by Marie York
As soon as I turned eighteen, I abandoned my father and brother to become a military wife. I moved a thousand miles away from the only place I ever called home, leaving behind my family and friends.
I missed them so much it physically hurt. My brother, Chris, and I were so close growing up. When Mom died, I was twelve and he was ten, and it brought us even closer. And I just left him. There wasn’t a day that went by that I didn’t think about them. Karl would never let me call them, and I didn’t want to anyway. I was ashamed. Embarrassed. Mortified about my life. I only hoped their lives were better than mine.
Karl bit my lip, then pulled back, his fingers still digging into my cheeks. “Now, go put some clothes on.” He shoved my face away from his, and I didn’t waste a second making myself scarce.
I ran into the bedroom and grabbed an old ratty t-shirt, pulling it on over my head. I caught my reflection in the mirror, and for a split second, before the oversized material fell into place, I smiled at my trimmed waist. I adjusted the shirt and my smile vanished. All that hard work and progress was all covered up now, and really, it didn’t even matter anymore.
The sound of keys being scooped up had me peering around the door frame. Karl untucked his dog tags from beneath his white t-shirt, resting them center on his chest. He ran a hand through his hair and checked himself in the mirror. He might as well have called out to me that he was going on the prowl for a willing girl. While I couldn’t as much as look in the direction of another guy, Karl cheated on me with no qualms.
“I’ll be back. Don’t you go anywhere,” he yelled down the hall instead and slammed the door behind him.
The tension, always so tight in my neck whenever he was around, instantly loosened. I took a deep calming breath and let myself relax. I never knew how long he’d be gone for, but every second was like a Godsend. I welcomed it with open arms.
I ducked back into the bedroom and dropped to my knees by the bed. I slid my hand under it searching for the loose board. When I found it, I popped it up and reached in, pulling out the bottle of sleeping pills I managed to buy from some shady guy in the complex.
I dumped one white tablet in my hand and tightened the cap back on the bottle before slipping it back into its hiding place. If Karl was asleep, he couldn’t hurt me. Force me to suck his dick. Or, practically rape me, as I lay there pretending to be anywhere else. And he would if he didn’t find a girl tonight. This little pill would be my assurance that he’d stay away from me if he didn’t get what he was looking for.
A loud bang echoed through the apartment and I jolted at the intense door knocking, dropping the pill. It rolled to a stop by the end table and I scooped it up, sliding it into my pants pocket.
Was Karl back already? The pounding on the door grew louder and every muscle in my body froze.
“Brooklyn! Brooklyn, are you in there?”
Nixon.
My heart thundered against my chest, beating out of control. What was he doing here again? If Karl was here… No, I wouldn’t even think that.
I walked out to the living room as his knocks became more desperate, his voice straining with anger and determination. “I swear to God, if he hurts you, I’ll fucking kill him!”
Oh God. He figured it out. He had to. Why else would he say that? I wanted so desperately to run to the door, fling it open, and jump into his arms. Allow him to protect me as I knew he could, but I just stood there, listening to his voice and the frantic thuds on the door.
I rested my hand on the doorknob, but let it fall limply to my side. No matter how badly I wanted Nix, I couldn’t drag him into my mess. Karl was never going to let me go. I tried once. I went to the police, and filed a report against him, but because his dad was some bigwig in the Army, he was able to get the charges dropped. He always was able to get the charges dropped.
Nix wouldn’t understand. He was too hot-headed for his own good. The thought of him going after Karl chilled me right down to the bone. One of them wouldn’t make it out alive, and neither outcome I’d be able to live with.
So, I stepped away from the door and away from Nix.
Chapter 18
Nixon
My fist took on a mind of its own as I continued to pound on Brooklyn’s door. Visions of her beaten to a fucking bloody pulp kept flashing in my mind, and it was literally tearing me apart. It was something I had never experienced before. I never cared enough about another person that the thought of them being harmed actually gutted me. I realized then, that I had been lucky. This feeling was fucking awful.
