Cruz (Diablo's Throne MMA)

by H. J. Bellus

  “I was there,” she stutters out. “I saw it. I couldn’t stop it. I should have…”

  I drop Boss, tossing his unsteady frame to the side and advance on Layla’s mom. She’s a smart woman, backing up until she has nowhere to go. I don’t think. I react.

  My hand wraps around her neck, her body weight is nothing to lift up off the ground, and my fingers begin to apply pressure around her windpipe.

  “You have three fucking seconds before I snap your neck.”

  “Ash.” It comes out in a rush. “His dad has been doing everything he can to get you to lose, even bringing me back to town. When that didn’t work, Ash attacked her. He took it too far. I saw it but was too scared to do anything. I had to play that part.”

  I let her fall to the ground, not even caring as she crumples like a napkin while continuing to rattle on.

  “His dad told him to stop, but his jealousy trumped it all.”

  I bend down, lifting her chin up with my pointer finger until she looks me in the eye.

  “If anything happens to her, I’ll snap your neck. Do you hear me? You are her fucking mother and watched this happen? One thing you better remember about me is that I always make good on my promises, bitch.”

  I stand back up and walk out of the hospital. The echoing sound of footsteps trail behind me. I hear my name but ignore it. Jag is at my side by the time I’m at his truck with no goddamn keys.

  “Don’t,” he warns.

  “I’ll knock your fucking lights out, Jag. Keys,” I growl.

  “Cru-” He doesn’t get the last sound out before my fist careens into his jawline. It’s the money shot, laying him out cold on the pavement. I feel no remorse as I dig around in his pockets. Once I find his keys I waste no time speeding to Titan’s Tribe gym. The road ahead of me never comes into focus. I shouldn’t be driving just the same as that sick motherfucker shouldn’t be taking in oxygen.

  I hop from the truck, not bothering to shut the door, and burst into the gym.

  “You!” I point my finger at Ash.

  Shelby jumps from his lap and the only other person in the gym, his father, strides toward me.

  “She told you about our baby, eh?” Ash jerks his chin at me.

  “Today is the day you are going to die, motherfucker.” I clench my fists at my sides, anger boiling up inside of me. The intensity of it is something I’ve never experienced in my life.

  “Get out, or I’ll call the cops,” Ash chides.

  “Go for it, motherfucker. Might be the only way you come out of this alive is if they get here before I kill you.” I lunge forward, missing Shelby by millimeters. The first blow to Ash’s face catches him off guard. The fucker really thought I was here just to have words.

  His dad and Shelby raise all sorts of hell hollering in the background. I catch sight of his bloody knuckles. I see red. The prick didn’t even have the decency to wash his motherfucking hands. Ash tries to fool me with a kick, but I dodge it and show him how it’s really done, sweeping my leg out and taking him down. I jump on him, straddling him, raining punch after punch to his pretty boy face. The sound of bones crunching and the feel of warm blood coating my knuckles does nothing to calm the storm inside of me. It fuels me.

  As much hell as I’m pouring down on Ash he somehow gets a few jabs into my ribs. I ignore it until the end of a gun is pressed against my temple.

  “Get the fuck off my son,” Ash’s dad growls.

  I freeze but don’t move. “Fuck you.”

  “You have one more chance before I fire this gun and your brains dirty my mats.” He pushes the gun deeper.

  “You both are sick motherfuckers. Her mom told us everything.”

  This gets a reaction from the asshole holding the gun to my temple. My life doesn’t flash before my eyes. Nothing does. Layla is in a hospital bed fighting for her goddamn life. The gun to my head is the least of my worries.

  I pull my fist back and send it down to Ash’s face. I’ve never moved so fast and with such force before. One final snap of the bones in his face or neck shrill through the gym. The gun at my head trembles. I hear a roar, some commotion, then nothing but the sound of the gun firing.

  Chapter 24

  Layla

  “Go, baby, girl. Go.”

