Drake and Oliver heard the sound of the engine before the Range Rover appeared at the mouth of the hangar.

The vehicle came to a complete stop before Vincent got out and pulled someone out of the back seat. Chaps and Malcolm climbed down next.

“Fuck me sideways,” Drake exhaled, stunned.

“No thanks.” A sardonic smile curled Oliver’s lips

“What the fuck are you doing to me?” Andrew gave Vincent a withering glare. Vincent grunted and pulled Andrew’s arm harder. Pain flashed through Andrew’s face, but he refused to talk.

“Is he really like that?” Oliver angled his head closer to Drake, his arms folded over his chest. “He’s getting his arse kicked all the way to Uranus and still has that hoity-toity vibe going?”

“Never knew a hard day in his life.” Drake shrugged. Fury colder than a frozen tundra slowly slithered through his veins. His palms itched and his knuckles cracked and heated at the thought of smacking off righteous indignation from Andrew’s face. If that cocky bastard still believed he was above the law, he had another thing coming.

“Easy mate, you don’t need to die today.” Oliver smirked.

Drake slid a scowl at his friend. “Who says I’m gonna die?”

“Says the colour of your face like you’re unable to breathe and that giant worm of a vein on your neck. Looks like it’s about to explode.”

“I’m fine.” Drake gritted.

“Take it from me, Rosen.” Oliver exhaled but his eyes narrowed watching Andrew continued to berate Vincent. “It’s not worth it.”

Drake didn’t bother to retort. Up until that time, Andrew hadn’t seen them. Vincent dragged Andrew to a chair ordering him to sit.

“Make me.” Andrew sneered.

Vincent placed his large hands on Andrew’s shoulders and forced him on the chair as though Andrew was some sort of cement drill.

Belatedly, Drake noticed Oliver move. He followed. The SUV still hid them from Andrew’s view. Drake didn’t understand why Oliver decided to interrogate Andrew in open air when they could have used the interrogation room where Caius had been several hours before.

Caius, a blubbering mass of failure and crime, had been handed over to Oliver’s contact in the Joint Money Laundering Intelligence Taskforce. It was another thorn on Drake’s side which he resigned himself to. Because of what Caius had done, his gym would have to be investigated. He couldn’t prevent the Taskforce from looking into his business accounts to trace when Andrew’s plan to use the gym to launder money to assist terrorism began. But with the solid evidence Oliver uncovered and help from a most unlikely person, Charles Tabler, investigating the gym, hopefully, wouldn’t take too long.

Drake couldn’t hold out any longer. It was time for that chat with Jimmy and the rest of the fighters. They had a right to know.

But first thing was first.

Vincent stood in front of Andrew unperturbed at the derogatory words his prisoner let fly. Andrew was too preoccupied at trying to put the snipper down that he didn’t notice Oliver and Drake approaching until it was too late.

“You!” Andrew’s angry but futile gestures slackened. Drake saw the tremors course through Andrew’s limbs, the sudden shaking of Andrew’s fingers and the voice that sounded as though he had been placed in an oil drum packed with ice. “I knew it! You’re behind all of this! All the lies you told my dad.”

“I haven’t even met your father,” Drake snapped. 

“They aren’t lies.” Oliver spoke.

Andrew’s dark brows pulled to a frown. “Who the fuck are you?”

“I’d like to say your worst nightmare but…I’ll be the dream you’ll look for in the place where you’re going.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Think of it as a surprise.”

Initial confusion glimmered in Andrew’s eyes before it disappeared. He huffed, glaring at Drake. “And you believe what Drake Rosen says? He was expelled from school.”

Oliver ‘tsked’ and looked at his men. “See, this is what I don’t get. Why do people always have to bring up the past? I mean,” he turned to Andrew, “is your arse much nicer looking than your face?”

Again Andrew gave them a vacant look before the insinuation dawned. He reddened. Wriggling his way off his seat, he fell sideways causing the foot of the chair to spike Vincent’s foot. Vincent swore.

“You hurt my big toe!” Vincent roared close to Andrew’s ear. “Major, he hurt my big toe!”

“Let him go, Spassky.” Oliver ordered quietly but even Drake couldn’t stop the tingle of apprehension he felt at his friend’s voice.

Vincent let go with a sour face, pushing the chair that it screeched against the floor.

He had to hand it to Tabler. The man was fit. His shirt and slacks looked like clothes Drake would have considered as part of his own wardrobe. His face had lost the chubbiness of youth deflating into an angular face. But the cruel sneer Drake remembered so well was there. There wasn’t an inch of remorse on Andrew’s pathetic mug.

