CHAPTER SIX
NIKITA
Silly, silly boys.
They don’t know anything about me. They don’t know who they’re dealing with, or what to expect. They don’t know I’m the reason Alex started these fights in the first place. That I’ve been training in mixed martial arts since I was a kid. The men come at me, and I’m ready for them. The first of them, the one with the bullish, scarred, meaty face raises his arms and tries to throw them around me in a bear hug. It’s the sloppiest, most ill conceived move he could have made. I step back, pivot at the waist, and then I jackknife my body back around, the full force of my weight behind the elbow I send slamming into his head. That makes three headshots in a row; these guys are amateurs. I’m not successful in sending this particular idiot to the ground, though. His skull must be made out of reinforced steel or something. He staggers back a step, and then another, shakes his head, then growls at me like a deranged dog.
“You’re a feisty one, aren’t you? I’m gonna enjoy fucking you bloody. Let’s see how feisty you are when I’m done with you.”
“Fucking me bloody? Nice. You’d have to be capable of actually finding your dick in order to do that, though, friend, and judging by the gut on you, I’m guessing you probably haven’t seen it in a while.”
He bares his teeth, hunkering down, readying himself to come at me again. Only this time he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a knife. “Smart mouth on you, too. No guy’ll wanna fuck you at all once I’ve given you a Chelsea Smile, though, will they? Then you’ll be begging for my dick.”
I can’t help it. I laugh. I tip my head back and I laugh so hard, I can’t breathe. “You’re a funny guy, Porky. Now hand over that shiv before you hurt yourself with it.”
“Oh, don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll be giving it to you soon enough.”
I see the other two guys in the corner of my eye. They’re waiting for the fat fucker with the blade to make his move before they make theirs. Cowards. This has gone on long enough, though, so I decide to take matters into my own hands. Moving quickly, I duck to the left. The guy standing there is surprised. I can tell by the way he almost jumps out of his skin when I snake my arm around his neck and force his body down so that he’s doubled over. From there, I use him as leverage as I angle my body back and jump, kicking out with both feet, connecting with the other guy’s chest as he tries to rush at me. He lands flat on his back, releasing a winded “uggghhh” sound as he hits the concrete. Porky uses this opportunity to dart forward with his knife, but I see the flashing silver coming a mile off. I jerk back, turning sideways, which drags the guy I’m still holding by the neck around, and Porky ends up sinking the point of the knife into the other guy’s upper arm. My captive lets out a thin, wet, horrified scream, and yanks back, managing to rip himself free from my chokehold. I’m about to land a knee in his chest and wind him some more when suddenly the guy is stumbling, no, falling backward, and he’s on his ass.
Another tall, dark, tattooed mountain of a man stands where he was, shoulders heaving, dark eyes glowering with anger as he quickly glances at me, then turns his attention to Porky. It takes me less than a second to recognize him; it’s Tommy Kendrick, Junior’s cousin. He’s wearing an oversized sweater, sleeves pushed back to the elbows, hood firmly drawn up over his head, features thrown into shadow. Head-on like this, though, I can see who he is plain as day.
He stalks toward Porky, lips pulling back into a fierce snarl. “You’re about to wish you’d stayed home tonight,” he says in a deep, unmistakably furious voice.
“Get to the back of the line,” Porky snaps. “Her pussy probably won’t be worth much by the time we’re through with her, but you’ll be welcome to whatever’s left of—” His vile words are cut short when Tommy leaps forward and grabs Porky by the back of the head. The pig doesn’t have time to react. Doesn’t even have time to cry out in surprise. Tommy yanks the guy’s head down at the same time as he swings his right knee upward in a brutal, forceful motion. His kneecap connects with Porky’s face, and blood explodes everywhere. I hear the sickening pop of Porky’s nose breaking. It sounds worse than that, actually. It sounds like he’s shattered his jaw or his eye socket, too. It’s a devastating blow. One that will wipe the smile right off Porky’s disgusting face.
Tommy lets him go, and the piece of shit sags back, the knife clattering from his hand as his limp body sprawls out onto the bare concrete. One of the other guys grabs Tommy by his sweater, trying to spin him around, but he only succeeds in pulling the hood from his head, exposing his features. The guy brings his hand back, ready to throw a punch, but Tommy slowly turns his head to look at the guy, dark eyes sparking with fury, and his assailant staggers backward, lowering his fist.
