Fearless For Love (Lovelly #3) (16 page)

“IS THAT THE best you got?” Fisher taunts me. “I don’t know, dude. You’re getting a little slow in your old age.”

I dance around him, not letting his words get to me. It’s been two days since the fight at Blue Tango, and I still haven’t seen or heard from Jessica. It hurt that she refused to let me take her home, choosing to go with Fisher instead, but I’m trying not to dwell on it.

Unsuccessfully, it seems.

That’s part of why Fisher and I started sparring to begin with, to help me clear my head. And right now, all I want is to lose myself in the moment and kick Fisher’s ass. He comes at me, swinging his arm a little too high and giving me the opening I need. I duck under his punch and swing around so I’m right behind him. I put him in a head lock and kick the back of his knees, dropping him to a kneeling position.

Fisher’s hand is latched onto my forearm as he struggles to breathe, while the other flails against his thigh in the universal sign for tapping out. “Give,” he chokes.

Chuckling, I let him go. He falls back on his butt, propping himself up with one hand and throwing the other over his bent leg, his breathing heavy.

“What were you saying about me being old?”

“Sorry, man. I didn’t mean
old
. I meant fat, chunky. When did you go and become a whale?”

“Aw. Now my heart’s broken. How ever will I survive?” I swat at the back of his head and he ducks in the nick of time, laughing.

“See what I mean? Maybe you’re just getting slow because what’s-her-name has your balls in a twist.”

I scowl at him, ready to protest, but he doesn’t give me the chance, talking over me so I can’t cut him off. “You’re so slow that—”

Both of us freeze as the front door opens and a burst of evening air rolls in. Lincoln comes running toward us, out of breath. He comes to a stop at the base of the ring and doubles over, gasping for air. I help Fisher to his feet and we both duck out of the ring, joining him in no time.

“What’s going on?” Fisher asks.

Lincoln wheezes something indecipherable. Then he stands to his full height, puts his hands on his head, and takes a couple deep breaths through his nose. “Krish. Tony’s . . .” He takes a deep breath again, waving his hand in the general direction of outside. “Tony’s challenging him at . . . at Ninth and Coral.”

That’s all I need to hear before I take off running. Ninth and Coral is a well-known spot for petty throw-downs. It likely has nothing to do with Stamos, but if Tony’s involved, then I need to be there. I’m not about to let him beat up my friend. Especially after he assaulted Jess the way he did.

It takes me less than three minutes to get to the corner of Ninth and Coral. I turn right down Ninth and sprint a few more feet to the ally wedged between a taqueria and a liquor store. I can hear shouts being thrown even before I turn into the alley and see the gathered crowd. I shove my way through the bodies, trying to get to where Tony and Krish stand in the center. I can see them, but I’m too far away to do anything when Tony throws a punch at Krish, clocking him hard in the jaw.

Tony sneers, his arms wide as Krish stumbles back and falls to the ground. “This is what happens to guys who double-cross Stamos.”

Krish pushes up to his hands and knees and spits blood to the side. “I didn’t cross him,” he says. “I just wanted out.”

Tony laughs maliciously and signals two of his goons; they step forward and pull Krish’s arms behind his back. Tony crouches down to Krish’s height and grabs his chin, pulling it up. “Silly, Krish. There’s no getting out once you’re in.” He jerks him to the side, holding him in place as he pulls something from his pocket—a knife. It glints in the weak light of the streetlamps filtering through the alley as he flicks it open, holding it in front of Krish’s face. “I bet you wish you never volunteered to take care of your family’s debt, now don’t you?”

Krish struggles on the ground, trying to get up, his eyes wide with fear. But he doesn’t get the chance. Before I can stop it, Tony rams the blade into Krish’s ribs, then again, and again.

“No!” I scream, finally breaking free of the crowd. I ram my shoulder into Tony’s side, making him stumble over. The knife clatters against the asphalt and I kick it away, out of reach.

His eyes are wide with surprise as he gets to his feet. His face turns red and he literally snarls at me. “You are so fucking done.”

Before I know what I’m doing, I lunge forward and ram the base of my palm into his nose, feeling it crunch under the impact. He stumbles back, clutching at his face and swearing loudly, but I’m not done. First Jess, now Krish. King-pin’s child or not, he’s gone too far. Rage clouds my vision and I unleash everything I’ve got on him, landing blow after blow to his head, his torso, anywhere I can hit. He’s a human punching bag, and I don’t let up until he finally falls to the ground and I feel someone grab my arm to pull me back.

“Enough, man! That’s enough,” Fisher says in my ear. I turn to him and the barely concealed shock I see on his face breaks the spell. The blinding rage disintegrates around me as the gravity of what I’ve done starts to set in.

Shit
.

I jerk my arm free and Fisher lets me, eyeing me with a wary look, clearly ready to grab me again if I make a move.

Tony’s henchmen descend upon him, pulling him back and trying to help him up. Sirens fill the night air, faint but getting closer. Everyone disperses like a bunch of flies. I watch as Tony’s men get him to his feet. Blood covers most of his face and clothes, and one eye is already starting to swell. Even still, he throws a threat over his shoulder at me as his men help him hobble away. “This isn’t over.”

My hands curl into fists as the rage flares. But before I can move, Fisher calls my name, drawing my attention to where he and Lincoln are helping Krish to his feet.

“We need to go, man,” he says, grunting under the weight of our semi-conscious friend. Blood coats Krish’s side and his head lolls. He needs medical attention. Now.

