Combative Trilogy

by McLean, Jay

  “This isn’t about Ashton anymore.”

  “You ever touch her yourself, or you just leave that shit to Franco?”

  He throws the first punch, getting me square in the jaw, but I’m quick to recover. I shoulder his stomach, bring him down to the floor, my fists flying. I get two clear shots in before he has me pinned beneath him. I grab my gun from the holster, but he’s quicker than I expected. He grasps my wrist, shaking the gun out of my hold, and I push up off the floor, try to buck him off of me. We roll around, throwing blow for blow. Blood hits my tongue when he strikes me on the mouth. I reach up, shove my hand in his face, claw at his fucking eyeballs while I stretch for the gun strapped to my ankle. But he finds my throat, squeezing hard, blocking air from my lungs. My vision blurs while I gasp for my next breath. “You little fuck,” he says, lifting my head and smashing it against the floor. I groan, my head throbbing from the impact. “You want to take me on,” he roars, “you do it like a fuckin’ man!”

  My hands circle his wrists, trying to push him off me, but he only squeezes harder.

  “You’re just like your fuckin’ father,” he fumes. “Weak and pathetic.”

  My heart stops.

  “I’m going to do the same thing I did to him when he started sticking his nose where it didn’t belong… I’m going to kill you like I did him.”

  “Fuck you,” I choke out, a trail of warmth streaking down my temple. “You fuckin’ liar.”

  And then he smiles, this sinister fucking smile that will forever be burned in my memory. “You know why he had a weak heart? Because I put a fucking bullet through it. But with you—you, I’ll end with my bare hands.” My world dims when he strengthens his hold. And then he leans down, spit flying from his mouth when he says, “And the best part… his last words… mio figlio.” My son.

  My body goes numb as darkness fills my soul, and when my eyes drift shut, all I see, all I hear, all I feel is Bailey. And then I’m being crushed, my airways finally clear as I gasp on a breath. My eyes snap open, my vision blurred with red. I taste it on my tongue, feel it on my flesh. Blood. So much blood. It takes me a moment to realize that Benny’s dead weight is frozen on top of me. Then I hear it, a whimper, a sob, and I blink up at Ashton, standing above us, a pistol—silencer attached—shaking in her hand.

  “Ash,” I breathe out, and she drops the gun, her tear-filled eyes wide as her chest heaves.

  “Oh my god,” she cries, her eyes meeting mine. “I didn’t—I couldn’t—”

  I whisper her name, wincing when I push her dead father off me. He rolls to my side, his lifeless eyes aimed at the ceiling. Blood pours from his temple, a single wound, and I look up at my wife. “Ashton…”

  Her hand trembles as she covers her mouth, her breaths ragged, rapid. “I…” She blinks once, letting her tears fall. “I couldn’t let him kill you.”

  Chapter 46

  Ashton’s cries are silent as I hold her, naked and dripping wet from the showerhead above us. Below us, the remnants of her father’s blood flow down the drain. “It’s okay, Ash,” I lie, kissing the top of her head.

  Her shoulders shake with another sob, and she looks up at me, her tear-filled eyes cracking my heart wide open. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t you dare apologize.”

  “But we made a promise… and this wasn’t the plan.”

  She’s right. It wasn’t. But that no longer matters because now we’re here, and I need to fix this. I cup her face. “I know it’s hard, Ash, but we need to be quick. I don’t know how much longer the feds are going to be there, and they need to see us leaving with Ezio, remember? He’s our alibi.”

  She blinks, nodding as I remove my arms from around her.

  “Is it all out?” I ask her.

  “No,” she cries. “The water’s still red. I think—I think it’s in your hair.”

  I run my hands over my head, bring them to my face, my vision blurring when I see the blood of another man on my hands.

  “Here,” she says, grabbing the bottle of shampoo. She pours it on my palm. “Do it again.”

  I scrub and scrub, but the water won’t turn clear. “It’s not—” I choke on my emotions. “It won’t come out.”

  “It will,” she assures. “Just… dip down a little, and I’ll check.”

