The Enemy

by JJ Knight

  “No,” I say. “It’s been over a year. I haven’t talked to them about it, but I think if she were ever going to be able to walk, she would have done it by now.”

  “Move ALONG,” the officer says.

  Denham’s head is down, but his feet start moving.

  We go in silence through a checkpoint, the sun finally coming in through glass doors at the back of the complex. This exit leads to a parking lot full of police cars.

  “You can go out here,” the officer says. “Catch a taxi or have someone pick you up on the street. You can’t come back in this way.”

  We’re unceremoniously dumped out onto the sidewalk.

  He’s right, though. The lot is bordered on three sides by the complex. The street beyond the lines of cop cars runs with normal traffic. No bystanders. No cameras.

  “Come on,” Jeremy says. “I’ll have my driver pick us up. We can get you away from here until it blows over.”

  But as we move forward, Denham lags behind. I stop and turn to him. “Denham, you coming?”

  “She’s a cripple?” he asks, his voice still incredulous. “She’s never going to walk?”

  My throat constricts. “I had a hard time when I learned about it too,” I say. “But she’s a bright, sweet girl.”

  I try to take his arm to lead him with us, but he shakes me off.

  “Denham, we have to go,” I say.

  He resists. “What am I going to do with a cripple for a kid?”

  Now my chest starts to burn. “She’s a perfect little girl.”

  Denham continues to stare at the ground, as if he can’t wrap his head around this. “I can’t do anything with that,” he says. “That’s too much responsibility.” He still won’t look me in the eye. “What’ll everybody say when they see me with a kid in a wheelchair?”

  We all stop to watch him. I’m so angry I want to hit him, hurt him like he is hurting my heart.

  “You don’t deserve her,” I say.

  He does glance up at me at that, just for a second. “Yeah,” he finally says. “You’re right about that.”

  He digs in his pocket for the keys to his truck. He pulls a silver cross off the ring, banged up but heavy and well made. He tosses it to me.

  I trap it against my chest and it falls cold into my palm.

  “Give her that,” he says. “It was my gramma’s. Only thing I have of hers. Tell baby girl that her daddy was no good, and her daddy’s momma was no good, but her great-gramma, she was good. Her name was Lucille. It’s engraved on the back.” He points at the cross. “Lucille Young.”

  I hold the heavy cross in my hand. “You aren’t going to at least meet her?”

  He shakes his head. “I’m gonna move on now. Thanks for getting me out.” He peers up at the building, and the sun, squinting his eyes. “You’ll do right by her. It’s your way.”

  And with that, he takes off in long strides across the parking lot, through the cop cars, and turns down the street. We stand there, watching, until he’s out of sight.

  “That saves you quite a bit of trouble,” Jeremy says.

  I can’t speak. I feel like my breath has been forced from my lungs.

  Blitz gathers me up against him. “I’m here, Livia,” he says.

  “My driver is pulling up,” Jeremy says. “Let’s head on to the street.”

  Blitz holds me tight as we follow the path Denham took through the cars. When we get to the sidewalk, a black Mercedes stops at the curb. I look up the street, trying to get one last glance at Denham, Gabriella’s father, the love I once knew.

  But he’s disappeared, the tall buildings cutting off the view.

  Just like that, this whole dark period of my life is over.

  Chapter 25

  By the time we’re all the way back to the hotel, Blitz’s social media team is working the #WhatDidBlitzDo hashtag, explaining how he was helping a hometown criminal get his life back on track. Somehow, they manage to move the activity over to #WhatWillBlitzDoNext and have people suggest nonprofits or causes Blitz could get behind.

  By the end of the next day, it’s all blown over. At least the jail part.

  Danika calls to say Denham’s truck is gone from the block. That’s over too.

  On Thursday morning, I pick at the breakfast Blitz orders up to our room. Normally we would be heading up to Dreamcatcher to have our private lesson with Gabriella. I have no idea where we stand on that.

