by Coralee June
“Money and power, Love. He hasn’t learned the art of subtlety,” was Gav’s response. His eyes were glued to the ring as he spoke to me. He’d never admit it, but he was worried for Ryker. I’d noticed it at the last fight too. I originally thought it was his love for the sport that had him so attuned to each punch, but it was actually his love for his brother that had him so invested.
“What does being subtle have to do with it?” I asked.
At my question, Gavriel turned to me with a smile, leaning closer so that he was speaking over me with that smoky tone that made me a puddle at his feet.
“If you ever want to know who the most powerful man in the room is, look for the one not saying anything, just observing the spectacle. Power speaks for itself, Love.”
The announcer’s commentary was cheesy and over the top, it was a show of authority. When Ryker’s opponent entered the ring, I had to stifle a gasp. He looked scary, and not just the traditional muscular scary with tattoos and an “I don’t give a fuck” expression.
No, he looked like a sociopath. He looked like my father, with a cruel smile bordering on manic. His eyes were bright as they took in Ryker’s bouncing form. I watched how he categorized each movement. He stared at the way Ryker was still bruised from his fight just a few days ago, eyes shining when he saw the hickey on his neck…
Did Santobello only employ sociopaths? It was like he found people so brutal that they didn’t know any better. Santobello gave them an outlet for their addictions for inflicting pain.
“Shit, he looks scary,” I said to Blaise. He was chowing down on popcorn, a full beer sitting untouched beside him. They were both trying to look like they were here to enjoy a fight, but there was no hiding the fact that this was all show. Beneath the surface, my men were bubbling with as much adrenaline and anxiety as I was.
“He doesn’t have the same sort of rigorous training as Ryker. He’s got strength, this’ll hurt a fuck ton, but he doesn’t move with thought. He’s all reckless force,” Blaise surmised while plopping more popcorn into his mouth.
Half-dressed women circled the ring, smiling and waving at the crowd as they got the audience revved up and ready for the fight. Everyone around us was screaming their heads off, drinking in the excitement and violence like it was Sunshine Whiskey. Cheap but efficient. The entire arena was practically vibrating.
The music grew louder, and a white spotlight focused on the fighters as the ref explained the rules. Everything was a blurry haze, and once again, I felt a fear in the pit of my stomach that things were going to drastically change for us, that this was the beginning of something bad. Really fucking bad.
Blaise held my hand. “He’ll be okay, Sunshine. Ryker’s a badass.” Everyone kept assuring me of that, but I still wasn’t sure.
The beginning of the fight came too fast. Although everything leading up to the first punch was a warning of sorts, I still felt that there wasn’t enough time to prepare myself for the brutality of it all. I wasn’t prepared for the solid steps of Ryker’s opponent as he charged him. Blaise was right, there was no rhyme or reason to his hits, he just moved as fast as his thick body would let him, delivering punch after punch to the faded bruises on Ryker’s ribs. The crowd was too loud, but I imagined the intense sounds of flesh hitting flesh, the vibrant pain bubbling within him, and the quick exhales of his lungs.
And all the while, Ryker smiled. He was patient, half-heartedly dodging each strike but still standing proud and durable with each meaty throw of his opponent.
“Why doesn’t he try hitting?” I asked Gavriel. Tough and rugged, Ryker looked cocky in the ring, using his agility and knowledge to evade and accept. I recognized that there was some underlying motivations behind each move but couldn’t help worrying that this was like the fight in LA, when he just stood there, locked in his mind while his opponent beat him.
“I don’t know,” Gavriel growled in response.
There were no rules in the MMA styled match. It seemed like everything was fair game. No hit too below the belt, no amount of blood too much. The crowd began chanting his opponent’s name.
Donovan. Donovan. Donovan the Destroyer. When we’d first arrived, they were all about Ryker. The crowd flipped on a dime, following after the strongest man in a room because they didn’t owe my man their loyalty. They wanted blood and would steal it from whoever delivered first. Donovan tried to lock Ryker against his body to pull him down to the mat, but Ryker slipped out of his grip. My fighter was constantly moving just enough to keep away while still getting close enough for Donovan to land a hit.
