A Deal With the Devil (13 page)

The champagne arrived and Rey handed her a glass, a small frown settled over his forehead. “Are you okay? Do you need anything else?”

And even though she knew she was taking a risk, she said, “Actually, I was just thinking about your mum.”

*     *     *

All Rey’s muscles
seized up at the mention of his mother. No way was he talking about this. Here. “Why?”

“I don’t know, to be honest. I was thinking about you, this place and how quirky it is and yet how you fit in so perfectly considering where you’ve come from. My brain played mental hopscotch until I found myself wondering what happened to your mum. How did she die?”

“This is a very inappropriate place to talk about this.”

“It’s as good as any.” Shrugging, she wound her fingers into his as he controlled his thoughts, damped down the irritation stalking up his spine. But why not here? If Kate was to have any part in his life, however fleeting, she might as well know the darkness that tainted him. That way she’d know what to expect, what he could not give her, and why. He owed her that much. “She got in the way of my dad’s fist.”

“Oh my God.” She dropped his hand and covered her mouth. “You were there? You saw it happen? How bloody awful.”

He looked around at all the other people here, laughing and smiling, oblivious to the torment in his gut. At Kate’s anguished face. “Do you think I would have stood by and watched it? I’d gone out to see a friend, first time in weeks I’d left her on her own. She’d made me go, said she’d be okay.”

“This happened a lot?”

“It was situation normal.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Why didn’t she leave him? Take you with her?”

How many times had he urged her to do exactly that? How many times had they packed, only for her to cave at the last minute? “Because she loved him. Because she thought love was about giving everything. Standing by the choices you make.”

“Ah, the quote on your tattoo?”

Rey’s throat was dry and scratched. He gulped some champagne. “When I came home he was crying with her limp in his arms, moaning. She was dead an hour later. He told them she’d fallen and hit her head. Nothing I said or did would make them believe me. Truth was, I hadn’t witnessed anything, I just
knew
. And he knew that I knew.” And Rey had lived with the guilt ever since. He shouldn’t have left her. Shouldn’t.

Kate’s hand grasped the champagne flute so tightly he could see the whites of her knuckles. “They should have heard you out at least? Why didn’t they listen?”

“He was a policeman and they all stuck together. Beyond reproach. Who would believe me against him? That was when I knew I had to leave, because it would be me next.”

Wide eyes. “And what happened? He got away with it?”

“He died a few months later.” Brutal bare facts. Suicide they’d reported. Guilt, Rey hoped, and that he’d rot in whatever hell he’d believed in. His father had died and the only thing Rey had felt was absolutely nothing. Surely he should have felt something?

That relief he was always chasing? Had his father’s name on it. He cleared his throat, shook his head firmly. Waved his hand at their surroundings. “That’s enough. Not here. Not now, Kate. Come dance with me. It’s a slow one, I can just about manage that.”

She lifted her head, looked as if she was gathering her composure. “In a minute, maybe. I don’t think I can manage a dance right now. What I don’t understand is why, if your dad’s way hurt you so much, did you carry it on? Why all the fighting, the boxing? Why didn’t you just give it up?”

“What? And take up fishing instead? Tiddlywinks? Meditation?”

“Or football? Rugby—that’s pretty hard-core.”

The champagne fizzed as he poured more into the flutes. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me?” Her voice was a little forced, as if she was trying hard to be light.

He didn’t want to analyse the damned minutiae of his life, but this was Kate’s night. They were supposed to be celebrating. Just great—a walk through his murky past was hardly a celebration, but she seemed hell-bent on asking questions. “Truth is, I’m a Doyle. There’s a part of me that searches for the same release as him. I love it. I love the way it makes me feel. And that sickens me.”

“The boxing?”

“It’s in me … deep in me.” How to explain something so base and pure it was as instinctive as hunger? It
was
hunger. “It’s real—it’s life, it’s raw, it’s grit. It’s the most basic we get. Fist against bone. Winning. Power. Control.”

