by Sybil Bartel
“OH MY GOD,” I whispered.
I grabbed my phone, wondering where his truck was, when two huge guys rushed out of the gym and took up posts on either side of him. Marcus swung at one guy as he took his arm to steady him, then barked something at the other.
If he saw me now, I knew what his reaction would be.
My stomach churned with dread as I watched them make their way inside. Marcus’s clothes had been disheveled, and his hair was a mess. I’d seen him drunk more times than I could count, but Marcus could hold his alcohol. I’d only ever seen him stumbling drunk a few times, and that was seconds before he passed out.
But the way he’d been swaying, like he was fighting for balance, that wasn’t drunk. That looked injured, like concussion injured.
Damn it.
I couldn’t just walk into the place and grab him. I knew what gyms like Tension were like for girls. It’s why I’d been sitting in my car for six days across the street. If Marcus didn’t want me there, every guy in the place, regardless if they knew him, would become his ally in a heartbeat.
The thought of Ben popped into my head, and I quickly pushed it away. I had two choices. I could wait it out and see if Marcus came back out, or I could call Hank. It wasn’t much of a choice. I dialed the club.
Two rings and Hank’s deep voice answered. “Seven-oh-One.”
“It’s Sia.”
His voice went from bored to concerned. “What happened?”
“I just saw him.” I exhaled a steadying breath. “He looks injured. He showed up in a cab and was stumbling, but it wasn’t a drunk kind of stumble. He was fighting for balance. Two guys came out and took him inside. Do you know anyone down here? Anyone I can call to see what’s going on?”
“I don’t know anyone who trains there personally, but I’ll call Pete Alastair, the owner of Alastair’s and see if he can send someone over.”
That was getting too many people involved, which would only make Marcus angrier, and it would take precious time I didn’t want to waste. “Thanks anyway, but never mind. I don’t want to get anyone else involved. You know how Marcus is about that. I’ll talk to you later.” I started to hang up.
“Wait.”
I stared at the filthy windows of the gym, hoping to catch a glimpse of Marcus as the sun sank below the top of the building. “What?”
“I can be there in a few hours.”
Something told me I didn’t have a few hours. I needed to get in there. “I appreciate it, but I can’t wait that long.” A group of five girls, all dressed like the hooker from earlier, came walking down the street. They passed the bar a few doors down and headed right toward Tension. “I gotta go.”
“Christensen has a friend in Miami.”
“Forget it.” The girls went into the gym.
“Damn it, Sia, this guy can help you. He owns a security firm.”
I didn’t need a security guard. I needed a muscle head with a few pounds on Marcus. Or a distraction, like the group of prostitutes walking into the gym right now. I pulled the keys out of the ignition and got out of the car. “No thanks.”
“Sia—”
“Bye.” I hung up and hurried across the street.
I yanked the door open and years’ worth of sweat stink hit me in the face. I didn’t pause when fifteen pairs of male eyes turned to look at me. But when I saw Marcus and four other guys surrounded by the girls, I froze.
One eye swollen shut, his jaw black and blue, his lip split and his cheek twice its normal size, Marcus looked worse than I’d ever seen him. A guy closest to the door dropped the free weights he was holding and stepped up to me.
“You come to work out?” He smirked, staring at my tits.
“No.” I shoved past him and moved toward the crowd around Marcus. The girls were all flirting, one hanging on Marcus’s arm, the others busy chatting with other guys. No one paid me any attention. “Marcus,” I said flatly.
One by one, they all turned to look at me, everyone except Marcus.
The guy who’d taken Marcus’s arm outside chuckled. “He’s already taken, sweetheart, but if you wanna wait your turn, I’m sure there’s plenty to go around.” He flexed his dragon-tattooed arms and winked.
All the guys laughed, but the girls now glancing at me looked pissed.
Marcus continued to stare blankly at the cleavage of the slut hanging on his arm. Glaring at me, she reached down and stroked him over his shorts.
“Marcus,” I snapped.