I nod and step forward, taking over for Fisher as support. He willingly lets go of his friend, leaving Lincoln and I to shoulder Krish’s weight as he pulls out his phone and makes a quick call.

I hear him ask a few questions, but he’s moved too far away for me to make out who he’s talking to. I shoot Lincoln a glance. “What the fuck happened?”

“They wanted to ship Krish and me off to another country, and Krish didn’t want to go. I told him we’d figure something out, but he went and mouthed off in front of Tony like a dumbass, and word got back to Stamos. This is so fucked up. They know that all Krish has is his grandmother, and she’s not going to last much longer. They could have waited until she kicked the bucket to send him overseas, but no. They want us to know they own us, that there’s no way out for any of us.” He shudders. “I tried to help him, man, but there were too many of them and I just couldn’t.”

Lincoln looks away, his expression equal parts crestfallen and haunted. I look over to Fisher, wondering what’s taking so long. Just then, Fisher quietly whispers a thank you and hangs up.

“Who was that?” I ask him as he comes back to help.

“Someone who’s willing to take us in for the night.”

I nod, knowing exactly why he didn’t call an ambulance and praying that whoever he did call has at least some sort of medical background. “Where are we headed?”

“Just a block down this way,” he responds, avoiding eye contact. He plays look-out while Lincoln and I half drag, half carry Krish toward the end of the alley. When Fisher signals that the street’s clear, we shuffle forward, following Fisher’s lead.

Just as we round the street corner, I make the connection and realize who he called. “Are you fucking serious, man?”

“It’s either this or your place, and we’re too far. He’ll never make it.”

I sigh and grumble as we make our way to Jess and Cat’s apartment. Stumbling and awkward, we head up the stairs. But before we can knock, the door swings open and we’re presented with a pissed-off Cat.

“You owe me big, ass—” Her eyes fall on me, then on Krish. “Holy shit. What the hell happened?”

“Tony,” Lincoln says.

She steps out of the way, letting the four of us in. Before we get any further into the room, she tells us to wait and not to move a muscle. She disappears into the back of the apartment and returns moments later with a blanket and a shower curtain.

“What the hell is that for?” Fisher asks.

“I don’t want blood on my furniture, asshole,” she snaps, just as Jess comes out of her room wearing Tweety-bird shorts and a t-shirt. She looks tired, and her hair’s pulled up in a messy, loose bun.

“What’s going on?” she asks as we lay Krish down slowly. Her nostrils flare and her eyes go wide when her gaze lands on all the blood. “Oh my god! Is that . . . is he . . .
oh my god!
”

Cat runs to her side, grabbing her as she backs away and forcing her to meet her eyes. I can hear her explaining about Tony, the fight, how we needed somewhere close, and all I can think is that once again she’s seeing me covered in blood. I can feel her eyes burning a hole in my side as she listens and I know all she sees is Killshot.

“He needs a doctor,” Lincoln says, bringing me back to the task at hand. He’s right. Krish is losing too much blood. His skin’s taken on a sickly pallor and his breathing is labored.

“We can’t take him to the hospital. Too many questions,” Fisher responds.

“I can help,” Cat says as she reappears beside us. I resist the urge to look for Jess.

“Babe, I know you can be lots of things, but unless you know how to breathe life back into a dying man, I don’t know what you expect to do.”

“Shove it.” She grabs her cell and quickly dials a number. “Hey, John. Yeah, I know it’s late. Is Tracy working tonight?”

She pauses a millisecond before she says, “Good. Can you please bring her over. With a medical kit? Yeah. Yeah. Everything’s fine. Yeah, Jessica is fine. Okay, thanks. See you in a bit.”

“Who’s Tracy?” Lincoln asks, panic written all over his face.

Cat waves her hand. “Someone who can save his life. Or at least stop all that bleeding.”

Lincoln dips his head in thanks.

Fisher steps in front of me, blocking them from view. “Can I talk to you for a sec?”

He pulls on my arm and I follow him to the corner of the room.

“What the fuck was that back there?” he demands, pointing his finger to the left hand side of the room—the direction of the alley. “Do you know what Stamos is going to do to you when he finds out you kicked his son’s ass?”

“Teach him to fight better?”

“Harrington, I’m being serious here, man.”

I totally get what he’s saying. I may as well have put a red bull’s eye on my back. But I don’t need a lecture right now. “What do you expect me do to, huh?” I turn so no one else can see us fighting. “I couldn’t just let our friend die back there. And you know that’s exactly what would have happened.”

“I do know that. But what about Stamos? What about
everything
we’ve worked for?”  I see the glint of disappointment in his eyes. He thinks me getting involved was a very bad idea. And I can see why. He’s been trying to get justice for his parents for a long time and I may have just jeopardized that. But I couldn’t let a friend die for our mission. I couldn’t . . .

I look at my beat-up knuckles. God
damn
it. I really fucked things up this time. “I’ll figure that out when the time comes.”

Fisher’s eyebrows knit together. “You’ve only bought a day or two. Stamos won’t just let him go. Not when he’s planning to run.”

“I just need some time to figure things out, all right? He’s not dying tonight. Not when I can help it.” I turn around, done talking about this.

“No, listen to me, man. We’re so fucking close to nailing his ass and you—” He grabs my arm and I just about lose my shit. I whip around, swiping his hand from mine and twisting it backward. I shove his face into the wall.

“Don’t push me, Fisher,” I grunt.

“Hey, hey!” Lincoln comes running over, grabbing my arms. I hear Cat gasp.

“You got me, bro?” I smack Fisher into the wall, resisting Lincoln’s attempts to pull me off.