Saving Liberty (Kissing #6) (64 page)

“Then, a few weeks later, some guy disrespects Rick. So Rick tells me to break his arm.” I stared at the wall, unable to meet her eyes. “And the crazy thing is, as I’m feeling the bones snap, I’m telling myself
it’s only an arm. He’ll recover.
As if that makes it okay.” And Rick keeps telling me, ‘
This is all you’re good for—beating seven shades of shit out of people.’
I took a deep breath. “And so it went on. Each week, I’d pummel some guy in the ring. The other days, I’d beat up whoever Rick told me to. Eventually, it all sort of blended together. I’d fight and then I’d come home and wash the blood off and go find some woman to fuck to help me forget. Rick’s happy and I’m making money. But when I look in the mirror, I don’t even recognize myself.”

I felt suddenly very tired. I slumped against the dumpster and slid down it until I was sitting on the soaked ground. Sylvie suddenly knelt and threw her arms around me. She didn’t say anything. She just held me. I think she sensed that the worst was still to come.

“This is where you think I saw the light,” I said bitterly. “This is where you think I had a revelation and turned around and stuck it to Rick.” I shook my head. “But that’s not what happened.” I took a deep breath. “See, Rick had a problem. I was at my peak—every fight, I was getting better. I started getting calls from people who thought I could make it on the proper circuit. Rick figured it was only a matter of weeks until someone stole me away. So he came up with a plan.”

“He put me up against this guy called Travere. Eric Travere. I’d fought him before a few times—a Frenchman, living in New York. Pretty good—a brawler, like me, but with a better reach. Killer left hook. But normally, I could have taken him. He could dish it out, but he couldn’t take it. A few good hits, maybe a couple of rounds, and he’d go down.”

Sylvie took my hand, and I realized I’ve made fists. I tried to force myself to relax, but I couldn’t.

“I get in the ring and, right away, I know something’s wrong. There’s a look in Eric’s eyes, like he’s going to win
no matter what.
We go for it and he starts slamming that left hook into me. I hit him a few times and he staggers, but he stays on his feet. Second round comes and it’s the same thing. I’m hitting him but he’s just not going down. Third round and the crowd are going nuts—they’ve never seen anyone last this long against me. And Rick, he’s there in that side room, grinning away and I
know
something’s wrong.”

I let the rain wash down my face for a moment, but it didn’t make me feel any cleaner. I swallowed, feeling the nausea rising in my throat. “Fourth round. The guy’s bleeding from his head and I’m pretty sure I’ve broken some ribs. I get him in a clinch and I scream at him over the crowd”—my voice broke and it took a second before I could continue—”’
Go down, you moron! What the feck is the matter with you? Go down!’
But he stays on his feet. Fifth round and he’s staggering—he just doesn’t have the energy to continue. So”—I swallowed and looked down at my lap for a second, then back to Sylvie—”so he grabs a broken bottle—back then, Rick didn’t used to have anyone sweep up before a fight. And he runs at me and, before I know what’s happening, he shoves it into my neck—”

Sylvie clapped a hand over her mouth, going pale.

“The blood starts gushing between my fingers and he’s still stabbing and twisting and I know that any second, he’s going to cut the vein and then I’m dead. I try to get it out of his hand, but he’s hanging onto that bottle for dear life. And I can see it in his eyes: he’s going to finish me. He’s
that
desperate to win—he’s just going to go until I’m dead.” I swallowed. “So I grab his shirt and pull him off his feet and down to the ground, and I start punching his face, because it’s the only way I can see to make him stop, and his head’s bouncing off the concrete and, after four punches, he lets go of the bottle. And he’s dead.”

Sylvie sat there in shock for a moment. I knew what she was going to say: that it was self defense, that I had no choice.

“That’s not the end of the story,” I told her. The words were hard to get out, now, each one foul and bitter. “The crowd ran. I sat there against the wall with my hand on my neck, blood dripping out of me, just staring at the body. Eventually, Rick’s goons show up and get rid of it. I wad up a towel and manage to stop the bleeding and stumble off to a doctor I know—someone who does stuff off the books. She tells me the guy missed my jugular by a hair. Really, I need a plastic surgeon to fix all the damage, but I can’t go near a hospital or there’ll be questions. She does the best she can with sutures, but I’m pretty much a patchwork by the end of it and it heals badly.” I ran my hand over the thick, ugly scars. “Hence the mess.”

Sylvie nodded, tears in her eyes.

“Everything goes quiet for a few days. Some rumors go around that someone’s been killed and the cops sniff about, but no one’s talking. Rick’s pretty good at this stuff—no one ever finds Travere’s body so, eventually, the cops drop it. I’m still in shock, but I figure I’ve been lucky. And I figure that I had no choice. He was some crazy fighter who went too far.”

I took a deep breath. “Then I found out...he had a wife. And two kids. He was pretty much done with fighting, close to quitting until I came along and became the champ.” I shook my head. “See, Rick knew I was going to leave, sooner or later. So he needed to make as much money out of me as he could. He finds Travere—a guy who everyone knows I can beat. But he puts his own bet on—
against
me. And he takes Travere’s little girl and tells him that he’ll never see her again unless he kills me in the pit. Travere didn’t want to kill me. He was just doing what he had to, to protect his family.”

“It’s not your fault,” Sylvie told me. “Rick used you. He set you up.”

I shook my head. “It should have been me who died. He had a wife and kids. I had feckin’ no one. He had a life, outside of fighting. I was just a thug.” I looked into her eyes. “Tell me the world wouldn’t be a better place if I’d bled out, and that guy had gone home to his family that night.”

