Wrong (Spada Crime Family #2) (42 page)

I look. I see her there, and she’s utterly white, but there are red streaks on her face. She’s been crying. And her arms are still folded protectively over her belly.

Somehow I see the Wall’s fist swing toward my face, and I duck just in time. I drag my attention back to the fight. All I can see is Jess. Everything inside me is filled with Jess.

Just Jess.

And suddenly everything is thoroughly, utterly clear to me. Everything I am has become her. She’s all I care about. That woman and that baby inside her are all I’ve ever wanted, all I’ve ever looked for. Fuck freedom. If she needs me to fight for Spada, then that’s what I’ll do. If she needs me to
lose
for Spada, then…

The Wall draws his fist back. I see exactly which way I need to duck to keep him from pounding me right in the face. Will it knock me out? Probably. If it doesn’t, I know how to fake it. For a split second my body tries to overrule me, because my body is bent on self-preservation. But in the end I move just a split second too slow.

There’s a flash of pain then nothing but black.

#

Apparently that hit
was
hard enough to knock me out, but not for long. I’m basically conscious a few seconds after I hit the mat. I open my eyes to see the referee is bent over me, a hand on my back as he counts down.

“Three,” he says, then, “You okay, Cain? Four!”

I mutter something and push feebly against the mat. I could get back up again. I’m clearheaded enough, and when I lift my head it’s not spinning. The Wall put me down, but I’m not down for the count unless I want to be.

I don’t get up. I pretend to try, but I let myself collapse. I mumble inarticulate things, shake my head. There’s blood dripping down the side of my face; I can feel it. If I don’t get up, it’ll look good. It’ll look real.

The ref hits nine. I wait for ten, but it doesn’t come right away. I know he’s delaying, thinking I might go ahead and get up. I make a few more wiggling motions and then collapse back to the mat. With an obvious reluctance in his voice, the ref pronounces, “Ten!”

So the Wall is declared the winner. As he’s brought to the center of the ring, hand held high, Paul comes to help me back to my corner. I lean on him hard, letting him believe I was really knocked out, too. No point not making the best of the performance.

He leans in close. “You good, Cain?”

I nod. “I’m good. I’m bleeding.”

“Yeah, I know. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

“I’ll help with that.”

My head snaps up at the sound of that voice. It’s Jess. She’s half bent over, moving between the ropes and into the cage. She’s gotten some of her color back, I notice.

I don’t care anymore about pretending to be incapacitated. I push away from Paul and into Jess’s arms.

“Jess, I’m sorry. I want to be there for our kid.” I try to kiss her and miss her mouth, and when I look down at her she’s got a smear of blood on her face, but she’s smiling at me.

“You’re a mess, Cain,” she tells me.

“I know.” I try to hold her gaze steadily, but now my eyes are starting to cross a little. “Jess, I love you. I do.
I love you
.”

She kisses me gently—her aim is considerably better than mine was—but then the kiss turns intense. It hurts, but I don’t care. I’m probably bleeding all over her. “Are you okay?” she asks me.

I’m not sure if she means am I okay after having my bell rung or if I’m okay about her and the baby, or if I’m okay about any number of other things. But I nod. “I’m okay, Jess. Really.” I lay a hand gently on her stomach. “I want to be around for my family. I really do. And I’m so, so sorry…”

She lays a finger over my lips. “Stop, Cain. I get it.” Quickly she gives me another kiss.

Along with Paul, she helps me out of the cage. We make our way through the crowd, who’s still cheering for the Wall, and finally reach the doors to the locker room.

And right inside, between me and the sweet, sweet relief of some doctoring, a few stitches, and a shower, is Phil Spada.

Jess freezes next to me, her arms still looped through mine. She says nothing. Neither do I.

“McAllister,” he says evenly. “Jessica.”

“Pop,” she says quietly. Her voice shakes, and in that moment I hate Spada so much, just for that.

“Mr. Spada,” I say. “Nice to see you.” Which of course it isn’t.

Paul intervenes, moving a little ahead of me, partially blocking me from Spada’s direct view. “He’s pretty banged up, Mr. Spada. I really need to get him sorted out.”

Spada nods slowly. “If he didn’t want to get banged up quite so much, he should have ended the fight earlier.”

God, he’s such a fucking asshole. “I did what you asked,” I grate out. “I threw the fight.”