  “We can still go up to the academy,” Blitz says. “Unless you want more punishment from Jenica. She’s asking where we are.”

  “No, thank you!” I say, but I can’t even muster a smile.

  Blitz comes up behind my chair and lifts my hair to kiss my shoulder. “I think we should dance,” he says.

  I’m reluctant to go, sure I’ll feel even more despondent when the hour for our lesson with Gabriella arrives and she isn’t there. I pack my dance bag slowly so that we can get there after we would have danced with her.

  We’ve just requested for the car to be brought downstairs when Blitz’s phone buzzes. “It’s Ted,” he says.

  “Is he still working as security for Danika?” I ask.

  Blitz laughs. “Yes,” he says. “And he sent a picture.”

  He holds up his phone. I’m not particularly interested in the shot until I see a familiar black head in a wheelchair, Ted kneeling beside her.

  The message reads “My new client is wondering where her dance teachers are.”

  “Oh my gosh!” I say. “We have to go!”

  I drag Blitz by the shirt to the elevator. He tries to respond as we run down the hall and into the elevator to grab our car. We’re still in the gray one.

  Blitz races down the road to Dreamcatcher. I’m so glad we are staying close.

  When we pull up, I instinctively look for the green truck, then shake that off. Denham is gone.

  But Gwen’s SUV is there. I don’t wait on Blitz but run across the parking lot and burst through the doors.

  Suze looks up. “They’re in the studio,” she says. “I think Danika is helping her.”

  I hurry down the hall. Blitz still hasn’t caught up.

  I slow down as I approach Studio 3. Ted stands outside the door. He nods at me.

  “You’re guarding her now?” I ask.

  “Danika suggested it,” Ted says. “Since her mother was nervous.”

  I glance in the window. Danika is taking Gabriella through the five arm positions. Gwen is inside today, sitting on the bench on the other side of the wall.

  Blitz approaches. “Ted! You keep showing up like a drunk uncle!”

  “Apparently you’re enough trouble for a full-time gig,” Ted shoots back.

  “That I am.” He takes my hand. “We going in?”

  I nod and flash a smile at Ted as Blitz opens the door.

  Gabriella looks up. “Benjamin! I have a special dance for you!” She rolls up to him.

  “You do?” he asks.

  “Livia taught it to me,” she says. “Do you have the music?”

  My throat is too tight to speak. I just nod and head to the audio controls in the corner.

  As I plug in my phone to cue the music, I watch Gabriella circle around Blitz. Danika sits next to Gwen, and they say something to each other and nod. They are smiling.

  My fingers tremble as I punch the buttons to find the song we chose for Gabriella’s dance. I haven’t lost everything. It’s all here. Right in front of me.

  The song begins and Gabriella gasps and rolls away from Blitz.

  “The sparkle stick! Livia!” she calls out.

  I grab one from the box on the floor and hurry it over to her. She takes it and strikes the opening pose, waiting for the first movement of the dance.

  She turns the baton and tosses it into the air, catching it neatly. Gwen and Danika clap as Blitz cheers.

  Danika catches my eye and nods. I wonder if she’s figured it out, that Gabriella is my daughter. If that’s why she brought Ted and convinced G
wen to come back to lessons.

  I nod at her in return. Maybe we’ll speak of it. Maybe we won’t.

  It doesn’t matter right now as Gabriella does her dance.

  She beams at Blitz as she turns her chair, spinning the baton. Light flashes off the sparkles that float inside the stick, sending a pattern across the mirror that reflects back into the room.

  She’s here.

  She’s beautiful.

  She’ll never know what happened. That her father rejected her. That her mother once thought she lived and loved in shame. Those things are not worth troubling her innocence and grace.

  We’ll have the lawyer add a record to her adoption contract giving my name so she can find me when she is eighteen, if that’s what she wants. I don’t want to get in the way of her life, her potential new father, or cast any shadow on how she grows up. I just want to see what I can.

  The closing chords sound and Gabriella strikes her final pose. Blitz rushes to lift her from her chair, spinning her around and laughing, delighted at her dance for him.

