Текст книги "Tough Enough"

Автор книги: M. Leighton

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Текущая страница: 18 (всего у книги 20 страниц)

FORTY-TWO

Rogan

If I’d been a few minutes later, Katie could be dead. She was reliving parts of her worst nightmare, had gotten herself into a shitty mess, for me. She did that all for me. Hating them as she does, hating what I do as she does—as she has every right to—she was considering walking right back into that world to save me. She’d risk everything for me.

I know what I have to do next. What I want to do next. For her. All for her.

After I take care of this piece of shit, I think, throwing Sims’s limp body into the back of my rented SUV and slamming the door shut. After I climb behind the wheel and start the engine, I dial Jasper’s number. He’s at a small airstrip for private planes on the outskirts of Enchantment. We all flew in separately, but our destination (as well as our mission) is the same.

He answers the phone with a question. “Do you have him?”

“I’ve got him. I’ll make the call.”

“Tag just checked in. He’s at the airport.”

“On my way to the location. He’ll be there when you arrive. My flight is booked.”

“I’ll let you know when we’re in the air.”

“I’ll be waiting. Be careful,” I tell him.

“Check.”

And with that the line goes dead. I start my drive through the dark and deserted streets of Enchantment.

The three of us devised a plan for taking care of the Senator. He thinks he’s untouchable because of who he is, but he obviously forgot who we are—three men who were handpicked and trained by the government to move under the radar, to strike with silence and leave no traces. Removing threats is what we do. Or used to anyway. And Senator Sims is a threat. A murderer. On his order, lives were taken. All for his own gain. Some for money, as with Assad’s second-in-command, and some to save his own ass, as with Reid and Jasper’s mother. Senselessly, ruthlessly. Criminally. And there are consequences for those kinds of actions.

Even if you’re a sitting senator for the United States of America.

Because of my public association with the Senator and now my association with his son through Katie, I can’t be involved more than getting Calvin to the pickup spot. From there, Jasper and Tag will take care of them. Or, more likely, just Jasper. He’s the only one still in the game. Plus, his mother was killed as a result of all this. We all lost our friend, but he lost even more. And I wouldn’t want to get in the way of his . . . reckoning. It’s the only thing he can do for his mom at this point.

We all have to do what’s best for us, for the people we love, which makes me think of Katie. Again.

She’s chosen to live a quiet life, one as far from violence as she can get, and I feel like I’ve brought everything she’s tried to escape right back to her door. How could I ever ask her to be with me when what I do reminds her of such painful times?

I couldn’t.

I won’t.

But I don’t want to live without her either. I’ve only got one choice as far as I can see, but it’s an easy one when she’s on the other side of it. Nothing is as important to me as Katie, and with Senator Sims out of the way, I’m free to do whatever I have to in order to win her back.

And that’s what I’m going to do.

I dial Johns to let him know that I still plan to fight in Vegas on Sunday.

When the light turns green, I make a hard right to turn into the only gas station in town. I buy a plastic gas can and fill it up before getting back on the road. As I pull out of the lot, I wake my phone and punch in the number of Senator Sims.

“What is it?” comes the gruff voice that says I’m interrupting.

“It’s Rogan,” I announce flatly. Already, satisfaction is unrolling in my stomach, like butterfly wings from a caterpillar’s cocoon. “I’ve got your son in the back of my car. He’s unconscious, and in about fifteen minutes, he’s going to be strapped naked to a tree in a very public park. And then doused in gasoline. I hope you can get here before I put a match to his dick at dawn.”

I hang up and drop my phone in the cup holder, expecting it to ring back any second. And it does. But I ignore it.

I pull into the lot of the park I met Katie at. I figure it’s poetic that he’ll get a little, teeny-tiny bit of what’s coming to him in a place that brings Katie so much joy. I’m not going to burn him alive. That would ruin the plan. I will, however, put the fear of God in him. I will make him sweat, make him wonder. Give him a few hours of pure emotional hell, wondering if he’s going to burn to death, naked in a public park.

I cut the engine and walk around to the back of the vehicle, opening the hatch. Sims is waking up, rolling his head from side to side, moaning. I lean in and punch him in the jaw, putting him out for a few more minutes.

I grab his ankles and haul him toward me with a functional yank. I don’t give a damn what I hurt or how sore this bastard is. The more he hurts, the better.

I toss him over my shoulder and slam the hatch shut before I carry him to a tree near the area where I purposely ran into Katie that evening. It was the first time I tasted those sweet lips.

