Shattered (A Bad Boy Romance Novel)

by Natalie Baird

  “Huh,” Edward said beside me, “That girl of Anderson’s didn’t show. Something must have happened to them.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “Everyone’s been talking about them,” Edward said, “Even underground fighting rings have their gossip, it seems. I wonder what happened to her?”

  “Like what?” I said suspiciously.

  “Who knows,” Edward said, “People who get too close to Anderson just seem to have bad luck, as far as staying in one piece is concerned.”

  I glared across the ring at Robert. He was the man to fear, not Anderson. But I held my tongue and simply shrugged at Edward’s speculation. Best not to stir the pot. My nerves were buzzing as the minutes passed. And as the lights above finally swung toward the ring, lighting up the fighting pit like a beacon, I thought I might pass out from the anticipation and anxiety. It was the most exciting, terrifying, electrifying moment of my entire life. The assembled crowd raged all around me—there seemed to be twice as many people packed into the underground arena as there had been just two fights ago. Grown men were screeching like little boys with sheer, unadulterated glee.

  “Gentlemen, welcome!” cried a voice overhead. “This is the final match of the season between our two most talented fighters. The winner of this fight will reign as the champion, and be permitted to return next year. The loser will join the dozens of fighters who have already been thrown out of our prestigious league. Everything hangs in the balance for these two men on this, the most important night of their lives!”

  He was right about that, I thought, as the crowd rallied around me. Tonight, Anderson would determine the course of his fate. He had the chance to avenge his fallen family, to right a series of tragic wrongs. This was the single most important night of his entire career, his entire life. And I was going to be right there with him, through it all. I had no idea what was coming next. He’d given me almost no indication of what he was going to do once he got in the ring. All I could do was blindly trust that he was going to do what was best for us, whatever that turned out to be. I put my faith in him completely. What else could I possibly have done?

  “First up,” the announcer went on, milking the dramatic scene for all it was worth, “Welcome back our champion, the man who cannot be defeated, The Brooklyn Barbarian, The Harbinger of Sorrows, Anderson 'The Shatter Man' Cole!”

  A riotous roar went up around the arena as Anderson stalked into the pit. I gasped as I caught sight of his scantily-clad form. His every muscle seemed right to strike at any moment. At the start of the last fight, he’d seemed disorganized, unfocused, lazy, even. I could tell that he was ready to give it his all tonight, whatever that meant. He was going go for the kill.

  “And challenging Anderson Cole for his championship title,” the announcer said, “Welcome to the ring, all the way from Las Vegas, 'The Maniac' Marco Steele!”

  Anderson’s opponent strode into the ring, bouncing on the balls of his feet. He was grinning magnetically up into the area. He was just about the same size as Anderson, and had amazing movie star good looks. Marco was a pretty boy, with coiffed hair and a dazzling white smile. His handsomeness seemed cultivated, manicured. Anderson’s sex appeal, on the other hand, was inherent. He didn’t have to do a thing to be sexy; it was simply his natural state.

  “Again, gentlemen, this is the most important fight of the season, the biggest event of these young men’s lives,” the announcer reiterated. “Let’s get to it! Fighters, take your stances...ready...FIGHT!”

  A collective gasp tore from the audience as the horn blew and both fighters launched themselves at each other, wasting no time. I clutched the golden railing and leaned perilously over the side of the ring. Anderson and Marco slammed into each other in midair, rolling across the sand as one. They moved ferociously, like two lions battling in the Savannah. With each attempted blow and kick, a deflecting move was made. They were expert fighters, each in his own right. I watched as they leveled attack after attack at each other. I could see that they were feeling each other out, even as they fought. They were memorizing the other’s movements, patterns, potential weaknesses. There was a dangerous beauty to the way they fought, a vicious mastery. No wonder people went wild for this kind of thing. I’d been the least violent person in the world before I’d seen what Anderson could do in the ring. Now, I was cheering right along with the rest of the crowd, urging Anderson to bring Marco down.

