Slammed: Stepbrother MMA Fighter (14 page)

Chapter Twenty Six

Mitch Reiser’s neighborhood was downright depressing. In all the years she spent in Snowbird Chelsea had never actually been to this part of town. The pavement was cracked and broken, the curb lined with litter – potato chip bags, take-out containers, and empty fifths of vodka and whiskey. The houses were large and old, and most of them were empty. Windows were empty or boarded up, some covered in thin, white sheets that flapped in the breeze. The day had started grey and chilly and the skies above threatened rain.

It was deserted and that made Chelsea nervous. She had been in bad neighborhoods before, but never one so desolate and empty. There were no children playing on the sidewalks, no teenagers walking together in large groups and laughing at some inside joke. There was one lone man, hunched low against the wind walking away from them; that was it, on the whole street there was just one man limping away.

Blue was less worried. They arrived at the house and he climbed out of the car and slammed the door shut, the sound echoing up and down the street. Chelsea followed, but she hugged her sweater tightly to herself as she looked around.

“According to Paul this is the place,” Blue said as the stood in front of a large, dilapidated Victorian style house. There was a wraparound porch that must have been lovely once, but today it was covered in trash and spider webs and half the wood was rotting away. The many windows of the house were empty and dark and no sound came from them.

“Maybe he’s not home,” Chelsea ventured.

But Blue just pointed to the parking lot where a black SUV sat. It was the nicest thing on the whole block; there were no dents or scratches on it and it looked like it had just been cleaned. He walked confidently up the stairs and pounded three times on the door. Chelsea waited on the lawn as she looked up and down the empty street. Suddenly there was a flash of movement in the window near the door. One of the curtains had moved, Chelsea had seen it. At that moment she was very aware of the small gun sitting in her purse and she wondered how quickly she could get to it if she needed it.

“Open up, Mitch,” Blue said to the door. “I know you’re home and we’re not cops. We just have a quick question for you.”

The door opened a crack and Chelsea could see a man’s face in the open sliver between the door and the door jam. He was young, but his face had that look of someone who had been rode hard. He was overly tan and the lines and creases under his eyes and around his mouth were deep.

“Who are you?” he demanded through the door.

“I’m Blue DeMarco, Terrance’s son,” Blue answered.

“Terrance sent you?”

“The old man and I aren’t exactly on speaking terms. But I don’t want to talk about him. I want to talk to you. How about you let me in?”

“How about you get the hell off my property before I shoot you and that chick you got with you-” he turned to Chelsea and she watched as the part of the face that she could see went slack. Before they knew it, he had slammed the door closed, but then opened it again a moment later. He craned his neck and look past Blue, “No, it can’t be...” he started. He took off his hat and ran his hands through his thinning hair. “If I didn’t know any better I would swear that’s Chelsea Riley,” he said shyly as he twisted his cap in his hands.

“Yep, that’s me,” Chelsea said as she took a step towards the porch. She walked up the stairs next to Blue and put on her flashiest smile as she held her hand out to the other man, “Nice to meet you,” she said. She kept her smile bright and her eyes wide as she looked at the nervous-looking Mitch.

“I heard you was from Snowbird, but I never expected to actually meet ya or 1othing,” Mitch said. For a guy who worked for mobsters, Mitch was oddly bashful. His eyes would occasionally glance at Chelsea and then his face would turn beet red and once he made eye contact he would quickly look away.

“I came back for a visit. I wanted to spend some time with my family. But...oh Mitch, something awful has happened,” Chelsea’s eyes filled with tears as she reached out and touched Mitch’s arms. “My sister, my only sister, has been kidnapped and I’m so worried about her. I can’t sleep, I can’t eat. Meanwhile my manager is losing her mind and she’s threatening to end my career if I don’t return to LA immediately, but how can I abandon my only sister? I heard from a friend that you might know where she is and if she’s okay. If that’s true you would be my hero, Mitch. I would be eternally grateful, so please, could you help me?” She kept her hand on his arm and her eyes locked onto his as she spoke. She could see as his expressions wavered and she wondered if she had said enough.

“Come inside,” Mitch said as he glanced up and down the street and then jerked his head towards the door.

He walked into the house and Blue and then Chelsea followed. The inside of the house wasn’t any better than the outside. Looking around Chelsea realized no one had made any changes to the house in what looked like seventy years. There were oil-filled hurricane lamps in the corners and ratty and broken furniture was scattered over the pockmarked and scratched wooden floors.

“You really Blue DeMarco?” he asked as the stood in the destroyed living room.

“Yeah,” Blue said, crossing his arms.

“I heard you were good,” Mitch said with an appraising nod. “Everyone was very excited to hear you were back in town. There was a lot of interest in seeing you go back in the ring.”

