Now
I grab the jump rope off the wall and walk to the center of the warm-up room. I changed upstairs in my room at Nic’s penthouse before sneaking out the back way and heading down here. I left Dex upstairs with Nic—maybe that was a bitch move, but I can’t be bothered to care at the moment.
I count my skips as I hop on the balls of my toes over the fast-moving wire. I can feel the sweat starting to build up on the back of my neck, and I stop, moving to the heavy bag to warm up my arms. The thumps of my fists fill the void of silence.
The door to this room squeaks when it’s closing, and that’s the only thing that gives him away. When I look up into the mirrored wall ahead, Dex is leaning against the wall behind me, one leg crossed over the other, hands in his pockets. He looks relaxed, but his eyes hold a tinge of apprehension.
“Nic brought you down?” I ask. Thump. Thump thump.
He nods. “Do you want me to leave?”
“No.” Thumpthumpthump. “Why would I want that?”
“Because I’m not just a cop, which is already a sin in your book,” he huffs, “but a dirty cop. And a killer. Why would you want anything to do with me?”
“As if I’m the shining example of purity and all that is decent in the world?” I pause for a moment from throwing punches to belt a dark laugh. Thumpthump. Thump. “You should know enough by now to know that can’t be further from the truth.”
“Why did you leave, then?”
I sigh and stop to catch my breath enough to speak, resting my hands on my knees. “Because it was too much. And not all that is you, Dex. Yes, I’m frustrated that you didn’t trust me enough to tell me, but I understand why you’d be reluctant. It’d be highly hypocritical of me to hold it against you. But you’re not the only one who kept shit from me.” I stand back up. Thumpthump, thump. Thwack. The bag swings wildly as I deliver a powerful kick.
Dex remains motionless, watching me. “You doing okay?”
“I don’t know, to be perfectly honest.” Thumpthumpthump. “I don’t know how to feel about it. On the one hand, he’s right—I wouldn’t have agreed to you protecting me otherwise, but on the other, I wish people would stop trying to manipulate me, you know?” Thwack, thwack, thump. “First, Martinez’s story that you’re working to find the stalker, now, Nic’s hand in setting it all up. I just—”
His lips flatten out to a straight line as he bobs his head in agreement.
“Can I tell you something?” I ask. Thump. Thump. “I don’t want you to take it the wrong way.”
“You can tell me anything, Maddie.”
I lean forward to brace my hands on my knees and catch my breath. “I wish you’d stayed up there,” I murmur. “Not because I don’t want you to know about this, but everyone who knows me… it’s hard to watch. Nic won’t even come down here for my fights. Not after the first time. He lets me do it because he knows why I feel the need to, but he doesn’t approve.”
“I’ve seen you fight before. I know you can handle yourself.”
“It’s not that, Dex.” I grab my water bottle and take a deep pull. “This is a fetish club. The first fight, I’m usually paired off with another woman. That’s something akin to mud wrestling. Two sexy women, fighting each other.” I shrug. “It’s easy. But when I fight a guy, that—” I release a breath through my nose. “It’s rape fantasy, Dex. The guy will try to grope me at some point. I’ll make him pay for everything he does, but you need to be prepared that you’re not going to like it. You can’t step in. No matter what it looks like, I’m in control. We have safe words to stop if things get out of hand.”
“Why?” he asks.
It’s a loaded question with such a complicated answer. I shrug.
“For them, it’s fantasy fulfillment. For me, it’s penance.”
He doesn’t say anything. His nostrils flare and the muscle in his jaw twitches, but he remains motionless, his face impassive. A knock at the door interrupts us, and I turn to find Parker at the door.
“You’re up,” he says.
“You have that mask Nikki gave you earlier?” I ask Dex, crossing the room to gather my stuff.
“Yeah,” he answers.
“You need to put it on now. I can tie it for you,” I offer.
He reaches in his inner coat pocket and pulls out the silky black mask, handing it to me.
“You’re gonna have to squat or go down on a knee.” I smile at him.
He obliges, and I make quick work of tying it with a loose flat knot. When I’m done, I tie mine around my ponytail to make sure it’s secure and follow Parker out the door. Parker holds open my black satin robe, and I slip my arms into it. I can feel Dex behind me, but he doesn’t comment. I’m beginning to recognize this as his observer mode.
We walk to the entrance of the arena. There’s quite a crowd out there tonight. The lights are down, and music is playing as the announcer introduces my opponent. A spotlight follows her as she walks in from the opposite entrance. I missed the name, so I’ve no clue who I’m fighting tonight.
