by Bella Jewel
I didn’t think of that.
But it’s not a bad idea.
“Is it worth the risk, though? If I call and she is indeed pregnant and has been there, then I’m snooping on something that isn’t my business. But, if she hasn’t been there, and she is faking it, Finn has a right to know. Then he might hate me though, for going over his head and finding out. Dammit, Ellie, I don’t know what to do.”
Ellie scoots forward and grabs my hands. “You’re the smartest, strongest, bravest woman I know. You’re letting all of this get to you way too much. You’re losing your spunk. Step back, honey. Step back and get yourself back. If you want to call the place, then call it, if you don’t, then don’t. But don’t stress yourself over this. If Finn is lying to you, you’ll find out, but you need to focus on yourself right now. Don’t slip. You’re too strong to slip.”
Dammit.
She’s right.
Again.
I am slipping, I’m letting this get to me when it shouldn’t be. I’m letting a man control my feelings and thoughts, and I have been so strong up until now, not letting that happen. I can’t let it happen just because I like Finn. Ellie is right, it is getting to me and I need to step back.
“You’re right, you’re always right, I’m kind of glad I saved you now …”
I grin at her, and she laughs. “Me too, otherwise you’d probably be doing something really crazy right now. Don’t ever lose who you are, Erin. You’re the most bad ass girl I know. Keep it. That’s exactly what Finn likes about you.”
She’s right.
I’m not a clinger, I’m not an overthinker, I’m not emotional or needy.
It’s time to get Erin back.
~*~*~*~
“Sir, if I do say so myself, the double chocolate chip pastry is to die for,” I tell the elderly gentleman staring at the display, wondering what to get.
He looks up at me, kind blue eyes scanning my face. “You make it very hard for a man to choose.”
“Well, I wouldn’t be doing my job if it was easy. Would you like a sample of something?”
“No no,” he says with a smile, “I’m going to get the double chocolate pastry, you’ve made my mind up.”
“You won’t regret it.” I beam, pulling a pastry out and putting it in a bag, and then placing a lid over his coffee and sliding it across the counter.
“I’m sure I won’t. Have a lovely day,” he says to me as I hand him his change and he leaves.
I spin on my heel and poke my head out the back where Tatiana and Ellie are baking some fresh loaves of bread. “How’s it going out here?”
“Super.” Tatiana smiles. “Ellie is going to outbake me in no time.”
I’m glad I put Ellie out here, even though she’s safe now and can work anywhere, she loves baking and I think she’s going to make something of herself doing it. She’s talented, but mostly, she’s passionate. That’s something that’s hard to come across these days. I admire her for it, after everything she’s been through.
“She’ll have to open her very own bakery.” I wink at Ellie, then spin and head back out to clear some tables and chat to some customers.
I love my job.
It’s my dream.
It’s everything I’ve always wanted and worked for.
The bell above the door rings, and I look up to see Finn walking in. He’s wearing a cap, which is strange, and a set of dark shades. He looks like he’s about to rob the place. I haven’t seen or heard from him since he did a runner the other night, and I’ve refused to text or call. I’m not chasing him down. No, sir.
“Finn,” I say, narrowing my eyes. It’s then I can see the dark bruising down his cheek and the split in his lip. He’s been hurt. “Shit. What happened to you?”
“Can we talk?” he asks, and I can’t see where he’s looking, but I nod and call Ellie out the front while we go out the back.
She gives Finn a concerned look but doesn’t ask questions. She just goes out to keep an eye on things, leaving us be. She knows I’ll tell her everything later. When we’re away from the customers, Finn pulls the shades off. His eyes are black and bloodshot. His cheeks bruised, and there is a split in his forehead. “Finn, what the hell happened to you?” I ask again.
“I got into a fight, cage fight, it’s nothing.”
“You went into the cage?” I ask, my voice shocked.
I know Finn works for Lincoln, but fighting isn’t something he does. It surprises me that he got in the cage. Which bodes the question, “Why?”
“I had to sort something out for a friend. Long story, but he couldn’t do the fight but if it wasn’t won then he would have lost a lot. I took his place. It’s fine. I’m fine.”
“Then why are you here, covered up, looking like you’re about to rob the place?” I ask him, crossing my arms.
“I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
No.
That’s not normal.
“Finn Knight, what the hell is going on?”
“Look,” he says, holding my eyes, “my friend Brody, he got himself into a little trouble, I pulled him out of that trouble and everything is fine. I just wanted to make sure none of that trouble came here, to you.”
“And why would it?” I ask, confused.
“Because you’re with me.”
“Nobody knows that.”
“You’d be surprised what people can find out.”
“Finn, what are you getting yourself into?”
“Nothing, everything is fine now. I was just checking in on you.”
I don’t believe him.
I don’t.
I don’t like that he’s lying to me.
It’s clear as day that he’s in some sort of trouble because of his friend Brody. Whatever trouble that is, it’s bad enough that he checked on me to make sure I was okay. That means whoever they’re dealing with is dangerous.
I don’t like it.
“You’re lying to me,” I say, my voice not accusing but very firm in its delivery.
