by Teagan Kade
Chance drops the knife. It spears into the turf, the handle wagging back and forth. “Okay, tough guy,” he says, addressing the sporty one. “You’re an Ali fan, are you?”
The sporty one looks down at the T-shirt he’s wearing, some kind of Muhammad Ali anniversary text and picture on it, the greatest boxer of all time with his gloves raised. “What’s it to you, sunshine?”
“If you’re such a boxing fan, such a big, bad boxer boy, why don’t we handle this like men?”
The sporty one looks to his friend. “You hear that shit, Mikey?”
It doesn’t look like they’re trying to conceal their identities. That’s how confident they are. Still, I’m surprised they haven’t started shooting already. There’s something about the tall one, the way he’s watching us. Maybe he’s having doubts, second thoughts?
“Bare-knuckle. You and me,” Chance continues. “You win, she’s all yours. I win and you hear her out.”
The sporty one lowers his gun and takes a step forward. “You think you can take me?”
Chance nods in the affirmative. “I’ve taken guys down twice your size. You know, men… not boys.”
The sporty one laughs. “You fucking little punk. You getting this, Mikey?”
“Eizo…” cautions the tall one, but boxer boy is sold.
“Okay, you want your little punch-on?” he tosses his gun to the tall one, who takes it shaking his head and slips it down the back of his trousers. “You got it”.
He steps back and raises his fists, jumping from foot to foot. I don’t know much about boxing, but this guy looks dangerous. This is something he’s done before, something he’s good at.
It’s at this moment I see a guard over by the far tunnel. He’s keeping to the shadows. I can see the glow of a cell phone raised to his ear. He’s calling for help.
It starts to click into place. Chance has seen him too. He’s buying us time.
Chance steps away from me and raises his fists, tilting his head from side to side, limbering up for the fight.
I hope to hell he knows what he’s doing.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHANCE
I’ve dealt with guys like this before. You’ve got to attack their ego, make them an offer they can’t refuse, a way to beat their chest and prove they’re the alpha male. Tall Guy, Mikey? He wouldn’t have a bit of it. No, he’s a stone-cold killer, a thinker, but his brother here, I’m guessing? He’s not the sharpest tool in the shed. He’s all muscle and no brains, all show. He can dance, but I’m betting he doesn’t have the hitting power to back it up.
Normally, I’d go in hard from the outset, but I don’t want to pummel this guy too soon. I want to drag this out as long as possible, give the guard I’ve spotted time to get the call out.
Eizo eggs me on, waving me in with his fingers. “Come on, superstar. Show me what you got.”
I feint forward and he dodges right, an easy tell. What mini Ali here doesn’t know is that we boxed every day in the Corps. I was squad-fucking-champion. I may not be Muhammad, even Sugar Ray, but I can sure swing with a street punk like this.
I get close enough for him to jab me in the side of the face. It barely registers, but I make a show of it, reeling back and bringing my hand to my cheek.
He laughs, looking to his brother. “How’s that, pretty boy? How about I break that pretty nose, too?”
He jabs forward again, weak, but a broken nose I do not need. I dodge right, slow, and pull back, dancing around in a wide circle to keep us moving, always in front of Sam so the tall brother doesn’t get any ideas and decide to shoot her prematurely. He’s still got his gun up, after all.
“What are you waiting for? Come get some.”
Almost without thinking I rush forward and deliver a series of sharp blows to Eizo’s ribs.
It’s clearly unexpected by the look of shock on his face when I pull back. He winces but brings his fists up again, continuing to float and dance. “Okay. Okay. So maybe you do have a little razzle-dazzle, but do you have this?” He jumps forwards and swings with a heavy right.
I skip back and it brushes past my chest. The muscle memory kicks in automatically, my own right following and collecting his jaw with enough force to separate it from his face.
He goes down on the turf hard.
