Silenced

by Leddy Harper

  My stomach rolled at the thought.

  But I complied anyway.

  Twenty-One

  Killian

  “What’s with the fucking compassion, Happy?” Cal stormed into my room with his hands on his hips, looking more like a pissed-off father than a man who’d taken me under his wing only a month ago.

  I dropped my sketchpad to my lap and released the pen from my grip. Irritation bubbled up at the thought of being interrupted before I had her image complete. It was the only time I found peace within the chaos—when I drew the lines of her face, the curve of her lips, the wide arches in her eyes. And now, as Cal stood before me in my private space, the contentment faded away.

  He grabbed the whiteboard off the dresser next to him and threw it at me. I glared at him and managed to catch it before it hit me in the face. He wouldn’t let up, and we both knew it. He’d demand answers from me until I gave them up.

  “You’re a fighter, Happy. The name of the game is to fight.”

  I pulled the cap off the dry erase marker and furiously wrote my reply.

  What’s your point?

  “My point?” His voice rose, growing stronger and deeper. “My point is you can’t show weakness, Happy. When you hesitate, not taking a shot when you have the chance, you’re showing the others when to strike. You’re giving them an in when there shouldn’t be one.”

  I wiped off the board and started again. I refuse to knock someone down who’s unprepared. It’s dirty and I won’t do it.

  Cal threw his head back and released a roaring laugh. “Then you’re in the wrong game, my man. The wrong game. There’s a winner and a loser. What side do you want to be on? Because with that mentality, I can promise you’ll end up on the wrong one.”

  I’ll win. My way.

  “And what way is that? Standing there and not doing a damn thing while your opponent throws a punch? Letting it connect with your face? What would’ve happened if his aim hadn’t been off?”

  I would’ve bled.

  “And you would’ve lost!”

  I leaned forward, gritting my teeth to refrain from screaming back at him.

  “Go ahead, Happy. Yell at me. Scream at me.”

  I shook my head in warning.

  “You think I don’t know? That I didn’t hear you talking behind that door tonight? I don’t know what your endgame is, why you came to me. And to be honest…I don’t really care. Whatever you’re hiding, that’s your deal. But you sought me out. For a reason—whatever it may be—and I can’t help you unless you start listening to me.”

  I grabbed the marker so tight in my hand I could’ve snapped it in half. The need to retaliate grew stronger until I almost broke the seal of silence and put him in his place. But with a deep breath, I calmed enough to write something down.

  I get in the ring because I have to. Not because I enjoy beating the shit out of people.

  “Why do you have to?” His tone had lowered, losing some of its bite.

  Without taking my eyes off his, I wrote down the three letters of my answer and held it up for him to see.

  Jag.

  “Because of the girl?”

  I nodded, not offering him anything else.

  “Come tomorrow night. If for nothing else than to study Jag. If your goal is to get him in the ring, that’ll only happen one way—you have to win every fight. And when you get there, you need to be prepared for him.”

  I am prepared. Don’t worry about that.

  Cal threw his hands up in defeat. “Whatever. Just come.”

  I shook my head and wrote out, Not gonna happen.

  “Why not? How can you possibly expect me to get you ready if you refuse to listen to anything I say outside of daily training…which you only do because, if not, the other guys might catch on.”

  I can’t see her with him. She’ll be there to watch him, and I can’t handle it.

  “Get the fuck over it, man. You’re acting like a creeper. You sit in here, drawing her face like some kind of stalker. Is that what this is? Did I get the wrong impression of you?”

  I glared at him, biting back my words.

  “Listen, I don’t care what you and this girl have together or if you end up winning her back. That’s none of my business. But if I’m putting her in harm’s way by getting you in that ring, by giving you the ultimate chance to take her back…I need to know. I refuse to do that.”

  She loves me.

  “Oh, yeah? Did she tell you that?”

  I chucked the whiteboard at him and growled.

