* * *
When I go into work the next morning, I expect to see everyone packing our equipment for the move back to Slim’s old shop. Instead, it’s business as usual. Christos is perched on Rose’s desk, telling her about the gig last night. Duncan is walking a client through our sample book. Slim is nowhere in sight.
“What’s going on?”
Rose smiles. “The workers found asbestos in the ceiling of Slim’s old shop. They reported it, and the regulators came in and told him he has to pay big bucks to have it properly removed. He can’t even knock down the building until the asbestos is gone. He says he can’t afford it, and he doesn’t want to start all over again. He’s talking to Torment right now.”
“We get to stay?” My heart leaps in my chest, and I have to hold myself back from dancing around the room. Only now do I realize just how much I didn’t want to go.
“Depends on what work out together, if it’s possible for them to have a civil conversation,” she says. “But they seem to be best buddies now, so I’m guessing it might just work out.”
An hour later, Rose receives a call. Torment wants to see me. She laughs about his inability to walk the fifty feet between his office and our shop, but her smile fades when he calls back ten seconds later and barks “now” into the phone so loudly I can hear him from my chair.
My mouth goes dry when I knock on Torment’s door. If he’s already offered to keep Slim and the team in his shop, why does he want to see me?
“Come.”
I enter the room and Torment gestures to the chair in front of his desk. “Sit.”
Swallowing hard, I lean against the wall and fold my arms. Then I fix him with a stare. When you challenge a predator, you have to look them in the eyes. I’ve learned a lot since coming to Redemption.
Torment raises an admonishing eyebrow, but I don’t budge. His lips quiver and he leans back in his chair. “I won’t beat around the bush,” he says, steepling his fingers. “You’ve got what it takes to run the shop. You’re highly skilled, clients like you, Slim says you are incredibly organized and efficient, and you have a good manner with people. He says you’ve wanted to run your own shop since you joined him and now, after getting your license and experience under your belt, the only thing you’re lacking is confidence. Although I’m thinking he might be wrong about the confidence part.”
“Slim said that?”
Torment gives an irritated snort. “Yes, he said that. He said many other flattering things about you, which I won’t relate because I don’t want his praise to go to your head. In my view, the best way to deal with your confidence problem is to throw you into the fray. The shop is yours to manage if you want it.”
“What about Slim?”
“He says he’s decided to go freelance and I’ve bought out the business. I’ve hired him as a consultant, and he has a chair whenever he needs one. He asked me to keep the team as a favor, although the shop is now mine to do with as I will. I asked him who he thought would be the best manager and he named you. If you want to keep Rose, Christos, and Duncan on staff, I’m fine with that. If you want to hire new people, you can do that too.”
My own shop. And not just a shop, but Torment’s incredible, state-of-the-art, beautiful shop where I could see my fighter friends every day. But what if I screw it up? What if I run it into the ground, and I don’t have the money to help my parents? The old worries still niggle, but what really holds me back is Torment. I know now what it takes to control an alpha male like him. If we do enter into a business relationship, he needs to know he doesn’t scare me, and I won’t jump every time he snaps his fingers—or barks at Rose.
“It’s an incredibly generous offer,” I say. “But I need some time to think about it.”
Torment scowls and I almost take back my words.
“Tough. But I like it. You got a month, then I hunt you down.”
I take a step toward the door, and then I turn back and give him a half smile. “How does Makayla put up with you?”
Torment doesn’t miss a beat, nor is he in any way offended. His face softens, and he leans back in his chair. “Love. It works out all the kinks.”
Something scared the Predator
Priority: Confidential
Bay Area Underground Fight Club (BUFC) Fight Night
Railway Station, 51st & Main 8 p.m.
Headlining: The Predator vs. Dirty Dancer
Code Word: Swayze
After stopping at the pharmacy to pick up my pills on my way home from work, I walk into my apartment just as my phone vibrates with a text message from BUFC. Trust Ray to forget to tell me he’s fighting tonight. I text Tag, and we arrange to meet up for a quick bite at our favorite steak house before the fight. Then I text Jess. She’s already made plans to attend the fight with Blade Saw. I tell her that Tag will be there. She says she knows, but she’s decided it’s time to move on.
Anticipation ratchets through me as I rifle through my wardrobe. What to wear? What to wear? I want to look special tonight. For the first time, I’m going to stand front and center and watch the Predator fight instead of hiding at the back.
After texting pictures of at least six outfits to Jess, I eschew my usual black for a pleated red chiffon dress with a fitted bodice, spaghetti straps, and a sweetheart neckline that my mother bought for me one Christmas in an attempt to get me to wear something other than black.
Jess approves the dress and especially approves of the ankle-high black stiletto boots and the chunky black goth necklace—the Sia she knows with a splash of color. Exactly how I feel.
