by Shannyn Leah
She shook her head. “I’m not leaving him.”
“If you don’t, we both might be joining him.”
She tried peeling his fingers from around her wrist, but the battle was useless. “You go. I’m not leaving him. I brought him here and I won’t abandon him.” She glanced at the ring. Although Walker wasn’t getting in many shots, both men seemed to be wearing down.
“Bowie, if you stay, Walker wins.”
“Duke, you’re going to have to knock me unconscious or drag me out kicking and screaming because I love that man and I’m not leaving him.”
STONE NEEDED A PLAN. This dancing game could only go on for so long. He would tire, Walker would tire. If he didn’t give Walker the satisfaction of letting him pummel him, he’d turn the tables and change the rules.
Between dodging Walker, making sure Duke had Bowie under control, and keeping tabs on Reed and his captor, Stone spotted his solution: a painting on the wall.
Taking advantage of Stone’s distraction, Walker threw a punch and hit the side of Stone’s face. The unexpected impact sent him tumbling backwards, but he kept his footing.
His vision blurred, but he focused on a brightly painted picture hanging on the wall behind Reed. Stone recognized the unusual painting style: Bowie’s style.
There was his goddam answer. He almost cheered and punched Walker just for fun. But it was only the beginning of a plan. Where the hell was Reed being held? Walker wouldn’t take him to Bowie’s house, and that only left a handful of places and people to whom Bowie would have gifted her art.
Stone refused to punch Walker, as much as he wanted to, and as much as both he and Reed deserved a good beating. But it was the woman in the audience that kept his fists at his sides. He’d never hurt Bowie the way Reed had. He wouldn’t be responsible for hurting someone she loved. Instead, he jumped around the ring, dodged every few punches and accepted the one or two his opponent got in-between.
“You can’t do this forever.” Sweat beaded on Walker’s forehead. It took a lot more work to swing and miss than to dodge. He was wearing himself down. If Stone could keep him busy until someone made it to Reed, he might walk out of this alive. Might being the principal word.
“How many rounds are we going to play?” Walker huffed.
“As many as you need to actually get in a good hit.” Stone heard his own breathlessness, but it shaped from rising anger. “I can do this all night, but you’ll only be embarrassing yourself.”
The insult twisted the features of Walker’s face and impelled a blow to the face. The taste of copper stroked Stone’s tongue.
Just as Stone straightened, rubbing his jaw, the bell sounded, ending round two. His eyes played a daring game with Walker, not letting him in on his plan.
When he made it to his corner, Hawk placed a damp rag on his bleeding eyebrow. “Is this how they play down here? Unfair fights that are going to get you killed.”
His dad leaned through the ropes. “He euchred you son. Is there another way out that doesn’t include a body bag?”
“I hope so. Hawk, go and get Reed to safety.”
Hawk drew his eyebrows together. “Where the hell am I going to find him?”
“Don’t look at the screen now, but ask Bowie who she gave the picture behind Reed to.”
“What?”
“Keep tending to me.”
Hawk bent down, grabbed tape from his bag and ripped a piece off for the slash above Stone’s eye.
“The painting on the wall behind Reed belongs to Bowie, but she doesn’t sell them. Find out who she gave it to. It could be Reed’s house or possibly Susan or Emerie’s. I don’t know, but I know she will remember. Dad, punch the pole so they think we’re being euchred.”
Slate slammed his fist on the pole and cursed.
“You need to go now, and make it quick. Pick up your bag, throw a fit about supplies, and storm out. We have one chance to get you out of here alive.”
Hawk already had his head down, digging in his bag. “I hope this works.”
“If it doesn’t, I’m sorry.”
Hawk glared at him. “You mean if they kick the shit out of me and I end up leaving in a bloody body bag.”
“Yes.”
“Sounds like a goddam delight.” Hawk stood. “If we make it out of this alive, you owe me.”
“Anything.”
Stone prayed they’d make it out alive. Hawk stormed off the ring in an enraged hurry which received looks from those around him. Stone pressed the rag to his nose and tilted his head up to casually watch Hawk continue a scene with Bowie before making his way to the exit. Two security guards stepped in front of him blocking his escape.
Shit.
He couldn’t make out the words being exchanged between the three men, but Hawk didn’t throw the first punch and he didn’t get in the next as the second security guard fastened his arms behind his back and let the first one begin a barrage of punches.
Shit.
Stone grabbed the ropes, but his father pushed his shoulders down. “No, son. You can’t help him.”
“He’s here because of me.” Stone hoisted himself from the chair at the same time Hawk keeled to his knees.
Slate grasped his shoulders again. “If you go out there you’ll piss everyone off. You’ll follow and just for good measure, I’ll be next and dont’ think Bowie and Duke are safe. Let him go.”
Shit.
Hawk fell flat on the ground. One of the men grabbed his ankles and dragged him out the door.
Son of a bitch. Son. Of. A. Bitch.
“Hey.” Slate slapped him across the face. “Focus, dammit. Focus and finish this.”
Stone sat back on the chair. “I can’t. If I hit Walker, Reed gets it ten times worse. Bowie is out there watching.”
“Then stall.”
