“We’re going to circle back to that later…”
“My point is, they introduced me to a side of myself I never knew. I guess I was hoping I could do the same for you.”
A beat of silence passed between us as Reid peered down at his cracked and bruised knuckles. “Can you promise me something?”
“Within reason.” I dipped my head in a brief nod.
Rocking onto his hip, Reid reached into his back pocket to pull out a pocket knife. He turned it over in his hand before offering it to me. “If you’re coming with me tonight, I want you to bring this.”
“No offense, but that’s not a knife. That’s a knife.” Attempting a Crocodile Dundee impression, I lifted my chin towards my swords resting at the edge of the ring.
“They’re steel.” His features softened under a cloud of sorrow. “They can’t kill me. But this is sterling silver. If things get bad, I don’t want to come back again. Not if it means those thugs might come after Jack. Promise me… you’ll end this.”
Begrudgingly, I took the knife. “Just so you know, I’m not going to use this. But if you need me to hold onto it as an insurance policy, I will.”
Both of our hands on the knife, Reid hesitated before letting go, his stare locked with mine. “Thank you, Octavia. For everything.”
“Dude, you let me spend the night tenderizing your face with my fists. I should be thanking you. That was the best stress reliever I’ve had in a long time.” It was a dismissive statement to lighten the moment, but the weight of the situation hung heavily in the air.
Our plan had failed. Now, all we could do was pray.
Chapter Eight
Bacon heard the ruckus before I did. At the first sound of raised voices, he leapt off the cot and scurried to the door. Nosing at it, he tried to dig his way out in a flurry of clicking hooves.
I woke with a snort, my mouth tasting like a sweaty gym sock had been shoved in it. Propping myself up on one elbow, I tried to blink myself awake. “Hey, Pig formerly in a blanket, we’ve talked about this. You are not a large-tusked warthog. Maybe let me be the one to check out strange noises?”
The universe responded to that suggestion with a thunderous crash, followed by the tinkling of shattered glass.
Kicking my legs over the edge of the cot, I bolted for the door the second my feet hit the linoleum. “That, my little pork rind, definitely warrants an investigation.”
Gently scooting him aside with the side of my boot, I squeezed out the door and shut it behind me. While the club was filled with members eager to start their day with some hard-hitting cardio, not one person noticed I entered the room. All attention was focused on four men by the front door breaking out the floor-to-ceiling windows with crowbars and baseball bats. I didn’t need to see their faces to know they were part of the same crew that had threatened me and Reid the night before.
After stepping back to admire his work, Good ‘Ole Boy swung around to face his stunned audience. “Building full of people beating on stuffed bags, and no one is going to step up and be the hero?” he taunted.
Face morphing from red to purple in his battle to keep his cool, Jack moved through the crowd to plant himself between his customers and the assailants. “Nobody is going to do anything stupid, so no one here gets hurt.” Something in the way he spat the word nobody made it seem he was warning himself as much as the rest of them.
Good ‘Ole Boy used the crowbar to wave in Jack’s direction. “See now, I like you. You’re a sensible man. I bet you’ll even tell me where your boy is, because you know nothing good will follow if I have to ask twice.”
Arms akimbo, Jack’s hands curled into tight fists at his sides. “If you mean Reid, he’s not here. But I’ll be sure to pass along a message to him, as soon as you and your lot get the hell out of my business.”
“Ya hear that, boys?” Good ‘Ole Boy chuckled with a dangerous gleam in his eyes. “I don’t think we’re welcome here.”
Exchanging matching looks of malintent, his men chortled in response.
Dragging his tongue over his top teeth, the corners of Good ‘Ole Boy’s mouth twisted into a smug smile. “That’s alright, I have no interest in grabbing a beer with ya, I just need ya to hear me out. See, I know you’re the man who’s been in that boy’s corner during his recent fights. I take that to mean you’ve made a little money off his game. The way we see it, that was you co-signing him taking out a loan on our money. Money he’s going to pay back… with interest. It’s up to you to make sure he shows up at the arena tonight. Because, if he doesn’t, we’ll be back. And you’ll wish your only problem was some broken glass.”
