Cameron
Eve’s face drains of color. Her lips part and tears swell in her eyes. A myriad of emotions flashes in her eyes.
Shock. Disappointment. And finally disgust.
“You still think you’re strong enough to hold on?”
She stumbles back, and her hand slips from my arm. Her head swivels from side to side in a slow shake that won’t do anything to erase my confession. This I’m sure of because I’ve done it myself more times than I can count.
She swallows hard. “No.”
I drop my chin to my chest, unable to hold her gaze when all I see in it is my failure. “You get the information you needed?”
“I . . . How?”
“Does it really matter?” I rub my eyes with my forefinger and thumb. “She’s gone because of me.”
“I don’t know what to say,” she whispers. “I . . .”
“Good night, Eve.” I can’t bear to look at her, but I hear the shuffling of her feet as she leaves the room.
And closes the door behind her.
~*~
Eve
I move numbly down the hallway to the living room, lost in my thoughts, sorting through my feelings. I expected a thousand different stories, but never did I imagine the truth would be so hideous.
I took my daughter’s life.
His confession rings through my head, the desperation, sadness, guilt and agony, all so evident in his voice. If only—
“Eve.”
I jump at the sound of Ryder’s voice. He’s leaning against the couch, shrouded in the dark of the living room.
“I’m, ah”—I fumble to pull up the right words, to think clearly—“sorry for waking you up.”
He closes the space between us, his eyes narrowed on my face. “You okay?”
“Am I?” I rub my forehead, pushing my bangs back. “I think so. I just found out about . . .”
“Ah. So Dad finally opened up, huh?”
I jerk my eyes to his. “Um . . .”
“About Rosie?”
“Rosie.” Her name. His sister. My heart cramps for the pain he must feel at her memory. “Yeah, I guess he did. I’m . . . I had no idea.”
“Yeah, he doesn’t like to talk about the accident.” He shrugs and crosses his arms over his chest. “I don’t really see what the big deal is. I mean it happened; can’t hide that shit, ya know?”
I cringe at the easygoing way he speaks about his sister’s death at the hands of his own father, even if it was an accident. “How, uh, how long ago did she die?”
His eyebrows drop low over his eyes. “Hmm.” He looks down the hallway toward Cameron’s bedroom then swings his eyes back to me. “You got any plans right now?”
I shake my head. “It’s almost two a.m.”
“Right. Let me grab my shoes. You drive.”
I watch him disappear down the hallway and into his room. Drive? Where the hell are we going? Not that it matters. I’ve got nowhere else to be, and after Cameron’s confession, I’ll get no sleep with all the questions filtering through my mind. And something tells me Ryder has all the answers.
~*~
Cameron
It’s the middle of the day and my concentration’s for shit. After Eve’s visit last night, I’ve gone back and forth between showing up at her door and throwing myself at her mercy or locking myself up in a padded room. The more she knows about me and the further away she runs, the more I want to chase her down and keep her forever.
I flip through my notebook again, absently taking in the list of to-dos and don’t-forgets, but only see her face, fear working behind those big blue eyes. A kind of fear I’ve never seen on the strong woman I’ve come to care for. The resilient woman I’ve come to love.
A knock sounds on my office door. “Come in.”
Killer mopes in, his eyes downcast. “Hey, Mr. Kyle.”
“Killian, what’s up?”
It isn’t until he gets closer that I realize he’s not just looking down, but he’s trying to hide his face behind long shags of hair. He takes a seat and keeps his head down, but that doesn’t keep me from seeing the color on his cheek.
“Whoa, what the fuck happened to you?”
His shoulders slump, and he lifts his chin to reveal a black eye and pretty decent knot on his forehead. “I probably should’ve come to talk to you sooner, but . . .”
My muscles tense. “Who the fuck did this to you?”
“Thinkin’ you already know who.” He swallows and avoids my eyes. “I overheard Reece and some of his guys blabbing a few months ago. They were talking shit about the UFL and how they were only here for a little while until they”—he motions with air quotes—“get what they need.”
“This back when they started fucking with you?”
“I tried to talk to them about it, ya know, get them to see things my way? These guys, Reece and his friends, they don’t respect the century-old fundamentals of MMA. To them, this UFL stuff isn’t a sport. It’s, I don’t know, a way to become famous by beating people up.”
Damn, I seriously dig where this kid’s mind is at. “So you confronted them.”
“Yeah, I told them they need to have more respect for the organization or go fight for someone else.”
“Shit, Killer. They’re bullying you because you’re defending their sport.” I grind my teeth and withhold the rapid-fire curse words itching to be released.
“They got pissed I’d heard whatever it is I heard.” He scratches his head. “I don’t even know what they were talking about, but ever since then, they’ve been threatening me, roughing me up if I talk.”
“So they’re only here to get what they need. What does that mean?”
“I don’t know. That’s why I didn’t come talk to you sooner. I thought once they realized I didn’t hear shit they’d back off.”
“But they didn’t.” I motion to his face.
“I walked into the locker room, and they were in there with a camera, like the handheld video kind?”
I nod.
“I told them they can’t have that in there, UFL rules, and I don’t know . . . They snapped.”
What the fuck were they doing in there with a camera, and why would being reminded of league rules cause them to beat the shit out of an eighteen-year-old boy?
“Makes me wonder what’s on that camera.” I scratch down a reminder in my notebook to call in Reece and the boys for a little talk and then let them all out of their contracts effective immediately.
“No clue. Lopez took off and ran with it right after he finished videotaping.”
My eyes snap to his. “He recorded the beating?”
Killer’s forehead drops again. “Yeah.”
As if an ass kicking isn’t enough, but they insist on humiliating the poor kid too? I’m fed up and ready to put an end to this shit.
I hit the intercom on my phone. “Layla, get Reece and Lopez in my office now.”
A soft knock on my door and Layla steps in with her eyes trained on a post-it note in her hand. “Vanessa gave this to me. It’s a message, but”—she hands me the little yellow note—“it’s kinda vague, not that I’m surprised.” Her eyes roll to the ceiling. “Vanessa’s as helpful as an STD.”
In bold handwritten letters, the note says “URGENT” and below it is an address. It takes a quick scan of the address for me to know exactly who the note is about. I’m on my feet and fishing my keys out of my pocket before I make it to the door of my office.
“Give me an hour,” I call over my shoulder to Killer and Layla as I move down the hallway.
My pulse throbs in my veins, is audible in my ears, and makes my heart race. There’s only one reason I’d be called to the nursing home, and God . . .
I’m not ready to lose her.