UNDYING: A Bad Boy MMA Romance (Midwest Alphas) (Book 3)

I scream his name, even louder than before, but it still refuses reach his ears. My voice gets lost on the wind between us. I barely even hear it myself; a frustrating whisper amongst howling winds.

Blood stains the freshly fallen snow beneath his feet. I couldn’t tell you whom it belongs to. I wish I could. I wish I could say it was
his
and not Tobias’, but their bodies move with a blur, trading blows back and forth with quick precision.

“Tobias!”

I shout so hard, my throat aches. It’s only silence now. My voice is gone. My tears fall from my eyes. A dozen hands hold me back from him. They leave behind trails of blood on my skin and clothing. Their touch feels like acid. The more I struggle, the more it hurts.

I fall to my knees, weak and defeated, and watch as Tobias bleeds in front of me.

“Claire!”

I hear it. My name on the wind. But the sound isn’t coming from Tobias’ tongue.

The world goes black, plunged into infinite darkness. I feel the hands abandon my skin one-by-one. I dig my fingers into the ground to pull myself away from them, to stop their inevitable grip.

“Claire!”

“Tobias!”

I follow the voice. It sounds far more mutated than before, a mixture of tones I can’t quite decipher. I push up onto my feet and charge away, bolting towards him only to find myself locked away behind a cage. The metal is sharp and rusted. It digs into my fingers as I try to climb up, but the black hands are back to pull me down by my ankles.

I kick and struggle, but the atmosphere increases on me to keep me away from the sounds of fist against flesh behind the cage. I see their outlines, moving in and out of each other, almost fusing together in the darkness just to pull apart again.

Blood sprays my face, the drops warm and metallic upon my lips.

“Tobias!”

A pair of red-painted hands slam into the cage ahead of me and I see his face staring back at me.

Rick. My stepbrother.

His lips curl into a smile as the black hands pull me back down into the abyss.

***

“Claire!”

I jolt awake, feeling the hands wrapped around my shoulders.
“No—!”
I scream, kicking and pushing them away.

“Claire! Stop!” My mother’s voice fills my ears and she forces her arms around me to hold me still. “You’re having another nightmare.”

I look around my room. It’s still so unfamiliar to me. Gone is Mary’s vanity and her romance novels and her closet full of clothes that fit me. This place is bare and cold with thick curtains designed to keep out the bright sunlight and prying eyes.

“Claire…”

I pull away from her slowly. “I’m fine—” I whisper, kicking my comforter away. I look up at her. My bedside lamp casts shadows across her face that give away her emotions. She’s terrified of what I’ve become, and quite frankly, so am I. “I’m okay, Mom,” I say.

She shakes her head and her uncombed brunette hair — just like mine — tosses about her face. “No, honey…” she says, snatching my hands and turning them upward. “You’re not okay.”

I look down to see my palms have turned red; coated by a thin layer of my own blood. Tiny crescent shapes mark my palms, left there by my fingernails. I pull my hands free of her grasp and slide off the bed. “I’m fine,” I say again, convincing neither of us.

“This is the third time this week you’ve woken up screaming, Claire…” she says. “You are not okay.”

I ignore her and step into the hallway of our small apartment. The bathroom lights are bright and unforgiving on my tired eyes, but I power through it to hold my hands beneath the sink. Warm water tingles my skin as it washes the red down the white drain. I grit my teeth. Each water molecule rushes over the open wounds of my palm, sending shocks of pain up my wrist. I close my eyes but Rick’s bloody face fills my vision again.

I force them back open. There’s a fear in me, one far louder than any other sense, that urges me not to let him in. It’s almost supernatural. I know he’s only in my head, but I also know that if I gaze into the eyes of evil for too long, he’ll look back at me and smile.

“Tobias. Tobias. Tobias…” I repeat his name, whispering softly to myself to fill my head with his image instead. His black hair. His beautiful green eyes. His muscles and tattoos. The way life stood still in his arms. I hear the last words he said to me. I listen to his deep voice on repeat, using it as a soothing lullaby.

I promise, Claire. We will see each other again.

You’re always going to be my girl.

I haven’t heard his voice in six months.

“Claire...”

I turn the water off. “What?” I ask.

My mother opens her mouth to speak, but quickly closes it again as her eyes look me up and down. I stare at myself in the mirror. She’s probably right. I am not okay. My shirt is completely soaked through with sweat, clinging to my body as if I just walked out of the rain. I’m pale as a ghost and thin as a rail.

“You should try and get some more sleep,” she finally says.

I rip off a handful of toilet paper and dab my palms dry. The half-moons on my skin have stopped bleeding, but they still sting every time I bend my fingers. “Okay,” I say. I pass by her to return to my room, closing the door behind me.

I push a finger between the curtains to look down at the street below. Kansas City is a whole new world to me. The black roads shine with a thin layer of fresh ice, just teasing the existence of a late-autumn snowfall. I feel the cold seeping off the window pane, cooling my boiling skin and fogging up from the steady stream of my breath.

I thought leaving the farm would save me from living a life of fear, but it’s done the opposite. There are far too many unknown factors. The danger could be at my door and I’d never know until it was far too late. Tobias isn’t here to help me either. That’s the worst of it.

I miss Tobias more than I ever thought I would. I thought this would be over with by now. I thought Tobias and I would be back together. I thought Rick would be gone and life would be normal again. I thought my mother would be free and happy. Life is nothing like I thought it’d be by now.

I close the curtains as a car passes by. It’s a bad habit. I know that whomever is inside isn’t looking for me. They aren’t scanning the streets for my face. I know this. And yet… I can’t bring myself to make eye contact with those who pass. I can’t bring myself to step outside my door without a hat and sunglasses, just on the off chance the Double Ex Kings have taken the area. One of them will recognize me, tell Rick where I am, and we will have to run again.

My bed is cold and wet. I sit against my pillows and wrap my arms about my knees to hold them close for warmth. “Tobias. Tobias. Tobias…” I whisper his name over and over again, wishing that he’ll hear me. Sometimes, I think he does. Others, like now, I feel nothing but disappointing shivers dancing down my spine.

I grab a blanket and wrap it around my shoulders.

“Tobias. Tobias. Tobias…”

***

I bend over to retrieve my sheets from the community dryer. Their warmth tingles skin and I hold them up against my nose to smell the fresh scent of fabric softener on them. I always loved that smell. It reminds me of the house I grew up in. It was a much simpler time, one without the Midwest Alphas or Rick or Thomas.

Without Tobias.

I reach out with my foot to pull my laundry basket a little closer as I quickly fold the sheet into a smaller square. This neighborhood isn’t exactly the safest place to live. I don’t like being out of the apartment for very long, even if it is just to run down to the basement level to do laundry. I’ve interrupted a homeless man’s sleep on more than one occasion coming down here. They usually mutter something vulgar before climbing off the floor and rushing back out onto the street. I’ve tried to stop them, but they run off anyway. The basement is drafty and in much need of repair, but it’s warmer than a tunnel beneath a bridge.

I flinch as a mouse squeaks in the corner behind the washing machines and quickly bend down to snatch my laundry basket off the floor and hurry down the hall to the elevator.

Overall though, this isn’t a horrible place to live. Honestly, my mother and I have lived in far worse conditions. This is just a minor setback for us and she seems to have embraced the positive sides of it. She’s made friends with the old widow across the hall. Charlie even found her a job, one that didn’t mind paying her in cash to keep her name off the books.

Things could always get worse.

I open the front door to our apartment and step inside. My mother’s voice fills my ears, a quiet bit of laughter on her lips, just barely audible over the evening news filling the background noise on the living room television.

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