Paradise Fought (Abel) (17 page)

“I thought they were black and ugly,” I laughed, looking at Abel then staring back at the lone fish.

“Some are black and they have a reputation for being mean; the males especially. They all want to be alphas but they can’t be,” Abel sighed. There was something in the tone of his voice that made me shift sideways and look at him.

“Is that what you want? To be an alpha?” I asked cautiously. It would make sense. Abel didn’t come across like that powerful arrogant image of an alpha. He was sweeter looking, more sensitive in manner, but I sensed below the surface, Abel was a raging mess of alpha attributes. If called to fight, he was going to be able to step up.

“I guess.” He hesitated, his eyes shifted to me then focused back on the tank. “I’ve always been the second in my family: second son, second place. I’m in Cain’s shadow always.”

I sat up straighter. My stomach dropped.

“Did you say
Cain
?”

“Yes,” Abel sighed. “I suppose if you know fighters, you must know him.” He lowered the bowl to his lap. His voice had dropped, sounding sad, but I couldn’t focus on that. I was centered on the name.

“Cain? As in Cain…” I swallowed hard. “Cain Callahan? The Cobra.”

“Yeah,” Abel questioned, turning his attention to me. “Do you know him?” Abel’s face fell. His eyes turned a cold blue color. He was questioning me, but I couldn’t understand what he was asking.

“Oh, I know him,” I said, slowing rolling away from Abel and standing next to the bed. My heart raced. A beat in my neck pulsed in growing fury. In my mind, I knew the truth, but I hadn’t wanted to ask. I didn’t want it to be true. I had been holding out from finding the answer.

“Of course, you do,” Abel bit. “From Carrie’s, right?”

“Carrie’s?” I snapped. “You think…” I couldn’t continue. I’d never seen Cain Callahan in Carrie’s the whole time I worked there. I’d know his presence anywhere, an instinct that would vibrate through me with hatred. It wasn’t what Abel was implying I’d done.

“I don’t know him from Carrie’s. I know him from the fight.”

“Oh, right,” Abel began sarcastically. “Another fighter.” His bowl of eggs hit the top of the stand next to his bed. He wasn’t looking at me but staring at his damn fish. By now, I’d yanked off the t-shirt, uncaring that Abel could see me, and struggled to get into my dress. I’d have the walk of shame written all over me, for nothing. I wasn’t going to get anywhere near Abel Callahan again.

“Not just another fighter, but
the fighter
,” I spit. My hands shook so badly I could hardly button the front of my dress. After a moment of struggle, I decided to leave it open. I slammed one foot, and then the other into my cowboy boots and stood to push my hands through my hair. Abel was staring at me.

“The fighter?”

“The fighter that killed my brother.”

“Your brother?” he questioned. Recognition was slowly flooding his face, but I cut him off before reality sunk in.

“My brother is Joey Montana. Was. The Mountain.”

Abel stared at me, his bright eyes opening wider. His voice shakily spoke my name, but I was already rounding the bed.

“Your brother killed mine.”

“Elma, wait.”

With energy I didn’t have, I leapt from the bed. She was like a slippery fish. She escaped my grasp and darted out the door of my room. I was following her down the stairs, calling her name. She startled me when she stopped abruptly and spun to face me. Her blue eyes were wild.

“Don’t you…don’t you even…” her voice shook, but if I knew Elma, she wasn’t about to cry. The look of violence in her eyes told me she’d stab me with a triton if she had one. She’d spear me and eat me alive without chewing. The front door opened and slammed with enough force I could see the wall ripple. I was trapped inside my own apartment, left to flounder at what had just happened. She hated me, but I hadn’t done anything.

In the previous spring, my brother was at the height of his growing career. At twenty-three, he was the fastest rising fighter. He’d left college to train and he was the prodigy of my father, a fighter himself, Atom Callahan. Known in Ireland as a scrapper, my father crossed the seas for bigger rings in the dry desert heat of Las Vegas. There he opened a gym and trained the fighter he couldn’t be, his first son, Cain.

The uncertainty of what happened in that fight, the one Elma referenced, fueled rumors and spread gossip until the coroner ruled in Cain’s favor. A fight that was high stakes resulted in the ultimate consequences: the death of an opponent. While fight clubs and promotion groups liked to bill a fight as one to the death, the marketers never meant it literally. That fight, however, did. The Mountain went down, in the third round, on a standard right hook to the head. While both opponents were bloody from the fight, The Mountain crumbled at the blow. He was counted out and Cain declared winner before anyone noticed Montana hadn’t moved. He was dead.

