“CUL-DE-SAC”
ON THE EDGE SERIES
BOOK 1
by M.E. YILDIRIM
cul-de-sac
noun
A street or passage closed at one end.
A route or course leading nowhere.
Copyright © M.E. YILDIRIM 2015
Cover Design by Gözdem Perrichet
Editing by Rebecca Parker
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All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except where permitted by law.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
The Edge
There is no honest way to
explain it because the only people
who really know where it is are the
ones who have gone over
Hunter S. Thompson
Sometimes feelings turn out to be the most lethal of adversaries.
He is known as Xan–an unapologetic king of an underground fighting arena who doesn't step out of the ring until a fight is over and won. Nothing matters to him as much as adding another victory to the tally. But who is Alexander Thorpe, the man behind the fierce stance, and what is he really fighting for? Brutal childhood and the rough reality of living on the streets create the perfect background for a relentless and merciless warrior, but is that really all there is to the man himself? Even winning can lose its appeal if a man doesn't know what is he really fighting for... or with whom?
“Perfect” is the word often used when it comes to Catalina Bennett, “privileged” is another. An entitled upbringing, private schools and extracurricular activities make for a flawless résumé, but they don't paint the whole picture of a person. As a photographer, she chooses to stand behind the camera, which is a perfect way of getting to know the world... without letting the world know her. Fostered by her grandmother after the loss of both parents at the tender age of ten, she is expected to bring nothing but honor to her family's name. Be nothing else than prim and proper, with no space left for her wants or needs.
But nothing can be denied forever.
Two completely different worlds of two individuals collide during an accidental event. But does coincidence really exist or do things happen for a reason? Life is made of seemingly unrelated moments, fragmented memories and betrayals influencing the reality, no matter the class a person is from.
Sooner or later, suppressed emotions and desires demand their due…
“There were always in me, two women at least, one woman desperate and bewildered, who felt she was drowning and another who would leap into a scene, as upon a stage, conceal her true emotions because they were weaknesses, helplessness, despair, and present to the world only a smile, an eagerness, curiosity, enthusiasm, interest.”
Anaïs Nin
“It’s just that sometimes I forget I don’t have to be perfect. I just have to be.”
Marianna Paige
“In a fight, your doubt is a target of enemy's attack.”
Toba Beta, Betelgeuse Incident: Insiden Bait Al-Jauza
“It's strange, but once you learn to fight, you seem to attract enemies...Sooner or later, those who master the art of combat must end up fighting.”
Nahoko Uehashi, Moribito: Guardian of the Spirit
Table of Contents
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
CHAPTER 38
CHAPTER 39
CHAPTER 40
CHAPTER 41
CHAPTER 42
CHAPTER 43
CHAPTER 44
CHAPTER 45
CHAPTER 46
CHAPTER 47
CHAPTER 48
CHAPTER 49
CHAPTER 50
CHAPTER 51
CHAPTER 52
CHAPTER 53
EPILOGUE
PROLOGUE
Blood was everywhere.
Vivid crimson was making her stomach lurch. The metallic scent of it was exactly the same as when she scraped her knee when she was not careful enough.
But this was worse.
The smell was clogging her nose, her throat, like an invisible fist trying to choke the life out of her. The pain vibrating in her parents' bedroom didn't belong to her, yet she was hurting along.
There were screams.
Screams branded by such agony her young mind couldn't comprehend but would remember from this day on. The well-known voice of her mother was muffled and distorted in a way that was incomprehensible to her.
Bad things didn't happen in ten-year-old Catalina's life. Not truly bad anyway, and she was still hoping that this was nothing more than a nightmare. One she was going to wake up soon from and find herself in her daddy's strong arms.
But the next scream froze the blood in her veins and she knew that this time even her father was hopeless in the face of monsters that found their way into their home this summer night.
She wasn't even supposed to be here and wished–with the whole fervor only a child was capable of–that she had stayed in her own room, her own bed instead. But her stomach was acting up and she wanted her mother's care, her father's affection.
The sudden silence was eerie and even worse than the wails. Her own heartbeat sounded unnaturally loud in her ears and she was convinced they were going to hear it and come for her, to make her scream and beg as well.
The thought alone caused more tears to come and she wanted to crawl out from under the bed and run blindly ahead. But her mother's urgent demand that she stay put played in her mind along with her own promise she would follow it through. It was enough to keep her firmly in her place.