Fuck. I’ve knocked him out.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
“Get up,” I call, and thank fuck he does, slowly climbing back to his feet. His expression has changed now. There’s no more playing around. He’s in it for the kill now.
He comes at me full steam. That’s the problem. An amateur boxer seeing red? That’s unpredictable and a fuck-load more dangerous than someone who knows what they’re doing.
A knee drives up into my chest, but I manage to deflect and bounce left.
“Fucker!” he screams. “I’ll have your fucking balls!”
“Eizo,” cautions his brother again, but he’s no longer listening.
He swings with a heavy left. It connects, but it’s pathetic. I brush it off and continue to dodge, but I’m running out of room. Keep moving, I tell myself. Keep moving.
He jumps at me again and by instinct I smack him hard in the nose. He bounces back, blood pouring from his face.
I look down at my fists. It’s been a while since I’ve fought bare-knuckle like this. My skin’s broken, the top of my knuckles smeared red, with whose blood I can’t tell.
I see Sam with her hands over her mouth watching on. The second brother, Michael, keeps his gun trained on her, but he’s watching us, watching his brother get the shit beat out of him.
The Ali pretender kneels down next to the spot where I dropped the knife in the ground and picks it up, tossing it from hand to hand, but his grip’s wrong, flimsy.
I point to the knife. “Hope you know what you’re doing with that thing.”
He spits out a wad of blood, the red stream from his nose drying into a crusty river. “Boy, I was slitting throats before you were even a speck in your daddy’s balls. I’m going to enjoy this.”
I shake my head and change my stance, bracing for the attack. “If you say so.”
He might not know what he’s doing, but you can’t fuck around when a blade’s involved. So, when he comes at me, I immediately put him down. He thrusts forward for my chest and I glance to the side, taking his arm and snapping his wrist. His hand releases and the knife falls to the ground.
I go to work, pummeling his ribs, driving him to the ground in a frenzy of calculated blows.
His hands try to swat me away at first, but they soon grow limp as defeat settles in and he becomes nothing more than a punching bag.
I straddle him and raise my fist. Lights out, motherfucker.
“Enough,” says the other brother. “You’ve proved your point. I’m a fair man. I’ll hear what the girl has to say.”
I let go of Eizo and he slumps into the turf moaning, his face a bloody mess. I can’t believe I just did this. The horrors of war come streaming back, the kids torn apart, the women, the surprise attacks… I push it away. It’s not the time.
I quietly pick up the knife and slip it back down my pants again. This guy might look a little more reasonable, but I don’t trust him for one fucking second to keep his word.
He looks down at his brother. “You still alive, brother?”
A groan suggests he is.
The brother tilts his gun at Sam. “Better start talking, sweetheart.”
Sam’s shaking her head. “I—ah. I—”
I take her by the shoulders. “Slow down. Tell him what happened.”
She looks to the guy in the suit. “It wasn’t me. I didn’t call the cops.”
He doesn’t seem convinced. “No?”
“My customer, my first customer… He wanted me to…” she trails off.
“Keep going,” I whisper. We need as much time as we can get.
I can still see the security guard in the distance. The phone’s gone, but he’s watching
carefully, hand on his revolver. Still, he’d have to be Superman to make a shot from there.
“I refused,” continues Sam. “He got angry. I had no idea it was that kind of massage parlor.”
The hitman looks to the moon above and shakes his head. “The place has ‘open nine ’til late’ on a billboard outside with a picture of a woman with her tits out. What did you think this guy was coming in for? Shiatzu?”
Sam shakes her head at the ground. “I was naïve, stupid, I know, but I was desperate for the money.”
The hitman chews it over. “Okay. So your customer was pissed off. You think he went to the cops?”
“I do.”
“How do I know? Where’s the proof?”
“Where’s the proof she did?” I interject.
The gun turns to my direction. “You shut the fuck up. Fun as it was to watch, I should blow your brains out for what you did to my baby brother.”
I put my hands up.