Slow, like he was in a drugged-out haze, Marcus lifted his head and his one eye met mine.
“Come with me,” I demanded.
Bullet fast, Marcus moved. Throwing off the girl, he lunged. His hand wrapped around my throat, and he got in my face.
“Go. Home,” he snarled viciously.
“Not without you.” I choked the words out.
His hand tightened, closing off my air. “NO.”
I used my last resort. “I need you,” I managed in a strangled whisper.
Marcus growled like an animal and threw me back.
I never saw it coming. My ass hit the cement floor hard, my back smarted, and I cried out.
Marcus spun and grabbed the girl who’d been hanging on him by her ponytail and dragged her toward the back of the gym.
I looked up at the other girls, and one pair of familiar brown eyes met mine. With a trace of fear in her eyes, the hooker from earlier, now dressed differently, gave a slight shake of her head.
His expression no longer playful, dragon tattoo guy stood over me. “Looks like he’s moved on.”
I pushed to my feet and pain shot from my tailbone, but I kept my face blank. “Fucking a slut doesn’t mean he’s moved on.” I didn’t show fear or weakness, and I didn’t tell them Marcus was my brother. The way Dragon Tattoo was glaring at me, I knew it wouldn’t have mattered.
Dragon Tattoo moved in front of me, blocking the way Marcus had just gone. “Since you have so much experience with this, you know the drill. Move the fuck on.” Every word was meant to threaten, but he didn’t know I knew the game.
“Do you know Marcus’s last name?” I asked without any intonation.
He snorted.
Now we had everyone’s attention. Good. “Do you?”
“Maher.” He pretended to look bored.
“Guess what my last name is.”
“I don’t give a shit if you’re married to the fucking president. Marcus wants nothing to do with you.”
Ignoring him, I answered my own question. “Maher.” Then I bluffed. “Do you know what his contract says about unsanctioned fights?”
We stared at each other.
He caved first. “I’m not his fucking babysitter.”
“No? So…” I swirled a finger around the area of my face where Marcus was hit. “You had nothing to do with his injuries?”
“Injuries?” He laughed and glanced at the guys behind him. Two of them fist bumped, then they all laughed. “He’s barely scratched.”
I pulled out my cell phone and pretended to dial. “I’ll see what his manager has to say about it.” I held the phone up to my ear. “What’s your name?” I asked Dragon Tattoo casually.
“Fuck you, bitch.” He reached for my phone.
I was expecting it. I dropped my phone and threw my arm up to block his. Then I swung through and grabbed his wrist. At the same time, I kicked out with my left foot and executed a perfect sweep.
Not expecting my move, he fell like a ton of bricks, and I moved with him. He hit the ground and used his free hand to break his fall. I landed on top of him with one knee on his chest, the other on his free arm and his wrist in my hands. Holding firm, I gave more torque as I dug my knee into his sternum and pressed his hand into a break position.
The girls gasped, and the men laughed.
“Same last name,” I ground out, leaning over Dragon Tattoo.
His nostrils flared.
I knew what he was thinking. “Go ahead,” I taunted. “You ca
n easily throw me off.” But not before I’d break his wrist. I’d positioned myself perfectly. He knew it, and I knew it. If he tossed me forward, I’d twist his wrist right. If he used his legs and curled up and back to throw me, I’d twist left. Either way, it would snap the bones.
“What do you want?” he growled.
I took another gamble. “It’s not what I want, it’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to get Marcus and we’re going to leave.”
He snorted. “You won’t make it two steps when you get off me, bitch.”
The guys howled with laughter, egging him on to toss me.
I kept up the charade and named one of the biggest managers in the circuit. “When Marcus’s manager, Terrance James, finds out about this, he’s going to sue you and this dump of a gym.”
All I needed was for him to believe the lie long enough to get Marcus the hell out of here.
“Cunt,” he hissed. “I don’t give a shit who his manager is.”
Calling his bluff, I stepped on his chest, shoved myself up, and dropped his wrist. “Then you won’t care if I tell him a girl took you down.” Every piece of shit like him wanted a money-ticket manager like James.
