Fight (Fate Series Book 1)

by Paige Hill

  “Because I love her.”

  As the rest of the room erupts into laughs and cat calls, Erin’s smile grows into a full-blown grin. “That’s what I thought. I just wanted to hear you say it. Now, come on.” She says, waving her arm. “I think I know where to start.”

  “Go ahead man, the team and I will work out the logistics,” Briggs says from behind me.

  Twenty minutes later, Erin has helped me narrow down a possible location. Erin has a history, much like Teagan. I haven’t asked for details, but I’ve heard she was abducted as a teenager. That is why she is so good at her job—she puts everything she has into it.

  “Bam bitches!” Her blonde hair swings as she claps her hands together and turns toward me, her words flying out a mile a minute. “I did some digging and found out that the wonderful District Attorney has been MIA for a couple of weeks. A fact that dear ol’ dad has kept out of the press. Knowing that, I figured he wouldn’t risk taking her too far, so I did a search for possible property owned by the Langfords in the Miami area. Nothing came up but, I did discover two properties, both of which the annual taxes were paid for by none other than Governor Langford himself. One is a shipping business near the dock you guys raided recently and the other is an abandoned factory on the other side of the port.”

  Submission.

  It takes everything inside of me to let go of my pride and survive. To play his game. In the position I’m in, I know fighting is useless. I need to be complacent long enough for him to get sloppy. What’s that saying? Work smarter not harder? Right now, that’s the only option I have.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, spitting blood from my mouth. His sickening smile appears, and I know I have him. He thinks he has me exactly where he wants me. Mark has always gotten off on this. Kneeling the perfectly pressed knee of his suit onto the ground, he runs his fingers up my back until his fingers grasp my hair, pulling my head back sharply. Pain radiates from my scalp, making my eyes water. Clenching my teeth, I fight back the urge to cry out. He runs his nose over my collarbone up to my ear, followed by his tongue. Bile bubbles up my throat and I swallow hard, forcing it back down.

  How could I have ever loved you?

  “You still smell just as sweet. I bet that pussy of yours missed me,” he growls in my ear while he rubs his erection into me. He pulls back long enough for me to see his eyes, too close to mine. The man staring back at me is someone I don’t know. The boy I met at a college party is long gone. I just wonder when he left and why I didn’t see it.

  Sitting up, Mark moves to release the rope from my ankles. Crawling between my now open legs, he starts to unbutton his slacks.

  “I’m going to fuck you so hard, you’ll never think of him again,” he sneers, then laughs maniacally. “Fuck, after I’m done with you, you’ll never think again.”

  Mark grabs his dick, stroking it roughly, getting off on his power over me. I was hoping my compliance would convince him to untie me completely. I guess even high Mark is smarter than I gave him credit for.

  Guess it’s on to plan B.

  He reaches for my panties and I brace myself, ready to pull my leg back and kick. A sudden crashing sound reverberates through the building before he has a chance to touch me again.

  “What the hell?!” he exclaims, scrambling to his feet. It’s as if he’s forgotten completely about me, as he grabs his jacket and exits the room. I’m terrified the door will lock again when he closes it but the tail end of his suit jacket catches, blocking the latch.

  Yes!

  Climbing to my feet is harder than I expected. My muscles are limp, and it takes me a few seconds to stop walking like a newborn deer. My head is swimming and I’m scared I might have a concussion. I can feel the warm blood slowly trickling down the side of my face, the sensation reminding me that I have only a small window of time to try and get out of here.

  Twisting and tugging my hands does nothing but make the rope dig deeper. Frantically looking around the room, I search for something, anything, that I could use to cut the rope. Shit! There is nothing here but the chair and that fucking desk.

  The desk!

  Running over to the desk, I drop to my knees, looking for the leg that is about to break off. On the corner, I can see a rusted dent in the bent metal leg. It looks just weak enough. I pick up the side with the weak leg and rest the old desk against my thigh. Gripping the leg with all I have, I force it to bend back and forth repeatedly.

