Dave came back, checking the tattoo gun he was holding. “You two done? Are we doing this?”
“Yes,” I said firmly.
Silence filled the small room as Dave regarded Rob before he continued. I caught a glimpse out of my peripheral vision of Rob nodding. Not that Dave needed my brother’s approval. But they were good friends, and I suspected Dave didn’t want to strain his friendship with Rob.
As Dave began the final steps, I closed my eyes and thought of Kade. What would he think of my tattoo? Would he like it? Would he say the same thing Rob had said?
“So, when we’re done here, can you take me to the cemetery?” I asked Rob. One of the main reasons I had agreed to fly out for the weekend was to visit Mom’s and Julie’s graves. I hadn’t been to their gravesites since the funeral over a year ago.
“First we need to stop by the police station. We’re meeting Dad there,” Rob said hesitantly.
My eyes flew open.
The sound of the tattoo gun died.
A familiar buzzing in my head started. I jerked my head to the side. “Is Dad in trouble? Did something happen?” I was ready to leap out of the chair.
“No.” His eyebrows knitted. “Dad’s fine.”
My muscles loosened a tiny bit.
Rob popped out of his chair then shoved his hands in his jeans pockets. “Detective Fisher called earlier. He heard you and Dad were in town and wants to…” He seemed to be searching for words. “He wants to chat with you, me, and Dad.” Rob began pacing.
Excitement bloomed. Dad had been checking in with the LAPD over the last six months. Each time, Detective Fisher had nothing to report except that he was working diligently to investigate a handful of leads. While I was eager to run over to the police station, Rob looked like he’d rather run in the opposite direction.
“Why are you nervous?” I asked. The more I thought about it, the more nervous I became, too. I was afraid to recall details of that night. I didn’t want to plummet into a deep depression or panic or black out. I was on the mend with my PTSD, and a relapse didn’t sound like fun. Maybe Rob had similar reasons to be nervous.
“Let Dave finish. I’ll be outside.” Rob stalked out. The bells on the entrance door chimed as he did.
After Dave was done, he applied a small amount of anti-bacterial ointment to the tattoo then covered the bear with a bandage. “Leave it on overnight. Then wash with a mild soap, using your hands. Nothing abrasive.” He removed his latex gloves and threw them in the trash.
I inhaled the musty air then released it in the hopes the little Pac-Men in my stomach would stop chomping on my insides. I wasn’t certain if the police had a break in the case. I prayed like hell they’d have great news. Maybe then I could heal a little bit more.
Chapter Three
Kade
We’d been sitting for what seemed like hours, waiting for the fight to begin. I bounced my knee up and down as I tried to call Lacey again. No answer. If she couldn’t talk, why hadn’t she at least texted me? Was she okay?
Kelton fidgeted and kept eyeing the blond girl, who in return kept staring at him, smiling every now and then—really not a good sign. I envisioned plucking my brother’s dead body from the Charles River. Not that Pitt was paying much attention. He’d been focused on his phone, but his bodyguards were very alert, continually scanning the room as though a threat lurked.
“Wes confirmed that’s Pitt’s daughter,” Hunt said, while reading a text on his phone. “Her name is Chloe.”
Wes’s job at the Guardian, Pitt’s bodyguard and bouncer service, came in handy at times like these.
“Didn’t want the name, man,” Kelton said. “Too personal.”
Hunt shook his head. “You really are screwed up.”
Three men entered the gym with clipboards in their hands then took their seats at a table to the right of the ring. No sooner had they sat down than the referee, a husky dude, sauntered in and climbed into the ring.
Hunt pocketed his phone. “It’s about time.”
I agreed. Another minute of doing nothing was another minute closer to me flying off the bleachers and finding something or someone to drive my fists into to take the edge off.
Finally, the fighters and their trainers came in. My brother, Kross, with his black hair cut high and tight, his blue eyes focused, and his upper body toned to perfection, looked ready to kill his opponent. He hopped into the ring, rolling his muscled shoulders back and forth. His trainer, Jay Crandall, a man known in the industry for producing prizefighters, slipped a towel into his back pocket before joining Kross. He pinched his hooked nose as his mouth began to move. I couldn’t make out what he was saying, but Kross bobbed his head.