  I take a step back, drop my head between my shoulders.

  “You’re too tall. I can’t… maybe just squat down a little.”

  For the first time, I get down on my knees in front of her. Because no proposal came with our marriage. Just an agreement.

  “Nate?” she sniffs once.

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m going to have to touch your hair… is that—is that okay?”

  Jesus Christ. The girl just murdered a man—her father—because he was about to kill me, and still, she’s thinking about my needs, about my thoughts of Bailey. “Yes.”

  She hesitates a beat, and then her hands are in my hair, her expert fingers stroking through the strands, and I don’t know what happens next. Whether it’s this level of bare intimacy we’re sharing or if it’s Ashton’s touch or the reasons why we’re doing it. Or maybe… maybe I’m just now processing what Benny admitted.

  He killed my father.

  He’d been at my dad’s funeral, crying tears of mourning, and then he took me into The Family, into his family, and slowly, he brought me up from the darkness, made me feel like a man. Like I could do this. And all this time…

  Before I can stop it, a single sob catches in my throat. My shoulders bounce, my knees no longer able to hold me up. I fall into Ashton, her arms quick to catch me. And now she’s the one holding me, whispering words in my ear—words I can’t hear through the thumping of my heart. Hands on my jaw, she pulls back so she can squat down in front of me. “It’s okay, Nathaniel,” she whispers, wiping the tears mixed with water off my cheeks. She holds me tighter, her small arms a fortress in a war zone.

  Seconds pass.

  Minutes.

  She never lets me go.

  And I…

  I don’t want her to.

  “You’re clean now,” she says into my neck, kissing me there. “All the bad’s been washed away, il mio re.” My King.

  I once told Bailey that I knew the secret to chess. People assume that the king is the most critical piece on the board, but that’s a lie. It’s the queen who protects the king, the one who holds the most power over the entire kingdom and their enemies that’s the key to winning the battle. And then there’s the pawn, the most insignificant piece of them all. But, if a pawn plays smart enough and makes it to the end of the board, that pawn can become the queen.

  And the secret to chess is simple: know the value of your pieces.

  Chapter 47

  I squeeze Ashton’s hand as I drive past the agents’ SUV, eying Ezio through the rearview.

  “Will you need any help with... with...” my uncle trails off.

  He can’t say the words out loud: getting rid of the body.

  “No.” Besides, I would never ask such a thing from him.

  He nods, saying nothing more.

  “I’m going to take you home first,” I tell Ashton. “And then I’ll take Ezio to his hotel. Is that okay?”

  She dips her head.

  I bring her hand to my mouth, kiss the inside of her wrist. “I’ll be back later tonight. We need to take care of this before his capos come tomorrow and find the body.”

  “How are you going to clean the blood?” she asks.

  “We’re not,” I reply, shrugging. “I want them to know Benny’s dead. I just don’t want them to find his body.” Ashton doesn’t respond, and when I glance at her, her eyes are down, focused at the trash bag filled with our blood-stained clothes. “It’s going to be okay, Ash.”

  She turns to me, her eyes red and raw from all the tears she’s shed. “You’re coming back, right?”

  There’s a tugging in my chest, an unbearable ache. “Of course, I will.”


  “Lo prometti?” You promise?

  I smile, kiss her hand again. “Lo prometto, princepessa.” I promise, princess.

  The sun’s almost up by the time I get home, and Ashton’s the first thing I see when I step inside. She’s sitting on the couch in a robe, a wine glass in her hand, her gaze lost. I go to her, squat down so we’re eye to eye, and it’s only now that I realize she’d been crying. That, most likely, she hasn’t stopped crying. “Hey…” I settle my hands on her bare knees, stroke my thumb along her heated skin, and wait until her eyes meet mine to say, “Why aren’t you in bed?”

  “Can’t sleep,” she deadpans.

  “Yeah,” I sigh out. “It’s been a long day, huh?”

  Her hand covers mine. “I heard what my dad said… about what he did to your dad.”

  I shake my head, ignore the blinding ache in my chest. “I don’t really want to talk about it.”