“Or he was just better than you.”

I’d like to argue that point, but it would be wasted breath. “Doesn’t much matter in the long run, does it?”

“Lucky for you, it doesn’t matter to the people paying me.” He steps aside and lets Paul and Jess help me inside.

“Whether it makes a difference or not, I did throw the fight,” I tell him. It doesn’t make a difference what he thinks, but it does make a difference what Jess thinks. I want Jess to know the truth. What I did, I did for her. When I catch her gaze, though, I can tell she understands that.

“Good,” Spada says. “You’re a man of your word. I like that.”

I nod, wondering where he’s going with this. Is he going to be willing to come to an agreement, or is he just going to have me run out of town on a rail, anyway?

“We need to talk, you and me,” Spada goes on. I nod again. I think it’d be nice if I could clean up first, but I don’t want to leave Jess alone with her dad long enough to take a shower. Maybe it’s an irrational fear, but I can’t help but think I might come back and find out he’s taken her away.

“So talk,” I tell him.

“Have a seat.” He gestures toward a bench in the locker room.

“I think I’ll stand.” I’m not giving him any chance at superiority, even if it’s just him standing while I’m sitting.

Spada shrugs as if he doesn’t give a shit, and he takes a seat on the bench himself. I give Jess a quick look and go ahead and sit across from her dad. She takes a step back as if she just wants to disappear.

Spada addresses me directly. Jess might as well not even be in the room. “Let’s get one thing straight right from the beginning, McAllister. I don’t like you. In fact, I detest you right now. You’ve sullied my daughter and insulted my family.” I start to protest, but he raises a finger. “But…” Finally he looks at Jess, if only briefly. “I understand there’s a baby on the way, and I have to respect that. And you threw the fight tonight, just as you were told, and I have to respect that as well.”

He stops, and I get the impression it’s my turn to speak. I have no idea what he wants me to say. “So…” I finally venture, “you’re okay with me and Jess?”

“Oh, I’m far from okay with it. But I’m not going to break up a family. You’re the father of my grandchild, apparently, or you will be. So you’re free and clear. For now.”

I know what he wants me to say. He wants me to slaver and kowtow and be disgustingly grateful that he’s spared my life. That he’s commuted my sentence, in a way. I’m not going to give him the pleasure. Instead I just nod. He doesn’t deserve anything else from me.

After a few long moments, he stands. “Well. I guess I’ll let you clean up while I talk to my daughter.”

I glance at Jess. If she’s okay with that then I am, too. She gives me a nod. I’ll have to trust her at her word. Hoping I’m making the right decision, I head for the shower.

#

With the sweat off me and my post-fight suit on me, I feel less like Spada’s trying to make me feel inferior when I meet him back outside the locker room. Jess is with him, and she looks more relaxed. I wonder what they talked about. Whatever it was, it doesn’t seem to have upset her, so I let it go. Instead I just slide up beside her and take her hand, squeezing it. I’m rewarded with her smile.

We head out of the stadium. As we’re heading down the long flight of stairs, Jessica moves closer to me and I kiss her hair as I tuck her under my arm. The sun outside is bright, the sky is clear, and I finally feel like we’re ready to get started on our new beginning.

I’m smiling as we hit the last step and move onto the sidewalk. I lean over to whisper something to Jess.

And Carmine Romano steps out from behind a delivery truck parked near the entrance, points a gun right at my head, and fires.

My first instinct is to protect Jess. I push her aside, seeing her stumble into the grass out of the corner of my eye. Is she hit? I don’t see any blood. I don’t feel anything either, so surely the bullet hasn’t ripped through me, even though it was basically point-blank range. Am I just not feeling it? I’ve heard that there’s a delayed pain reaction sometimes in situations like this. Or could Carmine have just missed, even at this close distance?

Apparently he has. But I shift backward anyway, clutching at my shoulder as if the bullet caught me there. As I’d hoped, Romano takes a step toward me. He’s got a 9mm in his hand, and as I lurch back, he levels it right at me. Behind me I hear Spada shouting, demanding to know if Jess is okay, ordering Romano to put the gun down. Romano doesn’t put the gun down. He lines it up and prepares to pull the trigger again.