“Holy shit. Sorry, man, I didn’t realize…I didn’t realize it was you.”
It’s as though the crowd suddenly parts. A fallout zone appears around Tommy five feet in diameter, everyone pushing and shoving, desperate to put some space between themselves and the giant man standing over the lifeless body at his feet.
One strike. That’s all it took for him to cause a scene and clear the area. One freaking strike. Tommy directs a revolted look at the guy who ripped his hood away, who is practically shitting himself right now. “I’m so sorry, man. So sorry. I didn’t know it was you, I swear. I would never have…I would never have touched her if I’d—”
Tommy holds up a hand, looking away. “Stop talking.”
The guy stops talking.
Tommy stoops down and collects the knife from the ground, then stands over Porky, looking down at his unconscious body disapprovingly. He crouches down, over him, spinning the knife over and over in his hand. Out of nowhere, he slaps Porky across the cheek, and the bloodied, broken man splutters himself awake, crying out in pain. “Motherfucker! What the fuck?!”
Tommy taps him on the forehead with the flat of the blade. “Have you ever given anyone a Chelsea Smile before?” he asks. He sounds curious, but there’s something about the way he speaks that sounds threatening.
Porky growls, gingerly trying to touch his hand to his broken nose. “What do you think, fucker?”
Tommy slaps his hand away, spins the knife over in his hand and prods the end of Porky’s visibly shattered nose with the butt of the handle. Porky screams, scrambling, trying to get away, but Tommy raises his fist and brings it smashing down into the other man’s face, stopping him dead in his tracks. Porky’s eyes roll back in his head, but he doesn’t lose consciousness this time.
“I’d say you probably haven’t,” Tommy says flatly. “It’s a pretty fucked-up thing to do to another person. Takes balls. Balls I don’t think you possess.”
Porky just groans.
“I’m going to show you, though. I’m going to show you how something like that would go down, just to give you an idea of the resolve required. Then you can tell me if you still want to disfigure this woman. Cool?”
“Tommy.” A tall guy wearing a Chicago Cubs ball cap steps in, placing a hand on Tommy’s shoulder. “Fuck, dude. That is a really bad idea,” he says. “You’ve made your point. Let’s just get the fuck out of here.”
Tommy just looks up at the guy in the cap. His expression is blank, his eyes clear, his hand steady, still holding onto the knife. He blinks a couple of times, his chest rising and falling calmly, and it’s as though something is passing between the two men. Some silent conversation that none of the rest of us are privy to. After a second or two, the guy in the cap sighs and shrugs. “All right, man. But don’t say I didn’t warn you. This isn’t going to go unnoticed.”
It’s bedlam on the fight floor, the crowd mostly observing Alexander and his new bride inside the octagon, congratulating the winner of the fight, but slowly more and more people are turning to watch what’s happening here instead. Tommy glances around, his eyes skating over the sea of people. He doesn’t seem to really see them though.
“Let them notice,” he growls. He angles the knife in his hand, then hooks his finger inside Porky’s mouth, fish-hooking him by the right cheek. Porky finally seems to realize what’s going on and begins to struggle, screaming. This is madness, crazy, off the charts, undeniably insane. I hurry forward, placing my hand on Tommy’s arm.
“Hey, what are you doing? You can’t be serious.”
Tommy blinks up at me much the same way he blinked at his friend. “I know guys like this,” he says. “It takes more than a couple of broken bones to leave a lasting impression. They need a visible reminder.”
“Don’t do it. Not for me. I didn’t ask you to get involved.”
He laughs, a slow, casual smile spreading across his face. “I’m not doing it for you. I’m doing it so I can sleep at night.” His jaw is square and strong, his cheekbones sharp and cruel. It goes without saying that he’s a good-looking guy. More than that; he’s a force of nature, and all of Mother Nature’s creations are masterpieces. When he smiles at me, though, looking up at me like this, splattered with blood, a distant and disturbing look of complete and utter vacancy in his hazel eyes, he’s something else. Raw. Uncontainable. Unknowable. Almost inhuman, like a soulless Greek god, masquerading as a mortal.
“Do not hurt him any further than you already have,” I say. “I came here looking for Junior. Just tell me where he is and we’ll all leave. Together.”
“Junior?” His brows pull together quizzically.
“Junior’s not here,” the guy in the baseball cap says.
If this situation weren’t so fucked up right now, hearing this would normally flood me with relief. As it stands, I just feel numb. All this, and for nothing? Urgh! “Great. Then let’s just go.”