  “That’s what I thought. Don’t make me regret taking you on, Hap. If you don’t wanna talk, fine. Don’t talk to me. I don’t need to hear you speak. What I need is to know I’m not being played. I need to know you’re in this for solid reasons. And then I need to see you win.”

  I closed my eyes and pulled in a full inhale. I blew the air past my lips then whispered, “The reasons are solid.” I couldn’t look at him while I said the words, and truth be told, I wouldn’t have even uttered them had I not lost my cool and threw the only thing I had to communicate.

  “So I’m just supposed to be okay with that answer?”

  I nodded and reclined back until I met the headboard.

  “Listen…I let you into my home. I’ve taken you into my club. I don’t do this for just anyone. And to be honest, I don’t know what it was about you that made me agree to it. I guess there was something in your story, in the way you sat in my office like a lost fucking boy. Whatever it was, I believed you. I believe you now. Don’t make me regret it.”

  No other words left my lips, nothing spelled out on paper. I stared at him, hoping he could see the sincerity in my eyes. He wouldn’t regret doing this for me. And neither would I. I had one goal when I came to him, one thing on my mind.

  Now I had two.

  And I wasn’t about to lose either one.

  When he left the room, I went back to Rylee’s face. I grew lost in each shadow, each detail of her likeness. Until I had her back—permanently—I’d continue to sketch her. Hell, I’d probably never stop, even after she was mine again. There was just something soothing, calming, about her. About her features. The love I saw in her eyes every time I looked into them, despite her reluctance to verbalize it. I didn’t need to hear the words to know they were true. To know she was mine.

  She was.

  Mine.

  “Knock, knock,” a soft, feminine voice came from the barely parted door. “Your gym clothes are clean.” Sophia, Cal’s wife, walked in with a laundry basket tucked beneath her arm. She dropped it on the bed but didn’t make any move to leave.

  I offered her a smile and nod. My gentle gesture of appreciation, as well as a subtle way of letting her know she could leave. I wasn’t in the mood for company. Not with Cal, especially not with Sophia, and most definitely not in my bedroom while I lay on my bed in nothing but track pants.

  “So…that girl you had over here…” She sat down next to me and peered over my arm to the paper in my lap. “She’s the girl, right? The reason you came here?”

  I flipped to a clean page and began to scribble my response. This was nothing new to her. I’d been here over a month, and she was quite familiar with how I communicated. Did Cal send you in here?

  Her airy giggle was sweet and gave me a sense of security. “You know him too well. Yes, he asked me to come talk to you. He’s worried. You can’t blame the guy. How would you feel if you took someone in, had their back, trusted them without reason…only to find out their secrets ran deeper than you imagined?”

  I take it he told you.

  “That you can talk but choose not to? Yes. He did. But he doesn’t know why, and even though he says he doesn’t care, I know he does. Not to mention, I care. Would you mind telling me why you live like this?”

  Like what? If she wanted answers, she’d have to be more specific.

  “You made a deal with Cal—he’d outbid the others, knowing you’d get none of it. In return, he g
ets to keep your share of every win, including the big team bonus for the outcome of the tournament. Why give up all that money when you could’ve gone in there and sold yourself without a problem?”

  My eyes closed long enough for me to find the right words. When I opened them again, I began to pen my thoughts as quickly as I could. I don’t need the money. It was never about the paycheck. This has always been about taking back what was mine to begin with.

  “Her?” She pointed to the paper, even though Rylee’s face was no longer in view.

  I nodded, but the silence was too much to bear. She’s the only one I’ve ever talked to…aside from Cal tonight.

  “So why don’t you talk?”

  My head snapped up, my gaze finding hers. The mixture of green and brown stared back at me, beckoning me to answer with piqued curiosity. I could tell this wasn’t her way of prying—she sincerely cared and wanted to be a friend to me. I hadn’t had many of those in my life, so it was hard for me to accept. But being here, in Cal’s house, around him and his wife…it felt safe.

  I was told not to.

  “By who? When?”

