RECYCLED MEMORY

  “We wanted to tell you, Maribel. There just wasn’t enough time,” Haven gently uttered.

  “Right. Let’s have it, then.” I was being unfair, but I hated being kept in the dark, particularly when it involved Marcus, which was what I assumed was the case.

  “I overheard a conversation between Range and the others,” Clover attempted.

  “You mean you were eavesdropping, sis,” Ashley clarified.

  “Whatever. Anywho, I overheard Range and the others planning some big takedown of a guy named MacCabe tonight at the junkyard. Most of it was hush hush, but I heard enough to know that somehow, Marcus was a key player in all of this. They were trying to get him to change his mind about something, but he flatly refused.”

  “Tell her about the other thing, Clover,” Haven insisted.

  “Oh, yeah, I almost forgot. This MacCabe asshole is really bad news. He threatened to sell someone’s Odie to the highest bidder if the guys didn’t comply.” Her brows knitted. “I never found out what an Odie was, but it must be worth a shit ton of money. I tried to google it, but nothing came up during the search.”

  “Odie isn’t a what. She’s a who,” I shrieked. “Otelia Mae works with me at the diner. She’s my friend, my best fucking friend. Damnit, I can’t believe Marcus didn’t tell me.”

  “Oh, Maribel, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know,” Clover apologized.

  “It’s okay, I just… She doesn’t have anything to do with this.”

  “Do with what?” Ashley cried out. She nearly ran us off the road when she turned around in her seat and demanded an answer. “You know that fucker MacCabe, Maribel?

  They waited, wide eyed and uneasy, for me to fill them in on what I knew about the situation. My breath had caught with horror when Clover mentioned Odie’s name. It was a game changer. That bastard MacCabe didn’t take the payoff from Marcus and somehow managed to involve Otelia in his power play. But why? Why would he turn his back on all that money when he had it free and clear? It just didn’t make any sense. That explained why the guys had looked so down in the mouth when they’d returned from the drop, and why Marcus disappeared without a fucking word. They were trying to protect us by sending us away. Fucking macho junkyard bullshit. When I got my hands on Marcus, I was going to strangle him.

  I started by telling them about Drew, our friends with occasional benefits relationship, and how he’d ended up beat down in my bedroom closet. That took a bit of time between all the “Bitch, are you crazy’s” and outcries of “Hold the fuck up” that forced me to have to start all over. They needed to know just how dangerous a man MacCabe was, and that he didn’t give a shit about breaking heads to get his way. I explained about the debt Drew had accumulated, stuck me with, and how the guys were supposed to pay that off last night, which apparently hadn’t happened. I effectively managed to scare the crap out of all of them before grabbing Clover by the arms, compelling her to refocus. There had to be more, something significant that she’d overlooked.

  “Clover, I need you to think really hard,” I implored her from the front seat. “Was there anything else you managed to hear, any little thing that might help us?”

  “Nothing that made any sense,” she sobbed. “They kept saying “the circle, the circle at eight o’clock.” That’s all I remember.”

  “Ohmigod.” I blanched and tried to speak with bloodless lips. “I know what’s happening.”

  Marcus, you honorable bastard.

  “We need to get back to the junkyard before it’s too late.”

  FORTY-SIX

  Marcus

  FIGURED THAT FUCKIN’ CUNT MacCabe would arrive on time. Guess being a mob boss meant he had to mind his manners or some shit. Three black stretch limousines pulled to a stop just outside of the rear entrance to the junkyard and stopped. Max cautiously approached the driver’s side window, then gave Range and me the heads-up before he allowed them to pass through. Sebastian was well hidden beyond the trees. I didn’t know where he’d posted guard, but I felt his presence at my back. The junkyard was our home and the reason why I’d insisted we held the fight here instead of some unknown fucking warehouse. MacCabe was a cheap second-rate hood rat, whose head was so far up his own ass, he failed to realize just how bad he’d fucked up by agreeing to my terms.

  He’d given up his edge.

  “You ready to lay this motherfucker out?” Range asked as he stood next to me.

