by Nashoda Rose
Lips firm, I glared. “I’m not going to….” I stopped because he was already moving away to talk to Sculpt.
“He looks good,” Killian remarked, his focus also on the tattooed monster. “Bulky.”
Sculpt nodded. “Yeah. I’ll drag it out. Get him moving and tired first.”
They continued talking about Sculpt’s opponent while I looked around. The place was packed with mostly guys, but there were some girls, and all appeared older than us. I guessed we were the youngest here.
A lot of money exchanged hands, and the noise was loud with a constant buzz of excitement. It was infectious and even though I wasn’t looking forward to witnessing my first fight, I couldn’t help but feel the vibe, too.
“You want to pay attention, so you don’t get killed,” Killian barked.
Mars tugged on my sleeve.
Killian stood in front of me again. Sculpt was gone.
“Sorry,” I replied.
“Stay in this spot. Don’t go wandering or talk to anyone,” he ordered.
“Can we bet?” Mars blurted.
“No!” he said, but his focus was still on me. “Do you understand, Savvy?”
I nodded. “Yeah.”
“You hear sirens, don’t fuckin’ run with the crowd. You’ll get trampled.” Sirens? He must have recognized my shocked expression because he said, “Fights are raided all the time. Not a big deal if you know what to do and don’t panic.”
Police raiding seemed like a big deal to me, but I wasn’t going to tell him that. “So, where do we go?”
“You wait for me or Sculpt. We’ll get you out.”
“What if you can’t get to us?”
“One of us will,” Killian replied.
“But you might not.”
He groaned. “Yeah, if you leave this fuckin’ spot, we won’t. So stay here and don’t panic if anything happens.”
I rambled when I was nervous, and I opened my mouth to do just that and go on about the possibility that he wouldn’t be able to get to us if the crowd blocked him. I was also going to point out that he wasn’t Superman and able to fly over everyone to get to us.
But I never said anything because Mars knew exactly what I was going to do and latched onto my arm, shaking her head.
“We got it,” she said.
Killian briefly glanced at her, back at me, then nodded just as a guy announced the fighters.
Before Killian walked away, my fingers curled into the back of his T-shirt and tugged. He peered over his shoulder at me. “Are you fighting tonight, too?”
“No.” He stared at me a second then added, “I don’t fight for money.” His shirt stretched, my fingers slow to react as he strode away toward the ring.
We were at the back wall, near a storage closet and only a few people lingered near us. Most hovered and jostled one another to get closer to the ring.
“Kite likes you.” Mars bumped me with her shoulder, grinning.
“What? Are you insane?” I blurted loudly because Sculpt and the guy, appropriately called Hannibal, got in the ring and everyone cheered.
She shrugged. “Just sayin’. Sculpt doesn’t look at you like Kite does with those incredible green eyes.”
“He’s looking at me like that because he’s mad that I took the job.”
“Exactly. He’s worried about you.”
I didn’t have time to process that when I heard the first punch. The sound was like a paddle slapping the surface of the water.
My gaze shot to the ring, as did Mars’s and the conversation about Killian liking me dropped as we stared transfixed on Sculpt and Hannibal.
I didn’t know whether to be mortified or fascinated by the fight. My heart pounded and knees trembled as I leaned against the wall for support.
The atmosphere was electric and deafening as they went at each other. I knew nothing about fighting, but it was obvious Hannibal was getting tired as he threw punch after punch at Sculpt, who easily dodged them and threw in the odd fist to the side of the head or gut.
I winced, and the crowd hissed when Hannibal got a good shot into Sculpt’s cheek and sent him back a few steps. He lifted his head and blood dripped down his cheek from the cut Hannibal just wielded.
But it wasn’t the blood that had me worried; it was Sculpt squinting his eyes and staggering. The next blow Hannibal dealt to the side of his head sent Sculpt sideways, then to his knees.
“Oh noooo,” I cried.
My stomach curdled, and I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood.
“Look,” Mars said, “he’s getting up.”
I grabbed her hand and squeezed, holding my breath as Hannibal approached the downed Sculpt.
But he never got a handle on him because Sculpt swung hard and fast as he leapt to his feet and didn’t stop.
Hit after hit.
I looked away, and my eyes darted to Killian instead standing next to the ring, his expression calm and focused on Sculpt.
I hadn’t expected to see him calm, especially during a fight. But it was as if the crowd, the blood, the excitement, everything vanished and there was a quiet stillness in him.
And it was beautiful. He was beautiful.
I realized that the anger he carried with him ate away all his beauty. Physically he had it, but this was different. This was the beauty inside him.
I released my breath as I watched him and then as if he sensed my eyes on him, he turned.
Our eyes locked, and there was an intense craving to have him next to me. I’d never had it before, but I knew what it was.
I liked him. Shit, I liked Killian Kane.
“Police!” There was a horrendous bang as the doors of the basement burst open.
I gasped, eyes widening.
Screams wrenched the air.
My eyes shot back to Killian and he mouthed, ‘Stay,’ and then he headed for us. But within seconds, the crowd swarmed him as they scrambled to get out of the basement.