It wasn’t long before his opponent’s breath was labored and his feet sluggish. Ryker still wore an easy smile, but Donovan’s energy was draining. He had no stamina, and suddenly, I understood Ryker’s methods. He was wearing him out, accepting the pain he could handle so that he could catch Donovan while he was tired. But of course, he had to be smart about it. He had to look like he was struggling and weak from the hits. “Well, that was a risky move,” I said to Gavriel. He, too, seemed to come to the same conclusion as I, because he nodded in agreement.
“He’s pretty beat up,” Gavriel said.
Around us the crowd seemed bored at the anticlimactic and one-sided fight. They booed Ryker for not hitting back, some of them bursting from their seats, as if wanting to go to the arena and pick a fight with him too. “Any signs of Santobello?” I asked. Before arriving, Gavriel warned me that he would be here, probably sitting opposite us on the other side of the ring. But everytime my eyes turned to the section reserved for him, the seats were empty.
The crowd’s restlessness peaked, and soon people were not only booing Ryker but yelling at him to fight back or get the hell out of the ring. There was a brief moment when Donovan’s back was turned to me, and Ryker looked in our direction over Donovan’s shoulder. I was reminded of the first fight I’d ever attended, when Gavriel looked at me and paused in shock, propelling us forward into a fate we couldn’t avoid.
But now, when Ryker’s eyes met mine, we exchanged a brief moment of solidarity and comfort. I felt nothing but assurance that this time around, things would be different. Danger might have been on the horizon, but so was hope. So was love.
A couple rounds had passed, each one Donovan claiming, but after my moment with Ryker, he snapped. Circling Donovan on the ring with quick steps that made his calves and thighs flex, Ryker surged towards his opponent with a murderous grunt. Left right jab, forward step. A clip to the jaw, a pump to the gut. Donovan’s meaty flesh rippled with precision. There was a certain force behind each controlled muscle. I recognized the movements of someone that had been exposed to brutal fighting all their life. He didn’t hesitate, didn’t hold back. He let loose the bottled up rage bubbling beneath the surface, and Donovan could do nothing but stand there and take it, his body too tired to dodge the quick assault.
I’ve never truly feared Ryker. Even at his cruelest, I knew that he wouldn’t hurt me—couldn’t hurt me. But watching him in his element, delivering each blow like it was his God-given right, had me viewing him through a new lens. Ryker was a predator in disguise. He had so much bottled up anger that when he unleashed it, he was lethal.
“Shit,” I said, unable to help myself. I was in awe but also a little shocked by the sheer power in his hits.
Donovan faltered, his face scrunching up into a sad combination of pain and determination. Ryker could easily win. “Your man is doing well,” a voice with a faintly clipped accent said to us. I was so enraptured by the fight, I didn’t notice the group of men walking towards us, or the way that Blaise and Gavriel went stiff beside me.
Santobello looked like I remembered. Peering at him now, I couldn’t believe that I missed it before. He still held that assuming gaze in his eyes, the one that said he truly believed he could own or overpower anyone he wanted. I could still remember how he held my handshake for a little longer than necessary, and how his eyes roamed over my body, like he wasn’t afraid to make me feel un
comfortable.
“Sometimes, a fist isn’t enough. There’s a certain intelligence necessary to win this game,” Gavriel said over the cheering of the crowd. I knew he wasn’t just talking about the fight. “Enjoy your meeting?” Gavriel asked before leaning back, his body language showing that he was relaxed, but lacking authenticity. It was all for show, a twisted competition to see who could handle the threat better, who could look the least affected.
My eyes shifted to Santobello as Blaise gripped my hand harder. I saw the flash of fury in the older man’s eyes; it was brief, but it was weighted with all the anger he felt towards Gavriel and the Bullets. “You think you’re clever. You’re getting cocky, Gavriel. Not watching your back, not watching those you love.”