  “Fuck, yeah, I’m ready.” I turned toward my friend and shared a pound hug, possibly for the last time in our lives. “Brothers till’ death, Range. Remember that.”

  “NO! You remember that.” He pointed to my chest. “Handle your motherfuckin’ business.”

  Two Men in Black wannabes exited the limousine at the same time, both wearing dark fuckin’ sunglasses and coiled tube earpieces. Stupid pricks looked ridiculous considering it was already night time and I knew they couldn’t possibly see a fucking thing. They both walked around to the back of the first limo in the succession and opened the door for MacCabe to step out. He wore his usual mob boss starter kit outfit complete with tailor-made suit, patent leather shoes, and perfectly styled slicked-back hair. Fools like him were a dime a dozen, pussies in disguise who used other pussies to do their dirty work. His time would come.

  “Marcus, my friend.” He walked over with his hand extended. “I see you dressed for the occasion.” He referred to my athletic shorts and black T-shirt.

  “Not here for a fucking photo shoot, MacCabe. Where’s Odie? I want to see her NOW. Once I’m satisfied that she’s safe, we’ll get down to work. Until then, fuck you and your handshake,” I sneered in his direction. Range felt the rise in my anger and placed a firm grip on my shoulder.

  “Take it easy, brother,” he coaxed.

  “Fuck easy.”

  MacCabe smiled.

  I didn’t.

  A snap of his finger sent one of the guards to the rear of the limo, where he yanked open the door and reached inside. Odie emerged, hands bound behind her back and mouth covered with gray industrial tape. She didn’t come out quietly. Kicking and hissing behind her gag, Odie put up one hell of a fight. There were no physical signs of abuse from where I stood. That’s not to say other shit couldn’t have happened. One word from Odie that he’d touched her or allowed someone else to do it, and MacCabe was a motherfuckin’ dead man. Pussy number one took her by the arm and dragged her over to where we were standing. Her waitress uniform was covered with dirt, and her hair was sticking out all over the place. My rage turned into something palpable, a dark essence that would not be denied.

  “Did they hurt you, Odie?”

  My voice was strained, barely above a whisper. That close, I looked deep into her bloodshot eyes. Her answer would determine MacCabe’s future and if he had one. She shook her head no behind her gag and speared her captor with the look of death in her glare. Another snap of his fingers, and Odie was returned to the back seat of the limo and locked inside.

  “I held up my end of the bargain. Now it’s time for you to deliver, Mecken. I got a shitload of money riding on this fight. You fuck this up, and I swear—”

  “Are you threatening me, motherfucker?” I advanced. “’Cause we can end this shit right the fuck here. Just say the word. You feel me?” Range grabbed me from behind and held me steady around the chest.

  “Calm, brother. Calm,” he growled in my ear. “Finish what you’ve started. The rest we take care of later. Don’t let that fucker in your head, Mem. Be smart.”

  That’s why I needed him by my side, close to me. He was the only one of my brothers who was physically strong enough to slow me down once I had it in my mind to attack. His words were enough to quell the burn and made me refocus on the real reason we were out there. I thought about Maribel and the consequences to her if I decided to snap this fool’s neck. His Boston mob family would never let her go. She’d be under their thumbs for the rest of her life.

  I couldn’t let that happen.

  “Fifteen y
ards east, then twenty yards northwest. Once there, you’ll come to a clearing. It’s well-lit, so you can’t miss it. Ditch the limos and bring your crew. I’ll be waiting.”

  “Splendid.” MacCabe clapped his hands. “Oh, and Mecken… Good luck.”

  _______________

  Organized boxing matches had the luxury of prior preparation. In a real-life street fight, you either defended yourself or took your ass whooping like a man. I’d hardly given notice to the file MacCabe had handed us in his hotel room. It meant fuck all as far as I was concerned. I stood toe to toe with my opponent in the circle and figured out pretty fuckin’ fast what I needed to know about the man. He was big, at least six foot eight, with a body honed for destruction. His muscles were chiseled without an ounce of fat anywhere. Old scars across his chest and arms meant he’d seen his fair share of battle and still managed to come out on top. I could have been a circus gorilla standing in his way; he gave less than a fuck. His job was to kick my ass. Period.