Right then I throw myself at him. He’s not expecting it—as far as he knew, I just took a bullet and shouldn’t be able to jump him. But that’s exactly what I do. I hit his gun arm, and the gun flies out of his hand. I don’t know where it lands, and I don’t care. All I care about is that it doesn’t go off.

“What the
fuck
, Romano?” I shout at him, and he’s shouting right back at me, “You piece of shit, she’s
mine
! How dare you take what’s mine?”

I can hear Spada yelling, Jessica screaming, but I can’t make out what anyone is saying. More shouts are coming from the wide concrete stairs behind us, and in the distance I hear sirens.

All I can think is that this asshole’s bullet damn near hit Jessica. My
wife
, who’s carrying my child. It doesn’t matter that he aimed the gun at me. The bullet missed me, and it easily could have hit Jess. Torn through her body, killed her or the baby or both.

I grab Romano by his collar and shake him. I’m so angry I can barely see. “You motherfucking son of a
bitch
!” I’m spitting in Romano’s face. His fist lashes out and strikes the side of my face, where I’ve already got stitches from the fight. It hurts like shit, but that’s nothing compared to the sheer fury tearing through me. “You could have killed her!”

“Better if I had!” he spits back. “Better if she was dead than letting you touch her.”

“
Fuck
you, Romano.
Fuck. You.
” I hit him again. I feel his nose break, shatter, under my fist, and he falls backward. There’s a dead-sounding thump as his head hits the stairs, and then everything around me falls silent.

I take a step forward, ready to grab him again if he gets up, but he doesn’t get up. He just lies there, a pool of blood spreading across the concrete under his head. His eyes are open. Blood starts to run from his nose, the corner of his mouth.

“Cain.” It’s Jess, behind me, and her hands slide around my arm. Her voice is so quiet, but it’s steady, careful. “It’s over.”

I turn to her, hardly able to believe she’s okay. My brain spins around what just happened, how close I came to losing her forever. I grab her and pull her to me, cradling her against my chest. “Jess, are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Really, I’m fine.” I clutch her closer and then ease back, afraid I might be hurting her. My hand curls over the curve of her stomach. She laughs softly. “She’s fine, too. We’re both fine.”

“She?” I ask, and she just shrugs, a little sheepish.

“You…” She stops, gathers herself, and I realize she’s on the verge of tears, too. “You saved me, Cain.” She strokes my stomach, my chest, as if reassuring herself that I’m all in one piece. “I thought he shot you.”

“He damn near did. And he could have shot you.”

“But he didn’t.” To my surprise, Spada has come up to join us. His face is ashen; I’ve never seen him look like that. He draws Jess out of my embrace but not harshly. His hands are shaking. “Are you sure you’re all right, baby girl?”

“I’m fine. Really.” She takes his hand and lays it on her belly. “And so is your grandbaby.”

I fight my urge to grab her and drag her back to me. This is between the two of them. And while I’m standing there watching, I see something I never thought I’d see.

There are tears in Phil Spada’s eyes.

He chokes back a sob, and I take a step back, letting him have the moment with Jess. I can’t hear what they’re saying, but by the time they’re done, Jess has let her father press his forehead against hers, and they’re both crying.

After a few minutes, Spada turns to me. “I’ll take care of…this mess.” He tips his head toward Romano’s body, sprawled on the stairs. “And I’ll take care of the cops. Don’t you worry about it. You just take my little girl home and keep her safe.”

For once he’s given me an order I’m more than happy to follow.

#

I can’t get Jess home fast enough. In spite of the evidence, I’m still not convinced she’s all right. I won’t be convinced until I can examine every inch of her, make sure there aren’t any bullet wounds, no scratches, no cuts. Nothing.

She seems to be thinking the same thing, because the minute we get in the door, she’s pulling my jacket off, jerking at my buttons—a couple of them fly off—and spreading her hands over my chest, my ribs.

I wince, and she freezes. “Cain…”

“No, no,” I reassure her. “That’s from the fight. There was a fight, remember? Before the bullets started flying?”

She laughs, but it’s more a sob, and suddenly she has both hands over her mouth and her eyes are brimming over. I grab her wrists.

“Hush, Jess. It’s okay. It’s okay. Really, it is. I’m not hurt. You’re not hurt…right? You’re not hurt?”

She nods and then moves her hands so she can clarify. “No, I’m not hurt. Maybe I skinned my elbow when you pushed me out of the way. That’s all.”