Full Contact
Page 92
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I stagger and hit a massive chest. “It’s okay,” Torment says. “I got this.”
The crowd boos. The fight officials holler. But Torment stalks across the ring, grabs Tag from behind, and rips him away. The fight zone descends into chaos. People shout and curse. Rampage joins Torment, and they drag Tag away. I run over to Ray. He has pulled himself to sitting and is leaning against one of the pillars. His face is cut and one eye is swollen shut.
“Oh God. Ray? Are you okay?” I kneel beside him, running my hands over his body, checking for breaks.
“I’m fine. Just go.”
“You’re not fine. Look at you. I’ll take you to the hospital.”
“Go, Sia. Please.”
He winces when I touch his forearm, and I suck in a breath. “At least let me get the medic.”
Drawing in a deep breath, he shouts, “Sia. Go.”
His words echo through the parking lot, stilling the crowd. Shaking, I push myself to my feet and take one step back and then another.
“Okay,” I whisper. “I’m gone.”
Chapter 27
Don’t go
Sunday morning after the fight, I go to Tag’s apartment, determined to find out what the hell has been going on with him. I push the buzzer. No answer. I call and text his cell. No answer. I go around the back and find his car parked in its spot. Then I return to the front and hang around until one of the tenants who knows me lets me in.
Minutes later, I’m banging on Tag’s door. I shout and holler that I’ll keep it up and disturb his neighbors until he lets me in. Tag has been brought up too well to allow me to disturb the neighbors. It only takes a few minutes before he opens the door.
Before he can protest, I push my way inside. Then I freeze. Usually highly organized and meticulously clean, Tag’s apartment looks like a hurricane just blew through. His clothes are everywhere. Papers, books, and old CDs are strewn across every surface. But it isn’t the mess that makes me gasp and step back, but the photos pinned to every wall.
Women. Young. Sixteen, maybe eighteen. Their faces and bodies battered and bruised.
“I didn’t want you to see this,” he says, his voice flat. “I didn’t want you to know about it, especially now.”
“Who are they? What happened to them?”
Tag sits heavily on his couch. He’s wearing a pair of pajama pants and a T-shirt, a pen stuck behind his ear. His right hand is bandaged over his knuckles—knuckles that hit my Ray.
“The same thing that happened to you.” He twists his hands in his lap, then meets my gaze. “By the same man.”
My stomach clenches and my mouth goes dry. “Luke? He raped all those women?”
“I’m pretty sure it was him. Some were before you and some after.”
I sink down onto his paper-strewn couch. “How did you get involved?”
Tag rubs his hands down his thighs, just like our father does when he’s stressed. “The night you met Ray, I was assigned a new case. The victim was an eighteen-year-old student he’d met at a bar—he’d drugged her drink, but she was so drunk she threw it up when she went to the bathroom and he didn’t know. She remembered most of the details but not his name, and filed a police report. At first I didn’t know it was him. But then she started getting the threats…”
He rubs his thighs harder now and stares at the floor. “God, Sia. It was so hard to watch. I knew exactly what she was going through. So many times I wanted to talk to you about it, but I didn’t want to put you through it all again. It took a long time to trace the threats, but when we did and I realized it was him, it was worse than I imagined. Our local DA said there wasn’t enough evidence to run the case without a witness, and the girl changed her mind and refused to testify. Not only that, but at the time of the incident, he was out on bail after being arrested last year on a similar case in a different jurisdiction.”
“Oh God.”
“I’ve been working to help build a case against him. I reopened old cases where he was named as a suspect. I visited the victims and begged them to tell their stories. No one would. Some were too afraid. Some had moved on. Some had been threatened. Even when I told them just one victim testifying could make the difference, they wouldn’t do it. And I didn’t blame them. I understood. But I became totally obsessed. Even though Ray went after him and did what I’d always wanted to do, I wanted real justice. I wanted him behind bars. I told Ray to make sure he left him alive, so I could put him away.”
Tag sighs and shoves a pile of paper aside to sit beside me. “I finally found someone who would testify and his trial is scheduled to start next week. But a few days ago, she backed out. We’ve built a good case on circumstantial evidence, but the DA is reluctant to proceed without a witness. When I found out he might walk, I just lost it.”
My heart aches for Tag. He is everything that is honorable and good about the system, and I’ve asked him to carry this burden far too long. It has weighed us down, held us back, prevented us from being who we are meant to be. We have waited a long time for the justice he craves, the justice that will set us free. I reach out and squeeze his hand.
“One victim or one survivor?”
Tag’s face crumples. “You were always a survivor, but you don’t have to do this. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to be involved. I don’t want you to have to relive it again or be ripped apart by the defense team. If they let him go, I’ll find another way.”