Chaps walked to the table where Drake and Oliver had just been, took one of the chairs and gave it to Oliver. Oliver nodded his thanks before turning the chair around. He sat with his arms resting on the back of the chair.

“Mr Tabler, do you know why you’re here?”

“Because you’re a bunch of dickheads hired by my father to teach me a lesson?” Andrew derided. “You touch one hair on my head like your dumbass giant here and you won’t know what’s coming to get you.”

Instead of getting angry, Vincent chortled. Andrew scowled casting a side glance but didn’t retort.

“Oh you mean the jihadists you’ve been helping smuggle guns into the country?” Oliver looked at his fingers, flicking some dirt underneath his nail.

Drake inhaled sharply. He swivelled his gaze between Oliver and Andrew.

“What the fuck?”

He saw Andrew pale.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“C’mon, you think we don’t know what you’ve been up to?” Oliver cajoled his voice wintry. “You’ve been under surveillance for a very long time, Mr Tabler. From the moment you made contact with one of the terrorist bagmen in Casino de Monte-Carlo.”

“I just met him at the tables! How the hell would I know he was a terrorist?” Andrew snapped.

“See, right there, you’ve already given yourself away. Malcolm, if you please.” Oliver turned to the former sergeant.

“Suh!” Malcolm handed him a folder.

Oliver took out the contents and let the photos glide to the floor. Drake couldn’t believe the pictures he saw of Andrew in Monte-Carlo to Karachi, from Macau to Las Vegas. Andrew met with same man who was the same as Andrew’s height and wore understated but expensive suits. The man’s eyes were always covered in sunglasses. Finally, Oliver took out the picture where a bag of money was being given to Andrew.

“That man is only known as Suleiman Furqhan,” Oliver said.

“That’s not his name.” For the first time Andrew relaxed. “You’ve got nothing on me and if I was with him, he sure isn’t a terrorist. He was investing with me.”

Oliver’s lips twitched.

“He has other names. Perhaps you know him as Abdul Haran Homani.”

Andrew tensed.

“Hmm…looks like you do.” Oliver remarked. “Homani has been funding the terrorist cells across the globe but I’m sure you already knew that considering you’ve been seen with him for over a decade.”

Andrew’s eyes flashed.

“I’m also going to assume that Homani wanted you to look for a vehicle he could use to launder money into the country.”

“Fuck you.”

Oliver snorted. “I can always ask Spassky to find some willing men if you’re leaning towards that side.”

Andrew’s lips thinned with suppressed rage.

“What I don’t understand is why a gym of all things?” Oliver murmured deep in thought. “And why Caius?”

“He came to me,” Andrew replied crisply.

“Andrew, Andrew, Andrew…” Oliver shook his head. “Seriously man, I would start telling the truth if I were you. You’ve been found out, Tabler. I have to hand it to you, you do have some brain cells between your ears.”

“What’s this, resorting to insults now?”

Oliver’s bantering tone was gone. “Why the gym?”

Andrew crossed his arms. “It was the collateral Harvey gave me.”

“Why Drake’s gym?”

Andrew glared, tight lipped.

“Tabler…”

Vincent cracked his knuckles and the sound echoed through the open space.

Andrew’s ears perked at the sound but didn’t turn around.

“Why else would I choose Rosen’s gym? He’s not fit to be successful.”

Oliver’s forehead scrunched. “Say that again?”

“Oh come on man! If you knew where he came from you wouldn’t even want to be seen with him.”

Oliver’s neck jerked, visibly startled.

Drake’s jaw tightened. It took everything in him to hold still.

“And just where did I come from?” He put one step forward. Oliver’s arm shot up sideways stopping him.

“You came from nothing!” Andrew sneered. “Anyone not born to wealth ˗˗˗”

“Doesn’t deserve it?” Oliver smiled thinly. “I know your kind. All entitlement. No matter between the ears.”

“Is this hooy for real?” Vincent was incredulous.

Malcolm reddened, fuming.

Chaps looked away shaking his head.

Drake didn’t know what to think, what to feel. It was anti-climactic, no different from entering the cage, pumped up to fight, only to be told his opponent was a no show. Andrew went beyond belief. All of his efforts to destroy Drake stemmed from a past and festered like an infected wound that refused to heal. It was left to Drake to fix after Andrew.

“Bloody hell, man. That’s some grudge.” Oliver’s face was hard.

“So what next? Beat me to a pulp because Drake has all of you as back up?” Andrew barked a laugh as he looked at Drake.

“You’ll be charged with money laundering and terrorism.” Oliver stated unfurling his body from the chair.

