Fight for Me (13 page)

Knox quickly pivoted, searching for the second guy while also trying to catch a glimpse of Natalie. That little loss of concentration was enough to give the second guy the upper hand. His palm slammed into Knox’s throat again, and Knox twisted before he could get a strong grip.

His throat screamed at him with every breath he sucked in.

Sirens wailed in the distance, and the guy looked at Knox one last time before turning and sprinting to the waiting SUV.

Oh, fuck no.

Knox tackled him from behind and repeatedly punched him in the temple. Yeah, it was a little dirty to hit him while he was on his stomach on the ground, but he hadn’t thought twice about outnumbering Knox, so Knox figured it was fair.

Besides, he would do whatever it took to get to Natalie.

The guy wasn’t unconscious, but he was hurt enough that he wasn’t getting up. Knox leaped up, frantically searching for Natalie.

There.
Across the street. A few male bystanders stood between the guy and her, creating a human barrier. Thank God there were a few Good Samaritans left in this town.

The sirens grew louder, and the second guy dragged himself off the ground and jumped into the backseat of the SUV. It peeled away with a squeal of tires.

The sound caught Natalie’s attacker’s attention and when he swung his head in that direction, his eyes met with Knox’s.

Knox didn’t hesitate. He sprinted into traffic. Horns blared, and he narrowly missed being hit by a yellow cab.

Natalie used the distraction to slip into the coffee shop behind her, but the guy noticed, and pushed the bystanders out of the way to pursue her.

Knox flew into the coffee shop, hurtling over the table the guy had knocked over on his way through. Patrons all around him shrieked.

He burst into the kitchen just in time to see the guy fly out the back door.
Damn, he’s fast.

Knox would have to be faster. Natalie’s life was at stake.

Natalie’s legs pumped, the pounding of the assailant’s feet behind her urging her to go faster. It sounded like he was gaining on her.

No, no, no!

She was in an alley, similar to the first one she’d found herself in. The one where she’d killed the guard.

Please, God, don’t let it get to that.

As if God was listening, she felt the gun start to slip out of her pants pocket, the motion of her running causing it to ride up. With a clatter, it fell to the ground.

Shit, shit, shit.

Even though she didn’t want to be forced to use the gun, she didn’t want to be without it, either.

Maybe he would stop to pick it up. She doubted it. He was probably already armed.

Knox would be proud of her—she was actually following his first rule—
run away.
But it wasn’t working. Her legs were tiring, and her lungs were burning. Yet, he was still gaining on her.

She hung a sharp left, and seeing a Dumpster, she made a split decision. She scurried to the top of it, poised to jump. If she was forced to grapple with the guy, she wanted the upper hand, literally. She just hoped that her weight and the force of her landing on him would be enough to take him down.

As soon as he turned the corner, she lunged. His head slammed into her stomach, knocking the wind out of her. Still, he didn’t go down.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.
What had she done? What a stupid freaking move.

She clawed at his face, trying to stick her fingers in his eyes. The closest she got was his eyebrows.

He reached up and grabbed her shoulders, flinging her over his head like she was a rag doll. She hit the pavement hard on her shoulder, then rolled until her head struck the Dumpster. Her vision blackened, and when it started to return, blurry at first, blood was dripping into her right eye. She cradled her shoulder and wiped the blood from her eye with her forearm, trying to figure out where her attacker was.

He only got one step toward her before Knox flew into him, taking him to the ground. Her attacker was momentarily stunned by the hit and didn’t have time to react before Knox was on him, laying into him. Punch after punch after punch. His battered face shifted from side to side with each blow, but still Knox continued.

Natalie grabbed hold of a ledge on the Dumpster to haul herself to her feet. “Knox!”

He didn’t hear her.

She stepped closer to him and said his name again. When he still didn’t stop, she put a hand on his shoulder.

He whipped around, bloodied fists raised, his eyes feral. He’d never scared her before, but she was a little frightened now.

“He’s unconscious, Knox.”

Knox took several deep breaths and the mad look in his eyes receded. He stood and wrapped his arm around Natalie.

Then he guided her out of the alley.