I drop Sims in a heap at the base of the big oak and I set about taking off his clothes. Shoes and socks first, pants next. He’s going commando, which saves me from the unpleasant task of taking off his underwear.

“Thanks for making it easy on me, asswipe,” I mutter to the unconscious man.

Next, I take off his shirt and work on tying the long sleeves to his pants legs. I use his belt to restrain his hands behind his back before propping him up against the tree. Then I use his clothes to tie him to it. There’s no way in hell he’s getting out of this when he wakes up.

I stand back to admire my handiwork before I return to the parking lot for the gasoline can. I take it to the tree and wait for Sims to regain consciousness. It only takes about ten minutes for him to rouse. When he does, I slap his cheek a few times to help him focus.

“Got something to tell you, shit-for-brains. You listening?” I ask. I stand and kick the bottom of his bare foot. When he opens his eyes and sees me, I uncap the gas can. I want him to see. I want him to know. I want him to fear.

“I-I’m listening,” he says, still addled.

“Good. Can you tell me what this is?”

I start at his head, dumping about a half gallon of gas onto his upper body. He sputters for a few seconds and shakes his head. I know the instant he makes the connection. His eyes open back up, wide and terrified. I can see the understanding, even in the low light of the full moon. That’s when he starts to scream.

“What are you doing? What the hell are you doing? Hellllp!”

“Hey!” I say, kicking his foot again. “No one can hear you. The best thing you can do for yourself is commit to memory every word I’m about to say.”

He’s panting, struggling against his restraints. I pour another couple of splashes of gasoline on him, letting it run down his chest, and then douse his junk real good. He screams again when the cold liquid runs down between his legs. I can only imagine what he’s thinking.

It’s probably pointless to talk to him. Chances of him actually making it out of the next twelve hours alive are slim. But I’m going to say my piece anyway. For Katie.

“This is for Katie Rydale. No amount of suffering is enough, but this is a good start.”

“What are you going to do?” he wails, panicked.

“Do you really have to ask?”

I take out a pack of matches and toss them up into the air, catching them and stuffing them back into my pocket. His eyes watch my every move, getting wider by the second.

“Oh shit, oh shit! You can’t do this! You can’t do this to me! You know who my father is! He’ll have your ass if you do this!”

“Will he? Because I don’t think even Daddy can save you this time.”

Even in the dark, I see him turn white as a damn sheet at the coldness of my smile, of my words. He knows I speak the truth.

“Please,” he begs, giving me some small bit of satisfaction.

“I bet you’ve never had to beg for anything, have you? I bet others have, though. Like Katie. I bet she begged for you to stop when you hit her. I bet she would’ve begged for you not to strike that match if you’d given her the chance. But I bet she wouldn’t beg you for a damn thing now, would she?”

I see the piss trickle from the end of his shriveled dick and I spit on the ground beside him. “Yeah, you just think about that. I’ll be back soon. With more gas.”

The pathetic shit starts to cry. “Please, please, please,” he chants.

“Maybe I should leave your fate up to Katie. You think?” I muse aloud, knowing nothing can change the course of events now.

“That bitch!” he spits in furious desperation. “Don’t listen to that bitch! She’s a fuc—”

I kick him square in the jaw, silencing words I have no interest in hearing. He doesn’t deserve to speak them.

“Enough of that, asshole,” I say, dumping the remaining gas on his head, making sure he’s soaked from head to ass. When he’s coming to, already whimpering like a little school-boy bitch, I put a hand in my pocket and walk off, whistling as I swing the gas can.

Back at the parking lot, I pick up my phone. I’ve got fourteen missed calls and two messages. I don’t bother to listen to them. I want Senator Sims to sweat. I just type in a text to my buddies that reads one simple word: Ready.

FORTY-THREE

Katie

I’m drifting in that hazy place between sleep and wakefulness. My mind won’t let me rest completely, so I’ve been lying here for hours, thinking. Drifting. Wanting.

The television is playing softly, the bluish light flickering against my closed lids. I’m not concentrating on the words, but the name gets my attention.

I raise my head and glance down at the flat screen. There’s a small corner picture of Senator Sims, and a red banner at the bottom of the screen that reads BREAKING NEWS. Just below that are the words SENATOR AND SON FOUND DEAD IN WRECKAGE OF PLANE CRASH.

I sit up, fully awake now, my eyes wide and my pulse thudding. Am I dreaming? Am I hallucinating?