I sized up his opponent, who seemed like an even match with Kross. The dude was at least six feet, well toned and with arms as big as Kross’s. Since this was Kross’s debut match, it was a big deal for him. He’d been training hard.
As the trainers gave their fighters last-minute advice, my brother Kody ran in with a water bottle. I’d been wondering where he was.
“Kody interested in boxing?” Hunt sounded shocked.
I shrugged. I didn’t know why Kody wanted to help Kross. I hadn’t hung out with my brothers as much since dating Lacey. I knew Kody had been spending more time writing songs and playing the guitar. When I’d asked him about boxing, he’d said he might take up the sport. Others had always dubbed Kody the weakest of the triplets. My gut told me he wanted to get rid of that stigma.
“Ladies and gents,” the referee said, “are you ready for the first fight of the night?”
The crowd applauded.
“Weighing in at just over two hundred pounds in his first amateur fight, let’s give it up for Kross Maxwell.”
People clapped, others whistled. Kross banged his gloved hands together, acknowledging the crowd.
“Fighting in the other corner and weighing in at two hundred and three pounds is Reggie Stockman.”
The majority of the room whistled and shouted.
I guessed they liked this dude who had an expression that said he was here to kill. “Why does that name sound familiar?” I glanced sidelong at Hunt.
“He’s one of the assholes who helped put Kody in the hospital the first time. You don’t remember?” He leaned forward on his forearms.
Fuck me. Now the puzzle pieces fell into place. That was why Seever and Sullivan were here. That was why Kody was helping Kross. Kody wanted revenge, not only against Sullivan, but against those who had helped beat Kody to the point where he couldn’t walk.
I didn’t know whether to be excited Kross would have a chance to knock this guy’s lights out or nervous for Kross, since Reggie glared at my brother.
“Kross is going to knock him out in the first round,” Kelton announced.
With the fire blazing in Reggie’s eyes, I had my doubts. I crossed my fingers that Kross would find his zone. Inwardly, I grinned. Before Lacey left, she’d coached him on how to get into the zone. She’d told him, “Focus on one point. Think of winning. Think of knocking out your opponent. And whatever you do, don’t look at the people in the crowd.” That was my girl—intelligent, beautiful, feisty, and strong. All qualities I loved.
Reggie and Kross met in the middle.
“Nothing below the waist. Keep it clean, and have a good fight,” the referee said. “Now, shake.”
Kross and Reggie touched gloves before stepping back into their corners. The bell dinged. Kross stormed forward, confident and determined, and threw the first punch. Reggie ducked then returned a jab to Kross’s face. Back and forth they went, punching, jabbing, and moving around each other. Thwacks and grunts from the fighters and shouts from the crowd echoed through the room in turns as the two went at each other.
Amateur boxing usually consisted of three rounds, each three minutes long. The fighters were judged for every clean blow they delivered.
A guy in the crowd said, “Knock him out already, Reggie! What are you waiting for?”<
br />
It had already been the normal three minutes for the round.
Then Sullivan stood up. “Knock the fucker’s lights out, Reggie!”
Kross threw an uppercut. Reggie fell backward. His body thudded on the mat. The crowd shot to their feet, some applauding for Kross and others begging Reggie to get up.
The referee started counting. Son-of-a-bitch. Kelton called the fight. On each count, the ref held up a finger. When the count reached nine, Reggie lifted his head, shaking it back and forth. He slowly got to his feet. By then the ref had stopped counting.
I didn’t know all the rules of amateur boxing. I knew they were slightly different than those in the professional arena, but a knockout was a knockout. My heart raced as we waited for the judges to render their verdict. After a tense minute, Kross was declared the winner. A chorus of boos ensued, matched with whistles for Kross. Hunt and I high-fived.
