Fight for Her#3 (3 page)

Jo frowns. “You might need backup.”

We pull up to a curb. A warehouse looms in the dark about two blocks down.

“We don’t want to do anything to attract attention, and bringing you might do that. I’ve got Parker,” Colt says. “I’ve got an app on my phone that senses a hard fall. It will message you with my GPS coordinates if it goes off. You can jump in then if you want.”

I’m amazed at his confidence in her. I know she’s been in fights, and there were all those rumors about almost killing her stepbrother when she was a teen, but still. She’s small. I could bench-press her when I was fifteen.

“You ready?” he asks me.

“Hell, yes.”

He pulls his cap down low. “Let’s hit it.”

Jo doesn’t even look anxious. I guess if you’ve already stared down death and beaten it, nothing fazes you. “We’ll see you in a few,” I say to her.

“Be careful,” she says.

I get out of the gleaming car. It sticks out here among the crumbling facades of old buildings.

We take off down the sidewalk toward the warehouse. Adrenaline rushes through me, erasing the aches that began to creep up sitting useless in the car, my knuckles raw and bloody and my head ringing from the blows.

We’re going to get her out of there. And Striker is going to pay.

Chapter 6: Maddie

Those two are definitely not paying attention to me.

I glance at the couple now lying down on the other side of the van. He’s got her tights off, and he’s really going for it, his head up her skirt.

This is really not the worst thing that has happened to me. When Parker lived with three other fighters, we walked in on various couples all the time. Hell, they walked in on
us
a time or two.

That was worse.

I’m trying to avert my eyes from anything I don’t want to see, while also looking for a phone. One is bound to slip out of somebody’s pocket. Or from a purse.

The boy still has his pants on. There’s a promising bulge on his butt, sticking in the air, but I can’t be certain it’s his phone and not just a slender wallet.

My hands are bound so tightly that I doubt I could grab it anyway. I need it to fall out, and for them to kick it close. I’m pretty sure I can dial 911 if I can just get it turned over.

Of course, there could be a screen lock or a pass code.

The view through the windshield is still clear. Wherever we are, there’s not a lot of people milling around. I wonder what has happened to Parker. He has got to be panicking. I don’t doubt that he was able to take down the other two fighters. They were just a delay tactic.

But I don’t think I was part of their plan. Probably they’re all off somewhere arguing over what to do with me. Striker is unstable enough that I worry what he might decide. If something goes wrong, I believe he has it in him to dump me somewhere I might not survive.

The couple keeps moaning like I’m not there. Or maybe because I am. I’m restless. I’m done with waiting for my fate. I’m ready to do something about it.

A light outside the van catches my eye. It’s tiny, like one of those little squeeze lights you put on your key chain. Someone is in the corner of the warehouse, in the shadow of a pillar, and flashing the light at the windshield. It blinks on and off.

I glance over at the busy couple. They won’t notice. I turn back to the light.

A man steps forward, and it’s not anyone who was in the van. He’s older than us, dressed in a very sharp pair of black pants and a long-sleeved gray silk shirt. Classy. I recognize the cut of his pants from a competing fashion line. The shirt isn’t anything I recognize. A custom job.

This isn’t any of Striker’s pals, for sure. Nor anyone I would expect to be throwing money at an illegal fight, although I don’t really know anything about that lifestyle.

He moves with stealth and power, like a cheetah. He arrives at another pillar, hidden from the direction everyone went, but perfectly visible to me. He holds a finger to his lips. Then he drops low where I can’t see him anymore.

I guess he’s here for me.

But then a series of shouts break out. A bunch of the fighters come into the bay. Striker, the two guys who fought us, Blue Hair, and some others who weren’t here before. One is dripping blood out his nose, stumbling around but exuberant. Probably just came out of the cage.

I hear a little tap just behind my head. Someone is outside the van on this side, out of view of the oncoming crowd. It’s a pattern, and I know this means he’s still out there, and not to worry.

Someone knows I’m here. Maybe Parker’s sent him. Maybe he’s some sort of cop. But I’m not lost to the world.

The back doors of the van pop open.

“Aw, man, look at Chump Change, munching down on his girl,” Striker says. He’s got bandages on his face, and his arm is in a sling.