I stare at the screen, watching for more details. None come. Just that flash of news. Important news. News that could very well change my life.

People all over the country might be mourning their passing. I’m not one of those people. I feel only a sense of intense relief. And vindication. And freedom. I’m finally free. And so is Rogan.

The next thing to flash along the ticker tape at the bottom of the screen is a statement on the crowd’s anticipation of a mixed martial arts fight being held in Vegas tomorrow.

It’s Rogan.

On the one hand, I know I shouldn’t go. Shouldn’t even want to. But on the other hand, I desperately want to see him, to talk to him. To hear him say those three little words again. I want them to change everything.

But is that realistic? Is it possible? Is it possible for me to put the last few years behind me and move forward as yet another different version of myself? Or am I tough enough to embrace all the different parts and live as just me? Scarred yet whole. Free.

There’s only one way to find out, of course. And to do it, I’ll have to be brave. Tough. Tough enough to live, not just survive.

For the first time in what feels like a lifetime, I feel like I might be ready for that. Finally ready. Finally strong. Finally tough enough.

FORTY-FOUR

Rogan

I feel different. As Johns slides my gloves on, I know in my gut this will be a night like no other.

I focus on the music that I’ve heard before every fight since day one. I let it bring me to the present, where it’s only me and my opponent. The pump of blood to my muscles and the burst of adrenaline through my veins. This time, my opponent is internal, though, and winning against him is more important than ever.

Above the music, I hear the pop pop pop of umbrellas opening all around me. I reach deep for my “The Rain” persona and I tap my fists together, throwing my hands up and dancing from foot to foot as I turn a circle and wordlessly thank my fans for showing up.

As my eyes scan the sea of mostly black umbrellas, I do a double take of the upper level of one section, my eyes stuttering over and then returning to a pink and white polka-dot umbrella. I stop and stare, trying to see past the bright lights to the face in the shadow, but I can’t. Surely it’s Katie. Isn’t it?

But then I think that, after all the commotion when I spotted her and acknowledged her at the charity fight, the new thing might be for women to bring a polka-dot umbrella. How the hell should I know?

But still, the fact that it might be starts to eat at my stomach.

I enter the cage and listen as the announcer goes through his usual spiel. I resist glancing up into the crowd again.

I walk to the center of the ring, as I’ve done dozens of time. I listen while the ref gives us our instructions, as I’ve done dozens of time. But when it comes times to tap gloves with my competitor, I don’t move. I don’t touch them; I only stare at him. I asked for this fight. People will expect a show. Maybe this will be show enough for them.

I think of how I’m going to phrase what I’m about to say. Nothing eloquent or elaborate. I’ll say the only thing I need to say. And the person who needs to understand it will understand.

The ref eyes me, as does my opponent, when I motion toward the ceiling for the drop-down mic. There’s a hushed kind of chatter that spreads through the crowd. I try to ignore it, which is much easier this time. My focus is on one person, whether she’s here or not.

When the mic drops down, I grab it and turn toward the umbrella that may or may not be hiding the woman I’m in love with. I gesture to her with my free hand and speak clearly to the waiting crowd.

“This is for you, Katie,” I begin. Then, when the place is almost silent in anticipation, I continue. “Tonight will be my last fight. I’m officially retiring.”

And then all hell breaks loose. Screams erupt, voices yell, cameras flash, and a mob of frenzied fans rushes the cage. The gate, still ajar until the fight begins, is pushed open and people rush in. Security forces their way through to my opponent and me, ushering us out of the stadium and back into the locker rooms. To safety. To calm. To the consequences.

FORTY-FIVE

Katie

I hit the release of my umbrella and shrink it as quickly as I can so that I can push my way through the crowd. When I get to the aisle, I run as fast as I can for the tunnel into which Rogan disappeared. When I reach a crossroads in the two main halls surrounding the arena, I spot Johns heading around a corner. He doesn’t look happy.

My lungs burn as I launch myself toward them, frantic to get to Rogan before he does something irreversible. I skitter around the concrete corner and burst through the double doors at the end of the short hall. All eyes turn toward me, but I only see one set, the only set that matters.

They are the clear green of a princess-cut emerald being held up to the light. And they are focused on me.

“Don’t do this for me,” I blurt breathlessly.

“I want to,” he says, edging his way toward me where I stand near the door. “This is me showing you that you’re the most important thing in my life.”

My heart slams against my ribs. “All you had to do was say so.”