  After six or seven tries, the leg snaps off, but I have to leap to catch the desk before it crashes roughly to the ground. I lean the desk down slower and virtually without sound, except for the rusted bolts creaking under the pressure.

  Sitting back on my ass, I pull my knees up, holding the broken leg between them. Using the sharp end, I rub the rope against it forcefully until the rope loosens.

  Jumping to my feet with more control than I had before, I grip the desk leg tightly and peek into the hallway. The coast looks clear, so I take a tentative step out, deciding to go left. Tiptoeing to the end of the hall, I stop at the corner and take a moment to catch my breath.

  You can do this, Teagan.

  My lungs burn with every breath. I have to get out of here. Panic spreads, my veins carrying it to every cell of my body. Get it together. I will not die today. With my back to the wall, I turn my head to peek around the corner.

  Nothing.

  Exhaling all the nervous energy I can, I step down the corridor. Voices are wafting through the space and I pause, frozen and unable to tell where they are coming from.

  From behind, a dirty, calloused hand grips my throat and slams my body back, into a wall. I don’t even register the pain because of the panic.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” The thick stench of the stranger’s breath triggers my gag reflex causing him to squeeze tighter. “Boss isn’t going to be pleased.”

  I pull my knee back as far as I can and launch it forward, hitting him square in the balls. His hand immediately releases my throat and I choke, sucking in as much oxygen as I can. Before he has a chance to recover from the nut shot, I swing back and hit him over the head with the broken desk leg. His body falls limply to the floor and momentarily I worry that I’ve killed him. No time to think about that now. It’s not like he would have spared my life.

  The voices continue and as I get closer, they start coming into focus.

  No, no, no!

  Rushing the corner, I come to a metal industrial sort of deck—one a factory foreman might use to oversee his employees. Below me on the factory floor, Mark and Declan are in a standoff. Both refusing to lower their guns. How did he know where to find me? It doesn’t matter. My eyes well with tears as the realization sets in.

  He came for me.

  “Come to watch the show, sweetheart?” a gruff voice says from behind me. “You get front row seats.” He chuckles at himself as he grabs both of my arms. I don’t even bother to fight him. My mind is still reeling and all I can focus on is getting Declan out of this building—alive.

  “Darling, how nice of you to join us. You have fantastic timing.” Mark’s condescending tone echoes through the open space.

  I don’t care what Mark has to say. All I can focus on are the deep green eyes burning into mine. The tears I had been holding back now flow freely. The light Declan brought back into my life is deeming with each passing second. His eyes reflect strength and courage, a bravery I can’t fathom. But he doesn’t know what I know. Mark is ruthless. He never loses. He won’t stop until he has exactly what he wants.

  My past is about to take away my future.

  Mark’s soft hands—hands that have never seen a hard day’s work—take hold of my arm, and situate me directly in front of him. The cold steel of his gun pressing into my temple cuts through the fog of despair and the gravity of the situation weighs heavily upon me.

  Declan adjusts his grip on the gun, unadulterated rage burning in his eyes.

  “Langford, don’t you realize the game is ov
er? You lost. Daddy isn’t here to bail you out. Money doesn’t buy everything.” Declan’s voice is eerily calm.

  “Mark just let him leave. I’ll come home, I swear. I’ll be the wife you needed me to be!” I plead. “I’m the one that hurt you. I’m the one you’re angry at.” Anything to get Declan out of here, away from the darkness of my past. My pleas fall on deaf ears and the temperature drops ten degrees as the two men stare each other down.

  “Maybe not, Casanova, but power and control can get me anything I want. Just ask the girls you pulled out of my cargo ship.” Pulling as hard as I can to face Mark, his eyes appear black as his soul and a sly grin pulls at his face. It reminds me of the Joker from the Batman comics I read as a kid.