“Told you,” Kelton said as he and I bumped fists. “That’s my kin.” Then he flipped Sullivan the bird. At least, I thought the gesture was directed at Sullivan, although Pitt angled his head as he drew in his eyebrows. Sullivan returned the gesture as Aaron said something to his cousin. Then Sullivan lowered his hand.
Well, kill me now. That vision I had earlier of my dead body in some alley or Kelton’s in the Charles River flashed again like a neon sign. The only one who seemed to be off scot-free was Hunt. His safety was shored up since his brother worked for Pitt.
I swung out my arm. “Sit. You have Pitt looking at us right now. For all he knows, you were telling him to fuck off.”
His blue eyes burned a hole through me. “You know, bro? I could give a shit about Pitt. And I’m tired of you reeling me in. I’m tired of you trying to do good all the time. I’m tired of Sullivan and Seever. If you don’t do something, I will.” Then he ran a hand through his hair and climbed down the bleachers and out the door.
Whoa! What changed his mood all of a sudden? People in front of us glanced over their shoulders. I snarled when all I wanted to do was tell them to mind their own business. I was the level-headed brother. The one who tried to do the right thing most of the time. The one who was the adult, or at least tried to be when my own temper didn’t get in the way. The one who had taken care of my brothers since my sister’s death. The brother who was there for them when they acted out their aggressions. The brother who went to jail for them. The brother who loved them so much it hurt.
I’d given up my teen years to take care of my family. All of us were walking a tightrope. We had been for years now. We were reaching for good when all we got was bad. Our family balloon was about to burst, and it scared the fucking daylights out of me. I wasn’t going to get any answers now, especially with Sullivan and Seever following Kelton out the door. I wasn’t sure if Sullivan and Seever were leaving since the match was over or if their intentions were to ambush my brother. I wasn’t taking any chances.
* * *
* * *
Hunt and I searched for Kelton inside and outside the gym. I called his phone and then texted. No response. Standing on the street, I racked my brain, thinking of all the reasons why Kelton would snap like that. I expected moodiness from Kody, not Kelton. My blood boiled as I thought about the night I’d gotten the call from the police about an accident involving Kody. My heart stopped that night.
Hunt slapped me on the arm. “Snap out of it. Kelton can take care of himself.”
He was right—if it was a fair fight. Sullivan didn’t do anything fair. Sullivan’s idea of a fight consisted of a group of assholes ganging up on someone, beating them until they couldn’t walk or breathe.
“Let’s check the garage. Maybe he went back to the truck,” I said.
A cold wind blew. The area was quiet for a Friday night, which was surprising since we were close to Boston University. I half expected more people roaming the streets with all the restaurants and bars in the neighborhood. Maybe since the threat of snow hung in the air people were hibernating.
I tucked my hands in my jacket as we crossed the street behind a passing car. Once we were in the garage, Hunt pressed the elevator button, and it immediately opened. We jumped in and rode the car up to the fourth floor. I bounced on my feet, watching the floors tick by ever so slowly.
The doors slid open, and Kelton’s voice echoed through the garage. “You boys hit like girls,” Kelton spat. “Come on. Is that all you got?”
Hunt and I dashed out and to our right. As we got closer, I grabbed ahold of Hunt’s arm behind a row of cars.
On the other side of the pillars, we could see Sullivan punching Kelton while Seever held my brother’s arms pinned behind his back. Each time Sullivan’s fist connected with Kelton’s jaw, my brother laughed, the sound menacing. Then he spit out blood at Sullivan’s feet.
Quickly, I scanned the area. No one around except us. I motioned for Hunt to go right. Then I went left. We both circled around and came into view at the same time. As I watched Sullivan punch the shit out of my brother, I clenched my hands into fists and locked my jaw. Doing the right thing flew right out of the window. We were going to end this once and for all.
Seever’s eyes grew wide when he saw me. Sullivan smirked as though to say welcome to the party. Oh, it was going to be a hell of a party. When I got done with the asshole this time, I would definitely belong in jail.