“Words aren’t enough. You need to see that I’d do anything for you. I’d give up anything for you, I’d take on anything for you. I’d run, I’d fly, I’d fight. I’d do anything to prove to you that I love you. That I’ve always loved you.”

I wanted so much to hear him say it again. Just one more time. Or a million. Or every day of forever.

I feel the sting of tears. I don’t even try to hold them back this time. I’m too happy to hold them in. “I love you, too.”

His shoulders sag and he drops his head. My heart stutters in alarm as I take in his posture. He doesn’t look happy. He looks . . . defeated.

“God, Katie,” he begins softly. “I wanted you to love me. More than I’ve ever wanted anything.” He raises tortured eyes to mine. “But I knew I couldn’t give you what you needed.”

“You were all I needed. Only you. I thought it was the fighting. Then I thought I couldn’t get past you working with Sims. But then I got a taste of life without you, of what it feels like to truly be dying inside. That’s when I realized that I can do anything for you. That I’m tough enough to live now. Because of you. I was tough enough to stand up to the Simses. I was tough enough to fight back. And I was tough enough to come here. To you. Because you’re all that matters to me.”

“I don’t ever want you to hurt for me. Ever. You’ve been through too much.”

“I hurt for you when I’m not with you. I’ve been burned alive and I’ve never been in more pain than I was when I was without you.”

His lips curling up into a small grin, Rogan moves toward me, not stopping until I have to crane my neck to look up into his gorgeous face. “Woman, you broke me. I didn’t think I was going to make it.”

I swallow hard, hating to think of him hurting, but at the same time loving that he was as miserable as I was. “Let’s not do that to each other again.”

He reaches up to tenderly cup my face. “Deal. Don’t ever leave me and we’ll be good.”

“Done,” I say with a smile, my heart lighter than it’s been since I was a child.

Rogan brushes his lips across my forehead, down my temple and around to the corner of my mouth. My whole body is humming in anticipation of his kiss. I feel as though I’ve been starved of it for an eternity.

But it’s not to be. A gruff voice interrupts our moment. “The cage has been cleared. Now damn it, get the hell out there and stop giving me trouble,” Johns grouches. “I can’t believe you’d pull this shit without telling me.”

Rogan leans back and grins down into my face. “See what I have to put up with?”

“Poor you,” I say. “Is there anything I can do to make it better?”

“Ask me after the fight.”

“Rogan,” I say, staring up into his eyes, as serious as I can be. “Please don’t retire because of me. Don’t make a choice like that because of—”

A long finger comes to rest across my lips, silencing me. “This part of my life is over. I’m ready to move on, to start something new. With you. Something where my body isn’t sore unless you make it sore.” The sparkle in his eyes and the smile on his lips bring a warm buzz to my muscles. My cheeks sting as I imagine Johns listening to our every word and rolling his eyes in displeasure.

“Well that’s about the best damn excuse for retiring that I’ve ever heard. Now kiss her and get your ass out into that cage,” Johns barks.

I risk peeking at him over my shoulder. He’s grinning at us—at least I think that’s what the expression is. He winks at me and then tips his head toward the door before he leaves us in a quick moment of peace.

“I love you, baby. With everything I am.”

“And I love you, my tough fighter. Now go win something.”

“I already won the best prize, but I guess I can throw in another little something for you.”

I smile as he kisses my knuckles and makes his way toward the door.

“Come back sore. I think I can help you out with working out the kinks.”

“I won’t be long,” he says, turning to jog out the door.

I’m standing in the same spot, staring at the last place I saw Rogan when the door flies open and bangs against the wall. Rogan makes his way to me in long, determined strides, takes me in his arms and kisses me for all he’s worth. My heart, my body, my soul sings with relief. I don’t know how he knew, but I needed this. Desperately.

When he has kissed me breathless, he leans back, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. “I love your hair, by the way.”

I feel the warmth flood my cheeks. For the first time in five years, I wore it up today. It’s a loose, sexy style that I used to favor. Before. But now the only before and after I care about are before Rogan told me he loved me and after. All the many years of after. “I wanted to be tough today. For you. For me.”

“Tough looks amazing on you. I always knew it would.”

“Thank you,” I say, casting my eyes down in an old habit.

As he’s done dozens of times before, Rogan lifts my face toward his. “You never have to hide, especially from me. I love you just the way you are. Beautiful, perfect, real.”

“Thank you for fighting for me.”

“I never stopped.”

No, he didn’t. And he never will. He’s my fighter. My love. My Rogan.