  Declan’s only giveaway is the muscle flexing in his jaw. Something he does when he feels any emotion too strongly. Right now, it’s working overtime.

  “Don’t give me another reason to kill you.”

  “I could kill her right now and no one would know or care. She’s a whore with no family to miss her. But, since my goal was to punish the little cunt, I’m going to hit her where I know it will hurt.” Mark sneers. “Her heart.”

  Declan sees it before I do. Mark pulls his gun from my head and fires a round at Declan. Declan never fired in return and I know why.

  He was afraid of hitting me.

  Anger burns through me as Declan’s body falls to the ground in slow motion. My entire life plays out in that moment and I see red. I see nothing, I hear nothing. Rage strikes a flint in my heart and a fire built of my past sins engulfs me.

  A shot comes from some unknown location, striking Mark in the shoulder. His body jerks slightly and it’s all I need for my brain to spring into action.

  Slamming my heel down onto Marks foot, he bends instinctively, and I swing my elbow into his nose. Blood sprays from his nose, splattering my face, and I scramble for his gun. A barrage of gunfire explodes around me, men I hadn’t previously seen storm in from all directions. Suddenly, the entire factory floor is flooded with men in black tactical gear and thugs brandishing automatic weapons. Voices thunder through the large room, their demands blatantly ignored. These men are going to war.

  And I’m Helen of Troy.

  When my hand encompasses the heavy metal, Mark finally gets to his feet, slowly backing away. He realizes I have the upper hand. For the first time, I see fear in Mark’s eyes.

  Fear of me.

  “Teagan, put the gun down.” He tries taking control of me once again. His words are useless. I am riding the high vengeance, and nothing stands in my way.

  It’s my turn to laugh maniacally.

  “What’s the matter, Mark? You don’t like it when the weak become the strong? The scared become the feared?” Every inch he retreats, I follow until he backs himself against a window. “You took everything from me,” I seethe through clinched teeth.

  “I—…”

  “No! You’ve had your turn! You don’t get to speak!” Tears carry mascara in rivers down my face and in this moment, I feel just as unhinged as I know he is.

  “You took my child!” I scream firing a single round into his leg. He screams, his pain echoing through the cavernous room. But I ignore it.

  “You took my life!” I fire another round and it hits him in the arm. He staggers a bit, struggling to hold himself up but the weight of his injuries is too much to bare. His body crumbles and he falls to his knees. Taking a step closer, I see tears stream from his eyes. I didn’t think he was capable of crying.

  “You took my love.”

  This time, I look him dead in the eye as I fire a final round into his chest.

  My vision starts to fade as I watch, unable to move, to speak. A searing pain throbs in my side as warm blood pools on the floor around me. That primal part of me needs to save her, keep her safe. But as I begin to lose grip on reality, I see my girl stand up for herself. I witness her grasp the strength I knew she had. She turns to face me; blood and mascara paint her beautiful face and she smiles.

  I’m going to die a happy man.

  Four days.

  Four days since I killed Mark.

  Four days since Declan has opened his eyes.

  “I’m going to the cafeteria to get you some food. You need to eat…”

  “I’m fine,” I snap, cutting her off.

  “I swear to all that is holy, if you argue with me one more time, I will strap your ass to that chair and force feed you tapioca pudding.” She stares, clearly challenging me.

  In that exact moment, my stomach rumbles audibly.

  Traitor.

  “Fine, but you better come back with coffee.”

  Celeste has been my rock. She’s tough and not afraid to tell me what I need to hear. Whether I want to hear it or not. Every night since then, she has held me while I cried. Rocked me to sleep when I didn’t think it was possible. She was my strength when I had none. For that, I will do anything for her.

  Her absence forces me to realize I am where I am, once again. This place is cold and sterile but also a reminder of where my journey started. I hate hospitals, but right now, they would have to drag me away kicking and screaming. Taking Declan’s motionless hand in mine, I kiss it for the thousandth time.