The spotlight swings my way. “Please welcome the one and only undefeated champion of the Black Society…”
I tune it out as I search Dex’s face for any kind of emotion. I want to know what he’s thinking more than anything.
“Phoeeeeeeeenixxxxxxx!”
That’s my cue, the stupid fight name that Nic gave me. You’ll rise again, Neddie, he told me.
Catching Dex’s hand, I start walking. About halfway there, I can see Vixen standing on the far side of the cage. She’s weak but a masochist, so the pain only spurs her on. I can feel the adrenaline flood my system in anticipation.
I start to hop up to the edge of the platform but stop and twist around, pulling Dex by his lapels.
“You gonna wish me luck?” I smirk.
“You don’t need it. Just make me proud.”
He kisses me slow and unhurried before letting me go. The crowd cheers as he lifts me up and sets me on the edge of the stage. I shrug off the robe, and Parker takes it from me. The referee shuts the chain-link gate behind me, separating me from Dex. Dex turns to Parker to say something.
I face my opponent, feeling the fight surge within me, the need for violence a siren’s call to the darkness in my soul.
The referee rambles on about the rules. I tune him out because I’ve heard it all before. I shake out my arms and legs, bouncing on the balls of my feet. I shake hands with Vixen when the ref tells us to. She offers me a smile. Fights here aren’t competitive. It’s more for show, so we keep it pretty friendly. I stretch my neck, keeping a straight face. I’m not in the mood for niceties.
The bell rings, and she rushes at me. I stand there, relaxed, and step to the side, turning on my toes to follow her movement. I catch the back of her neck and shove her into the fence. She can’t slow her momentum, and the cage gives a satisfying rattle. The crowd responds.
She recovers quickly and moves toward me, more cautiously this time. We circle each other, looking for an opening.
“Rough month, Phoenix?” she taunts.
“Could be worse.” I shrug. “I could be fixin’ to get my ass kicked.”
“It’s going to be that kind of night?” Her eyes gleam in anticipation. “Sounds good. Bring it.”
While she’s talking, I take the opportunity to inch closer, closing the distance between us. I keep my guard up high, so the right hook I throw comes easy. The smack of skin meeting skin is muffled by the sounds of the crowd as I connect my fist to her lower jaw. She stumbles to the side a bit, but a satisfied grin takes over her face. I’m watching her eyes, so I fail to see the tell. Her leg sweeps out, catching me behind the ankles and knocking me flat on my back.
Shit. I’m not even fully on the ground before Vixen’s on me. She pulls her arm back to return my punch, but I see it coming this time and close the distance between us. I wrap my arms around her shoulders, pulling her to my chest. She bucks and pulls, but my left fist is secure in my right hand. I’m locked on. Her only move is to use her lower body. I’m counting on that as my opening.
When she moves, as expected, I push my hip up with her, knocking her off balance. It’s just enough to draw my knee up and get my leg wrapped around her waist. I pull her using all my weight until we roll over. She’s been practicing and breaks my hold. Her fist connects with my stomach. I lean forward, pushing my weight on her to manage her range of motion.
We grapple for a bit, while I try to contain her hands. I finally get a grip and rear back, nailing her with a three-punch combo. One, five, three. She laughs. Her cheeks, turning pink and puffy, are going to bruise.
She screams in frustration and goes wild, bucking and clawing, her composure and training out the window. I let loose and just start throwing punches. My vision narrows. Darkness closes in until the only thing I see are the spots where my fists connect to her body.
Someone comes at me from behind. I don’t think. I can’t think. I throw back my elbow and turn to launch myself at the newcomer. Next thing I know, I’m being pinned to the ground by three men.
One sits on my legs, another has my left arm, and the referee has his knees digging into my right while holding a rag over his bleeding nose. The crowd is going insane. Their cheers and chants are at near-deafening levels.
“I’m okay,” I say to the guy on my left. “You can let go.”
“You sure?” he asks.
“Yes, let me up,” I yell over the music and crowd noise.
They watch me as they reluctantly let go. I stand up and find that Vixen’s partner, husband, boyfriend—I don’t know, but he’s always with her—is helping her up off the ground.
I walk over to her and gently grab her face. “You all right?” I ask.
She nods. “It was a good night. You got me.” She smiles.
“I’m sorry. I think, maybe I shouldn’t’ve fought tonight.”
“Don’t be.” She leans on her partner. “I’m so turned on right now. We are about to get our fuck on. If I were halfway interested in girls, I’d ask you to join. It’s just not my thing. He just doesn’t like to hurt me, and I need the pain every once in a while, so this is our outlet. Thank you.”
