports, but aside from that I spend the time while Donnie and Rafe are in school in the spare room I converted to a home office.
It’s funny that I never considered myself the mothering type, but one of my favorite parts of the day now is being home when they get home from school or practice. We’ve gotten into the habit of sitting at the kitchen island with a snack and a soda, talking about their day.
I soak up each minute, listening to their stories and doling out advice. Even more surprising than my interest, is their willingness to listen. Each day isn’t perfect, but I enjoy the bad ones just as much as the good. They won’t always be here to have these moments—it’s only a few short years before they graduate and move out to go to college after all. I try to make the most out of our time together when I can, to make up for all I’ve missed.
So when I come downstairs around four o’clock and find the ground floor empty and the kitchen devoid of two rambunctious teens, I frown. I glance at the clock over the table again to confirm the time and then my phone to see if there are any texts waiting from them. Finding my phone depressingly empty and silent, I tap out a text to Rafe to check in and then go to the kitchen to make a plate of their favorite microwaveable junk food. My mother would frown at the frozen pizza snacks, but I think she’d appreciate the sentiment nevertheless.
When the door opens and footsteps follow, my shoulders dip in relief. I look up and promptly drop the pizza snacks in a pile on the baking sheet.
“Oh, my favorite,” Jack says as he strides into the kitchen. “Save me some before the brats come in, okay?”
He pauses on his way through to kiss my cheek and I turn it up obediently, then he clips a leash to Rosie’s collar to walk her in the backyard. I watch them through the back window as I rinse off the dishes and put them in the dishwasher for a load later.
Even though I know his doctor and recruiting officer gave their stamp of approval on the completion of his physical therapy, I still dissect his gait for any sign of a limp. They’ve told me time and again he’s healed. I know there isn’t one, but I still think I see it sometimes if I’m looking out of the corner of my eye or if I’m watching him from far away. A figment of my fears realized, I’m sure, but it spawns the guilt souring my stomach just the same.
I turn away from his smiling face in the window to pull the food from the oven and place it on the counter to cool. Rosie announces their entrance with a series of high pitched yips and then careens through the kitchen and into the hallway. Jack follows close behind, hanging the leash on the hook by the backdoor. He snags a still hot pizza snack and tosses it in his mouth, hissing when the food burns his tongue.
“I don’t care what anyone says, this is the best food on Earth.” He chases the first with a swig of water and then downs a second.
“Have you seen the boys?” I ask as I wipe down the counters.
“Mmhmm,” he mumbles around another bite.
“Where are they? They’re supposed to be home by now.”
“Sent them to their friends’ house for the afternoon.”
I whirl around, clenching the towel in my hands. “You did?”
“Yep.”
“Why’d you do that?” I glance at the kitchen door and calculate how quickly I can make an exit, but I know it’s useless. Even recovering from an injury his speed is superhuman.
“So I could get you alone,” he says. “You’ve been avoiding me.”
I’d deny it, but I can’t even force the lie through my lips, so I bite them instead and keep washing the same spot on the counter until he pushes off the opposite side and comes to stand beside me.
“I’ve given you time. I thought maybe you were upset at me for not keeping you safe that day, but I don’t think that’s it.”
I can’t help it, I look up, my eyebrows drawn. “You don’t?”
He shakes his head, leaning an elbow and a hip against the counter. “No, I don’t.”
Ignoring the turn of the conversation, I skirt around him to go ahead and get started on a dinner I’ll likely burn, but he grabs ahold of my belt loop and spins me around until I’m facing him.
“Let me go, Jack,” I say in what I think of as a perfectly calm and reasonable tone. It’s the same one I’ve used on him every day since he got out of the hospital. The same one that convinced him to do his physical therapy and attend his doctor visits.
It was either stay calm and reasonable…or admit how close I was to almost losing him again.
“No,” he says, his voice mimicking mine.
I start to tug at my arm, but he is incredibly stronger than I am and he reels me into his chest despite my struggles. “I need to start dinner,” I say, growing a little more frantic now.
“I don’t think so,” he says.
“The boys will be home soon.” I nearly wince at the growing desperation that turns m
y voice reedy and thin.
“No, they won’t. They’re staying the night. Friend’s mom is going to bring them by tomorrow morning.”
I swallow against the growing lump in my throat. “Why would you do that?”
“Because you have nothing to be afraid of now.”
“I’m not afraid,” I say immediately.
He pulls me closer and I let him because I’m so damn tired I don’t have the strength to fight anymore. “You need to stop.”
“I’m not doing anything.”
“You’re blaming yourself,” he says. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“I know that.”
“I don’t think you do. I think you’re working yourself to death here for me and the boys because you think you have to for some reason. To make up for being gone or to apologize for that sonuvabitch playing slice and dice with my leg, but neither of those things deserve your blame or your penance because neither of them were your fault.”
“I’m not—”
“Stop,” he says. “Just stop, baby. I can’t watch you punish yourself like this anymore. So do whatever you have to, blame me, hurt me, use me, whatever. Just take it out on me so we can move on.” He presses his cheek to mine. “I want my best friend back.”
The crack in his voice causes one to form in the wall I’d built to be strong for him and Rafe and Donnie after Damian attacked me again. I try to patch it up, try to calm my breathing and still the flow of tears, but they spill over and the wall comes crumbling down.
As I sob into his chest, he lifts me like a child and carries me to our room, laying me down on the bed and cocooning me with his body. The headboard rattles against the wall with the effort of grief I expend into his shirt. By the time the tears come to an end, my whole body feels numb.
He strokes feeling back into my back and arms with a heavy, soothing palm, resurrecting pleasure and passion like an artist creating a masterpiece. I press my forehead into his damp shirt and release a shuddering breath against his chest, the catch more from the growing yearning for him than any lingering emotion.
Survivor (First to Fight Book 2) Page 17