  Abuela’s voice sings out in Spanish. Her words wrap around me like a warm, fuzzy blanket on a cold winter day. I hear her but can’t see her. I take two more steps in the darkness. Her voice is growing more and more faint. I reach out a hand, struggling to find her in the darkness. Nothing.

  “Layla.” A new voice breaks into my search.

  It’s not hers. I ignore it, continuing to reach out my hand only to grab onto nothing.

  “Layla.”

  This time my shoulders shudder. I drop to my knees. No solid surface meets them. I’m floating in thin air. Abuela’s voice is now long gone.

  “Layla.” My shoulders tremble again. “Wake up. Baby girl, please wake up.”

  My eyelids flutter open for a brief second. The light is blinding. I try it over and over again. It’s too bright.

  “There you go. Open your eyes, baby girl. Jag, go get a nurse.”

  Papi. I fight to speak his name. It catches deep in my throat, not even growing close to my lips. I become more and more frustrated trying to get my eyes and mouth to work. All the while Papi coos words of encouragement in my ear. He chants it over and over until it finally does the trick.

  My eyes flutter open. The light is still blinding and piercing the back of my skull with sharp pain. I fight through it until my vision adjusts. I look to the left to see Jag running his hands through his hair. The long ends on the top are standing up and his tired eyes are focused on me. I turn to the other side to see Papi hovering over an unfamiliar face. I’ve never seen him with so much pain on his features. Not even at Abuela’s funeral or the day she died.

  I focus back in on the woman I don’t know. It takes me a long while to figure out she’s a nurse from the name badge dangling off her shirt. Then my vision darts to the machines, the tubes trailing out of my skin, and the scratchy blankets on top of me. It all comes back with a brutal punch to my gut.

  Ash. The alley. His fist. My mom. The pain. All in the name of jealousy.

  “I’ll go get the doctor.” The nurse pats my shoulder with ease yet it feels like she shook me.

  Everything inside of me hurts and aches as if I’ve been split wide open. The nurse turns and walks away. Papi fills her spot before I can blink or process another thought. I struggle to gulp. My throat is so dry and raw I grab it out of instinct. The tubes anchored to my veins with a needle tug but I don’t feel anything. I need water.

  I squeeze my hand around my throat and manage to get out a sputter of a cough.

  “Here.” Jag picks up a large mug from the table next to my bed. “They said you could have some ice chips when you wake up.”

  I reach for the ice cube melting between Jag’s fingertips. They won’t move the way I want them to. I try over and over growing into a state of panic.

  “Calm down, Layla, we’ve got you.” Jag places the ice cube to my lips. “You’re just waking up. You are going to be okay.”

  The freezing cold cube melts immediately against my lips. It begins watering my parched mouth. I gesture for more. Jag gives me another and warns me about taking it slow. For no reason at all, I reach up to my face. My fingers run along raised skin and twisted string running down my jawline.

  “Easy, baby.” Papi grabs my hand tugging it to his chest. “It’s just stitches.”

  “C-r-u-” Each sound is labored as I get it out. I’m interrupted, unable to try to speak his name again.

  A team of people enters the room. Their blue scrubs and name badges give them away as nurses and doctors. I focus on one, trying to nod or shake my head at all his questions. A burst of air hits my abdomen causing me to flinch and look up. A nurse has my gown flipped back then an instrument is on my lower belly.

  I flinch hard, f
inally finding my voice. It doesn’t come out strong and steady yet more of a wavering, scattered mess.

  “Wh-what are…don’t touch me!”

  “Layla.” I hear Dad’s voice in the background.

  “Don’t touch me.” I try again.

  Their hands don’t leave my skin. They’re in a place I hate. I’m taken back to that time. My brain grows foggy remembering it all, including every single ounce of pain and agony. My vision begins to fade. I hear Abuela’s voice again. She’s right in my ear whispering her support in Spanish.

  “Layla, you have to push.” Her hand goes to my forehead. “You got this, baby girl.”

  “She’s dead,” I whisper over and over again.

  “She’s gone home to her Father. You have to push. You can do this.”

  I glance over to my father who is holding my other hand and has his own tears falling down his face.