The girl flips him off as the boy withdraws and wipes his mouth. I draw up tightly, keeping my knees together. Even if that sharp-dressed man is out there, he can’t take on this many fighters on his own.

“You like watching that?” Striker asks me. “I can give you a show too.” He elbows the bloody fighter. “Crunch here just won a kick-ass fight and I promised him a gander at Power Play’s girl as a prize.”

Crunch crawls into the van space. The couple who were guarding me scoot aside to make room.

He looks bad. One eye is seriously swollen, purple and weeping blood. His face is mottled and red from the hits, his jaw misshapen.

“You might want to get looked at,” I say reflexively.

“See there, she cares!” Striker calls out. “Chump Change, you and your girl come on out of there and leave these two lovebirds alone.”

My heart hammers. I’ve misjudged Striker, or else Blue Hair pitched a fit about his interest in me. I have no idea what this Crunch guy is like or what he might do. Will the silk-shirt guy intervene if he thinks I’m in trouble?

The doors close and it’s just the two of us.

“You’re pretty,” Crunch says awkwardly.

I hope this means he isn’t around a lot of girls, that he’s shy. If so, I can probably handle him.

“Thank you,” I say. “So you won the fight?”

He nods. A drip of blood comes from his nose and he wipes it away. “Sorry,” he says.

“Isn’t there a medic to patch you guys up?”

“He was busy with the loser,” Crunch says.

“The guy you fought?” The more we talk, the more time I buy.

“Yeah. He wouldn’t come to.”

“Are they going to call an ambulance?” I look out the windshield, thinking maybe I would get a shot if someone arrived to help.

“Nah.”

“Someone will take him in, then?”

Crunch shrugs. “Not my problem.” His shoulders gleam with sweat in the dim light filtering in from the lights in the loading bay. I have no idea what he normally looks like. His hair is trimmed, blondish brown. He’s not as built as Parker, which probably makes him a featherweight. I don’t know. I never knew all the classes.

“How—how long did the fight last?” I try to keep the anxiety out of my voice, but it creeps in anyway. I frantically try to think of things to keep the conversation going.

“Got into the third round.”

“Do all fights have three rounds? Even these?”

Crunch reaches forward to finger one of the fluttery scarves at the bottom of my dress. I can’t suppress the way I flinch.

“You ask a lot of questions,” he says. His knuckle grazes my knee.

I’m coiled tight as a spring. Maybe he isn’t as shy or nervous as I first thought.

His face is hard to look at, but I try to keep eye contact. I need to know what he’s up to, what he plans. The thought of his hands on me makes me feel sick.

Two hard bangs on the back door make us both jump. “You finished yet?” Striker calls out. “We ain’t got all day!” Laughter trails behind. They must all be standing at the back. The windows are tinted too dark to know.

I try desperately to think of something to do to slow this down.

“So you know Power Play?” I ask.

But this is totally the wrong thing to say.

Crunch makes a growling sound. “Yeah.” He grabs the bottom scarf and yanks it hard, ripping it from the seam near my knee.

I refuse to make a sound. As he grabs another scarf and yanks it free, I harden inside. This pathetic loser is not going to get anything easy from me.

I’ve got the old Maddie back now, the tough girl from LA. If he thinks he’s going to have a piece of me, he’s going to have to pay for it. And I already know where he’s hurt.

He tears off another scarf. Without them, I still have a skirt, just a short one. He seems amused by my lack of response. When he reaches for a fourth, I’ve had enough, and I unfold my leg, ready for him to lean in one more time.

He does, a sick smile on his face. “You have cute thighs,” he says.

“And you have a seriously fucked-up face,” I say.

And I kick him right in that swollen, bleeding eye.

He falls back with a terrible groan. His hands cover his eyes. I know I’ve made things worse, but this is how it has to be. I’m grateful my legs aren’t tied together because I can move. I careen to the front of the van, scoot across the driver’s seat, and fumble with my swollen, unfeeling fingers to open the door.

As soon as it swings wide, I hear shouts. They’ve seen me. I take off in a dead sprint, holding my bound hands out in front so they won’t slow me down.