A jerk of his head to his men, and they filed out with glass crunching under their boots.
“Sorry all. Bit of a misunderstanding.” Jack offered his customers a tight smile as he zipped to the front desk to grab the broom and dustpan.
Some made half-hearted attempts to finish their workouts. Others beelined it for the locker rooms to collect their things. Not one among them was brave enough to look Jack in the face.
Stunned into an embarrassed silence, the club owner kept his head down and concentrated on sweeping up the mess.
Without a word, I grabbed the second broom and joined his efforts. We worked in silence for a few moments, until the first club member flung their duffel bag over their shoulder and marched out without a glance back.
Only then did Jack pause, both hands gripping the broom handle in white knuckled fists. “When these members leave, they won’t be back. And who could blame them? I don’t know how I got myself into this—”
My broom stilled as I peered up at him with absolute conviction. “You got into this because you didn’t want to send Reid in there alone. You know damned well his bullheaded ass absolutely would have gone without you. This situation is far from ideal, but don’t ever doubt that your heart was in the right place.”
“Yeah,” Jack’s lips screwed to the side with disgust, “I’ll remember that when we go out of business. I don’t know what I’m going to tell Stormie. We based our entire lives around this place.”
With a deep inhale, I handed him my broom and walked out of the club. My Scrambler sat at the curb, patiently awaiting my return. Using the heel of my boot— (yes, I slept in them) —I kicked up the kickstand and rolled my bike through the frame of the broken window wall. Putting the kickstand back down, I stood back to inspect the staged scene. “Oh, look at that. Octavia had one too many Hand Grenades at Tropical Isle again, and drove her bike through the front of the club. That girl really has a problem.”
Jack’s features softened with something that resembled paternal pride. “What about the assholes with the bats? They’ll be back tomorrow to do far worse.”
I could feel the weight of Reid’s pocketknife in my back pocket, and hated myself for even considering it. “Reid and I will handle them tonight,” I rasped. “One way or another, they won’t be back.”
Leaning his forearm against the handles of both brooms, Jack’s eyes narrowed at my staged scene. “Uh… not to be a stickler for details, but if you crashed your bike, wouldn’t it be on its side instead of carefully parked here?”
Chin tucked to my chest, I gave him a judgmental glare for spouting such gibberish. “I’m sorry, but do you have any idea what laying down a motorcycle does to its engine? I think enough damage has been done here. Let’s not take our frustrations out on my Scrambler.” Offering him a playful wink, I turned on my heel and strode towards the ladies’ locker room to take a shower.
“Yeah,” he called after me, “I’m sure after drunkenly crashing through a storefront, you parked your bike and stumbled away unscathed.”
“The words you’re looking for are thank you!” I shouted back, and disappeared through the swinging door.
Chapter Nine
The mood of the underground fighting ring had shifted. I felt it the instant we walked in, a shiver of unease prickling down my spine. The jovial camaraderie from our last visit had
been replaced by palpable tension.
Scanning the arena, Reid bristled. “I never should have brought you here.”
Silently, I said a quick prayer of thanks that I let Jack pig-sit Bacon. Yes, his safety was key, but it also freed up space under my hoodie for me to strap on my swords. The cold bite of steel against my back was a remarkable boost to my confidence. “It’s adorable that you think you have any say over where I go and what I do.”
If Reid heard me, he didn’t let on. Pinching the bottom hem of my sweatshirt between his thumb and forefinger, he pulled me tight to his side. “We are in very real danger.”
For a beat, all I could do was blink in his direction. “You hustled them out of a quarter of a million dollars. Did you think they brought you here to thumb wrestle?”
All eyes were on us. Hushed conversations were being held behind the backs of hands.
“You don’t understand. It’s so much worse than that.”
“Rock, paper, scissors?”
“No, I—”
“Where is Thumpkin?”
“Would you shut up and listen?” Reid hissed in an urgent whisper. “I know these men. They’re from every town I’ve… fought at.”
The way he stumbled over the word set off warning sirens in my mind. “You mean, towns you hustled?”
