I try to push him away.
He presses harder, cutting off air to my lungs.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” I stammer.
He doesn’t reply—but his punch right to my fucking mouth says it all. I use all my strength to push off the wall and into him. My hands fist his shirt, pushing him until his back hits a set of lockers. “Don’t fucking touch me again.”
He smiles—this sinister fucking smile. My free hands forms a fist—ready to pay back his assault.
But he’s fast.
Too fucking fast.
Again.
I don’t even notice him pull the gun from his back—don’t even know he has it until it makes contact with my chin.
“Don’t. Touch. My. Shit. Ever.”
“Fuck you!”
He presses the gun harder into me.
I hold my ground.
The door bursts open.
“What the fuck!” I’d never seen a fat cunt move so fast. “Let it go, man,” Tiny says to DeLuca, pulling him off me.
DeLuca drops his hand and takes a step back, his eyes on mine. “Get the car, Tiny.” He looks me up and down with that same fucking calm in his eyes. “I’m done here.”
14
MADISON Sara: What are you doing?
Madison: Walking.
Sara: On your own?
Sara: You there?
KY
I fight a war in my head trying to work out what parts to reveal to Jackson and what to keep to myself. I decide on the facts that are of interest to the case—and nothing else. The personal vendetta I have on DeLuca is exactly that—personal. I tell him about DeLuca’s phone and the numbered codes—and I tell him about it being set on a different language.
“What language?” he asks.
I stop and lean against a building on the way home from the gym. “I can’t be sure. DeLuca—sounds Italian, right? Maybe it’s that.”
“Maybe. Thanks for getting that info. Doesn’t really help much, though.”
“Sorry, man. I’ll keep trying.”
“It’s all we can do. Keep me in the loop on everything.”
“Yeah.”
“Everything, Ky. I mean it.”
“Promise.”
Lie.
***
Madison jumps up from the seat in the foyer when I enter the building. I wish it were one of those times when seeing her would make me forget everything else. Unfortunately, it isn’t. And I can lie to her—lie to Jax, even. But I can’t lie to myself. “Morning, Kyler,” she coos, sauntering toward me. She curls her arm around my neck and leans up for a kiss. But she stops halfway and pouts, then runs her thumb across the cut on my lip.
I rear back and push her hand away.
She frowns.
“Sorry,” I mumble.
“I take it it wasn’t a good session?”
I swing my gym bag behind me and wrap my arms around her waist. “Sucked. I just wanted to be back in bed with you.”
“So you missed me, huh?”
“Always.”
She jerks her head toward the mailboxes. “Are you going to you check your mail today?”
“What?”
“There might be a surprise...you know...other than bills or credit card applications.”
I spin on my heels and move toward the boxes. Over my shoulder I say, “How did you get into my mailbox?”
She follows, standing next to me as I turn the key. “Frank,” she says.
“Frank?”
“The maintenance guy. Jeez, Ky. You don’t know the maintenance guy?”
I shake my head and then open the box.
A single pink rose.
“Debbie said it was the color for thankfulness.”
I pull out the flower and pretend to examine it, but my mind’s reeling. “When did you see Debbie?”
“This morning, while you were at the gym.”
I glance up at her. “You went out on your own?”
“Yup!” She nods proudly.
“By yourself?”
Another nod.
“And your anxiety?”
“Not so bad.” She shrugs. “It was worth it. I just wanted to find a way to show you how I felt about you.”
“You’re thankful?”
“For you, Ky. Yes. I’m thankful.”
***
Slumping down on the couch, I start to unwrap the tape from around my fingers. Morning sessions at the gym focus on Martial Arts. Gunner and I spent most of the time sparring in the cage while he taught me different moves; defense and offense. Gunner knows a hell of a lot more about skilled martial arts. Me? I just kind of punch things. So far, that had been enough. But if I want to get DeLuca, I need time. Which means that I need to make it through my first fight. So, I need the training. And that means I need Gunner. Still, knowing how to fight in the ring doesn’t save me from a fucking bullet through my head.