“So,” he says, “where’s your proof?”
Sam speaks. “I left, simple as that, and I shut up. I never wanted to think about that place again. I never talked to the cops. The client? He said he was going to call the police, make the place pay.”
“He did, did he?”
The boxer brother sits up and slowly gets to his feet, wiping blood from his face. He spits again to the ground, asking for his gun. His brother tosses it to him. “Easy now, Eizo. I’ve got this.”
The gun lifts towards Sam. “Do you, Mikey? Because it looks to me like you’re losing your nerve. Why the fuck are you even listening to this shit? The Don wants her dead. When have we ever asked questions?”
“Now’s not the time, brother.”
They’re arguing. This is good. What’s not good is the way boxer boy is feathering that trigger.
“Now is the time. You’re getting soft, Mikey. Old.”
“I’m not the one who just got beat into a pulp by a kid.”
Eizo holds his jaw. “The kid didn’t tell me he was Evander-fucking-Holyfield, so I ask again, why shouldn’t we cap these two right now and go have a beer?”
Michael is getting frustrated. “I want to hear what the girl has to say. I told you before. It doesn’t add up.”
Eizo won’t have it. “For ten Gs it doesn’t fucking have to! Come on.” He squeezes the trigger a little more and I start to move in front of Sam.
“Easy now.”
“Shut the fuck up, cocksucker!”
“Eizo!” shouts Michael.
But I see the look in his eye, the malice. I’ve dented his pride. I’ve left him with no choice.
“Say goodbye to your girlfriend, superstar.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
SAM
“Eizo!” shouts the one called Michael, but I can see Eizo’s mind is made. His bonds to duty and his pride, overriding his sense of logic.
Eizo aims his pistol right at me. I don’t see my life flash before my eyes. I don’t see a light-filled tunnel waiting nor feel a sudden rush of euphoria. No, there’s only fear and incredible sadness at what I’m about to leave behind.
I want one more night with Chance before I go, one last chance to feel him against me, inside me, but now that will be lost. Everything I am will be gone in an instant. I hope it’s quick.
I close my eyes, but the shot doesn’t come.
I open them and find something standing in front of me, shielding me.
Chance.
He has his hands out wide, his chest open for the bullet. “Like I said, if you want to kill her, you’ll have to go through me to do it.”
“Eizo!” shouts Michael again, going to take his gun but his brother shoving him to the ground.
“So be it,” grins Eizo,
No, but as he goes to squeeze the trigger there’s a volley of shouting from the left, the right, men in dark uniforms and helmets running to us stopped low with rifles raised. “Down! Down!” they’re shouting. “FBI. Put the gun down!”
I see it on Michael’s face. He knows they’re done, that shooting me now would achieve nothing. At least one of them has enough sense to realize that. He’s already dropped his gun, getting to his knees, hands behind his head, but Eizo is still watching Chance with pistol raised.
He’s going to do it, I think, but even he realizes the stakes are too high.
“Another time.” He slowly lowers the gun before a torrent of officers take both brothers down.
Chance turns and holds me, crushes me against him.
“That was close,” I whimper.
“Way too close,” he replies.
The brothers are silent as they’re led away. I wonder what will become of them, if the corrupt hand of the Mob extends to the FBI. I doubt it. They’re done and they know it.
I break away from Chance to see Agent Roderick approaching.
“Everyone okay?” he queries.
“Took your time,” remarks Chance.
But did they? They arrived awfully fast following the guard’s call. It’s almost as if they were…
A thought occurs to me. I don’t want to believe it at first, but the more I think about it, the more it makes sense. Maybe they decided to leave you out in the open instead of putting you into protective custody for a reason. They used you as bait. They’ve been watching this whole time.
The thought must dawn on Chance too, because he steps away up to Roderick. “Come to think of it, how did you know we were here, and how the fuck did you get here so fast?”