The autopsy showed that Joey Montana had suffered from a concussion weeks prior, and it hadn’t healed. My father suspected Montana kept the injury hidden because he needed the money. The fighter had borrowed against borrows. My father believed he was in debt from side gambles as his fights had been losing support.

Cain was distraught over the whole situation. One minute, he thought he was going to jail for murder. The next, he discovered his opponent had been a cheater. The Mountain had gambled against his own fight that night, and lost everything, including his life. The investigation took some time before Cain was cleared to return to the fight ring. He was slow to reenter the circuit. Uncle Kursch said death can kill a man. Exile had certainly changed him.

I was trying to grasp that Elma somehow blamed me for what had happened to her brother when I returned to my bed. Unfortunately for me, the scent of Elma was on my sheets. I could feel her still surrounding me in comfort from the night before. I reached for the t-shirt she’d thrown on the floor as she hastily dressed, and stared at it, thinking of the contours of a body I would never know. Cursing the gym that ruined many things for me, I shredded the shirt in half with one rip. Genesis Gym had destroyed my life again.

I didn’t see Elma the rest of the week in class. My brief illness had thrown off my workout routine, and I needed to get back on track. Not to mention, I was weak from the days off. I decided the best way to rid myself of any lingering infection, and all thoughts of Elma, was a run. Only my run took me to The Dance Academy, the dance studio where Elma worked. All the lights were off inside, minus a low overhead near the front door. I could see through the glass, and I reached for the handle to discover it was locked. I don’t know what I thought I’d find. It was too late for a dance lesson, but when I heard the loud beat of music, I knew someone was still inside.

I had to close the place on Friday. We didn’t have classes late, but we had a rehearsal for my troupe. I had auditioned and easily took Ericka’s spot with the others. I was still wound up when the girls emptied out and I told Jewels I’d lock up. I had more tension to burn. At first, I thought I needed to cool down. Maybe some basic ballet moves to relieve the stress and lower my heart rate. I wore only a black leotard and my dance shoes with a light ballet sweater tied loosely at the waist.
Plie, extend the arm, watch the tips of my fingers, and curve the hand
, I could hear Madame Defore, my childhood dance instructor, in my ears. I hadn’t been in ballet since I was a five, but it was like yoga for the soul. I focused on my motions, attempting to cool down and relax. I wanted my mind to let go.

Let go of Abel, that is. He was haunting my dreams. My body ached in places that longed to be touched, but shouldn’t be, by him. I was angry. He hadn’t mentioned his brother, and yet I’d almost always known. It was too much of a coincidence. The name was common enough, but the irony wasn’t. The chances of Abel being Cain’s brother just seemed too impossible. The odds did not appear favorable, or rather, it was all unfavorable. There was a war within me that Abel was Cain’s brother.

In my heart, I knew that Abel had nothing to do with Cain, the fight, or my brother’s death. In my head, I couldn’t reconcile the distinction. Lindee had tried to talk me down off my ledge when I returned home late Wednesday morning, to find my mother passed out again and some strange guy draped over her. I had called Lindee to fume.

“Elma, I don’t know why you get so worked up about this,” Lindee tried to soothe. “You can’t bring him back. You can’t change anything.”

“That’s just it,” I snarled. “Everything has already been changed.”

Lindee sighed into the phone. She couldn’t understand. She still had money, nice things, a decent home, and two parents, despite their control over her. She was secure, where I was on the edge. I didn’t know how I was ever going to pay Abel back. I had a small college fund designed by Montana, but that was depleted. I’d had my twenty-first birthday last summer and had full right to the money while I was still in school. My mother had spent the remainder of my tuition money after she maxed out credit cards. I didn’t want to quit school, but I didn’t know how I was going to keep moving forward.

I told Lindee about Abel. Who he was. What he’d done.

“What has he done, Elma? He’s Cain’s brother. He was probably here in school when the fight happened. He had nothing to do with it. Hell, Cain didn’t have anything to do with it intentionally. It was ruled an accident,” Lindee said, attempting to remain calm but struggling with her tone.

“Cain had everything to do with it, Lindee. He knew my brother was going to win. He knew Montana had more experience. The lawyer said Montana needed that fight. Cain took it from him.” When my thoughts of the lawyer returned, my mouth began to spew my frustration. The lawyer had told us that Montana didn’t have the money we thought he had. In fact, he had no money. Our house had a lien against a loan he had taken to pay another loan. His fights weren’t making the draw he once had. He had started to gamble against himself, and it was digging his debt deeper. He owed people. Big people.

“Elma,” Lindee warned. “This isn’t Abel’s fault. He doesn’t owe you anything.”

“He owes me…everything,” I snapped. I’d almost gone too far and told Lindee what Abel had done. Lindee shrieked my name into the phone.