I was afraid for her, and I didn’t fear anything. Her husband—that fucker—was a big guy. That bastard could tear her apart. Dammit, I wish I had taught her more. I just hoped that I taught her enough to get away from him alive, if it came to that. I remembered the look in his eye that day I met him at the door. I didn’t realize it before, but now thinking about it, there was seriously something wrong with him, and the thought of her enduring his madness made we want to break the door down to rescue her.
I wanted to believe that if she were in there, she would open the door. So, my hand came to rest on the wood and I pressed my forehead to the door. I was losing my fucking mind. I didn’t even know who I was anymore. With a hard push, I shoved myself off the door and turned away.
A neighbor across the hall, an old bag in a robe and curlers in her hair, ducked back into her apartment after making eye contact with me, and giving me a dirty look.
I was used to getting dirty looks from people. Whether it was people who didn’t approve of my lifestyle or my usage of certain words, or my parents who didn’t care for my career choice or any decision I’ve made in my life, but for some reason that old hag got under my skin. The look held more than just passing judgment. It was like being in the cage with an opponent. Their eyes warning me of what was to come, trying to make me cower to them. Great, now I was becoming fucking delusional. Since when did I give a flying fuck about what someone thought of me?
I laughed it off. She was two steps away from hospice care. What would she possibly do to me?
I stormed out of the building, aware of every person I passed, and every face I could detect in the distance. If I saw that shithead husband of hers, I would end this right now. But, by the time I made it to Tanya, he was still nowhere in sight.
For good measure, I gave one last glance around the complex and then sunk into the driver seat. As soon as I put the car into drive, my cell rang. I stopped at a stop sign and glanced down.
Sal’s name flashed across the screen, and I swiped to answer the call. I turned off the part of my brain that was worried about Brooklyn and went into business mode.
“Yeah?” I said, turning on the speaker, and peeling away from the stop sign.
“You have your fight with Tanker in a week. Want to make sure you’re ready.”
“I’m always ready. I didn’t hire you to be my personal calendar. I hired you to book fights.”
He laughed. “Consider it an added bonus.”
“More like a big pain in my ass.”
“Any word from Seth?”
“Not a thing. I told you. I don’t have any weak spots. There will be no mind games, and he’ll lose his upper hand, so stopping fucking asking me already.”
“Alright. Alright. Oh, and don’t forget you have to drop seven pounds for the Briggs fight.”
“Goodbye, Sal.” I ended the call and shook my head as I tossed my phone into the cup holder. Who needed a girlfriend when I had Sal and his nagging, annoying pain in the ass self?
I pulled Tanya into the warehouse parking lot and headed in. Even though I worked out with Kevin this morning, I had the urge to hit something. The door was still open, as a few new fighters were practicing in the ring. Mark stood outside the ropes, yelling pointers and moves they should be taking advantage of.
They needed to listen just as I hoped Brooklyn had listened to me. I had no way of finding her and all I had was the hope that she could defend herself if she
needed. But I also prayed that I was wrong because the thought of some shithead, having his hands on her…
I jumped up beside him and watched the two amateurs trying to show off, but making rookie mistake after rookie mistake. “They have a lot to learn,” I said to Mark.
He smacked my back and smiled. “So did you, and look at you now, champ.”
“When are you going to realize you lucked out with me?”
“And, to think, back then I didn’t think you could get any cockier.”
The guy in the red shorts dodged a punch, and used it as a chance to take down his opponent. It was a good move, and I fucking hated to admit it, but I could see what Mark saw in him. The other guy, it was questionable.
“I’m going to go hit the bag,” I said, before turning away from the fight, and jumping down from the ring.
“Oh, Vipe, I forgot. There’s a package in my office.”
“A package?” I questioned.
“Yeah, UPS brought it by early this afternoon.”
I wasn’t expecting anything, but it wouldn’t be the first time a girl sent me her bra and panties with a note to meet her after a fight. Or maybe it was something from Brooklyn, letting me know she was okay. “Thanks, I’ll go grab it.”