I see a lighted hallway ahead and aim for it. My best chance is to find the fights, I think. Or make enough noise that the silk-shirt man spots me. He has to be close.

I blaze down the hall and hear footsteps behind. Striker and company are probably fast on my heels. I come to a T-junction and wildly choose to go right. It’s just a long corridor of closed doors. I’m afraid to go in any of them, as I might get trapped.

I turn another corner, and before I realize what is happening, arms close around me and I’m dragged into a pitch-black room.

Chapter 7: Parker

I’ve got her. I’ve got her.

I can’t think of anything else.

Maddie fights against me for a moment. The room is completely dark, and I know she can’t see a thing.

“It’s me,” I whisper. “Stay quiet.”

Maddie instantly slumps against my chest. “Oh my God. You’re here.”

I feel along the door until I find the lock and flip the latch. “Yes, I’m here,” I say.

I don’t know what she’s been through in the last hour, but she starts sobbing.

I run my hands down her hair. “Shhh,” I say. “We’re going to get you out of here.”

Footsteps pass the door, rattling the knob. It’s locked, so they move on.

I settle with my back to the wall, pulling Maddie in tight. “Colt’s here, and some friends of his. We’ve been looking for you.”

“I was in the van,” she whispers into my chest.

“Yes, Jax let us know. He was pretty sure you saw him. We covered all the entrances to the loading bay.” I kiss her hair. “You got yourself out before we got in to you.”

“Is Jax the gray-shirt man?” she asks.

“Yes.”

My phone buzzes. I glance at the screen. “Jax and Colt know our location.”

“What’s going to happen next?”

“We’re going to teach Striker a little lesson.”

“Do we have to?” she asks. “Can’t we just go home?”

I hold her tight and rock a little. “We’ll go home. We just don’t want him back in our lives.”

“I was so scared.”

“Did they hurt you?”

She shakes her head against my chest, and I relax a little. I had envisioned all sorts of horrible things. But Colt was right. They aren’t felons. Just punks wanting to even an imagined score. Colt has just as much right to vengeance as we do.

My screen lights with another message.
 

You two sit tight. We’ll get you when it’s over.

I frown. I don’t want to be left out of the action. But I can’t leave Maddie either.

In the light from the phone, I notice the tears on her dress. “Did they do this?”

She straightens her legs. “Some fighter named Crunch.” She sounds like she’s recovering from her breakdown.

“Shit,” I say. I remember that name.

“You know him? Striker seemed to think he would like knowing I was your girlfriend.”

“I kicked his ass about a year ago,” I say. “Short fight. One minute, maybe.”

“What’s he doing these illegal fights for, then?” she asks.

“Probably couldn’t cut it any other way.”

Maddie nuzzles into my neck. I feel the shift in her from fear to safety. She’s calmer.

And we’re fine where we are. The fights are way below us in a basement. These corridors are long and empty. I doubt anyone will come back this way until it’s clear for us to go.

I’m incredibly relieved I was the one to find her. I kill the light of the phone and wrap my arms around her. “You made it,” I say. “You got through it.”

She pulls back and bumps her hands against my chest. “They even did our bondage for us,” she jokes.

I can barely make out the shadow of her arms. I feel along her shoulder down to her elbow, then over a lump of tape. Anger rises in me again that they did this to her. “You want me to look for something to cut it free?”

“Maybe in a minute,” she says, and the way her voice hesitates lets me know what she’s thinking. My first thought is
Really? Here? Now?

It’s so Maddie. So like her. The old her. Once when I got in a fistfight over some asshole who wouldn’t take her no for an answer, she insisted on having sex right there, behind a convenience store, with the guy out cold on the ground.

Which I did, of course.

She twists around on my lap, her knees on either side. I grab the bulky lump of duct tape and lift it over her head.

“If you break the strap of my dress, no one will know it wasn’t them,” she whispers.

God, this girl is wickedly warped. But I get it. Danger. Lust. It always went hand in hand with her.

I grab the tiny strap on her shoulder and pinch it with my fingers. In one sharp snap, it’s broken.

The cup of the dress stays in place for a second, but I peel it down. I know when the air hits her skin, because she sucks in a breath.

“Will they message you before they come?” she asks.