  There is no unhappiness here. Not now. It’s all in my past.

  I have been wounded. But I have survived.

  And my life goes on, one more time, past the dark and into the light.

  I have to believe the best is yet to come.

  ~*´♥`*~

  I hope you enjoyed The Enemy! Now that Denham is out of the way, will Blitz and Livia get to live their life together? See the sneak peek next to find out! Remember to sign up on the email list if you want to know when each book is out!

  Sneak Peek

  Enjoy a sneak peek at book three in the series, The Wicked.

  Blitz is done with show business. But show business isn’t done with him.

  ______

  Chapter One

  I’m terribly nervous.

  It’s release day for the DVD set for season two of the TV reality show Dance Blitz.

  The show is billed as The Bachelor meets So You Think You Can Dance. The star, Blitz Craven, auditions girls to be his dance partner, and possibly, his wife. He gets to pick the winner.

  I wasn’t supposed to be on the show.

  But I charged onto the season two live finale, right as Blitz was about to announce which girl he had chosen. Rumors had been swirling that he was going to propose to one of the three finalists. Commercials and promo spots had been airing for days showing him buying a ring, smiling slyly at the camera.

  He wanted to make sure the ring was perfect for “the one.”

  Except.

  “The one” was really me.

  And I wasn’t even a contestant.

  I knew what was really about to happen on the show. Blitz was going to do something terrible, something rash, something bad enough that he got kicked off the show, out of his obligations, and back to me.

  I couldn’t let that happen.

  So I walked right onto the set in the middle of the live broadcast.

  That is why, on this Saturday in February, I’m with Blitz as he heads toward Wild Side Tunes and TV, a music and movie superstore, to sign DVDs. Because of my crazy actions, I’m part of his fame. We’re a package deal.

  It’s the weekend before Valentine’s Day, and Blitz’s manager Hannah is positive that our being together on this promotional tour is going to send DVD sales into the stratosphere. Blitz and I don’t care about that. But she does. And the lawyers who drew up Blitz’s contract do.

  So here we are in LA.

  Blitz takes my hand. We’re in a limo because, of course, we have to be, driving up to a store where apparently over a thousand screaming fans have been standing in line since yesterday to ensure they got a chance to see Blitz.

  We have to look the part of Reality TV Royalty, whatever that is. Hannah talks really fast, and I generally only catch every tenth word, the ones she says more emphatically, like they’re in bold uppercase letters.

  And REALITY TV ROYALTY is definitely a phrase she emphasizes.

  The words make me think of mostly negative things. I missed four years of television due to my father’s iron rule, but in the two months since I left home, I’ve caught up on some of the big shows. Dance Moms. Hoarders. Real Housewives.

  If they are royalty, I’m not sure I want the throne.

  “Your dress is killing me,” Blitz says. “I’m never going to make it through hours of signing without stealing you away.”

  I glance down. The dress isn’t anything I would have picked out, but Hannah and her wardrobe people descended on us in the hotel, fitting me into everything from jeans and slashed leather vests to glittery ball gowns.

  Nobody asked my opinion. In the end, they chose a stretchy dance outfit like you might see an ice-skater wear. It isn’t too crazy, the sparkly emerald skirt reaching halfway down my thigh. The fit is more demure than some of the things they’ve put on me.

  But it does have diamond-shaped cutouts. One shows a lot of cleavage, and another one reveals my belly button. I was too paranoid to even eat breakfast, afraid any bit of roundness to my middle would lead to screaming tabloid headlines about a baby bump.

  I get a little sensitive when people talk about babies.

  Blitz looks exactly like they always have him dressed on the show. Sleek black jazz pants. A silk shirt in a pale mint green that complements my dress perfectly.

  His black hair is short again, cut a few days ago by the original hairdresser from Dance Blitz. And the sexy stubble on his face is trimmed the way I’ve always known it. I reach up to run my fingers along his jaw. We are in this together.

