CUL-DE-SAC (On The Edge Book 1)

by YILDIRIM, M. E.

  “I don’t know what I would have done without you,” she admitted.

  “I would hope you found a way to end this unpleasant conversation with her. Preferably, by throwing the remains of your champagne in her perfect, impassive face.” Chloé suggested.

  Catalina laughed, not able to smother the need any longer, knowing that was her friend’s intent all along. Maybe she didn’t have many friends, but those she considered close were priceless to her.

  “That is highly unlikely, but imagining it might help me next time,” she said because they both knew the next time was going to happen soon enough.

  “Better tell me who that was!” Chloé leaned in closer and Cat thought they must look like conspirators.

  The way she said it made it perfectly clear who she meant, yet Catalina decided to tease her about it. Chloé used this tone of voice only when she was talking about men.

  “You have to be a tad more specific darling; there are so many people in here after all.” She smiled innocently at her, but Chloé snorted, knowing better than to believe in her guilelessness.

  “Please. As true as that is, you have to admit nobody here looks quite like him.” She pointed out and Cat had to agree.

  Xan’s watchfulness was just one of the qualities picking him out of the crowd along with tension rolling off his body. She could recognize restlessness in someone else, often experiencing the sensation herself, even though she suspected they had quite different reasons for the state.

  He seemed wound up on the inside but she was used to recognizing divergence between what was on the surface and what happened underneath it on a level where eyes couldn’t reach.

  “He was somebody I will work on convincing to become my model.” Catalina told her.

  “I am sure I will speak in the name of all women when I say I hope you will achieve it. Just imagine how his body looks without the suit.” Chloé sighed and Cat wanted to do the same, but for different reasons because she knew exactly how.

  She remembered well how her camera translated the sinew, the tattoos and wished to get his consent this time, able to imagine what more she could obtain if the cooperation between them would take place.

  “I will do my best.” She promised.

  “And Cat… I hope you will take me with you the next time you go to watch his fight.” Chloé purred and Catalina nearly choked.

  Then she saw her friend’s gaze sliding down to the small gift bag she still held in her hand and it became obvious Chloé connected all the dots.

  Luckily nobody else knew what had occurred between her and Xan so far, so his identity was still intact, she thought. Besides, she knew exactly nothing when it came to him so his secret was safe.

  “I will,” she winked at Chloé, deciding to find a waiter and help herself to another glass of champagne.

  It felt well deserved tonight.

  ***

  It was a few hours later when she finally found herself alone back at her apartment, although it felt like forever, Catalina admitted.

  Silence overfilling her home was so complete at first it felt more painful than relaxing. She slipped off the heels and her feet nearly sighed in relief.

  It was another aspect of life in a spotlight she was not fond of.

  She much preferred a pair of comfortable sneakers and being on the other side of a camera. People always assumed that someone who stayed on the outskirts of the real life was either faint-hearted or dim.

  She was neither, calling it wariness and the right to privacy instead. It gave a person a great opportunity to observe and learn. A camera was her way of communicating with the outside world where words too often felt useless and incapable of expressing reality properly. No matter how little her reasons meant to her grandmother. Catalina shook her head, not wanting Florence’s hurtful words to haunt her again in her own home and after as exhausting an evening as she had tonight.

  She let the dress pool around her ankles and stepped out of it, leaving it where it lay. It was an indulgence on her part, a small manifestation of her riot; after all she had been taught since childhood that everything had its place.

  Everything and everybody.

  Then where was hers? She wanted to know.

  According to Florence, she should have found a suitable man some time ago already, married him and limited herself to chair a committee like her grandmother had, and apparently a long list of women in their family before that.

  The problem was Catalina didn’t feel any kind of kinship with them, didn’t want to follow in somebody’s footsteps. She wanted to take her own path since she was but a girl, even though to Florence it equaled going astray. She sighed, frustrated to no end.

  Her gaze landed on the Nikon that Xan had given her and her thoughts returned to him one more time.

  His presence in the gallery was still puzzling to her. Maybe even more so when she thought about all the implications she was unable to spot right away, too astounded to see things clearly.

  No matter from which angle she kept looking at it, Catalina couldn’t perceive any way in which he could gain anything from making an appearance at the event. Perhaps it was yet another confirmation of his devil-may-care attitude, since he chanced a possibility of someone guessing his identity the way Chloé did.

  For some reason, she couldn’t picture him being so selfless and so completely at odds with the face he had presented to her that night at the Cul-de-sac or in the café few days after that.

  It was thumping all that she thought about him so far and she hated to be wrong about people since so many of them had false assumptions about her.

  She was convinced he resented her for taking pictures of him, his fight and his… world. He didn’t say anything to deny or confirm that, which confused her anew.

  Catalina’s life hadn’t forced her to participate in many confrontations so far. Her world oscillated between telling half lies to people’s faces or omitting the truth altogether.

  Which basically was one and the same.

