Brawler (5 page)

She knelt down to speak to where only I could hear while keeping one boney knee wedged into my spine.

“If you ever treat her with disrespect like that again, I will have you replaced, like, you know … buried.” she says. “I’m not even going to ask if you understand me, Rafe. That’s strike one. She can hold her own, so quit thinking with your dick. Pay attention, yeah? She held back, remember that. I can’t wait to see your face when she proves you wrong. Well, what’s left of it.”

She stands back up using my skull as a crutch and manages to kick me in the head before walking away.

Getting up I look over to Macy, who seems to have forgotten all about me and is focused on Boner instead.

“Macy,” says Venessa. “Answer your fucking phone already and tell Ben you’re busy.”

Ben? Who the fuck is Ben? Oh, shit. The guy from school that follows her around.

She opens her bag and takes out her phone and frowns.

“What does he want?” asks Venessa. “Shit, he must have called ten times.”

“Uh,” she says, looking nervous. “It wasn’t Ben.”

“Who was it?” asks Rogue.

Now she’s looking at everything in the room but the people occupying it.

“Macy,” Venessa says. “Who was it?”

I inch closer to her, hoping to see the number.

“I don’t know,” she says. “It says unknown.”

“How many times did this unknown call you?” I ask, getting riled up all over again.

“Today?”

“You’ve been getting unknown calls
other
than today and you don’t think to say anything?” I yell. “What the fuck’s the matter with you?” When she stays silent, I keep going. “How can someone be
so
smart and so stupid?”

“Strike two,” says Venessa, looking pissed.

“We’re calling it a day,” says Rogue. “Macy, you wanna ride with us?”

“Fuck that,” I say “She’s riding with me.”

“It’s her choice,” says Rogue.

“What is she, twelve, Rogue?” I ask.

“No, but you fucking treat her like she is,” he says.

I look over to Macy and I can tell by the look on her face that she’s embarrassed. Fuck!

“We need to talk,” I say. “You’re riding with me.”

“Actually,” she says, “I’m not.”

I call her name but she just keeps walking. Straight out the door, middle finger in the air, into my partner’s truck and away from me.

T
he ride back to my place is quiet.

His words shouldn’t hurt, but they do. I shouldn’t care what he thinks, but I do.

Even Rogan and Venessa are quiet, except for talking to the dog.

Instead of defending myself, I just stare out the window.

I’m embarrassed, but I’ll get over it; I always do.

Will I ever be enough? I’m so sick of being the “smart one,” good for stats and Band-Aids but useless otherwise. There’s more to me than my brain. Why won’t he see that?

Venessa is the first to break the silence just as we round the block to my house. Rogan, no doubt knowing what she’s thinking, nods in approval.

“Macy,” she begins. “I’m not defending Rafe here, but why didn’t you tell us you were getting unknown calls?”

“It just started happening,” I say. “There’s never a message, so I ignored it. I figured it was a telemarketer or something.”

“We’re a team,” she says. “But I’m your best friend first; you should have told me.”

“I tell you everything,” I say. “Both of you. I didn’t put a lot of thought into it, all right? Shit, I have enough going on with school that I don’t pay attention to my phone. I’ll just change the number.”

“That’s smart,” she says. “But I want to know why you didn’t tell me, us.”

“For the record, I’m eight months older than you,” I say. “And the last time I checked, I could wipe my own ass. It’s a few unknown calls, for Christ’s sake. Just give me a fucking break already.”

“I’m not trying to piss you off,” she says. “It’s just that … I worry.”

“We worry,” he says, pulling into my driveway.

“Now who’s treating me like I’m twelve?” I ask, getting out. “Thanks for the ride.”

I was going to slam the door but decided against it. I closed it with the right amount of force, waved an overhead goodbye, and went inside to just be alone.

Tossing my keys and bag on the table, I kick my shoes off and sit down on my couch to feel sorry for myself. Why does everyone think I’m a fucking thumb-sucking toddler all of a sudden?

I get up, grab my phone out of my bag, and there are six more unknown missed calls.

I’ll change the number tomorrow.

For now, I need a distraction.

I reach into my bag and pull out the photos of the two missing girls and sit down to start my research.

I can study tonight, I repeat to myself over and over. Studying for me always comes first. It’s such a big part of my life. It’s a compulsion. The fact I’m able to focus on this instead of working is new for me, and truth? I kind of like it.

Hours later, I crack my neck, then stand up to take a break. Making my notes, the two biggest red flags on both girls is that they intern at my hospital, though I’ve never met them and they went to Lush a lot. That aside, they are good students, no real debt or bad habits, and like going clubbing on the weekends.

No boyfriends are noted, but that doesn’t discount a hookup gone wrong. My neck is tingling, which means this is all wrong, I fucking know it. Question is, how do I prove it? Lush, the hospital, I mean, break it down, it’s not hard. All this means in its simplest form is me and Venessa, period. Actually, I think it’s just about me, and the fact that she and I are a package deal brought her into the mix. Venessa was doing her vengeance thing long before I was able to test my formula. It wasn’t until she started using it to help me collect data that we started having problems. Now the problems seem to be piling up faster than we can sort them out.