He bounced up with the dexterity of a trained fighter. “I got a long memory, Maher,” he spit my last name out.
“Good.” I wasn’t joking. “That means you haven’t taken too many blows to the head.” I bent and picked my phone off the ground, then walked the way Marcus had gone.
The second I stepped down a long hall, I heard Dragon Tattoo snap at the others. “Show’s over!”
The familiar sound of weights clanking and the now subdued voices of the girls picked up. I bypassed the locker room and looked through the window in a door marked office. A metal desk and an old couch occupied the small space, but no Marcus. I pushed the panic bar on my last option and shoved open the emergency exit.
Dumpster, old rusted weight equipment, a few parked cars, I scanned the dark alley. Nothing. Then I heard a muffled gag.
“Faster,” Marcus barked.
Not wanting to, my feet moved forward anyway.
And I saw them.
Leaning against the building across the alley, his shorts pulled partway down, Marcus grunted as the girl he’d dragged outside kneeled in front of him.
Fisting her hair, Marcus slapped her face. “I fucking said faster.” He furiously pumped his hips and pulled her hair, using her ponytail as leverage.
Bile rose in my throat.
My brother growled and threw his head back. His whole body went stiff, and he let his grip on the girl go.
“Asshole!” she spat, hitting him in the leg.
As if his hands were made of lead, Marcus managed to barely pull his shorts up, then his arms dropped. “Fuuu….” He didn’t get the rest of the word out.
His eyes rolled back in his head, his body tilted sideways, and he started convulsing before he hit the pavement
“Marcus,” I screamed.
The girl scrambled backward on all fours as I rushed to him. His chest flopping like a fish, I grabbed his head. “Call 911!”
“Fuck this shit!” She got up and ran.
Foamy spit started coming out of his mouth.
“No, no, no,” I chanted, cradling his head in my lap. “Don’t you dare do this to me!”
THE STADIUM FILLING UP, Graham glaring at me, I kicked one of the drum cases. “Fuck.”
“Hold on.” Myles looked up from whatever fucking conversation he was having on his cell. “You’re playing tonight. Get the fuck over it and man up.” He went back to his conversation.
Graham smirked.
Aaron groaned from the far corner as the three groupies he was with giggled.
I called my backup drummer again and again, but he didn’t answer. I sent him another text to call me ASAP.
“She dying?”
I snapped my head up and glared at Graham. “What the fuck did you say?”
“I didn’t say shit. I asked a fucking question. Is. She. Dying?”
“Fuck you, Allen.”
“Simple fucking question, Stark.”
“No goddamn it!” I threw my hands up. “She’s not fucking dying.” But her brother could be for all I knew.
Graham stood and got in my face, but for the first time ever, he dropped the sinister scowl he usually wore. “Take a fucking breath, then play the show, book a flight, and get the fuck out of here.”
“My backup’s not answering.”
He raised his eyebrows like he was calling me out. “She important?”
Fuck. She was everything, and the past eight days were killing me. My hand fisted, I held my right arm up. “E-L-M. Elyssia Lauren Maher. She’s more than important.”
Inked all to hell, Graham nodded because he got it. “Then we’ll handle it. Book a fucking flight.” He sat back down and pulled his phone out, which he rarely did.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
Graham didn’t look up. “Texting the drummer from Myles’s father’s band.”
Myles’s parents had died in a car crash when he was in high school, but the jazz band his father had started still toured and put out albums. “He plays jazz,” I pointed out.
“He can play anything because he’s that fucking good.”
“How do you know?” I wasn’t getting my hopes up yet.
Graham picked his head up and eyed me. For a second, he looked like he wasn’t going to say shit. Then he opened his mouth and shocked the fuck out of me. “Because I used to play with that band.”
If I wasn’t so fucking out of my mind with worry, my jaw would’ve dropped. Shaved head, inked everywhere, and a hostile attitude to match, Graham was the last person I would’ve ever expected to play in a jazz band, let alone a Latin jazz band.