She shook her head, almost spitting the words, “I have other words for it: Neanderthal, stupid, dangerous. It’s just barbaric.”

“Then you’ve never seen a decent fight. There are rules. Strict guidelines. Strategy. It’s a lot of training and a lot of work. I told you about the PADS … It makes me
feel
something, Kate.”

“There are lots of ways to feel things. Last night, for example?”

“Of course. Yes.” Hell, he’d felt more emotions last night than he’d felt in a lifetime. Good ones, elevating ones. Ones that had blown his head—so good to be wrapped in her arms.
In
her. And then the crippling aftermath of
what the hell comes next?

What he couldn’t believe was that he’d brought her here, to his private space. That he’d been willing, yesterday, to take her to his apartment. That he was thinking about what the hell to do with her tomorrow. Next week …

“Well I don’t think I’ll ever understand it. It’s so far from everything I’ve ever known.” Taking a sip of her drink she frowned. “I’ve heard about these fight clubs too, where there are no rules. No guidelines. People die.”

That damned film had glorified the reality, made every sad bloke into a wannabe hero. “That is entirely different. You watch too many movies, Kate. This is not downtown LA or Detroit, it’s just London.” Soon enough he’d be able to say that and mean it. At least his conscience would be clear; there were other clubs, he knew, in lots of cities across the world but they weren’t his problem. “Besides, what people get up to in their own time is their problem.”

“What if people get hurt? People who don’t know what to expect.”

“They are usually vetted.”

“Really? Always? So it’s not something you get involved with?”

He drank some champagne, twisted the stem on the table. Weighed up just how much to tell her. That damned conscience of his seemed to have woken up and was making its presence felt.

“It was.”
One more fight.
“There was this kid, he got badly hurt and it changed things for me. You’re right, people do get hurt, Kate. I don’t want that on my hands.”

She leaned forward, pale and breathless. “What happened? To the boy?”

“He was scrawny and mouthy, and thought he was a match for one of our top guys. He wasn’t. He shouldn’t have been there. I’d never have let him in if I’d seen him, never mind let him fight, but he gave Ted some bullshit and he let him in. When I got there the kid was in pieces on the floor. I scraped him up, then me and the doc dropped him at the nearest A&E.”

“What? You just left him there?”

“I made sure he was seen first.”

“You didn’t stay? Didn’t speak to his relatives? Didn’t own up? Didn’t check on him?” The softness in her voice had been replaced by something else—fear? Anger? Strange that she was so deeply moved by such a story, but that was Kate through and through, she was deep down good. Unlike him.

“He wouldn’t give us any personal information, he didn’t even tell me his surname. I tried. Ted tried. I rang back the next day and the next, but no one at the hospital would give me any details, because I wasn’t family.”

“I see.” Kate looked as if someone had stolen her breath.

“Are you okay?” She didn’t look okay, she looked haunted.

She stood up, her hands shaking, wiped her cheek. “I’m just going to the bathroom.”

“Are you sure you’re okay? Kate?”

“I’m fine. Please, leave it.” She turned and walked away.

At the same moment his phone vibrated in his pocket. Rey grabbed it. Ted. Eight texts lining up. Something about No Surrender. Trouble? The hackers?
Shit.
He snatched it up. “Ted? What is it?”

“Where the hell are you? I sent a text. Six to be exact.”

“Eight. What is it?”

Ted sounded rattled. “No Surrender. It’s been brought forward. Tonight.”

“What the hell? Why?”

“I told you that in my text two hours ago. Wreckers coming in first thing to bowl the place. Tonight was the only option.”

“Or another venue?” What kind of fresh hell was this? The one where he paid for his lies. But this was Kate’s night. “I’m not coming.”

“Hell, yes you are. You promised me, and you never renege, Rey. I know you, you’ll come. The punters are braying.”

Yes, he’d promised and now he was torn—polar opposites pulling him in directions he wasn’t even sure about. “I can’t. Not tonight. Tuesday, yes. We agreed Tuesday. Then it’s done. Finished. Over.” No more bullshit.