Bennetts didn't break their promises–was what her father had told her more than once and, above all else, Catalina wanted to make him proud.
She was torn between whispers of her heart's needs to join her family and the feeling of duty ingrained in her since her birth. The latter was about to lose when laughter split the silence, surrounding her with its inappropriateness, making her choke back a sob that was threatening to escape her.
The laughter sounded maniacal and filled with such glee it brought forth a memory of the clown in a circus her parents had taken her to, not long enough ago for the impression of it to fade away.
She wanted to cover her ears with her small hands,
just to hold the horrible sound at bay. But she couldn't force her clenched fist to move as if she were nothing but a puppet herself, devoid of its owner's masterful touch.
The next round of silence was prolonged and even more ominous, making her whimper like a wounded animal that the sinister events of this night had turned her into.
Something crashed nearby and Catalina jumped when a string of profanities erupted around her, but she stayed in her hideout.
She kept to it long after every sound subsided along with any sign of life in her no longer safe and happy home.
She was in the exact same position when the police found her twenty minutes later and the detective who arrived at the scene carried her from the dark to light again.
Carried her back to life.
It was the wild pitter-patter of her own heartbeat that brought her to the surface and she woke up in her bed, fourteen years after the fateful night.
She jolted upright, coming awake in a wave of pain too big to contain in her soul, in her body, even though it had grown over the years. The night's blackness and silence were unbroken by nothing but the wheezing sound that was her own labored breathing.
She reached blindly to the nightstand, trying to find the switch of the lamp she knew must be standing right there. No matter how insignificant the knowledge was it felt like a balm poured over her jagged insecurities and bottomless fear.
She sobbed in relief when a faint glow of light flooded her bedroom. The artificial illumination was a weak attempt at dispersing the darkness forever etched into her very being, but it was the only available weapon at her disposal.
It had been a while since Catalina found herself in this dream, but each time tore her apart, clawing at the wound that was never supposed to scab over.
In her sleep, she was locked back in the body of that helpless child she once was. Reliving the nightmare which split her life in half and marred her soul while her flesh remained intact.
The death of her parents.
It brought the end of her childhood, leaving her with just a few memories of the two people closest to her, ripped from her life and from the world too early. Memories that were fading, deepening the injustice of that brutal night.
Catalina rose to her feet, letting the cool silk of the sheet slide down her feverish body and pool on the floor with a soft rustle, a susurration of sound as audible as a whisper. Barefoot, she padded to the window, opening it wide to absorb the air and the lulling sound of the ocean.
But even waves were roaring furiously tonight, finding a similar rhythm to the wild pounding in her temples. It was as even nature itself denied to soothe her jaded senses. She breathed deeply and closed her eyes, but the bloody images refused to abate and let her be.
Wet sounds of blood, pleas and screams filled her ears once again, forcing her to witness it all over in this lifelong imprisonment she was in, while those responsible for the carnage had never been caught and sentenced for their crime. Would it change anything if they had? Not the outcome, she thought, never the outcome.
She shook her head slightly, as if trying to wake up from this haze anew and remind herself she was here.
Alive.
While those she had loved were long time gone.
A lonely, burning-hot tear slid down her cheek and she didn't try to stop it, allowing herself to cry. Secure in the knowledge there was nobody to witness her falling apart at the seams and coming undone. The perfect mask was cracking just to reveal her true and expressive face that nobody was allowed to see.
Ever.
It was easy to lose a sense of reality at three a.m. when morning was still too far away, she thought. Nightmares were shrouded in shadows, giving birth to monsters and those were as real to her as when she was a child.
The difference was, twenty-four-year-old Catalina knew that no figment of imagination could hold a candle to evil deeds only a human being was capable of.
CHAPTER 1
She was out of her depth, Catalina decided, when she found herself in a dark alley, long past after midnight. She should have rejected it the moment this job offer came through, yet she didn't. She wasn't exactly sure why that was, but now was a little too late to ponder all the reasons behind what resulted in her nearly instantaneous agreement.
Oh, she could still turn around and leave.
Go back to her comfortable life, writing herself off the assignment and nobody would berate her for it. But she worked hard to be known as a reliable person and reputation was one of the most important things in business.
While that was all an undeniable truth, it was not all there was to it. She simply refused to back down just because something was not easily attainable.