“So, boys. Or should I say cowards. You can’t fight fair?” I stalked up to them while Hunt sauntered down from the opposite end. “Why don’t you let Kelton go, Seever, and let my brother fight Sullivan? Or aren’t your balls big enough, Sullivan, to fight someone who’s not tied down?”
Seever frantically darted his head in all directions, more than likely wondering if Kross would jump out from between the cars. Seever would mouth off to any one of us. When it came to Kross, though, the dude shut down. Kross was probably showering and debriefing with his coach. Although it would’ve been satisfying to see Seever and Kross go at it. But the first rule of fighting was never lose focus on the enemy. That small mistake gave Kelton the advantage.
In a blur, my brother head-butted Seever right in the face.
“Fuck,” Seever bit out as blood oozed from his nose.
Without missing a beat, Kelton pinned Seever against the white Mercedes. Poor car. As they went at it, Hunt crossed his bulky arms over his chest.
Sullivan started to back away. The only out he had would be in between cars, and that would slow him down. Either Hunt or I would get to him before he had a chance to get away, and I salivated like a hungry animal to get at my prey.
“Going somewhere?” Hunt lunged and grabbed Sullivan’s arms then twisted them behind his back as he laughed.
Sullivan wiggled and fought, but Hunt was a big-ass, scary dude. He played linebacker for Kensington High last year. I was glad we were friends. I’d hate to be on the other end of his fist.
I ambled up to Sullivan. “So now the tables are turned.”
Grunts sounded behind me as Kelton and Seever battled it out. I flicked my head at Hunt, and he let Sullivan go. I wasn’t about to beat the shit out of him while he was tied down, and I wasn’t about to throw the first punch either. If he was going to have his lawyer daddy press charges, I wanted to be able to claim self-defense.
With a guttural sound, Sullivan charged at me, fists in the air. The guy might be three inches shorter than me, but he was in good shape and had strength behind his punch. He delivered a left hook to my jaw, and I suddenly felt alive for the first time tonight.
He plastered a cocky smirk on his face. I let loose, ramming my fist into his face then his gut. The feeling was euphoric as I released the pent-up frustration that had been building since he’d returned to town last fall. Maybe I understood now why Kross liked boxing.
“Is that all you got, Maxwell? You punch like a pussy.” Sullivan’s voice was sardonic as he returned a blow, catching the corner of my mouth.
As the metallic taste of blood coated my tongue, two things happened at once.
Sullivan pulled a knife from his jacket, and the sound of someone chambering a round on a Glock, a sound I knew all too well, reverberated through the garage. I glanced past Sullivan to Hunt, who’d backed away to watch the fight. He shrugged with a lopsided grin. He knew the men behind me with their guns drawn. They couldn’t have been cops either. The law would have identified themselves immediately.
I didn’t want to turn. Not with the knife Sullivan was holding, even though his posture was ramrod straight as if he’d been flash frozen. Hunt wandered toward me. When he reached Sullivan, Hunt shoved him toward a parked car. Sullivan stumbled, and the knife clanged to the ground.
“It’s just Pitt and his men,” Hunt said. “Turn around slowly.”
Wiping the blood from my lip, I pivoted to find the steroid twin with the scar had a gun pointed at Kelton and Seever. The Charles River was looking like a good resting place for my brother. The other steroid twin had his gun pointed in my direction. I wasn’t leaving my brother here. So running was out of the question, and attacking Pitt or his men without a weapon was suicidal.
“Hunter, good to see you.” Jeremy Pitt hung to our left near a dented van with his hands in his dark pants. His daughter, Chloe, was next to him staring at Kelton and Seever.
Fuck me. We were out here in the first place because of her.
“Have you made your decision yet? Your brother Wes speaks highly of you,” Pitt said in a gritty tone, as though he’d been smoking cigars since he was ten.
“What’s he talking about?” I asked Hunt without taking my eyes off the guns or my brother.
“Not now,” Hunt whispered out of the corner of his mouth. “Pitt, tell your men to lower their weapons. You have no reason to point them at us,” he said matter-of-factly.
Dare to Dream: The Maxwell Series Page 2