  The fighters retreated a pace or two, assessing each other. They turned in tight circles around each other, gauging the other’s stamina and speed. Suddenly, Marco broke away towards Anderson and tried to kick his legs out from beneath him. Anderson leapt away and swung back with a round house kick that caught Marco in the chest. The pretty fighter fell hard on his ass, and rolled back to standing. He dusted himself off and pretended like nothing had happened. Steele was truly living up to his name, it would seem. Still, I knew that Anderson could take him.

  Anderson was leading Marco around in circles again, luring him deeper into his own rhythm. When Anderson broke away and tore at Marco, the other fighter wasn’t expecting it. Anderson slammed his fist into the man’s ribs, grabbed him by the arm, and flipped him onto the sand. Marco landed with a loud thud that resonated through the arena. My hands flew to my mouth. Surely, a normal person’s spine would have snapped after a takedown like that. But Marco simply rolled over and picked himself back up on his feet. Anderson let him get up—it was like he was playing with the other man. Don’t get cocky, I thought to him, Whatever you do, don’t get cocky...

  Marco realigned himself and held very still, not wanting to become susceptible to Anderson’s own momentum again. Anderson shuffled back and forth on his feet, anticipating the next strike. For a very long moment, neither man seemed willing to move. Then, as if they’d planned it all along, they flew at each other once more. Marco seemed intent on tackling Anderson to the ground, but Anderson was having none of it. He slid under the man and thrust his legs up into his core, sending him flinging in a violent tumble over Anderson's head and slamming into the sand face first.

  The pretty fighter’s head snapped back, and for a second I thought it would twist straight off his neck. He went down heavily, crumpling onto the sand. He tried to pick himself up, but his arms kept giving out from under him. The crowd was raging all around me, cheering and stomping as it seemed that the fight was reaching its final moments. Anderson watched as Marco struggled in the sand, not offering a hand, but not finishing him off either. What was he doing? I wondered, gripping the golden rail until my fingers turned white.

  I chanced a look across the circle at Robert. The man was on his feet, grinning down at the fight like a hyena waiting to pick scraps off the corpse of a lion’s kill. He was a filthy scavenger, Robert Hunt. Lower than low. He fed off other people, better people, and grew fat and happy off others’ despair. He was the worst kind of villain, and all I wanted to do in that moment was fly across the ring and gouge his eyes out myself. As if he’d been able to read my thoughts, Robert’s eyes flicked up to mine. There was no ambiguity in who he was looking at. He squinted at me across the circle, puzzled. But then, deadly comprehension seemed to dawn on his face. His lips curled into a satisfied little smile as he saw straight through my disguise.

  You’re dead, he mouthed at me across the ring. He raised a finger and slid it over his throat.

  Marco tried once more to raise himself from the sand. Anderson’s opponent fell once more to the ground, this time with a loud groan that signaled finality to those in the crowd. I edged away from the ring, trying to hide myself from Robert’s view. Whatever plan Anderson had in mind, he needed to act on it right away. There was no doubting that Robert knew I was there now. When I glanced up again, I saw that his henchmen had disappeared from his side. I could see them stalking around the ring, each from a different direction. They were going to box me in. I was trapped. I looked beseechingly at Anderson, hoping he could hear my desperate, silent pleas for help.r />
  Anderson turned away from Marco and looked up into the arena. He did not raise his arms in victory. Instead, he reached into the concealed back pocket of his shorts and withdrew something. I gasped—it was a small white towel. Before anyone could process what was happening, Anderson tossed the scrap of fabric onto the sandy floor at his feet. A solid, shocked hush crashed down upon the arena. Not a single person dared make a sound. I watched as Robert’s jaw fell toward the floor, his eyes shining with rage. Anderson threw his head back and opened his palms to the audience.

  “I forfeit!” he shouted from the fighting pit, “I forfeit the match, and my title as champion.”

  “Anderson!” roared Robert from above. Every eye in the arena swerved his way. Robert was on his feet, leaning over the railing as if he was going to pounce down and tackle Anderson himself. “What is the meaning of this?” he yelled, “Are you trying to be funny? Is this some kind of ridiculous joke?”