I need to start carrying.
“I’ll do it, babe,” she says, pulling me from my thoughts. She sits next to me and covers my hands with hers. Then she carefully flips my hand, palm up. Her brow bunches as she inspects it. “Does it hurt?”
“No. It’s not injury tape,” I say. “It’s just precautionary.”
Her jaw works as she slowly removes the tape from each finger. I sigh, unable to remember the last time someone’s held my hand—has been this gentle with me.
I kiss the top of her head, breathing her in.
“What was that for?” she asks, lifting her gaze.
“It just feels good to be cared for, you know?”
She quickly looks away and refocuses on my other hand. “Yeah. I do know.”
After she watches me shower, we head back out.
We go to the dollar store and get her another frame. Then we end up having lunch at a random diner Debbie told her about this morning. When I ask for the bill, the waitress tells me that it’s taken care of and sets a note on the table in front of me. I manage to read it quickly before Madison reaches over and pulls it from under my nose. “Thank you for your service,” she reads out loud.
Looking down at myself, I try to work out how someone would know. I kick myself for not realizing I’m wearing my Army PT shirt. Sighing, I hide my dog tags behind my shirt and look up at the waitress. “Who did this?”
The waitress just shrugs. “They wanted to remain anonymous, but they’ve already left.”
“Thanks.”
“No,” she says, shaking her head. “Thank you.”
***
I’m quiet on the way home, and so is Maddy. I know she wants to say something because she starts a few times, only to stop and drop her gaze. I hold on to her hand tighter so she understands that I’m not upset at her.
I’m just upset.
Once we’re in her apartment, she orders me to sit on the floor in front of the couch. She sits behind me; her legs wrapped around my torso and her hands massaging my shoulders. I stretch my neck, welcoming her touch. “I needed this,” I tell her. My body was starting to feel the effects the rigorous training and the lack of actual rest. When I’m not at the gym, I’m with her—which means a lot of walking. The only time I get to sit down is during meals and, clearly, that isn’t enough.
He presses harder, cutting off air to my lungs.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” I stammer.
He doesn’t reply—but his punch right to my fucking mouth says it all. I use all my strength to push off the wall and into him. My hands fist his shirt, pushing him until his back hits a set of lockers. “Don’t fucking touch me again.”
He smiles—this sinister fucking smile. My free hands forms a fist—ready to pay back his assault.
But he’s fast.
Too fucking fast.
Again.
I don’t even notice him pull the gun from his back—don’t even know he has it until it makes contact with my chin.
“Don’t. Touch. My. Shit. Ever.”
“Fuck you!”
He presses the gun harder into me.
I hold my ground.
The door bursts open.
“What the fuck!” I’d never seen a fat cunt move so fast. “Let it go, man,” Tiny says to DeLuca, pulling him off me.
DeLuca drops his hand and takes a step back, his eyes on mine. “Get the car, Tiny.” He looks me up and down with that same fucking calm in his eyes. “I’m done here.”
14
MADISON Sara: What are you doing?
Madison: Walking.
Sara: On your own?
Sara: You there?
KY
I fight a war in my head trying to work out what parts to reveal to Jackson and what to keep to myself. I decide on the facts that are of interest to the case—and nothing else. The personal vendetta I have on DeLuca is exactly that—personal. I tell him about DeLuca’s phone and the numbered codes—and I tell him about it being set on a different language.
“What language?” he asks.
I stop and lean against a building on the way home from the gym. “I can’t be sure. DeLuca—sounds Italian, right? Maybe it’s that.”
“Maybe. Thanks for getting that info. Doesn’t really help much, though.”
“Sorry, man. I’ll keep trying.”
“It’s all we can do. Keep me in the loop on everything.”
“Yeah.”
“Everything, Ky. I mean it.”
“Promise.”
Lie.