“He’s not going back in the ring,” Chelsea cut it. “That’s barbaric and wrong and you can’t make him do it.” Next to her she could see as Blue tensed and his jaw tightened.

“That so?” Mitch asked.

“I want to get Chelsea’s sister back. Where are they keeping her?”

“I don’t know,” Mitch said shaking his head. “That was a serious job. He brought in some guys he used to work with. That’s way above my pay grade.”

“Please, Mitch,” Chelsea said. “We’ve been searching for days, but we’ve only come up with dead ends. We don’t have anything; can’t you help us at all? Could you tell us about the men who took her, the men from Detroit? We would never tell anyone that you told us anything. I swear it.”

“I want backstage passes to all your concerts for all of time,” Mitch said after a moment’s thought.

“Done!” Chelsea said holding her hand out. Mitch reached out with his and she felt his dry papery skin beneath her own. She would have invited Mitch to live in her future guest house if he had asked. She had gotten off light with just the concert tickets.

“So, these guys have a good business up in Detroit. Drugs, girls, fights, you name it. Whatever you want, for the right price, they can get it for you. And by anything, I mean anything.  But they were famous for their fights; they were real nasty, down and dirty affairs, so naturally all the businessmen wanted to come and bet and watch the fights.

The boys from Detroit made good money, they sold tickets and drinks and even took a cut of the bets. They were doing very well for themselves, but you can always do better, you know? So the boys began to organize a different kind of fight, something that would get them in a lot more trouble than just an underground fight club if the five-oh ever stopped by. These fights were for the richest and most depraved men. There was a one million dollar buy-in, but you had to be personally invited by one of the boys to get invited.”

“Whoa,” Chelsea said. “What made those fights so special?”

“They were to the death. One man versus another, no weapons, no gloves, no refs, just a fight to the death and then the boys get rid of the body and everybody goes home getting to feel like they lived for once in their lives. Mind if I smoke?” he asked, taking a shaky hand and pulling out a pack of Camel Lights. Chelsea and Blue shook their heads and he hit a cigarette, blew out a large plume of smoke and continued. “I went once. I did a personal run for one of the boys; he needed blow and his favorite hooker, I got them both and it wasn’t easy – the girl’s other client was very unhappy. But the boss was pleased and he brought me down into his basement to watch,” Mitch said, shaking his head. “It was awful. It was these two men who had nothing against each other trying to kill each other while a room full other men cheered and yelled and bet money. The memory of it makes my skin crawl.”

Chelsea glanced up at Blue and saw he was white as a sheet. He was looking intently at Mitch and every muscle of his body was tense.

Chapter Twenty Seven

“Are you all right?” Chelsea asked Blue.

“I’m fine,” he responded, but he couldn’t look her in the eye.

“Anyway, they had that going on in Detroit, but then Detroit went bust. At first the drop in the economy was good since it provided plenty of poor and desperate men for the fights, plus there were always businessmen in the city for work. These men were from Wall Street and they had come to handle the bankruptcy papers for the failing city. But then all the big businesses were gone and then the city was gone and then they had more fighters than they had people paying to watch.

So one day, this man in a cheap suit with a whole lot of attitude comes walking into a fight with an offer. He used to run some fighting pits out in Idaho, but then he said things fell apart. He wanted to start up again and was looking for some people interested in the game. He said there was some lot men who wanted to bet on fights in Snowbird; they just lacked fighters. He wanted an advance so he could pay for the type of fighter he wanted. The boys from Detroit would just have to supply the capitol and they would split their earnings fifty-fifty. The deal was agreed upon and they set up some fights down here and, boom, before you know it they’re practically printing money. There’s nothing else like it around so fellas come from states away to see them. Hell, some guys even fly in just for the flights. Can you imagine that? Paying for airline tickets to see one fight? But they do it. So now, they’re more the boys from Snowbird instead of Detroit, they’re doing very well here and don’t want to leave.”

“So Terrance has been involved in this since the beginning?” Blue asked.

“He’s the reason we’re here,” Mitch said with nod. “But I don’t know 1othing’ about no kidnapped girl or any fights that are coming up.”

“Does that mean it’s one of the secret ones? Is it a fight to the death?” Chelsea asked.

“Could be, but I don’t know. You should leave, though, can’t have that car sitting outside the house this long. If somebody sees and it gets back to the boss, I’ll be screwed.”

“The boys from Detroit, what are their names?” Chelsea asked and she and Blue were pushed towards the door.

“Isaac and Amos Sonata, but you won’t exactly find them in any telephone book,” Mitch said as he opened the door and stuck his head out to look around. He opened it wide and motioned for Chelsea and Blue to leave. “Now, don’t forget what you promised me. Lifelong backstage passes.”