Underground fighting club wasn't.
It took her more than two weeks to find her way in and a significant part of the advance payment she got for this commission. However, she would have paid even more without so much as batting an eyelash because the instant she said yes all reason fled her, the need to witness tonight's event beating in some primal rhythm within her.
It was the same rhythm that had caused her problems on several occasions already, and was driving the wedge deeper between her and Florence Bennett, the sole remaining member of her family.
A sudden noise somewhere behind her caused her to swivel on her heel and reminded her of the purpose of her presence behind the nightclub.
Cul-de-sac was a well-known lounge in Santa Monica, California, built in a former warehouse with thick insulated walls and just a few windows so that the neighboring buildings were not disturbed by the powerful beat of the music.
Large platforms for dancing, intimate décor and DJs playing mixes people greatly enjoyed dancing to, were reasons why the club was sought and filled to capacity night after night. The luxurious design was inspired by the look and feel of a nineteenth century European bordello, bringing Santa Monica's nightlife to the next level.
Crowds of locals and tourists alike were flocking to the place every night. The establishment opened its door to all kinds of extravaganza.
Cat had been one of the patrons once or twice herself.
What she didn't know, until recently, was that there was another entrance leading to the underground part offering different kind of entertainment to those whose appetites ran much darker.
Her knowledge about fighting clubs was very basic at best, but even she was well aware this kind of bloody sport while not exactly illegal–wasn't sanctioned either. Some events were nearly spontaneous, dictated by spur-of-the-moment; others were well-planned and organized, guaranteeing a pretty nice income for those who were on top of this food chain.
The one she came to observe tonight belonged to the latter. She came to observe and perpetuate, she thought, while wrapping her fingers around the camera lying safely in the pocket of her light leather jacket.
She considered herself well informed and prepared for the job ahead of her, but nothing she had been imagining before came close to the reality of it when she passed a special entry key to the bouncer and was ushered inside.
People were pouring from every dark recess of the inside like some peculiar moths following the promise of the light. The whole place was vibrating from sounds, scents and heightened emotions brought in by participants and those who came just to observe like Catalina.
She wanted to register it all on her camera, already knowing from the experience that it would never be the same. Failure was almost a calculated factor, a part of the job of being a photographer, as much as the deep rooted need to try it time and time again regardless the outcome or previous disappointments.
Before tonight, her exuberant imagination was pushing at her images of a dark and dank place reminiscent of a dungeon, and some part of her expected to see exactly that. Yet the reality she found herself in couldn't be further from it, Cat decided.
The design of interior wasn't as opulent as the club above her head. There was no dance floor with laser lights illuminating it, but a fighting ri
ng rose in the middle instead with a few strategically placed spotlights above, giving it an edgy, somehow more sinister look.
While Cul-de-sac demanded upscale fashionable attire, frowning upon ripped or baggy jeans, its afterhours version was the complete opposite, bringing and accepting all kinds of wear together, because the determining factor for people wasn't their fashion taste but the interest revolving around thrills accompanying the fight sport.
Catalina was not sure where the place was for her in all of it, but she felt as if there were a big, fat neon sign above her head singling her out of the crowd, making it painfully clear she didn't belong to this place, between these people. The wild pounding of her heart was deafening to her senses, yet it was nothing but a background noise in all the commotion.
Cheering and chanting gained in strength turning into a wild roar when one of the fighters was making his way through the gathering, parting the mass of people with confidence which spoke volumes.
Cat was convinced that most people saw only purpose and maybe some dose of arrogance when they looked at him, yet her trained and detail greedy eyes caught some kind of indifference in his pace as well.
He seemed tall and dark haired but in the artificial light she couldn't be sure the exact shade of it. Most people were taking few cautious steps back when he was passing them by, some–the braver ones–were trying to pat him on the shoulder or gain his attention by other means, but there was no mistaking the look of awe in their gazes.
It was obvious he was a well known and apparently favored warrior.
Catalina had never really wondered about the type of people who chose to fight for any reason, be it money or some internal, ingrained need for brutality. However, she knew that from this moment on his face was going to come to her mind whenever she would consider this kind of hazardous sport. His face was an intriguing combination of harshness and savageness, even if to her he seemed strangely detached from the whole event he was obviously the main attraction of.
CUL-DE-SAC (On The Edge Book 1) Page 1