“Blink, motherfucker,” Graham snapped.
I blinked.
Graham went back to texting. “Just book your fucking flight, Stark.”
TEARS STREAMING DOWN MY face, my hands shaking, I dropped my phone twice before my fingers clutched around it.
I swiped to dial and had hit the nine when the back door of the gym flew open.
“Dios mio.”
Marcus convulsed again, and I dropped my phone.
A guy in all black I’d never seen before dropped to a squat next to us. “What’d he take?” He grabbed Marcus’s shoulders and turned him to his side.
“Careful!” I reached for my phone. “He’s got a head injury. He needs an ambulance!” Desperate, terrified, I tried to hold on to Marcus’s head as I scrambled for my phone and started dialing again.
“This isn’t a head injury.” The guy in black snatched my phone out of my hand and tossed it a couple feet away. “Hold his head sideways.”
I freaked out. “Oh my God, stop! What are you doing? Call 911! He’s dying! Give me my phone!”
His hand covered mine. “Hold him, chica.” He brought his own phone to his ear and started speaking in Spanish.
Marcus’s chest lurched, and he threw up. The smell of vomit filled my nostrils as a gurgling sound wheezed out of his chest. “Marcus!” Oh my God. “Open your eyes.” I shook him.
“Easy, chica, easy,” the man warned.
A black SUV came down the alley and slammed on the brakes three feet from us.
The man gently pushed me aside. “Let me get him up.”
Realization hit and I really panicked. “No!” I grabbed the guy’s arm as two more men jumped out of the SUV. “What are you doing? You can’t take him. He needs to go to the hospital!”
The three of them lifted Marcus and slid him into the back seat like they’d done this a thousand times. I snatched my phone and stood.
The one who’d called me chica turned to me. “We are taking him to the hospital, Elyssia. We’ll get him there faster than an ambulance can. Give me your keys.” He held his hand out.
I momentarily stilled. “How do you know my name?”
“My name is André Luna. I own a personal
security firm, Luna and Associates. I’m friends with Neil Christensen and Talon Talerco, but Mr. Stark sent me. Get in the SUV with your brother, and we’ll take him to the hospital. But first give me your keys so one of my men can bring your car.”
Not sure if I was relieved or angry anymore at Ben, I shoved my keys at André Luna and jumped in next to Marcus.
A half second later, André got in the passenger seat and barked an order to the guy behind the wheel. “Miami VA.”
“Copy,” the driver answered.
André turned in his seat and reached back, putting two fingers on the side of Marcus’s neck.
Holding Marcus’s head in my lap, I started rocking.
Andre’s hand curled around my shoulder. “He’s gonna be okay.”
“You don’t know that.” Tears started to fall down my cheeks.
“We’re not gonna let him die, chica.”
I registered the efficient mannerisms of André and the crisp answer the driver had given him. “You’re former military.”
“Yes, ma’am. Marines.”
I pushed Marcus’s sweaty hair off his forehead. He’d stopped convulsing but something was very, very wrong. “How do you know it’s not a head injury?” Seeing him this close, the bruising and swelling were even worse.
“He’s OD’ing.”
Oh God. I begged them to drive faster. “Please, hurry.”
The driver sped through the city streets and Miami traffic like he was a race car driver. We got to the hospital in minutes, then everything became a blur. Doctors, nurses, questions. I rattled off the answers I knew from years of repeating them. The two other men who’d been in the SUV disappeared, but André quietly stood by my side. When they ushered me into a waiting room, promising a doctor would come talk to me soon, André followed.
I looked up at his kind brown eyes. “How do you know Ben?”
“I don’t. I know Neil Christensen.”
Of course, the military connection. I nodded.
“You want me to get you some clean clothes?”
I looked down at my flip-flops, leggings, and sports bra. There was vomit on my pants, and suddenly, I was cold. “Yes, please.”
André pulled his phone out and sent off a text. A few seconds later, the driver appeared in front of us and André spoke rapidly to him in Spanish.