“Well, don’t linger at the door, son!” Good ‘Ole Boy bellowed, that ever-present grin firmly in place. “Come on in! Get those gloves laced on.”
Unzipping his duffle bag, Reid pulled out his gloves and dropped the bag to the floor. “This is a personal vendetta for each of them. The first chance you get, I want you to run. I don’t want you to be any part of what’s about to go down.”
“Hear that, boss?” A skeevy guy with yellow teeth and a forest of bushy hair sprouting from the collar of his shirt edged in close enough for me to get a pungent whiff of halitosis and Gold Bond. “He doesn’t want his girlfriend to stay for the fun.”
A nod from Good ‘Ole Boy—henceforth known as GOB—and a wall of men moved behind us to block the exit. Clucking his tongue against the roof of his mouth, GOB cocked his head in mock pity. “Be a shame for her to miss a minute. You’re headlining tonight, Reid! She needs to see what a star you are.”
Two swords on my back, a knife in my pocket, and a guy who couldn’t be killed standing beside me. I had no false notions that we could take out the entire horde, but was damned sure we could make a good dent. “They’re trying to get in your head and rattle you. Don’t let them. Whatever they have planned, you need to be alert.”
“You too.” Peering down the bridge of his nose at me, Reid clapped his gloves together and ducked under the ropes to a rousing chorus of jeers and boos.
I never claimed to be an expert on boxing, but the spectacle that followed the ding of that bell in no way resembled the sport. Reid’s former opponents took the ring one after another, getting in a few good jabs and hooks before tagging in the next guy. They moved in a steady stream, rotating out in a constant current that would ensure Reid tired out long before they did.
In the beginning, while he was fresh, Reid gave as good as he got.
Splitting a lip with a quick jab.
Breaking a nose with a power-packed uppercut.
Dislocating a jaw from a fast-flying hook.
But time dragged on, and he began to slow. His opponents began to land more strikes, batting his head around like a speed bag. Blood streamed from a gash on his forehead, seeping into his eye to blur his vision. Shoulders beginning to droop, he fought to keep his hands up to defend against their rapid-fire attacks.
He couldn’t keep this up much longer, but that’s not what had me worried. Horrible as it was to think, they could beat him to death and he’d pop back up after a five-minute reset. That was the problem. Men from across the country filled that arena, all of whom frequented the same fighting circles Reid did. Somewhere, sometime, one of them would see him post mortem. Then, there was a chance this could all come back on Jack in a truly ugly way. I couldn’t allow that to happen. I gave Jack my word.
And that, my friends, was when I formed my most monumentally bad idea to date.
Reid had come close to shifting. I’d seen the telltale signs. What he needed was the proper motivation to overcome the metaphysical hurdle.
“Goddess, please don’t let me die,” I muttered under my breath as I shoved my way through the jeering crowd to duck under the ring ropes.
GOB blew a whistle and a hush fell over the crowd. “Sorry, this isn’t a tag team match, sweetheart. I promise you can have whatever’s left of your boyfriend when we’re done.”
With a bold lift of my chin, I locked stares with him. “Aw, you gave me a pet name and I don’t have one for you. How about Pencil-dick? Does that one work for you?”
Eyes narrowing to hateful slits, GOB’s smile sagged ever so slightly at the corners. “Not sure it applies, but I’d be more than happy to prove that to ya.”
“There’s no time for that, Pencil-dick,” I winced as if that was the stupidest suggestion I ever heard, “because I’m not going anywhere. You’re going to give my friend a minute to regroup, and in the meantime… I’ll take his place.”
A wave of laughter tittered through the room.
“That’s cute, sweetheart.” Clasping his hands in front of him, GOB pointedly stabbed out the word. “Even so, these rough-necks do like to maintain some element of chivalry. We couldn’t, in good conscience, beat on a delicate little thing like you... even if we did believe you could learn a thing or two from it. Jedidiah, help the little lady out of there.”
Yellow Teeth reached over the ropes to grab my arm.
Catching him by the wrist and armpit, I threw my weight forward and flipped him over my shoulder. He landed flat on his back, the floor shaking beneath him. Eyes bulging in equal parts shock and panic, the air left his lungs in a pained huff.