The ref grabs our hands as the announcer’s voice booms over the loudspeakers.
“The winner… by submission—Phoenix!”
The referee holds my hand in the air.
The only thing I can think is that I didn’t see her tap out. That’s dangerous. I feel off tonight. I think missing the last fight has led to a buildup, or maybe it’s just a perfect storm of everything going on. The guilt feels heavy in my gut, but I channel that into energy for the next fight. Vixen kisses her guy deeply, and he picks her up, carrying her from the cage. My eyes search the audience, but I don’t see Dex anywhere. There are several spotlights trained on the cage, but the audience is in the dark. I can’t see past the first two rows.
“You good to go?” the referee asks.
I nod. The announcer, who turns out was the guy holding my left arm, raises his mic. It’s hard to recognize anyone here. Everyone, even the fighters, wears masks. His deep voice reverberates through the room as he calls out my next challenger. I lean against the cage, mopping my face with a towel and drinking the water that is handed to me. A medic comes over and starts fussing over the state of my hands, but I can’t feel it. I’m more annoyed with his presence as I shoo him off.
“Ladies and gentlemen, this is the main event of the evening. Iiiiiiiiitttttttttt’ssss tiiiiiiiiimmmmmmmmmeeeee! This fight is three rounds of extreme cage fighting in the Black Society Third Thursday competition. In the blue corner, our current reigning, undisputed champion with forty-nine wins and zero losses, trained in American boxing, Krav Maga, and Brazilian jujitsu. Weighing in at one hundred and thirty-five pounds at five feet eight inches tall— Phhhooooeeeeeeeeennnnixxxx!”
He stops to let the audience cheer and whistle. There are a few boos thrown out as well. I’m not well-liked in the mixed-gender fighting. I’ve seen other fights, and they usually end up fucking. I’m just not here for that. It’s not the reason I fight, so I disappoint this crowd. Every. Damn. Time.
“And introducing our challenger, weighing in at two hundred and five pounds, standing six feet and two inches tall, Dieeeeeesseeellll!”
I toss my empty water bottle and towel to a guy nearby. Mixed-gender matches don’t allow face hits. Or hitting in general. It’s more about grappling, holds, and submission.
Diesel enters the cage. His eyes roam over my body with a leer. He turns to the crowd, throwing his hands up with a yell and pounding his bare chest. Thick ropes of a tribal tattoo run across each arm, crossing at his chest. I’ve seen enough tattoos in my lifetime that these are not impressive at all. Images of pistols and half-curled fists flash through my mind, tattoos with personality and stories behind them. I bet there’s a story behind Dex’s dragon. Diesel’s are just a showpiece. Look at me, I’m a badass with tattoos.
I’m not gonna lie, though. The rest of him is hot as hell. Dark hair, tall, and muscular. His loose gym shorts hang low on his hips, exposing a deep V of muscle. I’ve fought Diesel quite a few times, and I always had the suspicion that Nic picked him because he hits all the checkboxes for my type. Except for the personality. I like the deep ones: intelligent, broody, with the weight of responsibility on his shoulders an almost visible strain.
Law didn’t seem that way at first. He was fun. But the second I met his dad, I knew. He had his hooks in me deep. This cage is the only time I allow myself to think of him because Diesel isn’t standing in front of me anymore. I don’t see crappy tribal tattoos as I shake his hand.
The fact that we wear masks helps with this illusion. My mind settles, my focus narrows on my opponent, and the same words repeat in my head like a mantra: I will not give in. You do not own me.
“You ready for this, sweetheart?” Diesel asks, gesturing at his dick.
My eyes narrow. “Try shutting your mouth before you ruin this for me. You know I don’t like it when you talk.”
“I gotta keep you talking somehow.” He shrugs. “It keeps my dick hard when you say this shit to me.” He grabs himself and adjusts its position.
“Quit playing with your pencil dick, and let’s get to it. I don’t have all night. There’s a schedule to keep.”
He groans. “Goddamn, that smart mouth of yours does it for me.” His eyes flash with a smirk.
I close my eyes as those words hit me. When I open them, I charge. Fuck waiting around for him to come at me.
Then
“…a real New Orleans adventure,” Holly said, as we hopped onto one of the red trolleys that travel the network of wires that hover over the streets.
I was so taken by the sights as we passed through the French Quarter that I forgot she had started talking again. That city had a pulse, a rhythm. Like the city itself was constructed of music, and it bled through every pore in the concrete roads. Holly tugged on my sleeve, and I pulled my gaze away from the window.