The threat was clear, and Santobello was aiming to hit a sore spot, knowing Gavriel’s weakness for me. It was a double-edged sword, being loved by a man with enemies. But oh, my crime boss was worth it. I waited to see how Gavriel would handle this obvious threat. I could practically feel how angry he was, like I could feel Ryker’s power, Callum’s disdain, and Blaise’s determination.
Gavriel stepped down from the aisle we were on, brushing off his well-fitted suit as he walked. The men around us went on full alert, and the crowd seemed to move their attention to the power struggle happening off the mat. I had to lean in to hear over the fight, music, and crowd, but each word pouring from Gavriel’s lips was abundantly clear. “You think my loved ones are a weakness, but you’re wrong. I’m generally levelheaded, Santobello. Mess with my business, I’ll end you. Mess with my people? I’ll have you begging for death. I don’t have to tell you all the things I’ll do. You’re not worth the threat, but know you fucked up when you brought her into this.”
Behind them, Ryker emphasized Gavriel’s point by hitting Donovan with one final punishing punch, ending the match with a knock out that left the room screaming in satisfaction, high from the violence, and happy to have won their bets. It was so loud that I almost missed Santobello’s parting words. I knew nothing would come from this showdown, we were in too public of a place. Too many casualties, like Gavriel said.
“Your federal agent seems on edge. See that you make sure he’s not taking on more than he can handle, going after one of mine.” Santobello spun around and left with the dramatic flair of someone that had planned his words. He was here on a mission. He wanted to let us know that he had Callum on his radar.
It took a moment for Gavriel to make his way back to the seat. The crowd started flooding the ring as Ryker was named the champion. I looked up at Ryker, blood dripping from his mouth and a thick layer of sweat covering his body. Around him, men were patting him on the back, but Ryker’s gaze was fixed on us.
“You okay?” he mouthed as a woman wearing a bikini draped herself over his shoulder to kiss his cheek.
“No,” I mouthed back.
Chapter Eighteen
Ryker was on a bench in the locker rooms being checked out by a medic. We followed him there once the crowd dispersed while Gavriel called Callum. There was no answer. “Are you sure that’s what he said?” Ryker asked while the medic pressed into his side to check his ribs, earning a groan from my brave fighter. “Positive,” Blaise replied while looking at me. Santobello hinted that Callum had plans to take on my father, but since my blow up on him yesterday, he hadn’t been answering the phone.
Blaise pulled out his phone and called Nix, who was still at the hotel. “Hey. Can you do a scan for Callum? We might have a problem.” Blaise listened for a moment to Nix, rolling his eyes at something he’d said. “Just tell me where he is, please?”
More minutes passed, and I watched as Gavriel called Callum, Blaise listened to Nix, and Ryker stared at me.
“He’s where? Fuck.” Blaise shook his head before saying thank you and hanging up. We all directed our attention to him, prepared to hear whatever bad news was brewing. “Callum used his credit card at a hunting supply store outside of Chesterbrook. Paul Bright is there for the holiday weekend for some publicity thing.”
Shit. I started pacing the room, my tall heels clicking against the tile. “You don’t think? Surely he wouldn’t…” I couldn’t finish my train of thought. My mind went back over the cruel things I’d said to him. Would Callum seriously take on my father alone? What if he were caught? He wasn’t in the state of mind to make rational decisions.
“How long of a flight would it be from here to Chesterbrook?” I asked before hiking my purse up on my shoulder.
“Four hours, maybe less depending on the pilot,” Gavriel replied while typing on his phone, as if he’d already looked it up and was preparing his jet.
“Are you okay to travel?” I asked. The medic looked at Ryker then answered for him.
“He’s bruised. Bad. Might have a slight concussion. Needs to be observed for the night.”
Ryker rolled his eyes and shoved the medic away. The lanky man scurried out of the locker rooms as fast as he possibly could.
“Shit!” Gavriel exclaimed while looking at an alert on his phone. “Someone broke into my house. My sister is fine, but she’s being moved to stay with Mrs. Ricci and Joe at the hospital.”