  He kisses my fingers. “Are we almost there?”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, check Google,” Hannah says with irritation. She holds a compact mirror up, trying to apply lipstick on the bumpy drive.

  I don’t know why she’s annoyed, or why she’s adding lipstick right now. She looks perfectly put together already. She wears a mossy gray-green suit with a pencil skirt, which I realize totally matches me and Blitz.

  I’m sure some marketing research has told her that this is what will make her look like she is in charge of us. She wants to ensure that everyone around us asks her what to do, not us.

  That’s what she does.

  Blitz closes his eyes and holds my hand to his cheek. I know he doesn’t want to do this publicity stop. We’ve put our Dance Blitz days behind us. He’s confident that we can simply buy a house in San Antonio, where real estate is cheap compared to LA, and live comfortably forever on what he’s already earned.

  With Dreamcatcher Dance Academy training us, life is perfect. I get to see my birth daughter Gabriella in ballet class. Her adoptive mother still doesn’t know who I am. No one does but Blitz. Our secret has remained safe despite the publicity.

  We see no need to change anything. This DVD signing is the end of our public spotlight.

  The driver rolls down the window separating the front seat from the back section of the limo. “We’re about to approach,” he says.

  Hannah turns to him. “Don’t get out to open the door. We have security waiting who will keep the crowd back as Blitz and Livia enter the building. You’ll drive me around the rear for a quieter entrance.”

  The driver nods.

  “I miss Ted,” I say. He’s a high school friend of Blitz’s who served as my driver and bodyguard back in San Antonio.

  “We can bring him out to LA if you want,” Blitz says.

  “That’s okay. We’re only here for a couple more days.”

  Hannah snaps her mirror shut. “What happened to Duke? I’m surprised you didn’t want him managing security for this event.”

  Blitz shrugs. “I haven’t talked to him since everything went down.”

  I squeeze Blitz’s hand. He doesn’t want to make any more than a passing reference to his mega-downfall, where he Tweeted a naked picture of one of the finalists along with a really terrible comment about her. The Tweet went viral and got him kicked off his own show for months. It’s how we met.


  Hannah frowns. She picks up her phone and taps a button. “Lisa, check Duke Riordan’s employment status with Blitz’s estate. He’s not doing any duties currently.”

  She sets down the phone. “Does he still have access to security?”

  Blitz sighs. “I have no idea. I haven’t been to my LA condo since I left town last October.”

  Hannah presses her perfectly lined coral lips together. “That was five months ago! And you’ve been paying him, probably to sneak around your place and collect things to sell on eBay. I say bring him back on board or take him off the payroll. It’s high time you got your act together.”

  “You think there are still cameras all over your old house?” I ask.

  “I’m sure there are,” Blitz says. “I don’t even know how to go about finding them all. Half were hidden behind mirrors or in plants.”

  “There are services for that,” Hannah says. “But you’re still obligated to keep them until the end of your contract.”

  “You’re still under contract for the show?” I ask.

  “That’s why we’re here,” Blitz says.

  Hannah looks from me to Blitz and back again. “You two remind everyone what true love looks like, and this will go fine. You’re a team, remember?”

  “We’re a team,” I say, and move our clasped hands over to my cheek this time. “This will be fun, right?”

  Blitz grunts. I look away from Hannah’s smirk.

  We turn the corner and the limo is spotted by the fans lined up around the side of a two-story glass and steel building. The screams begin, so loud and piercing that they penetrate to the interior.

  “Whoa,” I say.

  “I can tell you right now,” Blitz says to Hannah, his voice low and threatening, “that there is not enough security on that line.”

  “You should have called Duke,” Hannah says dryly. “I hired a very established company, but he knows your fans.” She glances out the window. “They are rather ardent.”

  Girls are standing all around the block, holding signs, hugging each other, crying, yelling, and jumping up and down as we roll by. One lifts her shirt and tries to run to the car, bare boobs bouncing. A friend pulls her back.