“Oh, my God, Sav. Shit. My parents will kill me if I’m arrested,” Mars yelled. “We have to go.” She yanked on my hand.
“Killian. He said to stay here,” I argued, but she was already dragging me into the herd of spooked people.
“Yeah, well he doesn’t know my parents.”
She didn’t know his. I could only imagine what Mr. Kane would do if his son was arrested for being at an illegal fight. It would be the talk of the country club.
We were caught up in the herd and shoved through the door of the stairwell. I looked over my shoulder for Killian, eyes searching.
I couldn’t see him. All I saw were blue uniforms swarming the place.
We ran up the stairs to escape the building, but suddenly everyone scrambled in the opposite direction. The police were coming through the doors at the top of the stairs, too.
“Shit,” Mars yelled.
Someone pushed me from behind. My knees hit the edge of the stair and I cried out in pain. People hurdled over me, and Mars blocked them from stepping on me as I tried to get up, but I kept being pushed.
A hand grabbed my elbow, and with one jerk, I was hauled to my feet.
Killian.
“I told you to fuckin’ wait,” he growled. His gaze went to my knees and for a moment there was a flicker of something other than anger. “There’s another way out.”
He locked his arm around my waist and I clutched Mars’s hand as we headed back to the basement. It was easier pushing through the herd because Killian was like a bulldozer.
We veered right as soon as we were in the room where we started, and there were people lying on the ground, hands on their heads and cops handcuffing them.
Oh, my God, we were all going to be thrown in jail. I’d never even had detention before.
Panic swarmed.
Killian’s palm slammed into a door that said storage and he dragged me into the darkness.
“There’s a vent,” he said as he led us to the back of a large room with numerous floor-to-ceiling metal shelves.
The vent cover was already on the floor. “The other fighters already went through. We always check escape routes.”
“Sculpt?” I asked.
“Don’t know,” he said. “He was looking for you and Mars.”
God, we should’ve stayed where we were.
Light filtered into the storage room as the door opened. We were out of sight, but footsteps headed our way.
“Go!” Killian hissed.
Mars leaped into the vent, and I went in after her, but Killian didn’t follow.
I peered over my shoulder as he replaced the vent cover. “Killian!”
“Fuckin’ go,” he said.
“Police. Stay where you are!”
I held my breath, watching as Killian put his hands up and moved away from the vent.
No.
“On your knees. Hands behind your head,” the officer said.
Killian.
I hadn’t slept all weekend worrying about Killian. On Monday I didn’t see him and Mars’s brother said he wasn’t in class.
On Tuesday, I finally saw Sculpt after English. I ran down the hallway after him and grabbed his arm, not even thinking that it may not have been smart to “grab” Sculpt.
“Killian? Where is he? Is he okay?” I asked.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a hundred-dollar bill and put it in my hand. “Here.”
“I don’t want the money.” I tried to give it back because I didn’t do anything, but he refused.
“Take the money,” he ordered.
“Where is Killian? Is he okay?”
“Don’t know.” Then he walked away.
I stared at him, students veering around me as fear gripped me. He didn’t know? Oh, God, where was he? He was underage so he couldn’t be in jail, right? It wasn’t like he killed anyone.
By Friday, Killian still hadn’t made an appearance at school. I sat on the steps waiting for my mom to pick me up and every time the school doors opened, I swung around hoping that it was him.
It never was.
I waited ten minutes for my mom before making the long trudge home.
I considered taking the route past Killian’s house. But it wasn’t as if I’d go up to the door and ask if he was alright.
But even if I did, we weren’t friends. It was the opposite. He’d been pissed at me for showing up at the fight, and it was my fault he was in trouble. I did exactly what he told me not to do. Took off when the police showed up.
I was the reason he wasn’t at school. I had to stop by his house. I had to know if he was okay.
Turning to take the other route, I heard the tires squeal and saw my mom’s car. She did a U-turn and pulled up on the shoulder behind me at an angle.
She honked as if I hadn’t seen her.
I’d have to go to Killian’s tomorrow.
I walked to the car and opened the rusted door. It squeaked so loud a flock of birds lifted out of the trees nearby.
I climbed in, shut the door and did up my seatbelt. “Thanks for picking me up, Mom.”
She was beautiful with her chic-styled, walnut hair and stark, defined features. But not when she sneered.
Here we go.
“Look at you. What the hell are you wearing? You can’t wear tight stuff like that.”
I gritted my teeth. I wore snug jeans and V-neck white shirt. I was used to her comments, and it didn’t hurt as much as it used to, but I wasn’t fat. I just carried extra pounds. But I guess compared to her, I was fat.
“And that awful hair… it’s a bird’s nest, Savannah. The least you can do is wear a hat and hide it if you refuse to cut it off.”
Her new thing was hating my bright red curls, and it was the one part of me I really liked. But I was old enough that she didn’t have a say in whether I cut it.
The red hair and pale skin I got from my dad, but his hair was browner with a reddish tinge, while mine was bright red.
The car swerved on and off the shoulder as she put her foot on the accelerator.
I tensed, gripping the door handle.
God, was she on something?