Gavriel’s men were all around us, each of them staring at him with trepidation. Their faith had been shaken since the shooting in Harlem, and now Gavriel’s control over the situation seemed to weaken. I knew if he didn’t take charge, or at least feel like he was in control soon, he would spiral.
“Tell us what to do, Gav,” I whispered, offering my faith in him on a silver platter.
“I don’t know if Santobello wants us to go. It could be just another trap,” he said before standing. Gavriel pocketed his cell phone then went to face the men guarding the room, a look of indecision on his face.
“So we’ll have to make him think we’re going home, but we’re going to get Callum instead,” he responded, while patting the gun in the holster on his hip. He then smiled at his men like he had a plan. There was my fearless leader.
Within the hour, the four of us were in a taxi headed to the airport while a town car full of Gavriel’s men headed to the private jet at a smaller airport outside of the strip. We had fake IDs and four economy tickets for a flight to DC. It was two hours from Chesterbrook. Our ploy to confuse Santobello meant that we’d have to sacrifice time, but it might draw his attention elsewhere.
I was wearing a hat and big sunglasses despite the night sky. Ryker looked half dead in his seat, head rolled back as he grunted in pain when the taxi driver drove over a bump. He was sore and had a headache from hell, but he was fine.
“When we get to the airport, we’ll split up. Blaise and Sunshine will go together, and Ryker and I will follow after. I don’t want Sunshine anywhere near me,” Gavriel ordered. The taxi driver peered at me through the rearview mirror, as if trying to gauge if I was being kidnapped or not.
It was quite the production, getting the guards to leave the fighting arena while looking like we were with them. We escaped through a back exit while his men crowded close together, giving off the illusion that they were protecting someone in the middle. They loaded into the town car, then left straight for the airport. His team of guards were headed to New York.
“And when we get there? Is there any more news about where Callum is right now?” I asked as we pulled into the airport.
“Last update from Nix was that Callum got a hotel room for the night, a motel outside of the city. He hacked the security feed and will be able to see if he leaves.”
“Good,” I said. Since speaking with Santobello I’d been in a never-ending cycle of thoughts. Fear of Santobello, anger with Callum, regret over our last conversation. Did I push Callum to act?
“So when we get there, then what?” I asked, needing to know what the plan was. I bit the inside of my cheek, gnawing on the flesh and trying to keep steady so the taxi driver didn’t abandon us and call the police.
Gavriel looked at Blaise, and they took a moment to exchange a conversation without
words, each of their eyes boring into one another with a solidarity that I’d known since they were kids.
With his hand on the door, Gavriel then answered me. “We’re going to help him”—he glared at the driver, daring him to question our conversation—“with the job he’s taken on. If Callum’s ready to accept the darker parts of himself, then we’ll meet him in hell. You don’t have to come with us, but I think you should.”
Gavriel didn’t give me time to respond, instead getting out of the car to open my door for me. Gavriel was right. I did need to attend this. I needed retribution, I needed my revenge. I needed the peace of knowing that my father was dead and that the men I loved saved me from him in the end.
Ryker and I shuffled out of the sedan, and we stood there on the street for a moment as I pulled my hat lower on my face. I was wearing black pants, a black shirt and black funeral hat. If I was going to attend the death of my father, I already looked the part. Ryker was wearing gym clothes and a warm up jacket. Each step seemed to hurt him.
“Stop looking at me like that,” he said while Gavriel paid the driver.
“Like what?”
Ryker leaned over to be eye level with me, hissing in pain from the movement but closing in on me nevertheless. “This is nothing. I once had my jaw wired shut. Broken in three places. I can survive this.”
My eyes widened in surprise at Ryker before I shook my head.
I took a deep breath, thinking about everything we were about to face. I needed to show Callum that he didn’t have to cling to his ideas about right and wrong to keep me. He needed to see and feel unconditional love. I honestly wasn’t sure what was waiting for us at the end of all this, if Callum would finally accept me—accept us. Or if he’d finally move on, feeling a bit more free of the restraints he’s put on himself. But I hoped that we’d end up together. I hoped that we’d forgive and find normalcy at the end of it all.