  Nodding, she places her glass on the table beside her while a single tear slides down her cheek. I wipe it away.

  “What do you need from me, Ash? Whatever it is, just tell me and I’ll make it happen.”

  She covers her face with her hands, her sob wracking her entire body. I bring her to me, hold her close. “It wasn’t supposed to be you,” I whisper. “I’m sorry I put you in that situation. I…”

  She pulls back. “I know what we have is… complicated.”

  My gaze drops.

  “But I don’t regret what I did. I’d choose you over him a thousand times, over and over, because I love you, Nate. And I know you don’t—”

  “I love you, too.”

  Her eyes widen. “You do?”

  “Yes, Ash,” I tell her, the weight of the truth falling from my shoulders. And even though my love for her isn’t the same as my love for Bailey, it doesn’t make it less valid. Less real. With Bailey, it was intense at the beginning and even more so now, but the time in between—when we were together—it was safe, and it was solid, and that’s what I’ve always felt with Ashton. And maybe the intensity with Bailey is the reason why it could never work between us. Besides, what’s one four-letter word for my wife to remember me by? “I love you.” I grasp her hand, pull her to her feet. “Let’s go to bed.” Then I lead her to her bedroom and close the door behind us. And then I kiss her. I kiss her like I’ve wanted to kiss her since Benny’s hand left my throat. And I touch her. I touch her in ways I’ve only touched one other person. I tell her I love her, again and again, and I mean it every single time. And then I make love to her, and for the first time since we got married, I treat her the way she deserves to be treated. I treat her like my wife.

  The piercing ache in my chest makes it impossible to sleep, not that I could. Every time I close my eyes, I see Benny’s dead ones looking back at me. I haven’t been able to take a full breath since it happened, and I can’t seem to shake this jitter in my hands, this twitch that comes at random times. It’s a wonder how Ashton’s fast asleep, tucked into my side, her peaceful breaths a contrast to the chaos inside my head. And maybe that’s my problem. Because I’ve always been like this… always too deep inside my fucking head. There’s no end to my thoughts, circles upon circles, and worse, there’s no escape.

  Fuck.

  As carefully as possible, I untangle myself from Ashton’s naked embrace, a slight smile forming when she groans in protest. She’s back to sleep a moment later, and so I stand at the end of the bed, and I watch her. And there are so many worse things in life than coming home and ending every day like this. With her.

  My hand twitches, the pain going all the way up my arm to my chest, and so I pick up my jeans off the floor and bring them to the bathroom with me. I close the door behind me. Lock it. Then I take out the bottle of pills from my pocket, tap the open end against my palm. Six pills fall out just as there’s a twisting in my chest. I hold my breath, wait for the pain to fade, and wince when it only seems to get worse. Without a second thought, I throw all six pills in my mouth and down them with the water straight from the tap. I grasp at the edge of the sink, my head between my shoulders, and I can’t fucking breathe. My legs give out beneath me, but I catch my fall.

  I leave Ashton’s room and go to mine so I can let her sleep in peace. Face scrunched in agony, I sit on the edge of the bed, my hand clutching my chest, pounding it. Moments pass, and finally, finally, the pain fades. At least physically. I throw on some clothes, ignoring the gnawing in my gut, the thoughts racing as fast as my heart just was.

  Bailey Bailey Bailey.

  I can’t fucking stop thinking about her, about what I’d just done with another woman. And I love them both, but I can’t have them both, and there’s a reason why she hadn’t slept with Parker, and maybe… maybe that reason is me. And the guilt… god-fucking-damn the guilt, because it’s clawing at my insides, fucking with my head, like pure heroin swimming through my veins.

  I move to the living room because the walls are less intrusive, and I part the curtains, the daylight momentarily blinding me. It’s mid-morning now, the world in full swing, and yet… I can’t help but feel like my world has just ended.

  I try to still my thoughts by sitting on the couch. It lasts less than a minute. I’m up, and I’m pacing the floor, and the spasms in my hands, my entire body, won’t fucking quit. The pain returns, and I grasp at my hair because I need it to end.

