In Your Corner
Page 11

“I made a mistake coming here.” I force my voice to stay calm and even despite the violent trembles wracking my body. “You keep the entrance fee and we’ll pretend I had a good time.” Then I whirl around and hit the back door running.
Heart pounding, I take the stairs two at a time, no easy feat in heels. A few moments later, I burst into the alley and race toward the street. But before I make it to safety, the bouncer rounds the corner, blocking my way. Rough hands grab me from behind and pull me, kicking and screaming, behind a Dumpster.
“Her purse is behind you.” The bouncer jerks his chin toward the exit door as Bob pins me against the wall. He covers my mouth with one hand and brackets my wrists over my head with the other, holding them against the rough brick surface.
Maybe his real name is Beelzebub and they call him Bob for short.
“We could have had such a good time.” Bob strokes my cheek. “Sure you won’t change your mind?”
The bouncer joins us and frowns. “I thought you just wanted her purse.”
Unable to imagine a “good time” that involves Bob in any way, shape, or form, I renew my writhing, kicking, and screaming efforts. My foot makes contact and Bob groans. He releases my hands, but before I can run, he grabs my hair. Twisting to get away, I lose my footing at the same time Bob releases his grip. Before I can catch myself, I go flying into the Dumpster.
Something cracks.
My head.
Someone screams.
Me.
But the echo of my scream isn’t the only sound I hear as I slide to the ground.
Tires screech. Doors slam. Feet thud on concrete.
Voices. Shouts. Roars.
“There in the alley. That’s her. The girl who was in my cab. Damn. I think we’re too late.”
Shadows race toward me. Dazed, confused, flitting in and out of consciousness, I watch them as if I’m far away.
“Fuzzy, better turn away. There’s gonna be some illegal activity going on in about ten seconds.” The deep voice is familiar. I last heard that voice at Redemption and it was attached to someone wearing a yellow happy face vest. My gaze focuses on a huge barrel chest. Rampage! What’s Rampage doing here?
“Fuck that,” someone answers. “Nothing illegal about taking down two criminals who I’m pretty sure are going to resist arrest. I won’t even mind doing the paperwork at the station tonight.”
A cop. Rampage called him Fuzzy. Oh my God. The cab driver’s son. Tears prickle my eyes and I wish I had a run-to-the-rescue kind of dad too.
The shadows converge, and as they come into the dim light, I recognize them from Redemption: Rampage, Blade Saw, Homicide Hank, and Obsidian. When I was with Jake, we partied with the Redemption crew every weekend. Best bunch of guys I ever knew—big hearts, big muscles, and a bond so tight they were almost like brothers.
And right now the brothers are on a tear with fury in their eyes.
Rampage grabs the bouncer and tosses him through the air like a discarded tissue. I catch a glimpse of red hair and a thin, wiry body as Homicide Hank screams and drives his fist into Bob’s gut. But Bob is fast. He spins around and an inattentive Blade Saw gets a punch to the jaw. Blade Saw’s face curdles with rage and I look away. A former semi-pro heavyweight bodybuilder with fists of steel, Blade Saw is not a man to be trifled with.
A crack. A scream. Bob drops to his knees. “My arm!”
The bouncer lumbers to his feet and races over to help Bob. A shadow darker than night bellows with a voice so low my toes curl, intercepting him midstride. The bouncer flies through the air and crashes against the wall. Throws and takedowns are Obsidian’s specialty.
“Hey, leave one for me. I can’t write up a report saying I just stood around doing nothing.” A tall man with broad shoulders and a shaved head wades into the fray of thudding fists, cracking heads, groans, and screams. This must be Fuzzy, the cab driver’s son.
Although I try to push myself up, pain knifes through my shoulder and arm, driving me back down to the ground. The cab driver kneels beside me and strokes my head. I wait for him to tell me how disappointed he is in me, one of my father’s favorite phrases. Instead, his face crumples. “I shouldn’t have left you. I should have dropped you at Redemption and driven away.”
My mouth opens and closes but no sound comes out. Speaking is too much of an effort. All my energy is focused on not succumbing to the blackness creeping into my vision.
“Amanda.”
Nononononononono. Squeezing my eyes shut, I turn away from that voice. The voice I hear in my dreams every night. The voice I heard in the boardroom last week. I must have hit my head harder than I thought. I must be delirious. Jake is not here. He said he didn’t fight anymore at Redemption.
“Look at me.”
Unable to resist the opportunity to torture myself further, I turn and look into a deep blue sea of concern.
Jake. So handsome. I can’t look away.
“Jesus Christ.” His face contorts into a mask of anger. “What did they do to you?”
I would answer if I knew, but the world is a jumble of sounds and memories…and pain.
The cab driver puts a hand on Jake’s shoulder. “We need to get her to a hospital.”
“NO.” I find my voice as darkness creeps across my vision. “No hospitals.” Hospitals mean my parents will find out where I was and what happened. Hospitals mean confrontation and anger and a father’s disappointment.
“What were you doing here?” Jake gently brushes my hair off my face. “I mean…this isn’t your kind of place.”