Raven (16 page)

“I like it,” Zan replies, writing it on the sheet of paper in his hands.

I’m a little apprehensive about sharing that part of me with the world. My raven is for
me
, not anyone else. It’s a symbol of being able to be on my own—actually enjoying being alone. I stand in the same spot for a good ten minutes trying to think of something that works better than Raven and there really is nothing. It’s also the name I once used with other men, disguising who I really am. Time to put a new meaning behind the name.

I am a raven. I’m content
with being by myself, but I’m happy to be with Garrett.

Guess it’s time to let my raven out of her cage and be happy as well.

“Raven it is.”

Chapter
21

We arrive at the venue, which is just an old warehouse that’s been converted into a large conference room, and for tonight, it’s the location of the first fight I’ll be entered in. With sweaty palms, I follow Garrett, Zan and one of the other guys from the gym that’s got a match tonight through the back entrance, away from the crowd filing in through the main doors.

There’s a small locker room area set up for us. I set my gym bag down on the bench and pull out the outfit I’ll be wearing. In the bathroom, I change and tie my hair back. I’m barely able to wrap the ponytail holder around my mane because my hands are shaking so badly.

Bracing my hands on the sink, I look to the ceiling and take a few deep breaths. “I need you tonight, Mom. I’m so scared. I know I can do it, I
need
to do it. This is for us,” I whisper to the heavens then proceed to rush to the toilet and expel the contents of my stomach. It’s funny, but as soon as I vomit, I feel a million times better.

Even behind closed doors, the sounds filling the arena blare through the small room. Looking over the fight card that’s tacked to the back of the door, my match is fourth in the lineup.
Every cheer and boo from the packed crowd cues the butterflies again. Thankfully, every time I turn a little green, Garrett’s there, whispering words of encouragement in my ear.

“Knock it off. My girl isn’t a pansy. She doesn’t give up. She sure as shit isn’t intimated by anyone. Just imagine that other girl wants to fuck me.”

“What?” I ask, busting out laughing.

“Remember Val? How crazy girlfriend you got on her? I’ve never seen you sexier. All territorial and shit. My dick was so hard for you that night.”

“Oh, I remember,” I giggle. That was the night I gave myself to him. Probably the best decision of my life. So many girls regret their first time, but not me. There was never, will never, be a more perfect man for me than Garrett.

As the third
match is coming to a close, I hop in place trying to get blood moving to my extremities. When Zan opens the door, Garrett walks out first with me following and Zan behind me. Garrett turns back to me, winks and takes my hand, lacing our fingers together and squeezing gently. My nerves go out the building and I’m ready to take out the girl that wants to take what belongs to me, as Garrett so eloquently put it.

Garrett takes his iPod from his pocket, flips through until he finds what he feels is the perfect song and puts the ear
buds in my ears. As the sick beat starts flowing, my head starts bobbing, and then the deep voice asks me if I feel it.
Oh, I fucking feel it
. The adrenalin is mixing in my system and then what I like to call the monkey screeching plays.

It’s do or die time.

My demon is awake, don’t you worry, Disturbed. I’m getting down with the sickness.

“It
doesn’t matter if you’re a man or a woman, you’re gonna wanna get in our next contender’s pants … show some love for our hometown legend, The Switch Hitter!” I snort at the name, expecting to walk out and see a fighter carrying a baseball bat. What do ya know? No bat in sight. Extra reinforcements might not have been a bad idea, since I’m on fire and ready to bust the bricks off this clown.

Waiting for the emcee to call my name, I think of all the crazy things in my life that have led me to this point. I’ve experienced more than any one person should by
the age of twenty-one—few happy moments surrounded by almost constant anguish. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, right?

“Being escorted to the cage by the most badass entourage I’ve seen tonight, all the way from Corbin, Kentucky
… the newest fighter this side of the Mississippi … The Raven!” At least my name makes sense. Ravens are known for being alone, having no problem flying solo. That’s what I’ve done for the past four years anyway. Now, getting this chance, the only person I can depend on is me. Fitting, right?

After my announcement, the crowd erupts in
to cheers that I can hear loud and clear, even over the song streaming out of my iPod through my ear buds. Bouncing back and forth on the balls of my feet, I crane my neck side to side, examining the mass of people. It’s a good sized crowd for this venue. I sometimes wonder if these guys come to watch the fights for the love of the sport or because they like to see the ring girls walking around, barely dressed, carrying signs to designate what round we’re in. Oh well, they paid their cover and that money, if all goes according to plan, will be in my pocket later tonight.

I’m in the back of the line, behind all the guys except Garrett, who’s at my side
. I run over everything I’ve been taught over the last year—how to get out of a submission hold, finding opportunities to take my opponent down, remembering not to be a cocky asshole that’s too big for her britches. Not to mention, endurance.

“You ready for this?” Zan asks, pulling out one of my ear buds.

Smirking, I eye up my competition that’s already inside the cage—a small, tiny thing that doesn’t look to have much muscle mass.
I got this.
Standing on the opposite side of the mat surrounded by Zan and Garrett, glancing in my direction, the slightest tinge of fear flashes across her brown eyes, similar to mine. Physically, I’m not very intimidating—weighing in at average weight for my class with an average stature to match, but the menace written across my face is an entirely different situation.