“You’re a piece of shit.” Andrew lashed at Drake.

“At least I shit gold bricks.” Drake said sardonically. “You, you had to get your hands on blood money just to prop yourself up.”

Andrew’s eyes gleamed with malice. “Needs must and when I want something nothing stops me from getting it. Take that Brooke bitch for example.”

Drake stiffened. Give me a reason.

“Rosen, easy.” Oliver said through the side of his mouth.

Andrew leaned back and crossed his legs. “Now that…that was sweet.”

Drake roared, crouched and slammed his body into Andrew. They both fell, the impact throwing the seat several feet away.

“You motherfucker!” Drake slammed his fist against Andrew’s jaw. “You coward! You pile of shit! You had me kicked out so you could hurt her! You planned this from the fucking start!”

Drake didn’t see Andrew’s fist fly and he took a hard one against his face and he fell sideways. Pain bloomed on his cheek and his nose. He didn’t fucking care. He stood. God this felt good! Adrenalin hammered his skull and flushed through his limbs. He was going to give the dipshit what he should have received a long time ago.

Something trickled down his face. Blood. Bile churned.

Goddamit, focus Rosen!

As long as he didn’t see the blood oozing from his broken nose or the cut on his cheek, he was fine. His stomach clenched at the sight of Andrew’s blood marring his teeth before he spat it out.

Drake seethed. That kind of blood being spilled? He could handle that. He turned his eyes to slits. He’d handle anything to bash Andrew’s face to the ground.

Oliver and his men formed a loose circle around them. Drake vaguely saw his friend raise a hand to stop any of his men interfering.

“Want to know how sweet your bitch was when she was under me?” Andrew sneered. “She squealed like a sow. But she had claws.”

“Enough!” Drake bellowed. Focus! He raised his fists chest level.

Andrew sauntered in a circle, fainting then changing directions on the spot when Drake did the same.

Fuck!

“I’ve been watching you, Rosen. Watched all of your fights.”

Drake smirked. “So Caius tells me among other things. Why bother with me? I’m not in your league.”

“Exactly. I wanted to see how you’d get pulverized.”

Drake couldn’t stop the chuckle bubbling up his throat.

“My fights must have disappointed you.”

Now!

Before Andrew could react, Drake fainted right just to trip Andrew then shifted to the opposite side before swinging his leg against Andrew’s side with such force hoping he broke a few ribs. Andrew grunted but stayed up.

Shit.

Drake saw red. He surged forward and threw a double punch into Andrew’s face. Andrew’s head shot back at the momentum. Drake didn’t stop and pressed his advantage. A side kick in the stomach made Andrew double. Drake held Andrew’s head and kneed him. He heard another satisfying crack. He punched Andrew’s face in succession, his knuckles burning with satisfying pain as he struck Andrew over and over again. On his face, gut, stomach.

Drake altered punches, the rage he felt pouring into his own bruised fists as he tried to cleanse himself of his failure. Andrew staggered over and over again until, bloodied, he crumpled and fell flat on his back. Blood oozed in several cuts and stained his shirt. Drake stormed towards him but steel bands prevented him from moving.

“Get the fuck away from me!”

“Enough, tovarisch.” Vincent’s voice was uncharacteristically gentle. “He’s already down. You’d be given a penalty if you were in the cage.”

“See if I care!” Drake struggled.

“Rosen!” Oliver snapped. “We need him alive.”

The red film over his eyes subsided. He stopped struggling against the Russian’s hold and all fight drained from him. He became slack. Vincent let go of him and Drake staggered back. He looked down at his cut up knuckles, the bloodstains on his shirt, his slacks. The hangar swam.

“Whoa…” Oliver gripped him. “We okay?”

 “I don’t like blood.”

Oliver arched a brow. “No shit. Could’ve fooled me.”

“I’m fine, Cray. I’ll be fine.” Shit, his face stung and he wanted to heave. But the sight of Andrew out cold on the floor was like ice water on his face, pushing the urge to vomit down.

“Malcolm, see to Drake.” Oliver said, suddenly weary. “Let’s wrap this up. I need to get back to Felicity.”

Andrew moaned, moving from side to side while Chaps tended to him.

“He’ll live.” Chaps was non-committal. He smiled at Drake and nodded before he stood. Just then two black SUVs drove into the hangar stopping a hundred feet from where Drake, Oliver and his team gathered. Two men approached Oliver, shaking his hand before their attention turned to Andrew and Drake.

“Something we should know about?” asked one of them.

Oliver gave a sly glance at Drake. “New recruit. Interrogation got messy.”