  “Come back to me,” I plead. Standing from my chair, I lean over to brush a hand through his hair, I whisper in his ear the words he may never hear.

  “Please come back to me. I love you.”

  Warm tears soak the material of his hospital gown. The surgeon told me everything went fine and while the bullet tore through him, he was able to repair the major damage. He says Declan will wake up when his body is ready.

  I need him to be ready.

  “He hears you, my dear.” Martha’s soft Irish accent sounds from the doorway.

  Startled, my mind doesn’t understand what my eyes are seeing. My heart fills with warmth as this ache I’ve felt finally starts to fade.

  “Wha—I—you’re here!” I exclaim, throwing myself into the open arms of both Manny and Martha. I hold them both tightly, already afraid to let go.

  “Who called you?” I ask, both elated that they are here and confused as to how.

  “I did.” Briggs’ hulking figure steps through the door.

  I release Manny and Martha only to rush Briggs. He stiffens as I hug him, clearly uncomfortable. Celeste doesn’t see it yet, but he is a wonderful man. More heart than he will ever show.

  “Thank you so much! How did you know?” I ask as his handsome smile widens.

  “What a small world it is, my dear,” Martha interjects, her delicate smile exuding decades of wisdom.

  “Why do you say that?” I ask.

  “Have a seat, dear, and let me tell you about my daughter.”

  Something in her tone has me riveted. Martha has mentioned her a couple of times but nothing detailed. I got the feeling she didn’t call Martha often and her face looked too painful to question. Doing as I’m told, I lower myself into the hard-wooden chair.

  Taking my hand between her delicate palms, she begins.

  “My daughter had the best smile, she would light up any room she entered. She had this light about her; this kindness that would draw you to her. That was her gift to the world. Well, that and she could turn anything into a delectable dessert.” Martha smiles faintly, her mind in a far-off place.

  “Her light was taken the day she was murdered.” Her breath hitches. “She was the victim of circumstance, the last woman in a line of murders in the area. The cops didn’t realize there was a pattern until it was too late. Burying my only child was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.” Her eyes well with tears when she looks at Declan lying in the bed. His chest rises and falls slowly. The visual is the only thing that grounds me to this world.

  “I wanted to fall apart. But I couldn’t because I had a brave young man to take after. My grandson had just lost his mother, his only parent, in this most tragic way. The poor boy saw it happen.” With her sight still on Declan, she
wipes at her tears. “He lost his childhood that night.”

  Silently, she hands me an old photograph. I take in the image between my fingers. Staring back at me is a younger Martha and a teenage boy.

  Declan.

  “Now, don’t go giving away all my secrets.” A scratchy voice mumbles from the bed.

  Martha lets out a small sigh, clearly relieved that Declan is awake. But that ever-present Irish attitude bubbles to the surface almost immediately.

  “I’ve wiped your arse, boy. I’ll say whatever the hell I want to.” Her tone lacks all malice. She smiles at him with a pride I’ve never seen. They clearly love this grandmother/grandson banter.

  “Old goat.” He smiles back at her affectionately.

  I’m so overwhelmed with emotion; my vision blurs and I can no longer hear anything they say. Rushing to the bed, I run my hands over his face, needing to prove that he’s real.

  He’s awake.

  He’s alive.

  He’s mine.

  His hands envelop my face as he pulls me to him, his supple lips placing a gentle kiss upon mine. It’s closed-mouth, tender, and conveys everything I struggle to express.

  My tears fall, raining down his cheeks before his intense emerald gaze meets mine.

  “I love you.”

  Three words.

  Three words I’ve heard before, but this time it’s different. Because I’m different.

  Holy shit.

  Martha is Declan’s grandmother! The knowledge rocks my entire world off its axis. But in a good way. I can’t stop the cascade of emotion that’s taking over my body. My chest aches as if years of deep gashes were being stitched, one by one. The woman I love like family is responsible for making Declan the man he is today.

  When you think about it, it’s pretty fucking poetic.