  “She’s dead,” I repeat over and over again until the whole horrible nightmare is over.

  My vision goes dark again then fades to vibrant color. I’m holding my baby girl in my arms. I hold her for hours when I’m supposed to be on spring break vacation in Cabo. Even through the gut-wrenching sorrow I know I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else as I run my finger through her thick dark hair.

  I open my eyes with no idea how much time has passed. The room is calm, unlike my last memory. I move my head to see Jag crumpled up in a small chair. His large body overpowers the piece of furniture. I don’t miss the shiner on his eye. It’s a brutal one with all sorts of dark colors filling the area. I creep up in the bed not wanting to wake the sleeping beast.

  My efforts are worthless. Every limb is sluggish and sore. It feels like my core is cemented in the bed. I turn my head the other way and see Papi stirring awake. He catches me looking at him and is up and on his feet in a matter of seconds.

  “Baby,” he whispers, wiping my hair back from my forehead. “How are you feeling?”

  “Like shit,” I squeak out.

  “I’m going to get a nurse.”

  I grab his forearm before he has a chance to turn. “No.”

  He freezes staring down at me.

  “Cruz.” I manage to get out his name. The single word flowing easily. I keep talking. “What happened? Why am I here?”

  “You don’t remember?”

  My brow furrows because I do remember slices of time. “The bank, tamales, the alley…”

  The last word dies off on my tongue. I remember what happened. It seems so far from reality I have to hear it from someone else.

  “Your mom showed up after they took you into surgery.”

  “She was there,” I interrupted him, my voice loud and terrified.

  Jag jumps up from his chair and is at my side.

  “You’re safe here, baby. We are not leaving your side.”

  “Cruz?” I ask again, insistent on damn answers.

  Why isn’t he here? Then two words reverberate in my head. The baby. Ash’s threat as he beat me down. He finally succeeded in doing it.

  “He went after him,” Jag admitted.

  Dad clears his throat in warning.

  “No, she needs to know, Boss. Enough with secrets. She needs to know everything.” Jag puts extra emphasis on the last word.

  I watch Dad drop his head and mutter in Spanish. I can’t make out one word.

  “You do it or I will,” Jag threatens.

  “Enough,” Dad hisses quietly, his neck muscles flexing and fist clenching on the bed rail.

  “Dad?” My voice breaks on the final sound.

  “Cruz left as soon as he heard what your mom had to say.” He drops his head. “Knew he was going after Ash. Jag went after him, but Cruz knocked his ass out. Your mom beat all of us to it and called the cops.”

  “God, no,” I gasp, snapping my eyes shut.

  “He went to Titan’s,” Jag continues. I look over at him, not once have I ever seen him looked so pained. “He attacked Ash, beat him to near death. Ash is in a coma. Shit don’t look good.”

  “Cruz.” I melt back in the bed, feeling tears spill over.

  “Ash’s dad had a gun to his head when the cops got there.” Jag reaches down squeezing my hand. “It went off. Cruz was in the middle of throttling Ash and knocked the gun loose. He wasn’t shot, but he’s in jail refusing to be bailed out.”

  Jag takes a long inhale. The room falls silent. Not a single word is spoken for long minutes. I do my best to digest it all through my hazy, slow-working brain. The empire has fallen and this time with no promise of building its foundation up again. It along with my life lies at my feet in shambles.

  Someone clears their throat, and we all look in the direction of the door. The last person I want to see stands only feet away from me. Before I have a chance to get a word out, she speaks first.

  “He’s here.” She tucks her hands in her pockets. “I bailed him out, giving him no option. He doesn’t know.”

  My mom dips her chin to her chest and walks right back out. Ironic—it’s what she does best.

  “He doesn’t know what? And who?” I ask, scrambling to make sense of something fucking happening right before me.

  Then his large frame walks into my room. Cruz runs both of his hands over his head. He looks like he should be the one in a hospital bed. He looks like hell. Dark lines embedded under his eyes are swollen and bloodshot. It appears as if sleep hasn’t been his friend in a long time.