Sylvie’s mouth moved a few times, but she couldn’t find the words.

“Afterwards, I guess Rick didn’t know what the feck to do. He must have been mad as hell at losing his money, but he also must have figured I’d want to kill him. So I stayed clear of him and he didn’t come after me. I thought about turning myself in to the cops. The only thing that stopped me was the family. Rick gave the kid back the same night—she wasn’t hurt or anything. But he knew where they lived. If I copped to the murder, Rick would go down as an accessory, and he’d kill the mother to stop her testifying about any of it.”

“So I quit. I got the first job I could, down at the docks, and moved into that shitty apartment, and decided I’d never fight again. But that didn’t fix anything. The first time I took the bandages off and saw my neck, I smashed the mirror. I realized what I’d become.” I turned to Sylvie. “It wasn’t just killing Travere in the ring. It was all the stuff I did for Rick. All those people I hurt. That’s all I’m good for, Sylvie—breaking stuff and causing pain. And
I don’t want that for you.”

I looked at her and I prayed. I prayed that I was wrong. I prayed that she’d say something to make it okay.

But she just stared at me in horror and I knew I’d been right all along. I was exactly the monster I thought I was.

I got up and walked away.

Sylvie

Say something.

He was a killer. He’d actually killed someone and hurt many more.

Stop him.

Every warning my dad had ever given me ran through my head. Every concept of
bad men.
Ex-cons, with their prison tattoos. Rick’s bodyguards. Men I’d cross the street to avoid. Most of those men hadn’t killed anyone. But Aedan had.

Call him back right now or you’re going to lose him.

I tried to find a way around it.
It was self-defense. He had no choice.
But I couldn’t get past the image of the guy lying there on the floor of the pit, or his wife and kids at home. The knowledge was like a rock, crushing me down into the ground. This man I...
loved...
was a killer. Those same hands that had touched every part of my body had—
Jesus.

I watched him disappear around the corner and then just sat there, head hunched against the rain. I let it soak through my hair and stream to the ground. I let it run down inside my t-shirt and flow down my back.

I imagined Rick slapping Aedan’s back after each fight, telling him over and over again how vicious he was. In some ways, it was a dark version of what Aedan had done for me—he’d changed his whole view of himself. But where Aedan had convinced me I could be strong, Rick had convinced Aedan that he was good for nothing but fighting. He’d twisted his mind. He was like a cruel dog owner who whips his animal until it snaps at anyone who comes near.

And Aedan had finally broken free of all that and sentenced himself to a life of solitude. And I’d showed up and asked him to train me...to
hit
me. God, that must have been unbearable for him. Just agreeing to train me, going back to that whole world...I felt sick at what I’d put him through. And yet he’d done it all, and for a stranger. I thought back to when he’d gone to The Pit with me and volunteered to take my place. He’d actually been willing to return to fighting—his worst nightmare—and for Rick, a man he must hate more than anyone in the world. All to protect me.

Maybe he was right—there was no fixing this. Nothing would bring back the man he’d killed. But he was trying to redeem himself. Shouldn’t that count for something?

I sat there frozen for another few seconds...and then jumped to my feet and raced after him.

Out on the street, out of the shelter of the alley, the rain pounded at your head and flooded your eyes. Cars had slowed down to a crawl and were sending huge fantails of rainwater up onto the sidewalk. I had to squint just to see Aedan—he was almost half a block away and moving fast.

“Aedan!” I yelled. No response.

I started to run. Rain was streaming down my face and getting in my mouth, making it difficult to breathe. I tried to go faster, but my sneakers were sodden sponges and my soaked jeans weighed me down. At every side street I had to double-check for trucks pulling out, because the rain made it impossible to hear. “
Aedan!”

I never could have caught him if I hadn’t gotten into shape. But slowly, agonizingly, I gained. I was panting and gasping when I finally caught his arm and spun him around. Every muscle in his body was tense. He stared down at me, braced and ready. Ready for whatever useless platitude I could offer. Ready for me to lie and say it was okay. I knew none of that was going to work.

“You fucked up,” I said at last, spitting it out through the rain. “You did a really bad thing. But you’re already paying for it, every day. I’ve seen the way you look at yourself. Walking away from this, walking away from
me—
that’s not making things better. Torturing yourself won’t help.”

“You really want to be around someone like me?”

“
Yes!”
I took his face between my hands. “Rick used you! He manipulated you
and
Eric. He’s the one who should suffer.” I gently put my arms around him. “I can’t make this go away—ever. I can’t even tell you it’s okay, or that you shouldn’t feel guilty. But I can tell you I love you.”

He stared at me. Those pale blue eyes were burning brighter than I’d ever seen them,
wanting
it to be true.

So I showed him the only way I could. I threw myself at him and kissed him. For a split second, his lips stayed closed. And then I felt his body relax against mine as the guilt bled out. I’d felt the weight of the knowledge for just a few seconds, back in the alley, and it had been unbearable. He’d been carrying that weight for years...and now it had finally been lifted.

We pulled each other closer, wrapping warm arms around rain-chilled waists. My breasts crushed against his chest and I could feel the beat of his heart through the sodden layers of our t-shirts. He lifted me off the ground and I clung to him, wrapping my legs around his waist. The rain poured down our faces, but it couldn’t hold back the heat of the kiss as we gasped and panted and his tongue explored my mouth. The heat of him warmed my chilled body, sending shudders out to my fingertips. At first, it was about reassurance—letting each other know that we were
back,
that it was going to be okay. But slowly, it changed, becoming hotter and deeper. I could feel all the barriers between us finally lifting...leaving us free.