Impressive, right?
Less so, considering that was literally the only move I had.
Jack taught me that one after some douche bag on Bourbon Street grabbed my tit. Not that I intended to let any of them know I wasn’t packing a full arsenal of badassery.
Wiping the blood from his eye with the back of his glove, Reid stumble-stepped in my direction. “Octavia, what are you doing?”
“At the moment?” Head tilted, I glanced down at Yellow Teeth, who was rolling to his side to catch his breath. “Hoping to provide you with some much needed motivation to shift.”
Hands on his knees, Reid swayed, his legs threatening to buckle beneath him. “Are you insane? That’s a risky damn gamble!”
“Well, lookie here.” After wagging one finger in my direction, GOB pressed it to his chin. “Not only has the lady proved she can hold her own, but Reid seems very much against the idea. I’ll be damned if that doesn’t make it even more appealing. So, I say we give this a go.”
As the crowd unleashed a thunderous cheer, Reid grabbed the top rope to steady himself. “No! You won’t lay a hand on her!”
Another chorus of mocking laughter.
GOB rubbed his palm over the scruff of his chin. “That’s almost threatening. Almost. But you, I have no doubt Jedidiah can successfully sideline.”
A nod from his boss, and yellow-teethed Jed forced his way to his feet.
Managing a step forward, Reid’s jaw clenched tight. “Octavia, get behind me. Now.”
“Was that a hint of a growl? Great start, but let’s see if we can kick it up a notch.” Tossing my hair over my shoulder, I threw my arms out wide and spun in a slow circle to address the crowd. “Don’t be shy, boys. Who’s going to be first?”
“There’s brave, and there’s stupid. This is just flat-out stupid,” Reid rumbled. One blink, and his eyes glowed a menacing topaz.
“Oh yeah?” I countered, “Because it seems like it’s working, so far.”
“I want a piece,” a boulder of a man declared, forcing his way through the crowd.
“Would you look
at him!” I crowed. “He is without a doubt the largest human being I’ve ever seen. What are you, seven feet tall?”
“Six-eight,” Gigantor corrected, choosing to go over the ropes instead of under them. As if his appearance wasn’t off-putting enough, his hair was shaved into a mohawk and gelled into spikes that stabbed upward from his scalp.
“I come up to your belly button! Reid, look! I come up to his belly button!”
As Jedidiah reached for him, Reid found the strength to rip his arm away. I prayed that to be a sign of wolfie things to come. “Octavia, that guy will kill you!”
Wiping my sweat-dampened palms on the fronts of my jeans, I braced for the shit-storm of pain heading my way. “Ya know, I’m starting to pick up on that vibe. Do me a favor? If he kills me, maybe flop one of my hands up onto my chest. I’m not entirely sure I can resurrect myself, but it couldn’t hurt to try.”
“You done talking, Princess?” Gigantor pressed, making his giant man-boobs dance in a surprisingly effective intimidation technique. “Or should I pull up a chair?”
“Don’t care much for being called princess, but yeah, we’re totally going to do this. Just let me…” Trailing off, I tugged my hoodie over my head and tossed it aside.
At the sight of my swords, Gigantor visibly paled. “What are those? No one said anything about weapons!”
Eyebrows rocketing into my hairline, I snorted at the irony. “To be clear, you were totally okay climbing into the ring with a girl that’s a quarter of your size, but if she has any kind of weapon that may hinder your ability to pound her into the ground, that gives you pause? Evolution—decided against it, did we?”
Gigantor’s top lip curled into a snarl, revealing a gold grill encasing his teeth. “Keep ‘em on. It’s not like you’ll have time to pull one.”
Sniffing back a trickle of blood from his left nostril, Reid’s stare beseeched me. “Octavia, I’m begging you not to do this.”
My fingers twitched at my sides, palms itching to draw steel. “Looks like things are about to get insanely real, Reid. Unless you can come up with a way to make this all stop.”
Dead Ringer (The Journals of Octavia Hollows #5) Page 5