  “Cruz.” His name floats in the air.

  “Layla.” He glances at me, realizing I’m awake. He makes it to my side in three long strides pushing Jag out of the way. “Baby, oh my God, you are awake.”

  He’s awkward as he puts his hands on me, not knowing where he can touch me without hurting me. I bring them down to my chest and hold them there. I run the pads of my fingers over the crusted scabs on his knuckles. My first instinct is to be pissed off at him for ruining his chances at the championship this year, or hell, maybe even his entire fighting career. But it never happens. An intense love overwhelms feeling the wounds.

  “Thank you,” I whisper.

  “Layla.” He bends down lightly kissing my forehead. “I thought you were dead. I couldn’t cope.”

  “You punched Jag!” I struggle to offer him a smile.

  A smile of his own edges at the corner of his mouth. “I did.”

  “Layla.” Jag stands at the foot of my bed. “Tell him everything now.”

  I bite my bottom lip and squeeze Cruz’s hand when he stiffens into a protective mode then nod. I don’t sugarcoat it. I can’t. I have to get it out, or it will never happen.

  “I got pregnant my freshman year of college. It was Ash’s. His family demanded I get an abortion. I refused. Papi and Abuela agreed with my choice. I was going to put the baby up for adoption. Ash wasn’t happy about it but accepted it. Everything was going fine since we were at the community college here in town and I had my family close for support. I went into labor when I was six months along. The baby was stillborn.” The rest of the words clog deep in my chest.

  Cruz doesn’t say a word. He continues to keep his hands pressed against my chest. There’s nothing but empathy on his face. Not one single ounce of disgust or disappointment.

  “I managed to go back to college. Thought life was going to be okay and eventually go back to normal then I walked in on Ash and Shelby. It was my breaking point. I ran.”

  “Thank you,” he whispers, leaning over the bed and running his lips over my cracked and hurt ones.

  “Cruz, I’m sorry.” I cling to his t-shirt.

  “Don’t. It’s over.” He runs his lips back over mine. “He will never hurt you again.”

  “You ruined your…”

  “Don’t even. It’s over.”

  Chapter 25

  Cruz

  The tension in the room eases up after a few beats of time. I keep my hand on her chest to remember the tempo of her beating heart. I want nothing more than to scoop her up out of this bed and
hold her to me.

  It’s her beaten body that stops me from doing that. Her mom filled me in on the way over here. She insisted on bailing me out after my adamant refusal. It was her telling me that Layla needed me when she woke up. She reminded me all about Layla’s abandonment issues caused by her. I caved. She filled me on in Layla’s injuries—a broken rib, a concussion, bruised liver, internal bleeding that had been controlled, and lots of stitches.

  After hearing about her past, I grow angry on the inside not letting any of it spill out. I should have killed that motherfucker, to hell with hurting him. The man doesn’t deserve to live.

  Boss walks over to my side and pats my shoulder. He can sense the glowing fiery ember of anger brewing inside of me. It’s a gentle reminder to focus on the now just like I told Layla. It’s time to digest my own words.

  “There’s more.” Jag taps the bottom of the bed.

  “Jesus.” Boss runs a hand over his disheveled hair. “Enough Jag. Out of all the men in the world and it has to be you acting like Dr. Phil right now?”

  It was meant as a joke. Jag doesn’t take it that way. The veins in his neck flex and his jaw clenches.

  “This is my family.” He slams his hand back on the wall. His eye is black and swollen at the edges. “I will no longer watch you all destroy yourselves and everyone else in your wake. You say it or I will.”

  He stares down Boss. Layla and I bounce back and forth between the two of them, having no clue what he is referencing. She squeezes my hand letting me know just that.

  Boss remains quiet. Jag makes good on his promise. He rounds the end of the bed making his way to the other side. He places his hand over ours.

  “I’m going to be an uncle.”

  Layla scrunches her brows in confusion. I tilt my head. Jag repeats the phrase. Layla gasps, her entire body beginning to quake under my touch. I panic.