Ten minutes later, I’m in my underground parking garage, my heels echoing in the quiet space. Friends, fight, Ray. It’s gonna be a good night.
My skin prickles as I reach my Volvo. Heart racing, I spin around, just as a hand clamps on my arm.
“Sia?”
Relief floods through my system when I recognize Duncan’s client from the shop. “Yuri? I didn’t know you lived here.”
“I don’t.” He jabs a needle in my arm and the world goes black.
* * *
I don’t know what wakes me.
Maybe it is the rumble of a truck outside, or a sound in the room. Perhaps the rasp of a breath. My eyes open and adjust slowly to the semidarkness. Gradually, I make out a bland lacquer dresser; flat screen TV on the wall; small, ornate table; and Yuri, sitting in a chair reading a newspaper beside my bed.
I’m on a bed.
“Finally awake,” Yuri says, as he swings his legs off the small, wooden coffee table, his Russian accent now so thick I can barely understand him.
My heart thuds against my ribs. This is happening all over again. I didn’t listen to my instincts and now I’m going to die. Terror builds inside me, a living, hungry beast.
“What is this? Why am I here?” My words come out in a croak.
He shrugs. “Your man needs to learn a lesson. He got too close. Thought he was invincible. But there is more pain in heartbreak than death, and we’re all about pain in this business.”
“He’s not in the business anymore.” I scan the room for a way out and some kind of weapon, since he hasn’t tied my hands. “He’s out.”
Yuri laughs. “There is no out. There is only death. And that will come for him. But first, the pain.” He pulls a knife from a holster on his belt, and a sickening wave of terror wells up from my belly. I take a deep breath and then another. I steel myself. This time, I won’t panic. This time, I will save myself. Yuri is still talking, and if he’s talking, he’s not hurting me. So I need him to talk some more while I figure out a way to get free.
“What is the business you’re in?”
He snorts again. “Tragic you have to die without even knowing the reason, but duty means more to him than love. That is the way it is with CIA scum.”
My pulse roars in my ears. It was true after all. I wish Tag were here so I could tell him. I wish I could say good-bye. I wish I could tell Ray I love him, even though he’s a CIA spy.
Yuri doesn’t seem too concerned about my ability to move, so I pull up my knees and push myself to sitting, my back protected against the headboard. My purse is on the dresser, too far to reach, and Yuri is between the window and the door, my only possible exits. I glance over at the nightstand for a weapon, anything that would buy me enough time to get out the door, but my only option is a small digital clock, flashing ten p.m.
Ten
p.m.
The fight will be over. Will Ray have missed me? Will Tag think I ditched him again? What about Jess? Will anyone be looking for me?
“What are you going to do?” My voice wavers, despite my attempt to keep it steady. Already my body is shaking with the adrenaline rush, and my attempts to slow my breathing are in vain. But I’ve been here before. And I won’t make the same mistake I made with Luke. I will not panic; I will not freeze.
“What would hurt him most, do you think?” Yuri cocks his head and gives me a lascivious grin.
“I think you’ve already decided,” I say through gritted teeth. “Otherwise I would already be dead.”
“So entertaining.” Yuri reaches for his belt. “I enjoyed you in the tattoo parlor as well. Charming, pretty, and talented. Such a shame you have to die. But that was his choice. I’ll let him know you gave me a little something to remember you by.” He pats his arm where I tatted the rose, and I bite my lip to fight back a scream.
Yuri laughs as he undoes his belt. “Don’t fight it. Scream away. No one will hear you. This entire wing is empty. And I like the sound of a woman’s screams. I also like a little fight, which is why you’re not restrained.”
Not restrained. Hands free. Legs free. Mouth free. I hear the voice of the Discovery Channel narrator in my head:
Biting, charging, kicking, and scratching are effective forms of defense that can chase potential predators away or force them to release their prey.
I remember Tag’s self-defense moves, Doctor Death’s grapple techniques, and Ray lying on top of me, keeping me safe. And I remember the feel of my teeth piercing his skin.
I don’t want to be prey. I want to be the predator.
Yuri whips off his belt, and I form a quick plan. When he leans over and grabs my hands, holding them over my head against the scratchy bedspread, I lick my lips.
I
am
the
predator.
He drops his head closer, and I rear up and bite his lip.
Yuri screams and pulls back. The acrid, metallic taste of blood on my tongue makes me gag. But still I hold on, driving my teeth into his flesh. Only when he slaps me across the face, do I let go. Holding his lip with one hand, he crawls on top of me. He smells of smoke and stale sweat, and my stomach lurches. When he reaches for my hands, I Tasmanian Devil him, wriggling, writhing, and shrimping on the bed. Yuri pushes himself up, dodging my blows, but before he can reassess the situation, I bring up my legs and smash them into his chest.