Natalie slept while Knox watched on. They’d iced down her shoulder before she’d fallen asleep, but she was already sporting a purple bruise. There was a matching one on her hip. Not to mention the abrasion on her forehead.

X was going to pay for this.

Knox didn’t blame the guys who’d attacked them. They were following orders. He got that. It was a rough life on the south side, and people did what they needed to survive. For some that meant working as X’s hired muscles.

For others, it was being one of X’s fighters.

He worked the muscles in his jaw. Years of his life wasted. His efforts had lined the pockets of that motherfucker. That had been his own choice, though. His goddamn stupid choice. He could have faced the consequences of walking away years ago, but he’d stayed. That was on him.

But Natalie? She didn’t ask for any of this. She was born to the cocksucker she called a father, and now he’d sent X after her. She didn’t deserve any of it.

But Knox of all people knew life didn’t play fair.

Knox slipped out of the house, locking it behind him. He’d left a gun with Natalie so if anyone tried to break in, she’d be able to defend herself. He still didn’t like leaving her, but he sure as hell wasn’t bringing her into the heart of X’s territory.

The gym should be empty tonight, a rare occurrence that only happened on fight nights. So it was now or never. He hoped to God they’d be free of all this by the time another fight night rolled around.

Knox took the lesser traveled route to the gym, and it didn’t take him long to get to the place that had once been his home.

Knox’s key still worked, which didn’t surprise him. X’s arrogance wouldn’t allow him to even consider that Knox would come back. X’s office door was also unlocked, another sign of his arrogance. And up until now, it had been justified. No one ever entered X’s office unless they were invited.

Knox turned on the small desk lamp, not wanting the overhead light to shine through the windows. He felt safe enough coming here tonight, but even still, it was a calculated risk. The more he could do to mask his presence, the better.

He just hoped he could find what he was looking for. He needed something incriminating. Some kind of evidence he could use as a bargaining chip with the cops or something he could use to take X down. Lord knew X was involved in enough shady shit, and arrogant enough to leave shit laying around.

In the beginning, X’s fighters used to pull double duty and work as enforcers for him. Even Knox had done it a time or two, but as X’s empire grew, he separated the fighting from the rest of the business. Managing the fighters became more of a hobby—X had bigger irons in the fire to worry about.

Knox had preferred it that way, but now he wished he’d paid more attention.

X was old school and kept his fight records in ledger books. Knox’s original thought was to take the books and turn them over to the cops, but that would implicate the other fighters, not to mention him. That probably wouldn’t be enough to bring him down. At least, not permanently.

He flipped through the first book, only mildly surprised to see that X’s cut of the other fighters’ wins was even larger than the money he took from Knox. And he was right about not being able to use these—all of the fighters’ names were there in black and white.

Still, he took out the most recent book. Some figures on the second page caught his eye. Most of the fights in the past years blended together, and he sure as hell didn’t remember the details from the other guys’ fights. But he remembered this one. It was Mike’s first big win, and drinks after the fight had been on him. The figure written here did not match the number Mike bragged about that night.

X was skimming from the guys. On top of taking an absurd percentage, X was lying to them. So much for all his pep talks about the fighters being his family. Knox’s hands balled into fists and he resisted the urge to look through the records to see how much X had cheated him. There was no point in letting it anger him more than it already did. The past was done.

Knox left the book laying open on the desk and pulled open the top drawer of the file cabinet. All of it looked to be deeds and titles to the various properties X owned. And maybe some tax records. Was X current on his taxes? That was how the feds got Al Capone, right? Tax evasion. Wouldn’t it be some shit if the same thing happened to X?

But Knox didn’t know enough about it to pursue that angle. So he closed the drawer.

The next drawer had more of the same, so he didn’t bother to search it.

The third drawer was a little more interesting.

It was full of cocaine. But that was nothing new. X had been dealing in the white powder for almost a decade.

Farther back in the drawer, he found a shoe box filled with packets of pills. Each pill was stamped with a sun insignia. Ecstasy.

Now that was something new. Knox hadn’t been aware that X had gotten involved in that. There wasn’t much of a market for the rich-kid party drug on the south side.

The bottom drawer of the cabinet was filled with the standard steroids offered to all the fighters. When Knox first started, X didn’t have those. Otherwise, he might have started using them if X had encouraged it. By the time X made them readily available, Knox had already made a name for himself in the cage. He didn’t need enhancement.