  But she didn’t think Xan was the kind to allow many things to slip without a final solution. Now why did she find it refreshing?

  She wondered was he as much surprised as she was when she agreed to have dinner with him. It sounded to her like his question was dictated by the spur-of-the-moment and not something planned earlier but she could only guess. One way or another it didn’t make a difference to her. She really hoped she could convince him to a session or two.

  Chloé was right, she thought.

  There was not even one man in the gallery tonight who looked quite like him. It was not that he didn’t fit in there; his suit was perfectly tailored and on the surface he seemed just like any other polished male might.

  The difference was in the way he moved, in his eyes.

  The watchfulness, the readiness to face whatever might come next, as if the exhibition was as much of a danger zone as his ring was. She couldn’t imagine life on the edge but supposed it could be addicting.

  The way he turned his back on the photograph portraying him without any further preamble made it perfectly clear he hadn’t come there to admire her work and wasn’t particularly worried about the aftermath of them being displayed like that.

  Their past… rendezvous were a far cry from typical or even friendly for that matter, but he did seek her out tonight. He apologized and tried to replace something close to her heart. And she could as well be honest with herself and admit she was curious about him.

  She wanted to learn what the shadows in his eyes concealed.

  CHAPTER 12

  Xan felt like time spun out of his control, throwing him back to years long passed when living at the back of the club was his only reality. People thought they could pop in whenever they felt like it and nobody waited for an invitation.

  Maybe twelve or thirteen years ago, he was more social and it didn’t bother him. He really couldn’t recall, but whatever the past was it was done and his present was a completely different story.<
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  Having some time alone was not only his preference; it was also a must, especially before a fight.

  Like now, he thought, gritting his teeth, but there were six people in his room and everyone tried to talk at the same time. His focus was shot and a muscle ticking in his jaw was a clear indication his temper was going to ignite any moment now.

  Not that anyone seemed to care.

  He didn’t need any of it, wished he could keep the rising anger within for the fight awaiting him, because his gut was telling him that he was going to need it.

  Tonight’s opponent’s nickname was The Wall and they said it was due to the fact his fighting skills and defenses were impenetrable like one.

  That might be, Xan thought, but nobody knew for sure since whoever dared to ask the guy how it came to be ended up with some kind of injury.

  The fighter liked to break bones and not only on the ring, it seemed.

  None of it bode particularly well for him, Xan decided, wondering how it was possible he had never heard about the guy in the first place. There was no way a fighter like that could stay off the radar and his reputation wouldn’t precede him.

  It was simply unheard of.

  Tony had no info either, and the only time Tony didn’t know someone or at least hear about them meant the person didn’t exist or didn’t matter, which basically meant the same, Xan concluded.

  Here he was, twenty minutes before his fight, not sure what to expect and not able to focus anyway.

  He should have kicked their asses out of his personal space to breathe. Or find another place for himself instead. Hell, rent a fucking room in a hotel for that matter. Then why was he torturing himself like that?

  His cell vibrated indicating a received message and an involuntary smile pulled at his lips.

  He had called Catalina earlier that day, but she was running late and promised to text him her address later.

  He thought it nothing more than a polite excuse on her part, not really surprised much. People like them had nothing in common and if it hadn’t been for a coincidence, they would have never met in the first place.

  He was disbelieving when she agreed to see him again and even more so now after the message.

  In his world, nothing had more value than a person’s word, especially considering how often it was being violated. He liked that she kept her word, but then, she seemed pretty determined to him from the first moment he had laid his eyes on her.

  His lips quirked at the corners when he thought that whatever their meeting would bring, he didn’t think it was going to be boring.

  He looked forward to it.

  “It’s time man,” the club’s bouncer called out and Xan dropped the cell onto his unmade bed.

  He didn’t bother himself with things like that. Not now and not here anyway, since he still couldn’t shake off the feeling of being back to exactly where he had started. It was more than a disconcerting thought.

  He would have probably been dead without Tony and Cul-de-sac, or rotting in jail like his father, and Xan was the first one to admit it.

  But he worked too hard to get where he was and there was no going back.

  Not going back and no backing down, he thought.

  “Out!” He ordered roughly and people jumped to their feet.

  Vultures, he thought.

  They were already able to scent the blood of the defeated before the fight could even start. He didn’t delude himself in believing that they would cry their eyes out if he were the one to lose.

  It was all about winners, nobody ever remembered those who ended up conquered. ‘The king is dead, long live the king’ was still valid, no matter how much of a cliché it was at the same time.

  Xan left his room, passing through the back of the club, and walked toward the ring. It was a well known route he could take with his eyes closed, no matter the crowd trying to get in his way, always wanting to gain as much personal contact with the bloody sport as possible.

  He gave his opponent a once-over, knowing he was being assessed in a similar way.

  The Wall seemed taller and heavier than him, which might mean he was slower but it was not a rule and Xan couldn’t discredit anything before seeing the guy in action.