Yuri falls off the end of the bed. His eyes harden, and he pulls a gun from the holster at his side.
I scream.
Pain rips through my shoulder.
The door crashes open.
Ray bursts into the room. Yuri turns and raises his weapon, but he’s too slow. Ray fires twice and blood blooms across Yuri’s chest. He collapses on the bed, then rolls to the floor.
Agents in black with FBI vests flood into the tiny space. Ray kneels beside the bed. “It’s okay. We got you now.”
But it’s not okay. Breath doesn’t come to my lungs. My heart doesn’t stop pounding. Sweat doesn’t stop trickling down my forehead, blurring my vision. “My shoulder…”
Ray’s face is pale, stark. His eyes burn with a fire I haven’t seen before. He turns and yells. “Medic. Now.” And then he squeezes my hand. “It’s just a little flesh wound. Talk to me.”
But I can’t talk, can’t breathe. The fire in my shoulder burns hotter than the fire in his eyes, consuming me, pulling me into the darkness.
“Fuck.” Ray turns and shouts for a medic again. He strokes my head, and the pain subsides as I slide into a dark, safe place.
“I didn’t panic,” I whisper. “I fought back. Like a predator. Like you.”
“You did good, beautiful girl.” Ray kisses my forehead. “You held him off. I came as fast as I could.”
“But…” I swallow past the lump in my throat as I struggle toward the light.
“Where’s the damn medic?” Panic infuses Ray’s voice. “Medic!”
His panic defeats me and the world fades away. “You weren’t fast enough,” I whisper.
Something scared the Predator.
I think it was me.
Everything beautiful…
This time when I wake, the room is light.
White. Bright. Medical equipment on the walls. Machines beeping. Heavy, cloying scent of disinfectant.
An IV tugs my arm when I try to move, and when I turn my head, I see Ray.
We stare at each other. His face is deeply lined. Worn. Haggard. He needs comfort, but I can’t give it to him. What do I say to the man who promised to keep me safe, and instead made my worst nightmare come true?
A tear trickles down my cheek. My mouth is dry, so dry. But I manage to get out one word. “Tag.”
He nods as if he was expecting me to say just that, and he pushes himself out of his chair. His leather jacket creaks as he makes his way to the door, and then he pauses, looks over his shoulder, and meets my gaze. His eyes are dull, so pale they are almost gray. Haunted. Broken.
And then he’s gone.
A nurse comes to see me next. She gives me water, checks my vitals, and raises the bed so I can sit. Her name is Mary, and she tells me I’m in a private, federally funded hospital outside Oakland. I had an operation to remove a bullet from my shoulder yesterday, and everything went well. Tag and Jess are outside. My parents are meeting with the doctor in charge. Two agents are waiting to talk to me.
“You haven’t been alone for a minute,” she says gently. “Your family and friends were here during the day, and at night Mr. Black sat beside you and held your hand.”
When I give her a puzzled look, she frowns. “The agent who just left.”
Ah. Ray
. I didn’t even know his last name. And I didn’t really know he was an agent.
After Mary leaves, my room becomes a revolving door of visitors. First the doctor who tells me I’ll be fine and will be able to go home the day after tomorrow. Next, Mom comes in for a bout of weeping followed by a lecture on how being a tattoo artist exposes me to the criminal elements of society and I need to rethink my career. Overcome with emotion, Dad just pats me on the head and fills the silence with football stats.
Jess and Tag come in holding hands after Mom and Dad leave. Like Dad, Tag is too emotional to talk, so Jess talks for him. She knew something was wrong when I didn’t show up at the fight, and when she called Tag and found out I hadn’t shown up for dinner, she told Ray and they went to my apartment. Tag was already there. He’d found my car keys under my car and had called his police buddies. But before they even arrived, Ray had the FBI on the scene. That’s when she knew it was really bad.
Tag makes a noise, a cross between a sob and a growl, and Jess gives his hand a squeeze and tells him, “Look, she’s here. She’s okay. Ray saved her.”
“She wouldn’t have been in that position if not for him. This is all his fault.” Tag stalks out of the room. Jess races after him, telling me over her shoulder that she’s spent the last few days trying to keep them apart, because every time Tag sees Ray, he goes crazy.
Strangely detached, I watch them go. Maybe it’s the drugs or shock, but I feel nothing. No happiness. No sadness. No relief or anger. I just sit as people come in and out, say little, feel less, and pray the circus will end.
“You okay, Sia?” A man enters the room and pulls up a chair beside me. He is tall and thin, with sandy-brown hair parted to one side. His dark suit and white shirt are impeccably pressed. Everything about him screams agent, and I tense in the bed.
He holds out his hand. “I haven’t properly introduced myself. I’m Special Agent Jack Harris. FBI. I just wanted to ask you a few questions about what happened and commend you on your bravery.”
