Fighting Blind

by C. M. Seabrook

  By the time we pull up to Clair’s small bungalow, Logan has fallen asleep in my arms.

  Bright yellow, orange and red flowers color the garden that edges the white house. It’s inviting, warm, safe. Everything I don’t feel right now.

  I get out and shut the door.

  “Thank you.” I say through the open window.

  Moody grunts, still looking at me like he doesn’t know whether or not to trust me.

  I shift Logan in my arms and turn.

  “Mackenzie.”

  I look over my shoulder, hoping to hell he’s not about to give me another lecture. The adrenaline has worn off and I feel like I’m about to pass out.

  “Yeah?”

  “If you need anything…” He runs a hand through his long hair, causing a few pieces to come loose from the bun. “Clair has my number.”

  I give him a small smile. “Thanks.”

  The pain and dread of what I’m about to do is thick in my voice and I have to turn quickly before he sees the tears that have gathered. I have to do this. Now. If I think about it any longer, I know I won’t have the strength.

  Chapter 18

  Theo

  Moody isn’t returning my calls and it’s pissing me off. The security company called my cell earlier saying something had triggered the alarm at my apartment. Apparently, Moody checked things out and reported that everything was fine.

  That was three fucking hours ago.

  And despite my numerous attempts to reach him, he isn’t picking up. Neither is Mac. To say that I’m getting a little paranoid is an understatement. I’m worried sick.

  I dial Mac again. Same thing. No answer. I’ve even tried my mom, but nothing.

  For fuck sake. I don’t need this shit. Not a couple hours before my fight.

  I’m about ready to throw my phone against the cement wall when it vibrates in my hand.

  MOM blinks on the screen.

  “Hello?” I bite out, nerves shot.

  “Hi sweetheart.” There’s an edge to her voice and I pick up on it right away.

  “What’s wrong?” Even before she says anything, I know it’s about Mac. “Why is no one answering their damn phone?”

  I take a deep breath and curse myself for speaking to her like that.

  “Theo,” she says sternly.

  “Sorry,” I mutter. “Have you seen Mackenzie?”

  “I didn’t want to worry you.”

  There’s a small pause on the other end, and I hear Logan singing some nonsense song in the background.

  My pulse slows slightly. At least the kid’s fine.

  “Mom?”

  “Mac had a bit of an accident.”

  I have to force the next words through gritted teeth, “What kind of an accident?”

  There’s some kind of static, then the sound of her uneven breath.

  “What kind of accident,” I repeat, this time unable to keep the panic from clawing its way out in my tone.

  “She said she passed out in the shower, but…”

  “But, what?”

  “It’s probably nothing. I gave her some money to take a taxi to the hospital. She has a small gash on her temple that may need stitches, and most likely a small concussion.”

  “Fuck.”

  “Theo.” The reprimand is light, but it’s enough for me to clench my lips over the other words that threaten to erupt.

  “Sorry.” I rake my hand through my hair, then rub my forehead. “Can you tell her to call me when she gets back?”

  “Of course.”

  More silence.

  “Tell me,” I say, knowing there’s more.

  She sighs. “I think someone may have hurt her.”

  “Fu–” I slam my fist into the heavyweight bag beside me. If her mother laid a finger on her, I was going to go loco on the woman. “And Logan?”

  I already know the answer, but I need to hear it.

  “She’s with me. Safe. I was just about to put her to bed.”

  The fact that I’m thousands of miles away makes my growing frustration worse.

  “Just get Mac to call me when she gets back.”

  I hang up and try Moody again. I’ve no doubt he’s hiding something, that’s why he’s not answering.

  When the voicemail clicks, I growl into the phone, “Damn it Moody, call me back, now.”

  I hang up and punch the bag a few more times, then pace the small room, ignoring the looks I get from my trainers. When I’m on edge, everyone’s on edge. But they know enough to leave me alone.