The crowd boos. The fight officials holler. But Torment stalks across the ring, grabs Tag from behind, and rips him away. The fight zone descends into chaos. People shout and curse. Rampage joins Torment, and they drag Tag away. I run over to Ray. He has pulled himself to sitting and is leaning against one of the pillars. His face is cut and one eye is swollen shut.
“Oh God. Ray? Are you okay?” I kneel beside him, running my hands over his body, checking for breaks.
“I’m fine. Just go.”
“You’re not fine. Look at you. I’ll take you to the hospital.”
“Go, Sia. Please.”
He winces when I touch his forearm, and I suck in a breath. “At least let me get the medic.”
Drawing in a deep breath, he shouts, “Sia. Go.”
His words echo through the parking lot, stilling the crowd. Shaking, I push myself to my feet and take one step back and then another.
“Okay,” I whisper. “I’m gone.”
Chapter 27
Don’t go
Sunday morning after the fight, I go to Tag’s apartment, determined to find out what the hell has been going on with him. I push the buzzer. No answer. I call and text his cell. No answer. I go around the back and find his car parked in its spot. Then I return to the front and hang around until one of the tenants who knows me lets me in.
Minutes later, I’m banging on Tag’s door. I shout and holler that I’ll keep it up and disturb his neighbors until he lets me in. Tag has been brought up too well to allow me to disturb the neighbors. It only takes a few minutes before he opens the door.
Before he can protest, I push my way inside. Then I freeze. Usually highly organized and meticulously clean, Tag’s apartment looks like a hurricane just blew through. His clothes are everywhere. Papers, books, and old CDs are strewn across every surface. But it isn’t the mess that makes me gasp and step back, but the photos pinned to every wall.
Women. Young. Sixteen, maybe eighteen. Their faces and bodies battered and bruised.
“I didn’t want you to see this,” he says, his voice flat. “I didn’t want you to know about it, especially now.”
“Who are they? What happened to them?”
Tag sits heavily on his couch. He’s wearing a pair of pajama pants and a T-shirt, a pen stuck behind his ear. His right hand is bandaged over his knuckles—knuckles that hit my Ray.
“The same thing that happened to you.” He twists his hands in his lap, then meets my gaze. “By the same man.”
My stomach clenches and my mouth goes dry. “Luke? He raped all those women?”
“I’m pretty sure it was him. Some were before you and some after.”
I sink down onto his paper-strewn couch. “How did you get involved?”
Tag rubs his hands down his thighs, just like our father does when he’s stressed. “The night you met Ray, I was assigned a new case. The victim was an eighteen-year-old student he’d met at a bar—he’d drugged her drink, but she was so drunk she threw it up when she went to the bathroom and he didn’t know. She remembered most of the details but not his name, and filed a police report. At first I didn’t know it was him. But then she started getting the threats…”
He rubs his thighs harder now and stares at the floor. “God, Sia. It was so hard to watch. I knew exactly what she was going through. So many times I wanted to talk to you about it, but I didn’t want to put you through it all again. It took a long time to trace the threats, but when we did and I realized it was him, it was worse than I imagined. Our local DA said there wasn’t enough evidence to run the case without a witness, and the girl changed her mind and refused to testify. Not only that, but at the time of the incident, he was out on bail after being arrested last year on a similar case in a different jurisdiction.”
“Oh God.”
“I’ve been working to help build a case against him. I reopened old cases where he was named as a suspect. I visited the victims and begged them to tell their stories. No one would. Some were too afraid. Some had moved on. Some had been threatened. Even when I told them just one victim testifying could make the difference, they wouldn’t do it. And I didn’t blame them. I understood. But I became totally obsessed. Even though Ray went after him and did what I’d always wanted to do, I wanted real justice. I wanted him behind bars. I told Ray to make sure he left him alive, so I could put him away.”
Tag sighs and shoves a pile of paper aside to sit beside me. “I finally found someone who would testify and his trial is scheduled to start next week. But a few days ago, she backed out. We’ve built a good case on circumstantial evidence, but the DA is reluctant to proceed without a witness. When I found out he might walk, I just lost it.”
My heart aches for Tag. He is everything that is honorable and good about the system, and I’ve asked him to carry this burden far too long. It has weighed us down, held us back, prevented us from being who we are meant to be. We have waited a long time for the justice he craves, the justice that will set us free. I reach out and squeeze his hand.
“One victim or one survivor?”
Tag’s face crumples. “You were always a survivor, but you don’t have to do this. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to be involved. I don’t want you to have to relive it again or be ripped apart by the defense team. If they let him go, I’ll find another way.”