  Instructions were given in both Japanese and English, not that there were many of them; it was no holds barred. Cock shots, eye gouges, and throat punches were all fair game once the fight started. Last man standing was named the winner. Simple. As promised, the crowd of spectators was minimal—three total including MacCabe. Two older Japanese gentlemen stood unconcerned off to the side, sipping champagne and smoking cigarettes, complete faith in their champion. Range remained alert and diligent. I felt his body’s adrenalin filtering through my own as he kneaded my shoulders and arms with determined strokes.

  It was time.

  I removed my black T-shirt and handed it to Range, my back turned purposely to my opponent. I rotated slowly and deliberately, knowing my appearance would shake him up. Once he got a good look at my mutilated frame, he graced me with the ultimate sign of respect—he bowed. That’s right, motherfucker. You’re not the only once who’s seen some shit.

  “Don’t play around with this cunt, brother. Make him earn the right to fight in this circle.” Range was my very own Bundini Brown, hype man to Muhammad Ali, murmuring words of encouragement in my ear.

  “He’s big, which means he’s also slow. Hit hard, strike fast, and end this shit,” he barked.

  And so, it began.

  We circled each other, two caged animals in search of the right place to strike for the quick kill. My challenger was a crafty fuck. He tested my reflexes before flying in blind like an amateur would’ve. Neither one of us attempted to land the first punch. We squared off in the middle for the first time, calculating our next move.

  “You real fighter,” he grunted appreciatively through broken English. “I like real fighter. They don’t die so fast.”

  “Not going down, bitch,” I gloated. “Welcome to my house, motherfucker.”

  I swung left and connected on his jaw line. He countered with a left of his own that staggered me but didn’t send me to the ground. Fucker can hit.

  “Good, good. You got strong muscles, Gaijin. Strong muscles,” he taunted.

  “Yeah, well, I know an old bitch named Della who hits harder than you.”

  From there it was on.

  Lefts, rights, uppercuts. You name it, we swung it. Five minutes in, and we were both a bloody mess of tired limbs and aching bones. A hard uppercut to the side of my head sent me flying to the ground with a harsh grunt. Thankfully, I was able to lift my leg at the last minute and deliver a cock shot that sent my opponent to the ground right along with me. My skull pounded from the brunt of the impact, my breathing became labored from injury, and I was on the verge of losing consciousness.

  I tried to shake it off, but I was fading.

  I’m so fucking sorry, Maribel.

  FORTY-SEVEN

  Maribel

  MARIO ANDRETTI BENJAMIN DIDN’T let off the gas until we pulled up to the front entrance of the junkyard. The ride had seemed never-ending as our individual temperaments ran the gambit of possibilities; anger and indifference, followed by concern and fear. We’d pretty much figured out that the guys had lied to us, withheld vital information, or whatever the fuck you wanted to call it. They were in trouble, and sending us away had been a huge mistake on their part. The circle was the training area that Buck had used to teach the guys fighting techniques when they were young. I had only been allowed there once, the day I’d thought Buck was abusing Marcus, and that was completely by accident. Buck had insisted that Marcus walk me home, and I was never allowed back, no matter how many times I’d begged. I knew its location, and I knew Marcus would be there.

  “SHIT!” Ashley banged her hand against the steering wheel. “The fucking gate’s locked. How the hell are we supposed to get in there?” We sat inside the idling truck and contemplated our next move. It was just after eight, time enough to stop this madness if we managed to make it there on time.

  “Better think fast, sister. Max is coming this way, and he’s carrying a shotgun and a badass attitude,” Clover noticed.

  “Fuck. Shit. Punch it, punch it!” Haven screamed as she watched her man approach her side of the truck.

  Ashley stomped on the gas and barreled through the metal fence, just in time to avoid the impending shitstorm. Max gave chase, calling for Ashley to pull over and stop the truck, but she wasn’t having it. She drove like a maniac, flying through the junkyard, barely missing parked cars and pallets of crushed engines. The truck swerved just in time to miss a mangy stray cat that had somehow chosen that moment to dart out in front us.