Giving his hand a limp shake, I shrug. “I’m hardly brave. When I saw him in the parking lot, I didn’t run away because I knew him from the tattoo parlor. And in the hotel room, I knew all sorts of self-defense and fight moves, and all I could come up with was to keep him talking, kick him, and bite his lip. If you hadn’t come, he would have killed me. I trust all the wrong people. I make myself vulnerable over and over again, and I get hurt. I’m pathetic.”
The self-loathing and bitterness in my voice shock even me. Maybe this is why I haven’t been able to talk all day. These are the words that I needed to say and I couldn’t let my family or friends hear them.
Jack appears to be unfazed by my outburst. His bland expression doesn’t change. “Sometimes talking is the bravest thing you can do,” he says in a calm, even tone. “It buys you time, it keeps the assailant calm, and it makes him see you as a person, not a victim.”
“He saw me as a message for Ray.” I spit out each word. “And I bought myself maybe a few minutes.”
“That was enough time for us to get to you.” Jack smiles. “Those were minutes where you stayed calm and didn’t panic. Not easy to do. And don’t beat yourself up for not running away. He had been watching you for a while. His visits to the tattoo parlor were for the sole purpose of ensuring you didn’t run when he finally took you. We found surveillance pictures on his computer.”
“How did you find me?”
He shifts uneasily in his chair. “There’s a tracker in the necklace Ray gave you.”
My hand flies up to the amber pendant hanging around my neck. God, this just gets worse and worse. “Ray knew about it?”
“He put it there. After he caught one of Yuri’s men following you, he came to us for assistance and arranged for the tracker. We raided Yuri’s hotel room the next day. There was an explosion, and we thought he died in the blast, but he must have escaped out a back exit.”
The urge to rip the necklace off my neck and hurl it across the room is so great, I have to fist my hands in my lap.
Seemingly oblivious to my despair, Jack asks detailed questions about what happened, starting with Yuri’s visits to the shop and ending with what I now know was a motel room near the San Francisco International Airport. Finally, he closes his notebook and we say good-bye.
“Jack?”
He turns at the doorway, eyebrow raised.
“Yuri said Ray is with the CIA. Is that true?”
A tight smile crosses his lips. “I wouldn’t know.”
* * *
He comes in the night, as I knew he would.
Visiting hours don’t mean anything to a man like Ray, and no one is going to turn him away.
The monitors beep softly in the dim light. Something gurgles behind me. Ray’s jacket creaks as he leans forward and touches my hand.
“I was waiting for you,” I say.
“Wasn’t sure if I could come back.” His voice is rough, hoarse, and so gravelly I know he hasn’t slept for a while.
Steeling myself to keep my emotions at bay, I look over, studying the lines and planes of his haggard face. “Did you have something you wanted to say?”
He scrubs a hand over his face and shudders. “Everything beautiful…”
“Ray…”
“I’ve destroyed everything beautiful in my life. But you”—his voice tightens—“you are beyond beautiful to me. The last thing I ever wanted to do was hurt you. I failed you in the worst possible way. I broke my promise.”
“Yes, you did.” I hand him the necklace I removed after Jack’s visit, my anger now smoldering instead of a raging inferno. “You promised to keep me safe, but—”
“I put you in danger.” Self-loathing fills his voice as he takes the necklace. “Danger I will never put you in again.” He tightens his fist and holds the necklace to his heart. “I’m sorry, Sia. I wanted you so much that I lost you. I wish I could turn back the clock so I could make all the right choices, spare your suffering, and keep you safe in my arms.” He draws in a ragged breath, then perches on the edge of the bed and pulls me into his arms, holding me so tight I can barely breathe.
“I made that wish about turning back the clock for years. It never came true.”
“Maybe when I’m gone.”
My heart stutters. “You’re leaving the city?”
“It’s the only way I know to keep you safe.” He brushes a kiss over my forehead. “This way I’ll know you’ll never be in danger. Because you won’t be with me.”
A black hole opens in my chest. For all the anger and disappointment I feel, I can’t imagine life without him. I open my mouth, but the words I want to say don’t come.
“I’ll join a different gym until I leave,” he says. “I’ll stay away from the places you like to go. I…won’t see you again.” He begins to pull away, and I tighten my arms.
Not
yet
, my heart screams. I’m not ready.
“Don’t go.” My voice wavers. “You don’t go. You don’t leave. You don’t walk away.”
Ray buries his face in my neck. “I have to.”
We hold each other in the darkness. I breathe in his scent, soap and leather and the essence of him. I commit him to memory, the feel of his hard body pressed up against me, the warmth of his embrace, the slow, steady beat of his heart, the words he whispers into the night.
I
wasn’t fast enough.
I must have fallen asleep in his arms, because when I wake, Ray is gone.