  I can’t say. Please don’t ask again.

  “Killian,” she whispered as she laid her hand on my forearm. “Is it okay if I call you that?”

  Sophia and Cal knew my name, but for the purposes of the ring, we’d agreed I’d strictly go by Happy. I nodded. There was something about this woman that reminded me of Elise, and I couldn’t tell her no—didn’t possess the ability to. Sophia was an unlikely connection to my aunt when I couldn’t be around her, and when she spoke to me this way, it left me feeling like the little boy who’d gone to live with her twelve years ago. Afraid she’d kick me out. Petrified of her rejection.

  “You remind me of an old-soul type,” she continued. “Even though you look tough, carry yourself with an attitude most find scary, you’re soft. I can see it. Despite the tattoos, the cut muscles, the permanent scowl on your face, there’s a softness about you. It’s evident when you smile at the TV—when you think no one is looking. In the way you shuffle around us, even when you’re not in our way. I see it in the way you avert your eyes when Cal shows me affection, like watching it would be rude and intrusive, so you turn away.”

  Her words surrounded me, and left me incapable of thought.

  “So it doesn’t make much sense why you’re doing this. Why you’d give up the money when it’s obvious you could take it all. I don’t understand why you’d choose to fight, when—from what Cal says—hurting someone else seems to affect you in ways it doesn’t the other guys. You’re not made for this life, Killian. Sure, you could dominate this sport, take the top seat…but why?”

  I glanced at the trees inked on my arm, the trunks forming the letters of Rylee’s name. The moon at the top curve of the R. My finger traced the black and grey lines like I’d done so many times since it was put there. No matter how many other tattoos decorated my skin, this one would always be my favorite.

  “It’s always a girl,” she said with a soft giggle. “Maybe that’s why Cal likes you so much. You must remind him of himself. He left the ring for me, you know. He was at the top of his game, stashing hoards of cash in savings, all to give me the life I’ve always wanted. But I didn’t want the money. I wanted him to come home whole—no broken bones, swollen knuckles, bruises, cuts or scrapes. I was tired of kissing his boo-boos and wanted, just one time, for him to hold me. Heal me when I was hurt. So he left it all. For me.”

  My confusion must’ve been evident, because she laughed and shook her head.

  “I didn’t care if he owned a team. It wasn’t the sport I disliked. No one can understand what it feels like to stand back and watch someone throw punch after punch to the man you love. How bad it hurts to watch him bleed, to see him in pain. That’s what I didn’t care for, what I couldn’t endure any longer. Now, he gets to do what he loves without coming home to me in bandages.” She covered my hand with both of hers. “Tell me this…if she asks you to leave, would you?”

  Her question didn’t warrant any thought. The answer was immediate.

  I nodded. Because I would.

  In a heartbeat.

  As soon as I took Josh Disick down.

  In a pool of his own blood.

  Twenty-Two

  Rylee

  His bare shoulders flexed, the muscles in his back coiled tight with each punch. Each swing. Each twist of his body as he mercilessly took down his opponent. It was a longer fight than Josh had anticipated; he’d underestimated the drive the other man possessed—the unwillingness to give up.

  Until this moment, I never had much of a problem watching Josh fight. The idea of doing it as a sport wasn’t something I found appealing, but it never bothered me. Suddenly, standing here, outside the ring, watching it all take place, I was repulsed. A knot formed in the pit of my stomach at the sight of my boyfriend landing punch after punch to a man who clearly had a problem standing on his own. Josh’s knuckles were covered in someone else’s blood. Perspiration clung to his skin. And anytime he turned my way, the murderous glare in his eyes sickened me.

  So much had happened since last night. Seeing Killian take out a fighter on his quest to the top was disheartening. However, it was the compassion he showed at the end that told a different story. It was the grey area between the eighteen-year-old who’d left me behind and the man who stormed back into my life. It left me feeling bewildered toward this “sport.” And in turn, brought forth a disconnect with Josh I hadn’t ever known existed.