The problem with being a self-proclaimed nerd is when I get invested in something, I tend to lose focus on what’s happening around me. I lose hours, but it feels like minutes. I don’t eat, I don’t sleep, and I don’t process the outside world. It’s a good trait to have when you’re researching, but it causes problems, too.

Like for instance, now. How did I not notice someone had been in my house?

Setting my work aside, I grab my gun from the desk and secure it in my right hand. I sort of have a thing for guns. They are so badass. I started out with a 9mm and loved it so much I moved way up to my .45 that I carry pretty much daily. I love to shoot so much V stopped taking me to the range with her. She says unloading three hundred rounds is excessive. Fuck that, I say it’s orgasmic. I also think Little Miss Competitive doesn’t like being out-gunned, so to speak. I don’t mind, though; going solo to the range, for me, is like chicks who like to buy shoes. It’s a must. Although, the whole ammo shortage has slowed me down a bit because I refuse to hack into my stockpile, but my hoarding issues can be analyzed another day.

I check each room of my house starting with the kitchen, then heading to each spare room and both bathrooms, and I saved my room for last. I did so because I had a feeling that’s exactly where I was supposed to be.

Opening my door I look at my bed right away, turning on the one light he didn’t break. I see it’s torn apart with the pillows and blankets thrown off the side. The sheets are a fucking mess and when I approach the bed to look more closely, I see it.

Briggs.

I shouldn’t be surprised the motherfucker found his way in here, into my home. He used to love humiliating me like this. Especially, when I didn’t feel like having his kind of sex. He’d just go on without considering me or my pleasure and then leave the evidence all over me. This always made him laugh. It always made me sick.

So there it is. The evidence. All over my Pottery Barn sheets.

Briggs is out.

He’s coming for me.

Message received.

I sit down next to my bed and do what I do best: I plan. When he comes for me again, I’ll be ready. I won’t freeze up. I’ll kill him. If there’s one thing you should know about me, it’s that I’ve never willingly quit anything in my life.  I won’t allow any man to take from me again or hurt Venessa like he promised he would. What Briggs took from me no one can replace. What Jonas could take from me, I’m not willing to give.

My heart, what’s left of it, beats only for revenge.

I
waited until everyone left to get the rage out of my system. I punished my body with a grueling workout until I couldn’t throw another punch. Why do I always have to open my goddamned mouth? Why did I go out of my way to hurt the female’s feelings that I care about? Why didn’t she tell
me
about the phone calls? Why did I call her stupid? Why at the mention of Ben’s name was I ready to carve the man with a blade?

Exhausted, I sit down and force myself to admit the real problem. What if she gets hurt and I’m not there to save her? Here I sit, like a kicked puppy worried about losing a female I don’t even have yet. Probably never will, either, if I don’t get my head right.

Throwing my gear into my truck, I debate on sitting around the block from her in case she calls or needs something. The next minute I shoot that idea down, too. All I do is hurt her, so why bother? Like she and Venessa said, she can take care of herself. Plus, she doesn’t want me there, and why should she?

Leaving the lot, I make a left instead of a right knowing I live one way then driving another. I just need to make sure she’s home safe and then I’ll go. Curious as to the verbal beatdown that probably happened the second she got in his truck, I dial my partner to confirm she hates me and that I’m off the team.

“What?” he says.

“Give it to me straight,” I say. “I know she fucking hates me. Did she quit the team? Or am I out?”

“The fuck are you going on about now?” he asks.

“Like she didn’t verbally castrate me on the way home?” I ask.

“As a matter of fact you never came up,” he says, and my shoulders fall. “She tore us a new one though, then went in the house and slammed the door. If there’s a dog house, we’re all in it.”

“What did you say to her?” I growl, pissed they caused her pain.

“Ain’t gonna work trying to get tough with me, partner,” he says. “You started this shit. We tried cleaning it up, and turns out the three of us are assholes. Hold up, Cap’s calling.”

So I sit on hold and stew. They upset her and it pisses me right the fuck off. The thought of wanting to choke my partner out for hurting her and maybe stealing Venessa’s music for upsetting her calms me some. It wasn’t too long ago that I had misjudged Venessa; for that fuck up, I’m amazed I’m still pissing straight.

Even in a third party situation, I fuck shit up.

“Where are you?” he asks.

“Driving by Macy —“ I start.

“Briggs is out.”

“Fuck you,” I say. “When?”

“Yesterday,” he says. “Cap just found out. Macy’s not answering her phone either. We’re gearing up now. Rafe?”

“Yeah?” I barely get out.

“Protect your woman,” he says. “At any cost.”

I squeeze my phone in my hand as I’m pushing fifty miles per hour on the side street before hers. I take the corner and I’m shocked I don’t flip it, wouldn’t have given a fuck if I did. Vehicles are replaceable, she ain’t.  I launch my truck up her driveway leaving the keys in the ignition, truck running with the door wide open.

I don’t knock; I just kick the goddamn door open and start yelling her name.

He was here.

In her house. I could fucking feel it. The warmth was gone; it felt wrong now. After checking the main floor then the basement, I take the stairs two at time still yelling her name, no answer. The two spare rooms are empty, so are the bathrooms. I see a light on in the master bedroom and I pray that he is not with her, behind that door.

Ain’t no God or any other deity that can help him if he is. I turn the handle and it’s locked.