Tommy shakes his head. He looks down at Porky, at his own finger still hooked inside the bastard’s mouth, and he cracks his neck. “I’m not going to stamp on your balls,” he tells the man lying on the ground. “And I’m not going to give you the full treatment. I’m only gonna fuck up one side of your face, and when I’m done you’re gonna get down on your hands and knees and you’re gonna thank this woman for her mercy. Do you understand me, motherfucker?”
“Fuck…you…”
Spit and blood flies everywhere. Tommy cringes, but he doesn’t shy away from his task. My stomach roils as he takes the blade of the knife and he inserts it into Porky’s mouth. He’s not really going to do it, though. He’s not. He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t be sick enough to—
I cover my mouth with both hands as Tommy swiftly jerks the blade upward, toward himself, cleaving the sharpened steel right through Porky’s cheek. I don’t think Porky believed he was really going to do it, either. For a moment he just lies there, eyes the size of golf balls, a river of blood flowing quickly down his face and over his throat, his mouth opening and closing wildly. His cheek flaps loosely, the three-inch long tear in his skin a neat, straight, bloody and terrible line.
Tommy leans down, so that his face is only a couple of inches away from Porky’s. “I could have made it worse,” he whispers. “I could have sawed at you from the corner of your mouth. I could have done it slowly. Now get on your hands and knees, motherfucker. Get on your hands and knees right now and thank her like I told you to.”
Porky screams. It’s as though the shock of what’s just happened has worn off all of a sudden, and the pain and the horror has hit him all at once. He sucks in a ragged, winded breath and screams again, high and reedy, like a frightened little girl.
Silence falls over the entire fight floor.
Tommy wipes the blade of the knife on Porky’s already blood-stained shirt, and then gets to his feet. “You have three seconds. Three seconds before I finish the job. And I’ll do it properly this time.” His threat is spoken quietly, but Porky must hear him. Slowly, he heaves himself upright and then onto his hands and knees. With painfully slow progress, he crawls his way over to me, until he’s at my feet, and then he clutches and claws at the cuffs of my jeans with bloody, shaking hands.
“Thank….thank you,” he stutters. “Thank you…thank you for…your mercy.”
I back away. My throat feels like it’s swelling shut. “Jesus…”
“Quite the performance,” someone says behind me. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up—an automatic response that’s as natural to me as breathing. The name Alexander Bastien will provoke the most dramatic reaction from me. The sound of his voice? That’s enough to send me spiraling into madness, especially if he’s somehow managed to sneak up behind me. I turn around and he’s standing there, no longer in the octagon. He’s not looking at me, though. He’s staring straight at Tommy, and I swear there’s war in his eyes. Tommy’s expression is just as violent. It looks like the two of them are about to kill each other.
“Alex,” Tommy says. “I’d say it’s a pleasure, but…”
Alex inclines his head, a vicious smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Likewise.” He gives the guy in the ball cap a cursory glance, then follows it up with a curt nod. “Looks like you did well, David. I didn’t think you’d actually be able to get him back here.”
“You kidnapped our sister. Of course he was gonna come back,” the guy, David, spits.
Sister? Oh, God. Does he mean the woman? The woman Alex married is Tommy’s sister? I’d say I was surprised, but honestly there’s nothing a Bastien could ever do to shock or surprise me these days. I learned a long time ago that their family’s level of hatred, spite and vengeance knows no bounds.
It doesn’t look like my ex boyfriend married for love, then. Looks like he did it to get someone’s attention. The woman in question appears from the crowd, her cheeks flushed a lovely, delicate pink color, her raven-black hair tumbling loose from countless shining silver pins.
“Tommy,” she says breathlessly. “You shouldn’t have come back here.”
The two men, her brothers, exchange looks. David clears his throat, scratching awkwardly at the back of his neck. “We didn’t have much choice, Gen. You’re our kid sister. How are we meant to leave you in…this situation?”
“There is no situation,” she says firmly. “There’s just me and Alex. I was taking care of things. Fuck.” She shakes her head, closing her eyes. “You’ve ruined everything.”
Tommy still hasn’t said anything. He’s watching his sister very closely, his fingers twitching every few seconds or so, his body very, very still. Conversely, Alex hasn’t taken his eyes off Tommy. “I already knew you were back,” he tells him. “You were careful, but you’re also notorious. You used to be Havoc. Everyone in this city knows your face. I’ve just been waiting for you to burst into here, guns blazing.”