***
Madison jumps up from the seat in the foyer when I enter the building. I wish it were one of those times when seeing her would make me forget everything else. Unfortunately, it isn’t. And I can lie to her—lie to Jax, even. But I can’t lie to myself. “Morning, Kyler,” she coos, sauntering toward me. She curls her arm around my neck and leans up for a kiss. But she stops halfway and pouts, then runs her thumb across the cut on my lip.
I rear back and push her hand away.
She frowns.
“Sorry,” I mumble.
“I take it it wasn’t a good session?”
I swing my gym bag behind me and wrap my arms around her waist. “Sucked. I just wanted to be back in bed with you.”
“So you missed me, huh?”
“Always.”
She jerks her head toward the mailboxes. “Are you going to you check your mail today?”
“What?”
“There might be a surprise...you know...other than bills or credit card applications.”
I spin on my heels and move toward the boxes. Over my shoulder I say, “How did you get into my mailbox?”
She follows, standing next to me as I turn the key. “Frank,” she says.
“Frank?”
“The maintenance guy. Jeez, Ky. You don’t know the maintenance guy?”
I shake my head and then open the box.
A single pink rose.
“Debbie said it was the color for thankfulness.”
I pull out the flower and pretend to examine it, but my mind’s reeling. “When did you see Debbie?”
“This morning, while you were at the gym.”
I glance up at her. “You went out on your own?”
“Yup!” She nods proudly.
“By yourself?”
Another nod.
“And your anxiety?”
“Not so bad.” She shrugs. “It was worth it. I just wanted to find a way to show you how I felt about you.”
“You’re thankful?”
“For you, Ky. Yes. I’m thankful.”
***
Slumping down on the couch, I start to unwrap the tape from around my fingers. Morning sessions at the gym focus on Martial Arts. Gunner and I spent most of the time sparring in the cage while he taught me different moves; defense and offense. Gunner knows a hell of a lot more about skilled martial arts. Me? I just kind of punch things. So far, that had been enough. But if I want to get DeLuca, I need time. Which means that I need to make it through my first fight. So, I need the training. And that means I need Gunner. Still, knowing how to fight in the ring doesn’t save me from a fucking bullet through my head.
I need to start carrying.
“I’ll do it, babe,” she says, pulling me from my thoughts. She sits next to me and covers my hands with hers. Then she carefully flips my hand, palm up. Her brow bunches as she inspects it. “Does it hurt?”
“No. It’s not injury tape,” I say. “It’s just precautionary.”
Her jaw works as she slowly removes the tape from each finger. I sigh, unable to remember the last time someone’s held my hand—has been this gentle with me.
I kiss the top of her head, breathing her in.
“What was that for?” she asks, lifting her gaze.
“It just feels good to be cared for, you know?”
She quickly looks away and refocuses on my other hand. “Yeah. I do know.”
After she watches me shower, we head back out.
We go to the dollar store and get her another frame. Then we end up having lunch at a random diner Debbie told her about this morning. When I ask for the bill, the waitress tells me that it’s taken care of and sets a note on the table in front of me. I manage to read it quickly before Madison reaches over and pulls it from under my nose. “Thank you for your service,” she reads out loud.
Looking down at myself, I try to work out how someone would know. I kick myself for not realizing I’m wearing my Army PT shirt. Sighing, I hide my dog tags behind my shirt and look up at the waitress. “Who did this?”
The waitress just shrugs. “They wanted to remain anonymous, but they’ve already left.”
“Thanks.”
“No,” she says, shaking her head. “Thank you.”
***
I’m quiet on the way home, and so is Maddy. I know she wants to say something because she starts a few times, only to stop and drop her gaze. I hold on to her hand tighter so she understands that I’m not upset at her.
I’m just upset.
Once we’re in her apartment, she orders me to sit on the floor in front of the couch. She sits behind me; her legs wrapped around my torso and her hands massaging my shoulders. I stretch my neck, welcoming her touch. “I needed this,” I tell her. My body was starting to feel the effects the rigorous training and the lack of actual rest. When I’m not at the gym, I’m with her—which means a lot of walking. The only time I get to sit down is during meals and, clearly, that isn’t enough.