The agent had an I-don’t-believe-that-crap look while his companion cuffed Andrew.

“I was assaulted,” Andrew slurred, pointing at Drake. “He assaulted me.”

“Mr Tabler, your money laundering for terrorism is well documented,” the agent’s voice was cold. “What you’ve been through is nothing compared to what might happen to you.”

Andrew continued to plead his innocence shouting expletives in between as he was hauled off.

“Wait!”

Everyone looked at Drake.

He strode to Andrew, unspent anger still burning through his insides.

“Why?” He grabbed Andrew by the collar of his shirt.

“Rosen!” Oliver snapped.

The other agent pulled Drake away. He placed both his palms on Drake’s chest to pushing him further from Andrew until Vincent held Drake back again.

“Why, Andrew? Just tell me why you just had to destroy our lives!” his voice ricocheted all over the place.

Andrew looked at him through a bruised eye that was slowly closing. He squinted and gave Drake a hard smile.

“Because Bethany Brooke wouldn’t give me the time of day.”

Drake’s eyes widened, stunned. “What?”

Andrew chuckled then sneered. “You were too blind to see that I wanted her for myself. You think I gave a shit that she was deaf? She was the only one I was willing to accept to become part of my social station. I would have given her everything. I didn’t give a shit that she wasn’t perfect or she didn’t come from money. She was the only person able to do that. What I did give a shit about was that she preferred you. She wanted you over me!”

“Let’s go Tabler!” The agent pulled Andrew back to the other waiting agents.

“If I couldn’t have her, nobody would! You hear me Rosen!” Andrew was shoved into the back of the vehicle. “Nobody would have her but me! I love her! She’s mine!”

Drake was rendered immobile from the shock of Andrew’s confession. Oliver came to his side.

“That was intense.” Air whistled through Oliver’s teeth. He turned to Drake. “You okay, mate?”

Drake pulled away from his stupor and looked at his friend. “All this time…that was it? He destroyed our lives so he could have her?”

Oliver shook his head, his face grim. “There are a lot of psychos in the world.” He slapped Drake’s back. “He’ll out of commission for a very long time.”

They walked back to where Malcolm was. Oliver pointed. “Take a seat, Rosen, and let Malcolm attend to your cuts.”

“Cray, I have to get to Bethany.” Drake winced when antiseptic touched a cut. “Shit, Malcolm easy!”

Malcolm scowled. “Mr Rosen, unless you intend to faint, sit your arse down on this chair until I’m finished cleaning you up.”

Drake scowled. “You’re just like Miles.”

“I will assume he’s a very patient man,” Malcolm quipped. He continued to dab antiseptic on the other cuts causing Drake to wince. “Didn’t peg you for a cry baby, Mr Rosen. Hold steady.”

Malcolm placed the bottle of antiseptic and gauze in the first aid box. Oliver, Chaps, and Vincent looked on. Malcolm held on to Drake’s nose.

“Wha— Bloody fuck!” The crack putting Drake’s nose into place and his oath reverberated around the hangar. He brought his hand to his nose. “That hurt.”

“For a cage fighter, you whine a lot,” Malcolm muttered stuffing Drake’s nose with rolled gauze to stem the blood flow. He dabbed more antiseptic on Drake’s raw knuckles before wrapping them with sterilized gauze. “That’s better, even if you do look like a quarter Frankenstein’s monster. Keep that on for as long as you can.”

“Thanks.” Drake grudgingly said. He turned to Oliver. “Cray, where is she?”

“It can wait until tomorrow.”

“But—”

“It’s 3 a.m., Drake. You look like hell. Get some rest before you drive yourself in that direction.”

“I’m good. I’ll get my car and go…where exactly?”

Oliver gave out a long suffering sigh. He rubbed his forehead. “Newcastle.”

Drake closed his eyes. “Fuck, really?”

Oliver let out a dry chuckle. “So you’re still up for driving? Give it a rest. She’s not going anywhere.”

“What if she bolts again?”

Oliver turned, slightly limping towards his car. “With her entire family with her? Not bloody easy.”

With Malcolm wiping his face like he’d just finish a round, Drake stood and thanked him again before jogging to Oliver’s car.

He wasn’t thinking straight. After hearing Andrew’s admission, who would be? Oliver was the voice of reason Drake didn’t want to concede even if he wasn’t fit to drive. He just wanted to let Bethany know that it was all over. He’d break down her walls and show her how much he loved her. He’d gone through hell and had returned. He had to make her understand he didn’t look at her any less. Would never do.

He just hoped that she’d be willing to take the next step forward.

With him.