“No blazing guns here. I just came to collect my sister.”
Alex tuts, wagging his index finger. “She’s not your sister anymore. She’s my wife. She gave herself to me. She’s my property, aren’t you, pet?” He faces Genevieve, stroking a hand over her hair and then down her arm. I can practically see her skin break into goose bumps from here. She nods, her head bobbing just a fraction.
“Yes. I’m his wife. I’m happy I’m Alex’s wife, Tommy, so you don’t need to do this. You don’t need to be here.”
Alex throws his arm around Genevieve’s shoulders, pulling her tightly into his side. He kisses her roughly on the temple, then lays his head on top of hers. “He’s not going anywhere, my sweet girl. He’s going to stay and fight Devon for me, aren’t you, Tommy? You owe me a lot of money, after all.”
An excited murmur sweeps throughout the room, echoing, bouncing off the walls. If Tommy’s fazed by Alex’s announcement, he doesn’t show it. “I’m not fighting anybody. Also,” he says, folding his arms over his chest. “I don’t owe you a thing.”
Alex frowns, confusion written all over his face. “You owe me a sister, don’t you? Oh wait… I suppose, since I took yours, technically you don’t anymore. But still. Your sister is still living and breathing, whereas the sister I entrusted to you for safekeeping is not. Therefore, there’s an imbalance in our somewhat…strained…friendship. The only way I can think of alleviating that strain is if you reimburse the obnoxious amount of money I lost that night. One point eight million dollars, to be precise. Now, I don’t normally do this,” he says conspiratorially. “But I will accept a check in this instance.”
“I’m not paying you a cent. You told me to fight that night, so I fought. I can’t be in two places at once.”
“You should have told me,” Alex snaps. “You should have refused! You should have reminded me you were watching Serena. I would have—”
“You would have had me killed. When was the last time someone told you no, Alex? When was the last time someone refused to do something for you?”
Alex stands as still as a statue, his mouth open, his eyebrows raised. “I don’t remember,” he says. “That’s not the point. You should have realized which of my commands took precedence over the other, and you should have acted accordingly.”
This whole conversation is so familiar, it hurts to even hear it. Alex is delusional, has been for years. Back when we were together, back at the beginning, when I first met him and we were only seventeen years old, he was nothing like this. He was kind. He was calm. He was actually funny, of all things. But when his father died two years later, leaving him in control of the Bastien family estate, he changed so dramatically that I thought he might have had a nervous breakdown. He developed a mean streak a mile wide, and then that mile turned into an ocean, and the boy I fell in love with was gone forever. I could see that in the cold, hard way he spoke to me. The very first time he hit me, I packed up my things and I left the Bastien mansion, never to return.
“Don’t make him fight, Alex. Please. Not tonight. I’ve had such a lovely time. It would really ruin things for me.” Genevieve speaks softly into his ear, but loud enough that I hear her. She presses her body up against Alex, resting her chin on his shoulder. Tommy shudders, and Alex catches his reaction; it seems to make him deliriously happy.
“I’m afraid I’m not that forgiving, princess. I’m very angry with Tommy Boy. He’s on my shit list. And once you’re on the list, you don’t get off it. Isn’t that right, Nikita?”
Venom spikes in my veins, burning me up from the inside. “Fucking child. You can shove your stupid shit list back up your ass.”
A tense moment follows. People don’t talk to Alex like this. They bow and scrape—please, sir, thank you, sir, how high, sir? It makes me physically sick to think of him in such a position of power, where everyone surrounding him is so afraid for their own safety and the safety of their families that they’ll swallow their pride and a handful of razor blades at the same time if it means staying in his good graces. The man is a psychopath.
Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Tommy Kendrick smiling.
“He can’t fight Devon now, anyway,” Genevieve says matter-of-factly. “He’s out of shape. Look at him. It wouldn’t be a very entertaining match if he went up against your best guy now, would it?”
Out of shape? If Tommy’s out of shape, then I’m the Queen of England. You can see the muscle definition in his arms through his damn sweatshirt, for crying out loud. Alex taps at his mouth with his index finger, apparently thinking. He squints, then pouts. “I suppose I’ve seen him bigger. Maybe you’re right. Maybe he should train a little before he steps into the ring. Devon is the reigning champion, after all. He’d knock him the fuck out before he could find his feet. People aren’t going to bet on a fight like that.”