“Stall for what?” That was only the beginning of Hawk’s beating.
It was over.
Walker had won.
“Hope to god your boy Hawk wakes up.”
Stone rubbed the back of his neck and shook his head. “You and I both know that’s not going to happen. I’m stalling the inevitable out there.”
He could jump around the ring and dodge Walker’s swings until sunrise, but, in the end, he’d still end up giving up, giving in, to save Reed. And once he was down, Walker wouldn’t stop until Stone took his last breath and who the hell here was going to stop him?
“Dad, I love—”
“Don’t you say goodbye to me.” His father gripped the side of his head and pulled him close to him. “You stall.”
“Tell Bowie—”
“No.”
“I love her. I’ve always loved her. I built my house for her. You give it to her.”
“You goddam tell her yourself when you walk out of here.”
“I’m not walking out.”
“Yes, you are.”
Stone grabbed the back of his dad’s neck. “Dad, these are the risks when you step down here. I knew them, you knew them and even Bowie knew them. It’s not a fair fight and there are no rules. I’m sorry I was so angry for so long.”
Slate only shook his head.
Stone lowered his voice to a choked up whisper. “I love you, Dad.” He hugged his father before standing to his feet and raising his hands indicating he was ready for the next round.
He looked at Bowie and stopped walking mid-ring. She silently begged him for a plan, but she’d seen what had happened to Hawk, their only plan had failed. This time he couldn’t send her their silent promises. He couldn’t promise to be safe, or walk away alive, because today, he wouldn’t be leaving here with a pulse.
Chapter Thirty-Two
NO. NO. NO.
Bowie left the comfort of Duke’s protection. How she escaped his grip or if he’d simply let her, she didn’t care. Her legs could hardly hold her, but her feet and mind understood that Stone had given up. Walker would claim his revenge, success, and the final win.
She’d been aroun
d too long not to know the result would be death. Stone was walking into his death.
“No!!!” she screamed, running down the walkway. “No!” She shoved through a couple of men and almost tripped on a stair. “Stone!”
He turned to her only seconds before the match commenced, before he stepped into the middle. He said something that must’ve ticked off the referee because arms flared and voices hiked.
Walker stepped in and settled everything down. By the time she reached his corner, Stone was walking toward her.
“No, no, no.” Her head shook until he gripped it and covered her mouth with his.
“Shhhh,” he whispered against her. “Doll, don’t. Leave the stage. Go back to Duke where you’re safe.”
“Don’t you leave me. Don’t do this. I can’t—I can’t—”
His fingers pushed her hair back and angled her head to look at her. “You know I don’t have a choice.”
Tears streamed down her face and she’d swear she saw one run down Stone’s cheek too. His eye was already swollen and the tape job Hawk had done on his eyebrow gushed out blood.
“I just got you back. If ... if you die.” She struggled for a breath. “You can’t die. You’ll die if you step in that ring.”
“And if I don’t, Reed will die. This isn’t on you.”
“Please no.” All she had left was begging a useless tune that wouldn’t change anything.
“It’s not Reed’s fault either. You live. Get on your dad’s bike and ride. Swing on a tire swing. Maybe don’t climb on high branches but—”
A winded, gasping laugh met his lips.
“You live,” he gruffly said against her. “You goddam live.”
“No.”
“I gotta go.”
“No.” She gripped him harder.
“Bowie—”
She repeated the one word that would never change his mind. He peeled her fingers from his shoulder and passed her off to his father. “Take care of her for me, Dad.”
“I will, son.”
“No. No. No!!!” she screamed as he walked away.
She felt Slate grip her shoulders, the only thing keeping her standing. “Do something!” she yelled at him knowing he couldn’t do anything without getting them all killed. Knowing this was the end.
The fight.
Stone’s death.
EACH BLOW NUMBED THE pain of the previous hit until Stone’s whole body went numb. His legs shook, but he continued standing. This man could kill him, but he’d damn well not kick him while he was down.
He faded in and out of a dizziness that promised something better if he just caved into the darkness.
But he refused to bow, refused to sink while he could still think. But even his jumbled thoughts made him wonder what was real or what was imagined.
Was he still standing or had he fallen to his knees?
Blood, sweat and, hell, even tears stung his eyes, blurring his vision. He could hear the roaring thunder of people. Sick bastards. To think he’d mingled with these people, and at one time looked up to them, wanted to share the high of his win with them. Now, they would watch him die—they cheered his upcoming demise.
His legs buckled sending his knees slamming onto the hard surface of the ring. He wiped the back of his hand over his eyes.
“Get up.” Walker grabbed a handful of his hair and pulled his head back with such force that Stone’s neck made a sickening cracking sound. “Get up you goddam pussy.”
Stone’s eyes drifted shut or rolled back in the back of his head, he couldn’t tell for sure which through his swollen eyes. When he opened them again he had difficulty seeing through the tiny slit. With the awkward angle of his head, his eyes landed on the screen—on Reed. He wasn’t dying as long as Walker kept his word—but how trustworthy was a con artist? For Bowie’s sake, he prayed Walker kept his word this one time. They both couldn’t die on her.