I detoured to Mark’s office and picked up the box from his desk before heading to change. My phone buzzed in my pocket with a new message, and I took it out to check. Beckham’s name flashed on my screen, and my lip turned up in disgust.
I selected delete, and then for whatever reason, cancelled the request. It’s not that I fucking cared what he had to say, but curiosity got the best of me, and I opened the damn thing.
Beckham: Are you over yourself yet?
My jaw clenched, and I dropped my phone before I cracked the fucking screen. Over myself? He had some goddamned nerve. He was lucky I didn’t get on a fucking plane just to knock him the fuck out.
I cracked my neck, and then my knuckles, trying to relieve some of the tension. Not that it ever fucking worked. My eyes landed on the box, and I took it into my lap, hoping whatever was inside would help.
There was no return address, and no hearts drawn on it. I ripped open the flaps, and before my mind could process what it was, a million fucking spiders crawled out. A scream tore from my throat. I dropped the box and kicked it across the locker room.
I hurried across the room, and Mark came running in. “What the fuck’s wrong?” he asked frantically.
All I could do was point to the box on the other side of the bench. Mark peered over at it, then slowly made his way to it. “What the fuck?” he called out, as he brought his foot down on a bunch of spiders. He reached down and picked up a small white envelope, sliding a small card out.
“Fuck,” he muttered, as he came back to me and handed me the card.
My hands clenched and my veins strained at the words. I snatched it out of Mark’s hand, taking one last look at it.
Fear is a powerful thing.
Seth
Then, I ripped it to a thousand tiny pieces.
Chapter 19
Nixon
I showered three times, and I still felt like I had fucking spiders crawling on me. I was going to murder that son of a bitch. He was messing with the wrong guy. He thought he was getting in my head, but all he was doing was fueling the fire inside me. Between this, and the stuff with Brooklyn, I was dying to get in the cage, and destroy something.
Seth was a dead man.
There was still one question taunting me. How the fuck did he know? He either had someone spying on me, or someone I knew ratted me out. But who would cross me? Only a fucking moron would be that stupid. It was a little suspect that Beckham texted me only moments before I received the package. He betrayed me once and the motive was there. I hadn’t exactly left him or Kennedy alone since I caught them and punched him in the face. Still, Beckham was too much of a pussy, or as he claimed he “had a conscience,” that wouldn’t allow him to do something like that no matter what I’d put him through.
Even if it wasn’t Beckham, someone I knew betrayed me, and everyone was a suspect now. The minute I found out who it was, they were fucking dead, too.
Sassy rubbed up on my leg, and I scooped her up, bringing her to the kitchen to get her some food. As I poured the food into her bowl, my phone vibrated. I picked it up off the counter and nearly dropped Sassy when Brooklyn’s name appeared on the screen.
Brooklyn: Can you meet me at the warehouse in twenty minutes?
I placed Sassy on the floor with her bowl and took off. “Bye, girl,” I called out as I ran out the door, and texted Brooklyn back.
Nixon: I’ll be there.
I peeled out of the parking lot, pushing Tanya to her limits. I made it across town in fifteen minutes, and Brooklyn was already there, waiting for me. She was pressed against the bumper of her car, arms folded, head down, her hair a mess.
She looked broken, and not in the way I had noticed before in the little glimpses when she let her guard down. This was all consuming. Her eyes seemed dull and lifeless and her complexion was pale and sallow. I had an overwhelming desire to take her in my arms and repair every damaged piece of her. I pulled into a space and jumped out of Tanya anxious to get over to her.
Brooklyn finally looked up from the ground as I got to her in three long strides. I reached out needing to feel her skin against mine, her warmth pressed against me, to know that she was okay. But she held her hand up, stopping me, and my feet halted as my body froze in place, surprised at the power she held over me. Nobody could stop me from the thing I desired most, but one hand gesture, and I was like a circus dog taking commands.