Genevieve smiles sweetly, and I have to pinch myself. Is Alex really that smitten that he can’t see when he’s being played? I don’t care if he is. It’s just…well, a miracle. I never thought I’d see the day.
“You can train for a month,” Alex says. “On one condition. West has to be there every session. Every day. If you try and slip him, if you try and leave town again…”
Tommy’s face is a blank slate again. “You’ll kill my sister?”
“No. Of course not. I love her. I might cut off one of her fingers, though. Or maybe one of her ears. Don’t look at me like that, David. I’m a reasonable man. Genevieve will be perfectly safe if you just do as you’re told. It’s a matter of simply obeying instructions. Do you understand?”
David grunts.
Alex stares at Tommy. “I’m afraid I’m going to need to hear you say it. Say you understand, Thomas.”
For a second, I don’t think he’s going to do it, but then Tommy looks at his sister and his defiance seems to melt away like so much smoke. “I understand that you want me to fight. I understand that you want me to train. I understand that you want West to be my babysitter.”
Alex nods approvingly. “All right. Good. Then you two should leave. Now. Before I change my mind. Oh, and take that with you. She’s giving me a fucking migraine.” He’s referring to me, of course. He jerks his head in my direction, rolling his eyes.
I turn around and walk away. I won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing how angry he’s made me. I won’t give him the satisfaction of witnessing the relief in my eyes. It was a bold move coming here tonight; I should have listened to Mitch, and yet I steamrollered ahead and was my reckless self, as per usual. Junior’s obviously out fucking a waitress somewhere, getting wasted just like Mitch said he would be, and I risked my neck on a hunch. The crowd divides down the middle as I walk toward the exit, which makes a change from how they reacted to me when I showed up. Then I realize that it’s not me they’re making way for. It’s Tommy Kendrick and his brother, both of whom are right behind me.
“Just keep going,” Tommy hisses. “Don’t look back.”
“Don’t worry. I don’t plan on it.”
The Bastien mausoleum is frigid, freezing cold as we emerge into the large, eerie space. The old guy is gone, leaving all of the polished coins unguarded. There are probably thousands of dollars left behind in tribute to the Bastien family here. Thousands of dollars that no one will dare disturb, no matter how much they might have just lost at the fights. To interfere with the tributes would be to invite the wrath of the Bastien ancestors down on their heads, after all, and most people have enough trouble with the living members of the Bastien family as it is, without pissing off the dead ones.
As soon as we’re out in the cemetery, I round on the two men behind me, placing my hands on my hips. “You’d better not have been lying to me. Junior better not have been down there tonight.”
David quirks an eyebrow at me. “Why the fuck would we lie about that? And how do you know Junior anyway? Isn’t he a little…young for you?”
“She’s his shrink,” Tommy adds helpfully. “We met earlier this afternoon when I picked him up with Rob. She was all bent out of shape then, too, for some reason. Her mood doesn’t appear to have improved.”
Bent out of shape? That’s one way of putting it. I consider launching into full-on attack mode, but then it hits me, how absolutely exhausted I am. God, I am literally beat. I release the tension I’ve been holding onto for the past two hours, and my body suddenly feels like it’s about to give out on me. I pinch the bridge of my nose, sighing. “Listen, I’m not interested in Junior like that. I’ve just been looking out for him for a long time. Old habits die hard, I guess. If you could please tell him I’d like to speak to him, that would be great. Now if it’s all right with you guys, I’m going to go home. Some of us have actual jobs to get to in the morning.”
“Fine. I’ll make sure you get back,” Tommy says.
“No, I don’t need a personal bodyguard. Believe me. If Alex wanted me dead, I would already be six feet under.”
“You pissed off around about a hundred and fifty guys with questionable morals tonight. And that fat fuck I gave a lopsided smile to? He’s definitely not going to be very happy with you. So, yeah. You do need a personal bodyguard.”
She huffs, reaching behind her back, producing a Glock from out of nowhere. “You saw that I know how to protect myself. And if my hands fail me, I have this to fall back on. Why don’t you concentrate on the trouble you have coming to you tomorrow morning, Tommy Kendrick? West Bastien is almost as dangerous as his brother.”
Tommy laughs under his breath. “Oh, I won’t be seeing West Bastien any time soon.”
“But you told Alex,” I splutter.
“No. I said I understood what he wanted,” he growls. “I didn’t say I was gonna fucking do it.”