“Are you even hearing me?” she asked, tapping her foot and standing in the aisle. “This next stop is where we get off.”
“I’m distracted by the city.” I waved her off and stood. “It’s my first time here, you know.”
“You’ll fucking love it. This isn’t touristy New Orleans, this is authentic.” She winked.
We made our way toward the front of the trolley and jumped off just before it started moving again. I froze in place. Just ten steps ahead of me, Jared was standing under a sign that read Canal Street Ferry Terminal, looking handsome as ever. He smiled and walked toward us.
“Took you guys long enough,” he said, wrapping his arms around me.
I pulled back to see his face. “You came.”
“Of course. I wouldn’t miss your first trip to a real blues club. It’ll be just like old times, yeah?”
I leaned in and took a deep breath. Jared’s familiar scent surrounded me, comforting. It was such a change from the way he had been acting. I was going to embrace every moment I had him back.
“We’re taking the ferry?” I asked.
Holly nodded. “Yeah, it’s a few blocks from the ferry terminal on the other side to where we need to go.”
“Wouldn’t it be faster just to drive there?” Asher questioned.
“And miss the boat ride across the Mississippi?” Holly asked. “Fuck that—we gonna do it right.”
I tipped my head back and laughed. “Holly, I think your Cajun is showing.”
Asher’s head whipped toward her. “You’re from around here?”
“Holy Cross, born and raised.” She tipped her head. “It’s over that way, on this side of the river. Shit, I couldn’t miss a chance to return home.” Her eyes tracked back to me with a grin. “And catch up with my best bitch.”
“Huh,” Asher grunted, looking thoughtful.
“It only took one time of hearing her ask for mayonnaise for me to figure it out.” I laughed.
“How do you say it?” Asher asked.
“It’s not may-o-nays, or man-ays like Mads says, it’s my-nez,” Holly grumbled. “It’s not even weird. You fuckers are weird.”
“I think it’s adorable.” I pressed my hands, palms together, underneath my tilted head with a smirk.
“It’s why I love me some Maddie,” Holly said, ignoring me. She tugged me to her side by the bottom edge of my jacket. “She’s like a slice of home for me. It’s why I had to introduce you two. Maddie, meet Nawlins. Look out, NOLA, you ’bout to find out just who Maddie is,” she shouted loudly toward the water, as the ferry rocked loose from the dock.
I hugged her hard, shushing her as I tried to hide from the attention she just called to us. Some people farther down the railing on the ferry glanced in our direction, but for the most part, we were largely ignored.
“This explains so much about you,” Jared said, shaking his head with a smile.
“Yep.” Holly shrugged. “Now you know what put the hood in this hood rat. Come on.” She pulled Asher and me toward the back of the boat. “We got shit we need to do.”
Jared followed behind us. We stood at the railing near the raised ramp. The water churned in frothy white mounds below.
“My Papère taught me this. Here.” She shoved her hand into her pocket and pulled out some change. She handed me a penny and gave one to Asher and Jared too. “We have to pay the ferryman, and he’ll grant us a wish.”
My brows drew together. “Didn’t we already do that when we bought our tickets?”
“Not that ferryman, da Ferryman. Papère said he lives at the bottom of the Mississippi and he grants wishes to those who believe. Shit, I know it’s stupid, but just humor me. I’ve never crossed the river without doing it.” She shrugged.
A slow grin spread across my face. “That’s incredibly cute, you know?”
“Bitch, please,” she protested, but I swear a blush colored her cheeks in the dim light of the ferry. “Just rest it on your finger and thumb, like this, and think of your wish. Then just flick your thumb.”
The muddy water below churned angrily. The hair on the back of my neck pricked up. I had the overwhelming feeling that someone was watching us and the sudden urge to run welled up within me. I didn’t normally believe in superstitions, but there was something about that river. The wind whipped my hair in every direction, making it slap over my face and tangle in my mouth. I closed my eyes and thought of what I’d wish for. Jared’s arm brushed against mine as he flicked his penny into the water, and I knew what I wanted.
Please let us find an end to whatever is wrong with Jared.
I flicked my penny and watched it disappear into the muddy waters of the Mississippi. Turning to face the wind, I found Jared looking at me. A tiny smile played at the corner of his lips.
“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he said, his voice rough with emotions.
My muscles relaxed as I stepped into his arms. “You’re not too shabby yourself, handsome.” I kissed his cheek. “Thank you.”
“For what?” he asked.
“For the compliment. For coming out with me tonight. It’s nice having you here.” I sighed, resting my ear on his chest and listening to his heartbeat compete with the hum of the ferry’s engine.