Stone tried to focus while still going in and out of consciousness. Navy suits invaded the screen, swarming the room. He blinked, trying to read the yellow writing on their uniforms, but unable to make out the words. Were those bulletproof vests? And were guns being aimed? He couldn’t say for sure until one of the men bent down in front of the camera and the yellow writing spread from one end of the screen to the other—police. If it was a hallucination, it was the best damn thing he’d seen all night. One man freed Reed while the other arrested Jud.
Stone squeezed his eyes shut and inhaled long, deep breaths. He had to pull it together. If this shit was really going down, he needed to be geared to fight.
Walker cursed and his voice sounded a little clearer now. He breathed in again as Walker released his hair sending him off balance and forward. His hands hit the floor, catching and balancing him. He wanted to pass out, but he refused. Walker just let go of the wrong man.
Stone took one last look at the screen to see a face invade the space. “Track where this is streaming to now!” one of the officers barked the order sending the room around Stone into a scattered rush to escape the eyes of the men on the other side of the screen.
“This is your fault!” The referee pointed at Walker on his way off the stage. “You’ll be in a pile of shit. Watch your back.”
“Stone we have to go.” Bowie knelt down in front of him and touched his face, tilted his head to look at him before feeling her way down his body. Even if her touch inflicted pain everywhere, it was the best damn pain in the world. “Can you walk? Can you stand?”
He felt his father clutch one arm and Duke the other as they lifted him to his feet. He fought his wobbling legs, the excruciating throbbing in his head that blurred his vision and swallowed down the bile rising up this throat.
“That son of a bitch is not walking away from this. Take her.” Stone thrust Bowie at Duke. He only needed one punch. One good punch.
He limped across the stage with a speed that even impressed him given his current condition. “Walker?”
The arrogant prick turned with a sneer, but it didn’t fool Stone, he saw the worry behind his eyes. The police would be swarming the joint soon—his joint—and no one wanted to be left behind for the Feds.
“Buy your way out of this one.” With every last morsel of strength, Stone lifted his fist and sent an uppercut to Walker’s jaw. The strike sent him flying against the ropes and his lifeless body collapsed to the floor.
With his teeth, Stone pulled the knot of his wrap free. Pain stung his hands as he unwrapped it.
“Son, we have to go.” His father came to his side.
Stone tossed the material at Walker’s feet. “Tie him up. He owns the property and if they find him here he’ll be behind bars.”
Duke dragged Walker to the corner of the ring and Slate helped him tie Walker to the ropes.
Bowie stepped in front of him and he rested his arms on her shoulders. “Hey, doll.” He closed his eyes and leaned his forehead on hers. “I thought that was it for me.”
“Talk to me. What’s your name?”
She was checking him for a concussion. “Stone Patino.”
“Where are you?”
“Fight club.”
She smiled at him. “Who am I?”
“The woman I’m going to marry and drag out into the country.” He wrapped his arm around her and against all his painful muscles. “I’m right here.”
Slate and Duke finished tying up Walker.
“Let’s go.” His dad and Duke helped him climb out of the ring and together they guided him the back way out of the building.
Chapter Thirty-Three
“BOWIE, HAVE YOU ever eaten deviled eggs before?” Susan asked.
“Yes. I love your deviled eggs. That’s why I asked you to show me how to cook them.”
“Uh-huh.” Susan slowly spun the bowl filled with the eggs Bowie had sliced in half as directed. “Did it occur to you while slicing these that they didn’t look quite right?”
Bowie shrugged. “No, not really. Why?”
“Bec
ause what you should have done was slice them lengthwise, not widthwise.” She took the last egg and knife from Bowie’s hand and cut the egg, demonstrating the lengthwise cut. She scooped the yolk into the bowl with the rest, set her sliced white egg on the table and picked one of Bowie’s eggs out of the bowl and set it beside. Bowie’s egg rolled over.
“Ohhh, yes, I see it now.”
“Child, you need to take cooking classes.”
“Maybe I could just hire a cook.”
“I know how to cook.” Stone walked into his kitchen—their kitchen now—pulling a T-shirt over his taut, teasing muscles. They’d stayed in bed together most of the morning and she still wanted to drag him back there and strip him naked all over again.
It would be better once his bruises and muscles had completely healed. Sometimes she couldn’t tell the difference between his moans of pleasure or groans of pain. She couldn’t wait to rid the reminder of last month’s fight—although it felt like a lifetime ago.
He stopped by her side to kiss her. Sliding his arm around her, he bent down and pressed a hard kiss against her mouth, even pushing his tongue through her lips for a taste before pulling away. Apparently he couldn’t get enough of her either.
Still holding her, he glanced at the eggs and chuckled. “It’s a good thing I know how to cook or we’d starve here.”
Bowie playfully slapped his chest. “There’s takeout in Willow Valley.” She paused and looked up at him. “Right? There is right?”
He chuckled again and she knew she’d never tire of the sound. “Yes, there’s takeout.”
“Delivery?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.” She clapped her hands together. “We’re good. Let’s scrap the rest of this and call in takeout.” Bowie started grabbing vegetables from the counter island and carried them to the fridge only to turn and bump into Susan as she pulled them back out.