  I can’t keep fucking doing this.

  Feeling this.

  I pause mid-stride. “Just one,” I whisper to myself, glancing at my bedroom door.

  Just one, and everything will be better.

  Everything will go away.

  My feet are light as I make my way back to my room. I close the door. Lock it, too. Then I sit on the bed, pull open the drawer of the nightstand.

  Just one.

  I reach in, my palm up, searching the underside of the table.

  Just one.

  My fingertips graze along the plastic, and for the first time in days, I breathe, relieved.

  The white powder feels familiar in my hands, and when I tap it out onto the table, a smile reaches my lips.

  Just one.

  Sweat coats my brow, and I brush it away. Mouth dry, I use the blunt razor in the bag to form a line with my old friend. Soon, we’ll be dancing together.

  Fingers trembling, I roll the dollar bill, and I snort that motherfucker like my life depends on it. Because it does. And it’s not that big a deal.

  It’s just one.

  Two.

  Three lines of coke.

  And thank fuck it works because now I only have one thought on my mind.

  One reason.

  One purpose.

  I grab Ashton’s keys off the entry table and slip on my shoes, and then I’m off.

  I just want to see her.

  Just once.

  And then she and I, we’ll be dancing together.

  Chapter 48

  There are a lot of things I didn’t expect to gain when I agreed to go “undercover” with the agents. A relationship was one, and a part-time job was another. For the past few weeks I’d been working at Debbie’s Flowers, I’ve fallen in love with the work. Being surrounded by all these colors, all these smells… I don’t think I ever truly realized what I’d been missing out on until Ky brought me here the first time.

  I wish I could live here forever, but that’s not my life, and it’s definitely not my reality. Because my reality just sent me another text:

  Brent: Anything?

  I’m quick to reply.

  Madison: No.

  According to the agents, to Tiny, to Ashton, Nate’s gone missing. No one has heard from him in the past twenty-four hours. The last one to see him was Ashton, who says that Nate slipped out of their bed without her knowledge and poof. Gone. Tiny hasn’t heard from him. Can’t track him. And I wouldn’t usually be worried, but he’s not the only one missing. So is Benny Bianchi. And that’s too much of a coincidence to ignore.

  I’ve walked around with an intolera
ble ache in my gut ever since I found out, and the worst part is that I have no one to talk to about it. At least not openly. Every second Ky’s at the gym, I’m at work, and the time in between we spend together. Tiny is with Ashton, trying to keep her calm, because Ashton is Nate’s wife, and I’m… I’m merely his past. So I fake it. Every smile, every bit of laughter, every ounce of joy, and every time the door to the shop opens, I wish for Nate. I just need to know that he’s okay. That he’s alive. But that feeling in my gut? It tells me otherwise.

  * * *

  The door of the shop opens, and I hold my breath before looking up. I wish for Nate. I get Kyler instead. I force a smile, do what’s expected of me: I push up off the counter, close my eyes, and pucker my lips, waiting for his kiss.

  In this world, we are every other couple.

  He kisses me once. Twice. And when he pulls away, I ask, “Another one?” It’s a game we’ve played, one he started. One that gives me hope for a normal future.

  “Hey! That’s my line,” he laughs out, and I join in on the laughter. Fake. He kisses me again, and I show him what I’d been working on. He gets excited for me. And I realize that for some people, being in a relationship, being in love, it means sharing the same feelings, the same sadness and elation. I’d never had that with Nate because he kept so much to himself, and I had so little to share, but it didn’t seem to matter because we had love.

  I remember our last interaction. Our last kiss. Our final goodbye, and I shouldn’t be thinking these things with Kyler standing in front of me… but—

  “Oh good, Kyler’s here,” Debbie—my boss—sings as she walks out of the storeroom. She collects a Polaroid camera from the shelf behind the counter. “They still make those?” Ky asks.

  “Nothing will ever replace instant memories,” she replies. She fiddles with it some while I round the counter and throw my arm around Ky’s waist, my nose scrunching. “You’re sticky and smelly,” I whisper.