  When my cell rings a couple minutes later, I pick up, barely glancing at the name, and snarl, “What the fuck happened?”

  Moody’s heavy breath echoes over the line. “Don’t get your panties in a twist, everything’s fine.”

  “It sure as hell doesn’t seem fine when I get a call from the security company saying someone has tripped the system. Then I talk to my mom and she says Mac slipped in the shower and she’s gone to the hospital to get stitches.” I close my eyes and inhale slowly, trying to control my growing apprehension. “What do you know?”

  Silence.

  “Moody. I swear to God, if you’re–”

  “She didn’t slip in the shower.”

  Anger bubbles in my chest, heating my skin and burning my throat. I have to swallow back bile before I speak.

  “Who was it?”

  “I don’t know. Dark hair. Olive complexion. Maybe fifty, fifty-five. Sleazy looking guy. Had his hands on her when I pulled up.”

  Shit. Stefano.

  I’m going to kill the asshole.

  I pull my arm back to slam my fist against the wall, then stop before impact. Hurting myself isn’t going to help Mac.

  “I hope to God you bloodied the bastard up.”

  “Trust me buddy, I wanted to. But he had a gun. Not sure what he would have done if I hadn’t shown up, but his intentions weren’t good.”

  Ice prickles at the back of my neck. The entire situation keeps getting worse. Who the hell was this guy and what did he want from Mac?

  “My first thought was to get her and the kid out of there safely. You know I would’ve messed him up if–”

  “You did the right thing.”

  “I hate to tell you this, but I think she’s in some serious shit.”

  Yeah. I don’t doubt it. But what could she have done to have this lowlife after her? I should have pressed her when she told me about the scar, and what the jackass had done to her.

  “Did she say anything to you?”

  “Just that the guy thinks she owes him something. She didn’t say what, but whatever it is, he’s got something big hanging over her head.”

  “I’m coming home.”

  My trainer, Evan, looks up from the magazine he’s reading, eyes wide.

  “Don’t be an idiot. You can’t leave. You wouldn’t just forfeit tonight’s purse, they’d sue you for breach of contract.”

  He’s right. No matter how much I want to get back, I can’t leave without totally fucking up my career.

  “She’s fine right now. I took her to your mom’s. If you want I’ll go over and check on them.”

  “I’ll be on the next flight after the fight.” I drag my fingers through my hair.

  “Just keep your head in the ring. You won’t do her any good if you’re laid up in the hospital.”

  The hospital. Shit. That’s where Mac was.

  “I need you to do something for me.”

  “Anything, man.”

  “My mom sent Mac to the ER in a cab. I need you to go and make sure she’s all right.”

  “Of course.”

  I hang up, and drop to the bench, running my hands over the back of my neck. I’ve never felt so helpless in my life. I’m in dire need to break something. My opponent’s face will have to do for now.

  Then, I’ll go after the fucking asshole who hurt my girl.

  Chapter 19

  Mackenzie

  Sitting in the air-conditioned wai
ting area of the bus terminal, I stare numbly at the ticket in my hand.

  After getting out of the cab a few blocks from Clair’s house, I’d made it the rest of the way to the station by foot. With my head pounding, stomach churning and emotions spiraling out of control, it took me almost an hour to get here.

  The money Clair gave me was just enough to buy a one-way ticket to upstate New York. But the damn bus doesn’t leave until noon tomorrow, and the station is getting ready to close for the night.

  I can’t stay here, and I can’t go back to the apartment.

  Clair will start to worry about me if I don’t come home in the next few hours, but if I go back there without my head stitched up, she’ll suspect something.

  And I don’t have the strength to say goodbye to Logan again.

  The first time was hard enough.

  I’d held her a little too long, a little too tight. She’d tried to squirm from my arms, desperate to play with the pink and white Mega Bloks Clair had bought her. I’d kissed her on the forehead, then rushed out the door to the waiting taxi.

  There was no grand gesture. No big goodbyes. I’d just left.