“Please,” she muttered as she made eye contact with me. I scanned her face to make sure there was single mark out of place.
“Please what?” I demanded.
Her nose twitched, but she pushed her shoulders back, and stood tall. “You need to stop coming to my place.”
Was she fucking serious? A laugh rumbled up my throat and I ran my hands through my hair, trying to process this whole fucked up situation. “You fucking disappear and then I show up on your doorstep to find out that you’re married. You’re fucking married!” She flinched as my voice rose, but I didn’t stop. I was past caring about hurting her feelings or about scaring her. “Is he the one you wanted to learn to defend yourself against? Tell me.”
Her eyes drifted to the ground, and she fidgeted with her hands. “It doesn’t matter,” she quietly responded, defeat evident in her tone.
“It damn well fucking matters!” I yelled.
“No, it doesn’t!” She looked back up her voice matching my own. “You just need to forget you ever met me.”
I shook my head, “No.”
“Just let it go and leave me alone.”
I knew she was lying to me, and I wanted to argue, tell her she was out of her fucking mind, but how was I supposed to help someone who didn’t want it.
I stared into her eyes as my jaw ticked. “Forgotten,” I sneered. “I don’t want somebody’s damaged leftovers anyway.”
My cheek stung as her hand smacked hard against it. “Asshole!” she screamed and took off, but I grabbed her wrist, pulling her back to me. Pain tainted her beautiful face and she flinched. I loosened my grip, but didn’t let go, taking her sleeve with my other hand, and shoving it out of the way.
Her arm was like a fucking rainbow of abuse. Yellows, blacks, purples and blues marked her skin.
“Did he do this to you?” I demanded, and she jumped at my tone. The fact that she was scared of something as stupid as a raised voice was enough of an answer. Anger boiled to the surface, but somehow, I managed to push it back down. For her. Only her.
I lifted my hand, running my finger along her hairline, and tucking her curls behind her ear. Her eyes slid shut as my fingers trailed down her neck. I inhaled deeply in an attempt to calm myself. “Talk to me. Did he hurt you?”
A tear fell from her closed eyes and she pressed her lips toge
ther. “No,” she whispered.
“Don’t lie to me, B.”
She blinked up, her eyes holding so much pain it practically poured out of her. “I have to go,” she choked out.
I wrapped my hand around her head, and drew her close, pressing my forehead to hers. “I’m not letting you go back there.” She was out of her fucking mind if she actually thought I would let her go back to that abusive fuck.
She pulled away and I let her. “I have to.”
The anger finally pushed its way to the surface and I exploded. “What the fuck are you talking about? You don’t have to do shit.” She flinched at my tone and I couldn’t bare it. I took her hand in mine and pulled her back to me, cradling her in my arms. “Stay here with me, and if he comes, I’ll protect you,” I said against her ear.
She wiped at the newly fallen tears and stared me straight in the eyes. The pain had turned to fear. “That’s what I’m scared of. I know once you start hitting him, you won’t be able to stop. You’ll kill him.”
I clenched my teeth to keep from raising my voice. “The bastard deserves to die.”
She took my face in her hands, forcing me to look at her. “His blood will not be on your hands because of me.”
I tore my head out of her hold and stepped back. The desire to hit something was strong, but I couldn’t storm away, and take my frustrations out on the bag. Not yet. I still had questions. I clenched my fists, and tried to calm the fuck down. “So, you’re just going to go back to him? Be his personal punching bag?”
“I can take care of myself.”
“Can you?” I grasped her arm and brought it up to her face. “Look at this! Look what he’s fucking done to you.” She turned her head away, refusing to look. “Look,” I insisted.
She squeezed her eyes shut and snatched her arm back, tucking her hands into the pockets of her baggy pants. Her chest rose and fell as she took deep breath after deep breath. Finally, she glanced up at me. A storm brewed in those gray eyes of her as she squared her shoulders. “Just stay away from me.”