  “This is no joke,” Anderson said, glaring up at Robert. He stalked over to the towel and ground it into the sand with his heel. “I'm through with the league, with fighting, and with you—you cowardly, backstabbing son of a bitch!”

  A low murmur rippled through the arena as people looked back and forth between the men, trying to comprehend what was going on. Robert looked down at Anderson, his body frozen in place. “What are you talking about, Anderson?” the man said in a cloyingly kind tone, “I’ve been nothing but supportive of you since the day you were born. I’ve—”

  But his words were cut off as Anderson hocked and spat straight up into Robert’s smiling face. The crowd gasped as the wad of spit splattered against Robert’s cheek and ran down his pronounced jaw line. I nearly expected smoke to start pouring out of the man’s ears. He wiped away the saliva with his hand and took a deep, steadying breath. “That was a mistake, Anderson,” he said. His voice was deadly low, menacing and sure.

  “That was the first thing I’ve done right since I was a child,” Anderson shot back. “You deserve much worse, you pathetic excuse for a man. Why don’t you come clean to all these people about what you’ve done?”

  “I haven’t the slightest—” Robert started.

  “Ladies and gentlemen!” Anderson roared from the pit, turning away from Robert, “This man is not what you think he is. The league is a front. A joke. Robert Hunt has been duping you out of millions of dollars every week, pocketing your winnings and robbing you all blind.”

  “Robert, is that true?” shouted a voice from the crowd.

  “Of course not,” Robert said. But Anderson went on.

  “Robert Hunt is a menace, a brute, and a murderer,” my fighter cried, pointing at Robert in the stands. “I know everything, Robert. I know what you did to my family.”

  “Your family?” Robert sneered, “I had nothing to do with—”

  “This man stole me away from my parents when I was thirteen years old,” Anderson shouted into the darkness, stepping over Marco’s limp body. “He killed them so that he could train my brother Toby and I to be fighters in his disgusting fraud of a league. He raised us to fight, to cause pain, to win at any cost. And when my little brother decided that he was too smart, too good for this, Robert lured him here and let him get beat to death—to galvanize me. This place is built on the blood of my family. It’s built on lies and murder and crime. And you are all implicit.”

  Nervous chatter rang through the air as the audience grew more and more uncomfortable. People were confused, anxious, at a loss for what they should do next. Robert scanned the huge arena with hatred boiling in his eyes.

  “You don’t believe this nonsense, do you?” he cried, “This is lunacy! This is nothing but the paranoid ramblings of a boy who’s been hit in the head too many times.”

  “I heard you!” Anderson roared, “I heard you tell Kaela everything!”

  I held my breath as my name rang through the stadium. Robert’s face twisted into a grin, and he turned toward him with sinister ease. “Ah, yes,” he said, “Kaela. I should have known that she would be behind all of this. Nice costume, dear.”

  Anderson spun to face me, looking scared for the first time. I looked helplessly between them as every eye in the place landed on me in my new skin.

  Robert wagged his finger at me gleefully. “You know I can’t let you get away with this, dear. I’m a man of my word, after all.”

  I felt a cold steel barrel against the small of my back, and the world spun around me. I glanced over my shoulder and saw Edward sneering behind me, a handgun pressed against my skin.

  “We couldn’t take any chances,” he said, as Robert’s two henchmen stepped toward us. “By the way, Emilia Bellantoni is a ridiculous name.”

  “Leave her alone,” Anderson shouted, “Robert! Tell your men to back off!”

  “I don’t think I’ll do that,” Robert said drolly, “I should have had them finish the job a few days back. However, I suppose I just have a flair for the dramatic.”

  “Kaela,” Anderson said, advancing toward me, “Kaela, it’s OK. Everything’s going to be fine.”

  “It is?” I asked breathlessly, feeling the tip of the gun flush against my skin.