  Misery claws at my throat, making it difficult to breath.

  The fact that I’m abandoning my child isn’t lost on me. I know what people will say. That I’m selfish. Heartless. No motherly instinct. But what other choice do I have?

  Leaving Logan is the hardest thing I’ve ever done. But with Theo and Clair she has a chance of a normal life. With me, she’ll always be in danger.

  I touch the gash on my temple and my fingers come back sticky with blood.

  The reality of how much danger I put her in didn’t really hit me until today.

  I could go to the police. But then what? If I tell them the truth, about why Stefano is after me, they’ll lock me up. He’s already threatened to twist the story to incriminate me. If he goes down, so do I.

  I don’t know what’s worse. Continuing to run, or rotting in jail for the next five to ten years. Neither option sounds great.

  No. This is the best choice. My only choice.

  I don’t even bother wiping the tears away. I let them flow freely, blurring my vision.

  The numbness that started in my lips and fingers has spread through my entire body.

  I have no idea what I’m going to do once I’m in New York. I just know I have to get as far away from Theo and Logan as possible.

  Stefano will follow. He always does. But as long as he is after me, he’ll leave them alone.

  “Miss, we’re closing up now.” A middle-aged woman, with dyed red hair, shaped around her head like a football helmet, touches my shoulder. “Are you all right?”

  I flinch at her touch, jumping quickly off the bench, making the room spin. Doing my best not to throw up, I squat and act like I’m looking for something under the bench.

  I close my eyes, and take deep, steadying breaths until the nausea subsides.

  “Have you lost something?” The woman’s high-pitched voice holds a note of concern.

  Yeah. I’ve lost everything. I swallow the sob that threatens to escape.

  “I-I’m sorry. I’ll go now.” I look around and realize I’m the only one left in the waiting area, and the sky outside has darkened to a deep shade of purple. “Do you have a lost and found?”

  The woman nods, pointing at an open door to what looks like a maintenance room.

  “There’s a cardboard box in there with a few items. You can look. Whatever isn’t recovered will be taken down to the homeless shelter Monday morning.”

  I give a weak smile, knowing she’s giving me permission to take what I need.

  The box smells like mildew. It’s mostly junk. A random shoe, a couple torn books, a child’s toy. Nothing of value.

  An oversized black hoodie and an old army backpack are the only items I take.

  Pulling the hoodie over my head, I shove my ticket in the pack, then sling it over my shoulder. With my stomach growling, I head through the sliding doors.

  I don’t know where I find the strength to keep moving, but I do.

  The moon is high in the sky when I finally find a bench to sit down on. I know it’s dangerous to be out here alone, but I’m so exhausted I’m not sure I can take another step.

  Making a pillow with the backpack, I curl up on the bench.

  Ten minutes. That’s all. Then I’ll keep walking.

  I close my eyes and start to drift off, when I hear the squeal of brakes, then the daunting words, “Get in the truck, Mackenzie.”

  Chapter 20

  Theo

  Bright lights flash around me. Fans scream in my ear. Cameras zoom in on my face. But I barely register the noise of the crowd as I step into the octagon.

  All I can think about is the vague text message I got just minutes before stepping out here.

  Two million by Sept 23.

  Or the girl dies.

  Go to the police and her punishment

  will be worse than death.

  I’m still shaking. Anger boils in my veins. I should have left the minute I knew something was wrong.

  I need to end this fight, and quick. Get home. Make sure Mac is safe.

  Evan grabs the back of my neck, pulling my head closer to him. “Whatever’s going on in that brain of yours, shut it down.”

  I shrug him off, and snap back, “I’m fine.”

  He grumbles something unintelligible under his breath when he places my mouthguard in.

  The rush of adrenaline I normally feel before facing an opponent is muted by my concern for her. It’s like moving in slow motion. As if everything is happening around me without me.

  My feet move to the center of the ring, and I roll my neck, focusing on the man in front of me.