A pause. In the background Rey heard shouting. It sounded messy, feverish. Then Ted was back. “If you don’t get that sad fucking backside down here in ten there’ll be a bloody riot, Rey. It’ll be all over the news like a rash. Your name in bold. Your business blowing up in your face.”

Rey looked across the room and recognised a top judge entertaining a group of ladies. There would be plenty in this club who would help him hush a scandal up. “I’ll take that risk.”

“Yeah? Well I won’t. You owe me. You said one last fight, I’m counting on you. These guys are loyal, but they don’t like being taken for a ride. You know I love you, man, but sometimes you don’t know what’s good for you. So I’m sending a car and two of our best men. You’re at RC, I can hear that goofy music. Five minutes, Rey.”

Damn.
Rey flicked the phone into his pocket.

He would not go.

When she came back from the bathroom Kate’s eyes were puffy and red, as if she’d been crying. Over him? He doubted it, but if she’d been upset by his story, she clearly had a more tender heart than he’d thought.

He hated that he’d got into this situation. He had a hard choice to make. By the sounds of it the other guys were baying for his blood. Well, he would handle the fallout. Tomorrow. “Hey, what’s the problem?”

“Nothing.” She blew her nose and offered a weak smile. “Sorry. Allergies.”

“You want to head off? Back to my place? Yours?”

She hesitated. Before she could answer there was a tap on his shoulder. Rosie. “Mr Doyle, there’s two men at the door. I told them you weren’t to be disturbed but they wouldn’t take no for an answer. I thought they might cause trouble so I came to warn you.”

Damn, Ted was nothing if not true to his word.

Kate blinked from him to Rosie and back again. “Problem?”

“No.”

“Yes.” A voice behind them. Ted’s ugly mug appeared. “Sorry to interrupt, but Rey has another engagement he needs to attend.”

“Are you for real?” Scraping his chair back Rey resisted the temptation to haul Ted against the wall. “I told you—”

Kate’s hand was on his arm. “No, really … please, go if you need to. It sounds urgent.”

Ted shrugged, staring at Rey. “It is. Very.”

She was pulling on her coat already. “Casino business?”

He wasn’t going to lie. Damn Ted. “Something like that. But it can wait. I’ll stay.”

“Look …” Her smile wavered and he knew she could see through him and his words. But now she was intent on letting him go. “I’ll get a cab, it’s fine. Honestly. I’m tired, anyway and I need to get back for Jake.”

Jake? His heart thumped a little, then he remembered. Oh, yeah, her brother. Why did that name sound familiar?
Not important.
What was important was making as little a deal as possible out of this. “Stay with me. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Er … A word?” Ted was crowding him now, in his face.

“Later.” How many times—?

But Kate was already smiling goodbyes and turning towards the exit. He caught her up. “Wait, Kate. Seriously, I’m not going anywhere.”

“I am.” She raised a weary shoulder and he had to admit she looked exhausted, worn out. “Please, let me go home.”

“I’ll come with you. Make sure you get home okay.”

“I’m fine,” she almost snarled. The look she threw at him told him to back right off.

He walked her to the door, took her in his arms and hauled her close. “I’ll see you soon. I’ll make it up to you.”

Once he’d hailed a passing cab he leaned in to give her another kiss but she turned away, wary, removed, shut down. “Bye, Rey.”

“Come on, Romeo.” Ted slapped him on the shoulder and pointed to the waiting car. “Your chariot awaits.”

“I’m going home.”

Ted’s hand was still on his shoulder. The pressure intensified. “I promised myself I wouldn’t do this, Rey … but if you don’t come willingly, I’ll have to make you.”

“Lay one more finger on me and we’re through.”

“I don’t have to, Rey. You’ll come. Problem solved—Kate’s gone home.” His oldest friend shook his head and leaned against the black Lexus, lit up a cigarette. He was in for the long haul. “I’ll just phone in and get the boys to wait. The longer you put it off, the worse they’ll be. It’ll be hard. Bloody. Intense, man.”