  “Just listen to me,” Anderson said urgently, as the entire crowd looked on. “Just do as I say, and everything will be fine. I won’t let anything happen to you. Not ever.”

  Robert let out a cold laugh across the ring. “Oh, Anderson,” he sighed, “Still trying to save the people you love after all these years. Won’t you ever learn?”

  “I’ve learned plenty,” Anderson said to Robert, “I’ve learned so much more from Kaela than you could ever teach me. One lesson in particular has been incredibly helpful tonight."

  “And what would that be?” Robert asked, taking the bait.

  “That sometimes,” Anderson said, positioning himself directly beneath me in the ring, “It’s important to call on your friends in your hour of need.”

  A gunshot echoed through the arena, and I waited for the cool fingers of death to drag me out of my body. I felt a wetness against my back, and looked around wildly. Edward slumped against me, clutching his arm. It was his blood that had splattered me, and he reeled away shrieking. From every corner of the arena, police officers emerged, their weapons glinting in the low light. The crowd went mad, crying out and trampling each other, racing for the exits. I looked around at the ensuing chaos, watched as burly officers tackled Robert’s men to the ground behind me.

  “Kaela!” Anderson shouted from the pit.

  “What do we do?” I cried.

  “Jump!” Anderson said, holding his arms open to me. I glanced across the circle and saw a handful of cops closing in around Robert. He was staring straight at me, practically frothing at the mouth. Before I could move, he pulled a gun from this jacket. Time seemed to slow down as I clambered over the edge of the railing and flew through the air. I could swear I heard Robert’s discharged bullet whiz past my ear as I cut through the electrified air. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the policemen tackle the criminal at once, coming down on him like a wave.

  I landed heavily in Anderson’s arms, curling into a ball against his chest. He set me down lightly and tugged me across the sand. We flew together, sparing no glances for Robert or any of his men. Our feet carried us across the sandy floor at breakneck speed as the arena raged above us. The cops had closed off and barred all the exits, as dozens of men in uniforms were flooding into the space. Altercations between criminals and police erupted everywhere, and mayhem descended upon the crowd.

  Anderson pulled me into the dark tunnel leading off the ring. We dove into the shadow of safety, tearing through the underground maze. I followed Anderson blindly, trusting him to know his way. He did, of course—rounding corners and chugging along like he’d memorized the place’s blueprints. There was probably a good chance that he had. Even as we ran deeper and deeper along the hidden track, we could hear the chaos from above. Gunshots were firing, people were crying out—the raid wa
s in full swing.

  Finally, Anderson stopped and leveled a mighty kick at the blackness before us, sending a hidden door flying off its hinges. We sped out into the warm night, and I gaped at what we found there. A nondescript blue sedan was idling in the alleyway, without a soul in sight. Anderson reached under the front wheel and withdrew a set of keys. With a wild grin, he popped open the passenger door for me.

  “After you,” he panted.

  “You’re out of your goddamn mind!” I cried.

  “You’re God damned right,” he said, “Now get in!”

  He didn’t have to tell me twice. I scrambled into the seat as he tore around the car and got behind the wheel. The motor roared to life and we took off into the city. As we rounded the corner, we spotted dozens of cop cars parked in front of the red door with the silver number eight. Just as we were pulling away, the door opened and the first criminal was pulled through with a police escort of seven. Robert was cuffed between two huge police officers, his mouth bloodied. Anderson got his attention with a blast of our horn. I waved cheerfully at the man as we peeled away. The last thing I saw as we turned the corner was Robert’s astonished face being forced into the backseat of the cop car.

  I slumped back against my seat and began to sob and laugh in turn. My exhausted, tightly wound body seemed to relax for the first time in two weeks. I lost all control of myself in a shocked and unwieldy euphoria.

  “We did it!” I cried, bouncing in my seat, “Anderson, we did it! We got away!”

  He grinned at me from the driver’s seat. “We’re not away yet,” he corrected, “Traffic and all.”

  “Where are we going?” I asked anxiously, “I brought my passport, I’m ready to go wherever you want, Anderson.”