  At six-foot-two, Clyde Williams stands almost three inches taller. With an extra four-inch reach and fifteen pounds on me, he’s a bear of a man, but I know his weakness, and I plan on exploiting it early and quickly.

  Usually I let them toy with me for a round or two. There’s no need to humiliate them unless they’ve been running their mouth like Clyde has.

  The man’s a dog. Dirty as shit. He deserves a quick, crushing loss.

  And I plan on giving it to him.

  In the ring, I’m a different man. Mean. Angry. A fucking animal. I need that now.

  I need blood tonight.

  Anger stirs in my gut when I think about what the bastard did to Mac. No one gets away with threatening what’s mine.

  I focus that anger on my opponent. Rolling my upper lip, I snarl, narrowing my eyes.

  The minute I lock gazes with Clyde, his arrogance disappears, replaced by cold fear.

  It’s the edge I need. I growl, low in my throat, focusing only on my target.

  The ref shouts over the crowd and the bell rings.

  Clyde rushes me. I crouch low, plowing my shoulder into his gut, and using his forward momentum to flip him. He lands hard on his back, and I can tell by his expression he’s momentarily stunned.

  I jump on top, straddling him, plowing my fist into his face. Once, twice, bloodying his nose.

  To protect his face from more punches, he curls up on his side and places his arms in a position to avoid being hit to the temple. I take full advantage. I trap his right arm as my left hand pushes down on his face, then swing my left leg around his head and put him in a straight arm lock.

  He struggles beneath me. With his arm elongated, I elevate my pelvis off the mat and I contemplate breaking his elbow. It’s very close to breaking, and one little jerk on my part and it’s a done deal.

  The crowd cheers, calling my name. I look up at the ref. He’s watching Clyde closely, ready to break my hold once he gives up.

  “Tap, motherfucker,” I growl through my mouthpiece.

  He’s trying to hold out for the bell. He’ll likely succeed if I don’t break his fucking arm. I need to finish the fight. No sense drawing it any longer than necessary.

  I start to elevate
my hips even higher off the mat, and fortunately for Clyde, he’s smart enough to tap before his arm snaps.

  People flood the octagon. Trainers. Doctors. Reporters.

  Someone wraps the Championship belt around my waist. And the MC is talking in my ear, a microphone shoved in my face.

  I need to get out of here, but this is as much part of my contract as the damn fight.

  Answering with the warranted yes and no’s, I clench my jaw suffering through the Q&A.

  This was supposed to be my last fight, the night I was going to announce my retirement. But I hold my tongue when the reporter MC speculates on the rumor.

  “Do you have any finally words for Clyde Williams?”

  This is my chance to send a message to the bastard who hurt Mackenzie. I grab the microphone and stare into the camera, pointing.

  “No one threatens what’s mine.”

  Chapter 21

  Mackenzie

  I don’t know where Moody is taking me, and from the silent treatment he’s given me since I got in his truck, I have a feeling he has no intention of telling me.

  We drive past the city borders and he takes the ramp onto the highway. He keeps driving until a florescent motel sign appears in the darkness.

  “Stay here.” He slams the door and stalks towards the dimly lit entrance.

  With my arms wrapped tightly around my chest, I nod. I don’t know what his intentions are, but I know he doesn’t want to hurt me.

  Even if I did run, where would I go? We’re in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by forest and mountains.

  Moody comes back a few minutes later with an old key attached to a plastic yellow tag with the number twenty-one written in permanent marker. We drive around the side of the building, and he gets out, pulling a black duffle bag from the back.

  I trudge behind him up the stairs to the second level, bringing my confiscated army bag with me.

  When he opens the motel room, he throws his bag on one of the queen beds, and snarls, “Sit down.”

  Tired and weak, I do what he says, sitting on the edge of the other bed.

  “Why did you bring me here?”

  Pulling what looks like a first aid kit from his bag, he moves towards me, eyes narrowed.