Plus, it just wasn’t his thing. Knox took pride in winning his fights on his own. Probably at least half the guys used, though. Knox looked the other way—he didn’t want to know.

None of this did him any good, though. There was nothing here he could use.
Damn it.

He looked around the office, hoping he had missed something that would now stand out to him. X rarely used this office anymore, just like he rarely came into the gym. But Knox wasn’t desperate—or crazy—enough to break into X’s main office. That was suicide.

His gaze settled on the lone framed picture on X’s desk. It was of him at age sixteen, with X, and X’s mother. For a while, he’d called the woman Grandma Fran. She’d even baked him cookies. A smile played at the edges of his lips. Those had actually been good times, back when the dementia was barely lapping at the edges of her mind. These days, Fran didn’t even remember her own name, much less his. Still to this day, X visited her at the nursing home every other Sunday, like any good Italian son would.

Knox had had a family for a while. X had given that to him, until he’d brutally shattered the illusion.

Knox was nineteen when he’d had his first big fight. That was back when X was still completely invested in his fighters, before his other business interests took priority.

Knox had lost, but he’d lost more than just the fight that night. He’d lost his dignity.

X had taken him back to the gym and whipped him in front of all the other fighters. Whereas he’s previously called Knox his son, he’d made it clear that no son of his would disgrace him by losing.

The next day, X treated Knox like nothing had happened. Referred to Knox as his son again.

That was the beginning of Knox learning X’s true nature.

Knox took the picture out of the frame and carefully ripped himself out of it before tossing the frame and the torn picture back on the desk. He no longer gave a fuck if X knew he had been there.

Then he took a picture of the ledger page he’d left out. On second thought, he tore it out and tucked it in his back pocket.

He turned on the desk lamp, and a few seconds later the light flickered on in the gym.

Fuck.

He parted the blinds with one hand to see who it was, while taking hold of his gun with the other hand.

Tony came into view, followed by Mike. What the hell were they doing here in the middle of the night?

Mike was one of the newer guys, and Knox hadn’t had much interaction with him other than after his fight that one night. So Knox couldn’t say how loyal he was to X. Since X didn’t come around as much as he used to, the newer guys didn’t always have the same allegiance he’d had in his early days.

But you know what? Fuck it. He wasn’t cowering in X’s office.

Knox stepped out.

Tony stopped in his tracks. “You shouldn’t be here.”

Mike’s jaw dropped a little at the sight of Knox. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Leaving.” Knox started toward the exit, but Mike stepped into his path.

“No, man, you can’t leave. X has been looking for you.” Although Mike said the words, his expression was conflicted.

Knox gave him a hard stare, and Mike’s confidence faltered. He stepped aside.

As Knox was walking past, Mike said quietly, “Why’d you do it?”

Knox turned. “X had it coming.”

“But you had everything, man,” Mike said. “You were the top fighter. You’ll never get back in the cage.”

Knox rocked back on his heels. Though he’d known his days fighting in the cage alongside these guys were over, he hadn’t had time to dwell on it or process it.

He’d never watch his opponent cower before him. He’d never experience the euphoria of standing over a fighter after he’d knocked him out. He’d never feel the ref lift his arm, signifying the win.

He’d never get in the cage again.

What happened in the cage had been his whole life. He’d trained for it all day, every day. He was a fighter—that was his identity. But maybe that’s where he’d gone wrong.

“There’s more to life than the fight.” Natalie came to mind as he spoke.

Mike looked back and forth between Tony and Knox. Tony’s expression was neutral, and Knox wondered once again what the fuck he was doing in a life like this. He was different than the other guys, and while Mike didn’t seem convinced by his words, he knew Tony understood.

Mike’s eyes darkened. “X has been good to me. I should kick your ass for what you did to him.”

Knox didn’t bother pointing out what they both knew—Mike was a rookie and his words were just that—words. Knox would have Mike on his back before Mike could take his first swing.

Knox took the ledger out of his pocket and pressed it against Mike’s chest. The other man took it. “I used to think X was good to me, too.”

Then he left the gym for good.