“I remember,” Chelsea said as she walked to her car. “Don’t let anything happen to you, now. I want to make sure you get to come to a lot of shows.”

He waved and smiled as they drove away. Blue drove down the streets quickly, leaving that sad and desolate part of town behind them.

They drove down the highway in silence, each one wrapped up in their own thoughts. Chelsea’s phone was on silent and buried deep in her bag and so she missed the warning from her publicist. It took her a moment to recognize what she saw. Lining the street to her house were black vans and men with huge cameras and long, telephoto lenses. The paparazzi had invaded Snowbird.

“Shit,” Chelsea whispered, sinking down into her seat. This was not good; she looked terrible, wearing an old pair of jeans two sizes two big, a ratty t-shirt, and no make-up. Plus, there was Blue. Either they were going to think he was her boyfriend or her stepbrother, or both.

Blue rolled his eyes as cameraman snapped their cameras at the car and called out her name.

“Chelsea! How are things with Ryan?”

“Why isn’t Ryan with you, Chelsea? Doesn’t he love you?”

“Who’s the guy Chelsea and does Ryan know you’re riding around with some other man?”

Blue continued to ignore them. He neither sped up nor slowed down, but drove as if they weren’t there at all, which caused a few of them to have to jump back quickly to avoid being hit. They pulled into the driveway and Blue and Chelsea emerged from the car.

“Stay off the property,” Blue ordered as the paparazzi all tried to converge on the small front lawn. Chelsea hurried to the door and began to unlock the many locks Blue had added.

“Who the hell are you?” one of them asked.

“I’m her bodyguard,” Blue said taking a menacing step towards the photographers; they all shrank back as Chelsea opened the front door and held it open for Blue who shut it behind him.

“That was awful, I’m sorry,” Chelsea said, she brought her hand up to his chest, but Blue just shrugged and walked away, leaving her hand hanging in the air.

It took twenty minutes for Chelsea to get her first alert. “Is It Over Already? Pop star Chelsea Riley Heartbroken and Back Home.” She opened the link and saw the image of what she looked like right now, rumpled and tired and with red eyes like she had just finished crying. Below that was an article where a source who was a “close friend” of Chelsea Riley’s had this to say, “Chelsea is devastated. She thought she and Ryan were forever. She’s been looking at wedding dresses and expected him to propose any day now; instead he tells her that he needs space and isn’t ready to settle down.”

Chelsea shook her head and took a deep breath determined to not let this nonsense get to her. She wondered who the “close personal” friend was. Chelsea sighed. She needed damage control on these headlines, but she couldn’t call her manager and ask. She was already on thin ice with Lauren and any she knew that the only way to get her help would involve returning to LA and Chelsea couldn’t do that yet.

But there was one person who could help. Chelsea headed towards her childhood bedroom and shut the door. Blue was taking a shower and she knew she didn’t have long.

“Hey, babes, what’s up?” Ryan answered cheerfully on the second ring.

“Hey,” Chelsea said. “I’m freaking out a little bit about these headlines. I look awful in those photos and I’m worried Lauren is going to freak when she sees them. I was hoping you could help me with a little damage control.”

“Sure, what did you have in mind?” He sounded so relaxed on the other end of the line, like he didn’t have a care in the world. Chelsea was jealous of that, she couldn’t remember what it felt like to not be anxious and afraid.

“I don’t know; how do these things normally work?”

“Well, I’ll send out a jokie tweet with the headline, you know, make it seem it like I don’t even take it seriously. Then I’ll have my agent plant a story that we’re going to the Ivy on Friday. That should get everyone out of your hick town and back here. That should buy you a few days.”

“I can’t come back to LA right now,” Chelsea said.

“Yeah, it’s cool. I’ll have a friend tell someone that we were having too good a time in bed and didn’t want to leave.”

“Wow,” Chelsea said. “That’s kind of genius.”

“Yeah, just make it look like you’re packing up, put bags in the trunk of the car and for god’s sake put some make-up on. They’ll fall for it. I’m the one they really want, no offense, but right now I bring in more than you.”

“Fair enough,” Chelsea said with a nod. She still couldn’t quite figure Ryan out. At times it seemed like he was genuinely interested in her and by planting the story with the paparazzi he was helping her. But then he would say something shallow and she would be reminded that none of what they had was real unless she wanted it to be.

Chelsea sighed and fell back against the wall. That was one crisis averted, but her manager and her label weren’t going anywhere. Eventually she would need to go back to LA, or she would lose everything. But the fight was tomorrow night. She was almost done, she could get her sister and get the two of them out of there and they could try and forget about this whole horrible incident.