The boat rocked as it came into contact with the dock. With a loud clang, it connected. Jared’s body jerked under my ear, his heart racing. His arms tensed around me, squeezing me. I pulled back to see his eyes, flat, emotionless, staring into the distance.
“Hey,” I spoke softly, brushing his cheek with my fingers.
He didn’t move for a moment, and then his eyes narrowed. His gaze slowly tracked down to me.
“Jared?” Dread swamped my gut.
He was looking at me, but I wasn’t sure he was seeing me. Then his brow smoothed out. His eyes cleared. “Did you say something?”
“We’re here.” I nodded in the direction of the dock. I realized then that we would have to walk to the other side to get off.
Asher and Holly were already heading that way. Holly’s laugh rang out as Asher leaned down with his mouth near her ear. I couldn’t deny they were cute together, but Asher was so not her type. I couldn’t help but feel that this wouldn’t end well. For any of us.
Jared took my hand and led me to the exit as I shook the thoughts of Holly and Asher off. They were adult enough to handle it. It wasn’t my place or my business anyway. They looked happy enough at the moment.
“When did that happen?” Jared asked, watching the two as they waited for us on the street corner.
I suppose waiting for us wasn’t the word for it. They were making out. “In Houston, apparently. Though it didn’t become a thing until tonight, I suppose. We didn’t get too in-depth about it. I walked in on them dry humping on the tour bus.”
Jared snorted a laugh. I cleared my throat as we sidled up to the two lovebirds. They broke apart and looked over at us.
“It’s this way,” Holly said as she turned and started down the sidewalk.
The walk was short, and soon we were standing outside what looked like a large two-story house that had been converted into a dive bar. It was dark, but I could still see that the once-white siding was dingy and gray. It sat on the street corner like a wizened old man, knowing it owned its spot in the world. The signs proclaimed it to be Old Point Bar—Air Conditioned like it was the biggest selling point. Bluesy guitar strains carried out the open front door. People talked loudly on plastic chairs around plastic tables under a porch that looked like a hard wind would knock it down. I was instantly in love. Holly was right. This wasn’t a tourist trap. This was an authentic New Orleans bar.
We walked in, and the woman behind the bar froze. Her salt-and-pepper gray hair had fallen out of its ponytail, framing her weathered face. She was slim and petite, but her stance behind the bar gave off the vibe that she was not one to mess with. The glass she held in her hand shattered as it hit the floor.
“Holly?” the older woman asked, squinting her eyes as if she wasn’t seeing clearly.
“Aunt Mae,” Holly said as she walked to the end of the bar and rounded the corner to embrace the woman.
“Holy fuck, child. Mais, give a vielle a heart attack. I thought you’d never come back after my defan brother…”
The smile on Holly’s face dropped, and the old woman patted her cheek.
“Where y’at, cher?” Aunt Mae asked, a sad, sympathetic smile warming her face.
“My friends are in town.” Holly looked back to me and motioned me over. “This is Maddie, her fiancé, Jared, and my boo, Asher. Y’all, meet Aunt Mae.”
“Go to bed! Dis one yours?” Aunt Mae descended on Asher faster than a rattlesnake striking, squishing his cheeks as she tsked at him. “You be taking care of my Holly?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Asher said, trying to smile, but his lips only curled up.
I covered my mouth with my hand to hide my laugh.
“Let him alone, Mae.” She stepped in between her aunt and Asher. “Shit’s new, so don’t go scaring him off. I didn’t bring him here to make introductions like that.”
“Don’t boude.” Aunt Mae pinned her with a bland look. “Doesn’t hurt to axe, cher.”
Holly shook her head. “I need to get Maddie’s ass onstage tonight. Is Ol’ Gus around?”
“Up dere now.” Mae nodded to the stage, set back farther into the building. “When he takes a break, you tell him what you want. Want sum’in to drink? You ahnvee?”
“No,” Holly answered. “I already cooked for us.”
“Still puttin’ to use what your mama and I taught you?” Aunt Mae asked with a gleam of pride in her eyes.
“Yep.” Holly nodded. “Still have a little over a year left of school, but I’ll be a chef in no time.”
“Good. It’d make your daddy proud.” Someone down the bar called for Mae. “Shoo, shoo. Go vay ya. I’ll bring your drinks, ’kay?”
I only understood half of what Holly’s aunt Mae was saying, but I caught the dismissal in her tone and started looking for a place to sit. I spotted a table near the stage and tugged Holly’s arm.
“We can sit over there?” I pointed to the empty table.
Holly smiled. “Perfect.”