  “Damn you, Pussy,” Ashley hissed. “Get the fuck outa the way, stupid cat. I coulda’ killed you.”

  “Pull this thing over, looney tunes!” I gripped the center console so hard I could have sworn I felt it rip. “The circle is hidden deep within the woods. We can’t get to it this way. We’ll have to go on foot,” I screamed.

  Without warning, Ashley slammed on the breaks with both feet like a reject from The Flintstones cartoon. If it weren’t for the seat belt, I would’ve found myself face planted on the plastic dashboard with my front teeth missing. The four of us jumped out the truck and took off running in time to spot Max closing in fast, less than three strides behind. His tenacious pursuit pushed us harder through low-hanging branches and rough terrain. We were almost there. We could see a well-lit area up ahead. As long as we kept moving, we could make it.

  “HEAVEN!” Max shouted from somewhere close. “When I catch up with you, I’m gonna spank your ass. Get back here, woman... HEAVEN!”

  “There it is, right over there.” I pointed in the direction of the lights.

  We ignored his threat and surged forward.

  I prayed for the strength to keep going.

  I’m coming, Marcus. Wait for me, baby.

  Out of breath, sweating like a herd of bulls, and dog tired, we made it to the circle without being caught. But it was too late. The little breath I had left in my lungs expelled on a harsh whoosh at what I saw before me. Marcus lay beaten to a bloody pulp in the middle of the makeshift arena. His face was nearly unrecognizable from this distance. I tried to stifle the scream that threatened to escape by covering my mouth with shaking hands. It didn’t work. The crushing weight of what I saw lying on that dirty ground took my legs out from under me. I had to make it stop. Max caught up to the rest of us in record time and attempted to coral us away from the scene.

  “I don’t believe this shit. What the fuck are y’all doing back here? Where’s Fox?”

  He had a hold of my arm.

  I broke free.

  “Piss off, Max, make it stop.” I ran over to Range, who stood closest to the circle. “Please, for the love of God, Range, make him stop.”

  I stepped in his line of sight and froze. His face was drained of color, pale and agonized, He’d given up, accepted Marcus’s defeat.

  I didn’t.

  I left him to his personal misery and ran toward MacCabe, who stood further away. The two Asian men next to him pointed and smirked in my direction. I felt like a slab of bacon hung up on displ
ay at a butcher shop. They weren’t my concern.

  “MacCabe, you piece of shit.” I got right in his face. “Are you happy now? Call it off, or I swear to Christ I will kill you.”

  “Not my decision, Ms. Laine.” He laughed. “Your man knew the risks and figured you were worth it.” He looked me up and down. “His choice, I’m afraid.”

  “Please. I’ll pay you your money. I swear on my life. Please, just… put an end to it,” I begged, hoping to get through to him. My insistence seemed to anger the mob boss. He used a stiff arm to push me away from his space before he snarled behind both rows of teeth.

  “The fight is far from over, Ms. Laine. I suggest you back the fuck up and rejoin your party. Again. I’ll reiterate. Your man knew the dangers and chose to participate. End of story.”

  So that was it.

  Game over.

  Marcus lay moaning, wrecked with pain on the hard ground, struggling to regain his footing, while the rest of us watched from the sidelines. The behemoth man he faced was seconds away from climbing to his feet. Once there, he’d finish what he started and pummel my one true love to death. No one would intervene, not now. It went against their stupid code of honor. As I took a look around, I watched my friends as they grew despondent, resigned even, and I remembered.

  What’s left in the world worth fighting for, Buck?

  Don’t know, girl, but whatever it is, you better give it all you’ve got.

  I knew what I had to do.

  “You know what, MacCabe?” I sneered. Fed up with his smug demeanor. “You just fucked yourself, bitch boy. You underestimated the wrong fucking man.”

  I shoved him backwards with everything I had and took off toward the edge of the circle. I dodged the outstretched arms from everyone who attempted to stop me from moving closer to where I needed to be. Once there, I crouched down on all fours, directly behind Marcus’s head, and spoke to him with authority.