The agent remains steely. “We did what we had to do to keep you and Miss Carter safe, Mr. Adams.”
Chance isn’t impressed. “You could have taken these guys the moment they stepped onto stadium grounds. Why the fuck did you wait until the last second?”
Agent Roderick remains emotionless. “I cannot go into operational decisions with you, Mr. Adams, suffice to say you were in no danger at any—”
“No fucking danger!” shouts Chance. “Are you fucking serious?”
I sense Chance wants to have a real go at him, but I manage to pull him back to me. “Forget about it. We’re together. We’re safe. That’s all that matters.”
He goes to break away, but I hold him tight. “Forget about it. Focus on me. We’re okay. I’m alive. That’s all that matters, right?”
I get through.
He nods. “Yeah, you’re right.”
The kiss that follows is more than a simple meeting of the lips. It’s a promise that nothing will break us apart, that the bond we have is more than skin deep. I know it completely now. This is the man I want to spend my life with.
A young agent leads us back to the parking lot where an ambulance is waiting. Chance helps lift me into the back, but he’s the one who needs attention. There’s a nasty gash above his left eye I can’t remember being there before. I cup his face in my hands. “You should really get that looked at.”
“Sam, is it?” One of the paramedics says, taking out a pocket flash light and shining it into my eyes. I notice she’s checking my pulse at the same time, checking for shock.
When I don’t respond, she says, “You with me, Sam?”
Chance takes my hand and squeezes. My fingers are clammy in his, my skin almost see-through it’s so white. It starts to dawn on me, the horror of what we’ve just been through, the ramifications.
My vision grows a little blurry, the paramedics voice drifting away, further and further.
“Sam?” calls Chance, but it’s muffled. I can’t help it. I slip off, the control I thought I had of myself suddenly lost.
*
“Sam? Sam?”
Chance is standing over me, the young paramedic from before next to him and Morgan on the other side, all three of them looking down at me with matching looks of concern.
I try to sit up, but six hands hold me back down. “Easy,” says the paramedic. “You’ve had quite a shock. Just rest, okay?”
God, I hate being helpless like this, the constant damsel in distress. Why can�
��t I be a bad ass like Lara Croft or Wonder Woman?
You did just take on two hitmen and survive, didn’t you?
Morgan leans down. “It’s going to be okay Sam, and hey, you can finally move out of that dump of a trailer. What do you say?”
“I’ve got nowhere to go.”
Chance shakes his head. “Not true. My home is your home.”
“You’re asking me to move in with you?”
The paramedic’s close to cracking up. She exchanges a look with Morgan. “We’ll give you two a moment.” They both vanish from sight.
Chance kisses me on the forehead, folding my hair behind my ear. “That’s exactly what I’m asking, baby. I’m never going to let you out of my sight. Like I said, we’re in this together.”
“You saved me.”
He sniffs. “I wouldn’t go that far. I did what anyone would do.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“I’m trained for those kinds of situations. It was a piece of cake, honestly.”
“Really? Because at the start there I thought you were going to get your ass handed to you.”
He reels back. “Whoa, whoa. You pass out, wake up, and now you think you’re some kind of gangster? Who is this new and dangerous Sam Carter?”
I smile. “Maybe I’m turning over a new leaf. Maybe I’m tough and gritty now.”
He tilts his head, fingers dancing up my arm. “Gritty you are not. Did I mention the whole passing out thing?”
I reach up and shove him weakly in the chest. “Why does your chest have to be so damn hard?”
He looks down. “It’s not the only thing.”
I roll my head sideways. “Is sex all you think about?”
“Do you blame me when I’m around the sexiest girl in the world?”
“I don’t know who this mysterious girl is, but it sure isn’t me.”
He leans downs and whispers. “Funny, that’s not what she said when we were sixty-nining the other night.”
“I rest my case.”
“Well, you better rest something, because I need you back in action.”
“Can’t we just close the doors and drive away?”