“Erin,” he begins, but I put a hand up, cutting him off.
“I’m not stupid, Finn. I’m also not going to play games with you. You’re lying, that much is clear, but why I don’t know. Whatever it is you’re doing, keep me out of it.”
“Fuck,” he growls, stepping closer. “I’m not lyin’. I just told you what happened.”
“Why do I feel like there is so much more to it?”
“There isn’t,” he grinds out. “I was checkin’ on you, that’s it.”
“Look, I’m really busy, I have to work …” I say, going to step around him, but he grabs me and pushes me against the wall, pressing his hard body against mine.
“Never let anyone hurt you, Erin. That’s all. I wanted to make sure nobody had figured out we were together. Sorted it now. It’s fine. Everythin’ is fuckin’ fine. I’m here because I needed to know you were okay.”
“I really have to work.”
I move past him, heart racing. He’s beat up pretty bad; when he grabbed me, I saw the swelling in his hands. He’s into something, and he’s concerned for my safety. I don’t like that. I didn’t sign up to be stuck in a situation with a man who could put me in danger. I’ve lived through enough fear with Ellie, I don’t want it again.
I shouldn’t have gotten tangled up with Finn Knight.
Yet I can’t stop myself wondering what he’s up to.
Is he in trouble?
Worse?
I don’t like the idea that something could happen to him, I don’t like it at all.
Which makes it very hard for me to think straight.
When all I want to know is …
Is he okay?
14
FINN
“Never meant for you to get involved, Finn,” Brody mutters, driving his fists over and over into the boxing bag, sweat running down his back, clinging to his body like a fucking disease.
He’s panting, but he won’t stop, we both know it. He�
�ll hit that bag over and over, body filled with so much rage it doesn’t even make a dent in it. Then he’ll go workout on something else before drinking until he’s numb. Fighting is all he has. I’m sure he has something else. Someone else. In fact, I know he does. I just don’t know what happened.
Something obviously did.
I know a broken man when I see one.
Brody is fucking broken.
Empty.
Ruined.
Now he’s gotten himself into some serious fucking trouble. Wanted the money and wanted it now. I don’t know why. I’m not sure what he’s so determined to find out, but he’s on a mission. Asking questions, names, he’s after someone. Won’t tell me who, or why, but I can guarantee that dog tag hanging around his neck would answer a million questions.
Questions he won’t fucking answer.
But he’ll get himself killed if he isn’t careful.
His rage is dangerous.
He is dangerous.
And I went and got myself fucking involved. Finished a fight he didn’t to get people off his back.
Now he’s talking death match.
The darkest of the dark.
The deepest parts of the underground world.
More danger than any fucking man would want to involve himself in during his short life.
Brody wants in.
Got names.
Got rage.
Got fucking motive.
Pays big money if you win, and if you don’t, you’re buried six fucking feet under. There is no coming back from it. The money from one fight would be enough to do him for everything he needs, they’re pricey and they’re deadly. We stay away from that world— illegal fighting is enough; death matches take blood sport to a whole different level.
Brody is talking of getting in one.
Went to a fight, proved himself as a fighter, went to another fight, got himself into trouble.
His moods swing.
And that makes him dangerous to have around.
Dangerous to put in a cage until the last breath leaves someone’s body.
No.
Fucking stupid is what it is.
He’s already making enemies. I cleaned up his last fight because he had some sort of fucking breakdown and hightailed it out of the ring, leaving everyone angry. They don’t appreciate that shit. Money gets lost. Big places will hunt you down and make you pay for wasting their time. So I stepped in, I fought, I won, the debt was square.
At least, that’s what I thought.
But Brody has been pissing the wrong people off.
Bashing people for names.
Making people disappear after wringing them of information.
He is looking for someone, someone who obviously is connected to the fighting world.
And he’s leaving a blood trail in his wake.
It’s almost as if he wants him to know he’s coming.
“Didn’t give me much choice, you threw me in the fuckin’ middle of it, Brody,” I growl, responding to his earlier comment.
He stops hitting that bag and turns to me, panting, fists bloodied even through the cloth tied around them.
“Yeah, and I fucked up. It’s cleared now.”
“Not fuckin’ cleared and you know it. You’re diggin’ deeper, bringin’ more danger, it’s only goin’ to get worse.”
“For me, not you,” he mutters, untying the stained cloth around his hands.
“Death matches are fuckin’ deadly. Can’t win one of those. Fighters in them, they’re wild, crazy, untamed. They’ll kill you without hesitation, in the ugliest, most brutal way possible. You gotta know that, man. You gotta know you don’t have a chance.”
He looks at me with those empty fucking eyes. “I’ll win, Finn, and I’ll do it with ease. You don’t have any faith in me.”
“Know you can fight, brother, not sayin’ you can’t. In fact, if it was fightin’ alone I’d say you’d win hands down, you’re deadly and you’re confident. You’re also fuckin’ broken. Because of that, you’ll find yourself zonin’ out like you did in the last fight. You do that, you’ll never come back, you hear me?”
“That’s why I’m goin’ to practice, get it together, do more fights. I’m doin’ this, Finn. Not askin’ you to be part of it.”