  That detachment might’ve had something to do with the conversation that took place in the back room. Killian’s admission—no, his proclamation—of love. Whatever it was, I found myself wracked with guilt. But unlike the last time I was with Killian, I didn’t hate myself for sneaking around behind my boyfriend’s back. I felt like shit for having Josh’s dick in my mouth, as if I wasn’t faithful to Killian. It kept me up all night. I’d let Killian get to me—allowed his claim to consume me. And in the end, I gave him ownership of me by permitting him into my thoughts. Into my boyfriend’s bedroom while I knelt between Josh’s legs.

  I refused to let this go on any longer and hoped I’d see Killian tonight. The tight jeans, low-cut top, and ankle boots were meant to make him drool. My perfectly straightened hair and heavy makeup were to serve a purpose—a slap in the face when I told him I no longer belonged to him, and then walked out on Josh’s arm.

  A lie to pacify my inner turmoil.

  I ignored the images filtering through my head of him taking me in the back room while Josh fought in the ring. I pretended to hate the idea of feeling him inside me, his skin pressed against mine, his voice rumbling in my ear. The need to hurt him and walk away in the manner he had was great, but paled in comparison to my need to be with him. The dizzying thoughts battled against each other, leaving me the only loser in the entire situation. Because Killian wasn’t here. He hadn’t shown up to see the second night’s fights. And that’s when I succumbed to the realization I’d gotten dressed up for him.

  It had nothing to do with retaliation.

  Josh straddled the man in the ring and threw a few more punches, disregarding the officiant next to him, ordering him to halt. The crazed look in his eyes struck fear into my chest, and I realized I truly had no idea who this man was. I’d seen his sweet side, his caring side. The part of him that made me swoon and give in whenever he asked. And then there was this side. Jaguar. He was vicious and unrelenting. Had this part of him only surfaced while he was in the ring, it’d be one thing. But that wasn’t always the case. Jag came out when I turned him down, when I couldn’t do as he had asked. He showed up in arguments, when I wouldn’t give him his way. Granted, he’d never laid a hand on me, but the relentless attitude and his inability to stop before taking it to a new level was the same—Jag truly was Josh at the core.

  I hadn’t realized the daze I’d been in until I found myself in the back room with Josh and Dalton. He wiped himself off with
a towel while Dalton filled a plastic bag with ice for his hands, which were smeared with blood. I couldn’t remember him climbing out of the ring or following him back here.

  “We’re gonna celebrate tonight, babe. Me and you.” His wagging brows didn’t go unnoticed. I knew what his words implied, and they made my stomach clench and bile burn the back of my throat.

  “I’m really tired, Josh.”

  “Yeah, and you’ll be even more tired when I’m done with you.”

  I took a step back, closer to the door. “No, I’m serious. I’m just going to head home.”

  His piercing stare practically stopped my heart. “Where’s your head at, Lee? Huh? Last night I had to do all the work, like you were off in space while I fucked that mouth of yours. And now you’re—”

  “Stop, Josh. Please…just cut it out.” I glanced over at Dalton, hating him being in the room to hear this. Although, he didn’t seem to mind bearing witness to Josh’s insults. “I told you I’m tired. I was tired last night. I just want to go to sleep.”

  He dropped the towel to the floor and pushed away the offered ice. When he had me cornered against the wall—like Killian had last night, yet not at all like Killian had made me feel—he roughly grabbed the sides of my head and forced me to look into his eyes. “Tell me what’s going on. Why are you pushing me away?”

  I huffed and let the tension out of my shoulders. Defeat. It was debilitating at times. “It’s like you’re two different people.” Déjà vu consumed me, thinking of the similarities between this conversation and the one I had with my former lover. “When you’re Jag, you’re mean. You’re demanding, and I don’t like it. When you’re here, in the ring, the club, or a back room, it’s like you forget who I am. You treat me like a whore. Like I’m disposable.”