I leaned forward to get a glimpse of her eyes as she stared out the front windshield.
They were glassy. Like when she took too many of those pills.
I shouldn’t have gotten in the car.
My mind reeled as my mom drove too fast, then weaved on and off the road causing several car horns to honk as she narrowly missed them.
She was talking about something, but her words were mumbled and indistinguishable.
“Mom?” I said.
She went on about her job at the diner and how she needed to work extra hours this month because she was behind on our rent again. She worked nights there, so it meant I was usually alone all night.
The car hit the shoulder and skidded.
“Mom!” I shouted.
“What?” She glared at me, and I wished she hadn’t because we drifted over to the wrong side of the road.
“Mom, stop the car. Please. Stop the car. I want to get out.” I didn’t care if she never picked me up again. I wanted out of the car.
“I came all the way to pick you up, and now you want me to pull over?”
Oh, God, please pull over. Please stop.
Bile rose in my throat. “Mom, please, I’m going to be sick. Pull over.”
But it was too late.
We were going too fast.
My mom too slow to react.
Too screwed up.
Too many reasons why we never made that curve in the road. And my last thought before the deafening sound of metal crumpling was how I’d never know if Killian Kane was okay.
I sat on the damp grass cross-legged staring at the mound of dirt where my mom was buried. There was no stone yet, the funeral officiate explained to me they had to wait until the ground settled before a stone could be placed.
Everyone had left the cemetery and was at the reception. I stayed, wanting some time alone with her. Not to say anything, just to sit with her before I said goodbye. It was the last time I’d have the chance as the social worker was taking me away today.
I brushed aside the stray tears that trailed down my cheeks.
The light drizzle clung to my hair and beaded, then dripped onto my jeans leaving dark, round marks to mix with my tears.
The breeze picked up, and one of the wild pansies I’d placed on the mound of dirt blew away. I lurched forward and grabbed it, my fingers curling around the flimsy stem.
When I straightened, the hairs on the back my neck stood. I lifted my head, eyes scanning the cemetery, but I didn’t see anyone.
I lay the flower back on the mound then picked up a small stone on the pathway and placed it on the stems so they wouldn’t blow away.
That was when I glimpsed movement by the river, just past the sparse tree line to the west of the cemetery.
Killian.
After the accident, I’d been in the hospital for two days with a concussion and bruised ribs and chest from the seatbelt impact. When they released me to the social worker, I’d only had time to go home and change before the funeral.
I’d been immersed in my own hell, and what happened to Killian, even though it hadn’t slipped my mind, had been pushed aside.
It was the wave of relief pouring over me that made me realize how worried I’d been.
He stood on the edge of the bank watching me. Well, I couldn’t be sure he was watching me exactly, but he looked in my direction, and there was no one else here.
It was too far away to see his face, but there was no question it was him. Legs braced, shoulders straight and broad, and jaw tilted up.
Confident and unapologetic for staring.
He looked away and skipped a pebble across the water then kicked at something. I gasped when his fist plowed into a tree trunk nearby.
Even from so far away it was obvious he was furious, and I wondered if it was because of me. Was he mad because I was the reason he’d been arrested?<
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I deserved his anger. It was my fault.
Without looking in my direction, he walked away, disappearing from view, and my heart sank. I wish he’d give me a chance to apologize. It wouldn’t do much good, but it was all I had.
I didn’t want to leave with Killian hating me. It shouldn’t matter. I’d never see him again, but it did matter—a lot.
Turning back to the grave, I ran my fingertips through the dirt. “Bye, Mom. Love you. You’re with Dad now. Maybe now you can be happy.”
I stood, wiping away the endless tears with the back of my hand, then weaved through the numerous stones; some extravagant and beautiful, others simple. I pushed open the small iron gate and it groaned on its hinges then clanged shut behind me.
“She doesn’t deserve your tears.”
My head snapped up.
Killian leaned against a willow tree ten feet away. There was no sympathy in his eyes, unlike every other person I’d seen since her death. Instead, he looked pissed off. Although, that was nothing unusual. Except for that subtle smile on the school stairs, the anger was a staple in him.
“Killian,” I whispered. “Are you okay?” It was a stupid question considering he’d been arrested and probably suffered the wrath of his father. There was also a bruise on his jaw and red marks on his knuckles that looked like cuts and scabs. “Where have you been? What happened to you?”
He snorted. “You’re asking about me when you were in a car that slammed into a tree going sixty kilometers an hour?” His voice rose. “Your mom could’ve killed you, Savvy.”
True, and I was betting a lot of kids at school were thinking the same thing. It had been on the news that she was on prescription drugs and she probably would’ve survived the crash if she hadn’t overdosed on them.
“At the fight… I’m sorry, Killian. I should’ve listen to you. I panicked and ran and then you had to find me and Mars, and got caught—”
“I didn’t have to do anything.”
True. “I guess, but I’m sorry anyway.”
Silence.
He ran his hand through his hair, and it was odd because it was an agitated gesture and normally he was so steady. “I fight because I have to. Nothing else gets rid of the anger.” He paused. “I lost my mum, too.”