  He was covered with ink from head to toe, making Xan’s tats seem like child’s play. That didn’t mean anything either, but he thought that the one on the dude’s left cheek must have hurt like a bitch.

  He shrugged inwardly because personal preferences of the fighter were not his problem unless The Wall was into pain and it didn’t matter he was on the receiving end of it or was inflicting it on others. However, judging by the stories about broken bones, Xan assumed the guy more than enjoyed the latter.

  Xan stepped into the ring and the crowd went wild.

  From the corner of his eye, he noticed the audience was truly impressive tonight and he wondered how many came following the other fighter. In the end it didn’t really matter but it felt as if every next event attracted more and more people.

  As much as Xan could understand it since he enjoyed MMA1 himself, he knew most came to see blood and misery and to cheer the victor, of course. But maybe only a few could really grasp what the sport was all about.

  It wasn’t as simple as kicking ass and getting paid.

  It was about focus and self-control, something he was struggling with on daily basis but hoped to achieve eventually. He didn’t think anyone would believe him, Tony would definitely laugh his ass off hearing that, but Xan didn’t need anyone’s approval. He had his reasons and had no wish to give any kind of explanation.

  People rarely cared for the truth anyway, choosing what felt closest and suited themselves the best at any given situation.

  He looked straight into his opponent’s gray eyes and for a moment he thought he saw maliciousness in their depths, but then the man blinked and there was nothing but indifference in them.

  They bumped their fists and for the first time since forever, it wasn’t Xan who struck the first.

  As The Wall threw the punch, instinct forced Xan to use his left forearm to block it, bringing his right hand down to his hip. He stepped forward with his left foot at the same time, bending it at the knee. He struck with his right hand at his opponent’s plexus, leaning into the strike to gain extra momentum. The guy’s groan was his reward, but he didn’t budge.

  Well shit, Xan thought, he wasn’t slow and he seemed impenetrable as a fucking wall indeed.

  The other man smirked at him and struck with a right-handed straight punch stepping forward a bit and forcing Xan to back down, but Xan used a right-handed high parry to block the move. The Wall struck with a left-handed straight punch for a change and Xan blocked him like the previous time, still limiting himself to defending rather than attacking, assessing his rival’s strengths and weaknesses.

  The Wall was not interested in waiting but overpowering him as soon as possible and winning the fight. He struck with a right one step front snap kick, immediately blocked by Xan with a right-handed low parry. Xan kept blocking his punches with his forearms, but couldn’t see any fault in his opponent’s skills.

  Enough, he finally decided and stepped forward with his left foot closing the distance between them, ready for a throw. He blocked yet another blow, twisting counterclockwise on the ball of his left foot and placing his right arm behind the guy’s back.

  Xan bent his knees slightly, leaning forward and pulling The Wall onto his back. Before his opponent could react, he straightened his legs, lifting him off the ground. He took his head down to his right knee, throwing The Wall off his back and finishing the throw with a straight punch.

  He could have finished the fight with a few strikes like that and be done with it, he thought. But he wanted to see the mettle of his rival, so he let him go and was not surprised when the guy came back swinging at him not more than a second later.

  His counterattack was based on a deep front kick into Xan’s stomach. He had to admit it was a good mo
ve on his opponent’s part because unlike many kicks, the front kick didn’t lose potency at close range.

  Xan lunged in and the kick caught him only half extended, but he still ended up receiving a jarring impact. The follow-through managed to drive him backward and the air whooshed out of his lungs. Before he could grab his leg, The Wall retracted it and struck again, not giving Xan a chance to catch his breath.

  Wanting to prolong the fight was a fucking mistake, he thought, but now was too late to go back on this plan.

  The Wall aimed for Xan’s jaw next with a hammer fist and Xan understood the guy was going for a knockout.

  It wasn’t unexpected but it pissed him off instantly anyway and Xan saw red.

  A jaw was able to move sideways as well as forward and backward due to nerves attached where it connected with the skull, just beneath the base of the ear. These nerves sent out signals to the body’s nervous system making them the perfect target in order to induce an instantaneous knockout when struck properly.

  He would be damned if he allowed that to happen, especially on his own territory, Xan thought savagely.

  He couldn’t quite avoid the punch, but at the same he struck with his right palm heel at his attacker’s right shoulder. He pulled it down, placing his left hand under The Wall’s right arm. He twisted clockwise on the ball of his left foot, taking his right to the side so he was standing sideways to the guy.

  Xan put his left hand on top of his right one next until his rival’s arm was resting on his left shoulder. It ensured him a stable position and he saw no reason not to use it, so he struck with his knee and blood spurted from The Wall’s nose.

  It should have satisfied him, but the self-control he tried to work so hard on was a foreign concept to him at the moment so he used the advantage he had positioning himself at his opponent’s back.

  He wrapped one arm around The Wall’s neck, with his forearm pushing against one side of the neck and his bicep against the other. Xan’s other arm pushed against the back of his rival’s head.