Fuck.
But he knows he’s my friend.
He knows I’ll help him.
Because I don’t want to see him get killed.
“Well, I’m goin’ to be part of it, because I’m not goin’ to live with your death. You want to do this properly, we’ll do it properly. But know this, every step of the way, I’ll be tryin’ to convince you not to do it. I’ll try, but I also won’t send you into battle without a sword.”
Brody looks at me, that expressionless face making my soul feel like fucking sunshine and rainbows.
“Appreciate it.”
And that’s all he says.
That’s all he ever fucking says.
~*~*~*~
“You’re fuckin’ mad,” Lincoln growls, fixing a part of the cage that broke during last night’s fight.
“I agree.” Damon shakes his head, staring at Brody. “You’re crazy. You’ll die, no doubt about it.”
“Nothin’ you can say will change his mind,” I mutter. “Believe me, I’ve fuckin’ tried. We’re goin’ to help him, or he’ll go and do it himself.”
“What you wanna do a death match for? What could be so fuckin’ important you’d risk your life?”
Brody looks at Lincoln who asked the question. His eyes empty and his voice devoid of emotion when he says, “Made a fuckin’ promise. Made it and I’ll keep it, you understand me? I won’t fuckin’ rest until I get what I’ve promised I’ll get.”
“And what is that?” Slater asks him, studying his face, probably understanding better than any of us what it’s like to put your whole life on hold in search of something.
“Not goin’ to get into detail, but I have someone I need to find. Need the cash to find him. More than that, I need him to know I’m comin’. I want a fair fight, I want him to fuckin’ know that I’ve found him, and that I’ll stop at nothin’ to bring him down.”
“This man fights?” Lincoln asks.
Brody nods. “Yeah, that’s all I know. He fights death match, underground, but he changed his name. Don’t fuckin’ know it, need the cash and resources to find it, also need to get underground to get information. When I find him, I’ll fight him. He will be my death match.”
Fuck me.
This goes deeper than I thought.
“Let me get this straight.” Damon shakes his head, still looking confused and partially pissed that someone could be so stupid, “You’re going to go in fights to earn some money, to track down a man who you used to know—I’m assuming—who has changed his name. You know he fights, but you don’t know anything else.”
“I assume he fights. He used to.”
“So you don’t even know if he does?” Damon growls, running a hand down his face.
“Men like that, they don’t fuckin’ change. He’ll fight still, I’d bet my life on it. He’ll fight, and I’ll find him.”
“Fuck,” Lincoln mutters, “this is dangerous grounds you’re walkin’ on. You piss anyone off down there, you’re bringin’ hell back up here.”
“Aware of that. Not askin’ for your help, or anyone’s, but I am doin’ this.”
Brody is determined.
He’s not moving.
Not budging.
He’s going to fight to the death.
We can only fucking hope he isn’t the one who kisses the dust.
“We’ll help you,” Lincoln says, “but when it comes to that death match, brother, you’re on your own. We’ll get the fights, the cash, and help you with the name. The rest, that’s on you.”
“I can get you into a death match to ask questions,” Slater says, his voice lower than I’ve heard in a good long time.
We all look to him.
&nb
sp; “Saw a lot when I worked for Shanks. Got contacts to get into those fights. I can get us in, start from there.”
“Count me out,” Damon mutters, putting his hands up. “I’m not much into watchin’ people fight to the death. Makes me sick just fuckin’ think about it.”
“Fair call,” Lincoln says.
“Will help out, though. Give me what you can, and I can go on a hunt to try and find what name this man goes under now. That I am good at.”
Brody nods, and I gotta admit, even I’m not too excited about going into a club and watching two people fight until one of them stops breathing. Not only is it fucking horrific, the slow, brutal, and agonizing death, but the people in those places would be less than fucking spectacular. Not my crowd. But I’ll go.
“We’ll go tomorrow night,” Slater says. “Give me a chance to find out where, when, and who we gotta talk to to get in. I’ll get back to you.”
“Thank you,” Brody says, giving Slater a surprisingly genuine look.
Whatever it is, it means a fucking lot to the man.
Can’t take that away from him.
We’ve all got a past, we’ve all got demons, and we all have to slay them eventually. Sometimes, that ain’t always an easy fight, or clean, but it has to be done.
These are Brody’s demons to fight, we’re just going along for the ride.
“Keep the club out of this,” Lincoln says to Slater. “Malakai has finally got a break away from shit, let it stay that way. We’ll deal with this one.”
“Gotta know, if they ask, I’ll tell,” Slater says. “Part of the promise I made. Can’t take that away.”
“Fair enough,” Lincoln says, “but we’ll keep this away from them. Family business. Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
I look at Brody and he’s watching the exchange. When I study him, I always notice his hands are bound into tight fists, like there isn’t a single moment of the day that he finds any sort of peace.
It’s then I notice a name on his finger, his ring finger.
It’s tattooed on small, so small you wouldn’t notice it unless you were specifically looking at his hands.
I squint.
Melanie.
Who the fuck is Melanie?
Is she the reason he’s like this?