Stepping into the steel cage, I shrug my midnight blue robe
off, right into the hands of Zan. I walk straight to the official who checks my taped hands. Once cleared, I step back to Zan, who pops my mouth guard in for me, pats me on the shoulder and whispers in my ear, “It’s only the two of you. If you want it, make it happen. If not, we can leave right now.”

“Don’t worry, Z. I wouldn’t bring you all the way here to disappoint you.”

Zan and the other coaches walk out of the cage and the door slams shut, leaving only me, Switch Hitter and the official inside. Meeting them in the middle, the ref goes over the standard rules for the fight. Both of us nod, bump fists and the bell dings, indicating round one is underway.

Pacing myself and testing
her skills, I toss a few jabs in the air, needing to know if we’re on compatible levels. Weight class isn’t everything in the MMA world. Sometimes the smallest contender can be the best fighter. Without even flinching, my advances are shut down and every punch is dodged while a few are tossed in my direction as well. None land, but I know I may have to reevaluate my plan.
This isn’t going to be as clean as I thought.

It doesn’t take long before
her hands are wrapped around my legs. I try my hardest to center myself and stay on my feet, but she hit me in just the right spot. I position my body to flip and mount, like I’ve been taught, but I’m not quick enough.

Before I know it, a strong forearm, stronger than I assumed, is wrapping around my neck, pulling back to cut off my air supply.
Rear naked choke, shit.
Taking a few deep breaths, I try to calm my overheated and exhausted body and find a way to maneuver out of this situation. From the corner of my eye, I see Zan signaling me to tap. Not yet. If I’m going to go down, the officials are gonna have to call a medic in here—quitting
isn’t
an option.

My girl isn’t a quitter.

Dangerous or not, it’s how I’ve been taught.

Garrett’s voice rings in my head.
Don’t let the fight consume you.

Well, I’m consumed and I’m not giving up. I’ll figure a way out. I always have, I always will.

Squirming around on the mat, trying to get free, I hear the other girl’s coach calling to her. “Take her down, Bobbie. Tighter. She’s desperate. Take. Her. Down.”

“Looks like you found your Bobby, baby girl.”

I mentally send a thank you to my mom. I knew she would be here for me and not let me down.

With a few calculated movements and speed on my side, I manage to slip from her grip and get to my feet. Bobbie’s looking real tired, panting and sweating as she stands in front of me. As soon as her knees are locked, I stop wasting time on this grappling shit. I’m a fighter, a hitter, and she’s about to learn why I’m not to be screwed with.

Garrett didn’t need to teach me how to trash talk; I’ve known how to do that since I was a teenager. Changing up my game plan, I throw a quick jab at Bobbie’s face that she dodges. Awesome. She’s falling right into my trap.

When she tries to hit me, I grab onto her arm like Garrett showed me. Twisting her back to my front, it’s my turn to apply some pressure. Taking her to the ground, her body between my thighs and my forearm around her neck, I softly whisper in her ear.

“How’s this for desperate? You feelin’ it yet?” Deciding this isn’t how I want to finish her, I let go and climb back to my feet. A jab and her neck snaps back. A kick to the kidneys and she buckles at the waist. Finally, she’s back on the ground.

Bobbie has to use the cage to stand
, and when she turns to face me, her guard intact but eyes glossy from the recent lack of oxygen and blood dripping from a small gash near her eyebrow, I dig deep and land an uppercut in the precise spot and she’s going down. Stumbling back a few paces, she rests against the cool metal just before falling to her knees. Everything in me wants to go and finish her, but for some reason, I’m able to control myself. I give myself a mental high five while the official stands next to Bobbie, waiting for her to get up.

She tries to stand, but collapses again. I’m walking around the cage, waiting for her to either rise or the official to call it. Watching the judges
’ faces as they jot on their note cards, I get this overwhelming feeling that I’ve already won, even if we go the three rounds slated on the fight card.

Ten seconds go by, but I don’t realize it until the official is to my right, grabbing my wrist and hoisting my arm in the air
while the medic attends to Bobbie. Garrett and Zan come rushing through the fence and pick me up, placing me on their shoulders.

This moment—this feeling—is all that matters in the world. Regardless if I ever fight again, I’ve proven myself to Zan, Garrett, the guys at the gym … most importantly, I’ve proven to
myself
that I can do anything. In just a few short moments, my most important fight erases the one from so long ago. It’s such a freeing feeling.

“What’d I tell you, baby?” Garrett asks when he and Zan set me down.

“Yeah, yeah. I know. I just can’t believe it.”

The officials clear the mat, ushering everyone out of the cage so they can prep for the next match. Back inside the locker room, Zan sits me on the bench and attends to the few wounds I have on my face and examines my soon to be bruised neck.
Garrett heads back out to the cage to watch the other guy’s fight.

I’m lying
back on the bench, reveling in my win, when the door opens. Expecting it to be Garrett, I don’t move, even though every hair’s standing at attention all over my body. The most disgusting feeling overtakes me and I raise my head, only to see the eyes of the devil staring back at me.

A voice filled with rage booms, audible over the rushing of blood in my ears. I glance behind me, searching frantically for Zan who’s nowhere to be seen.
Fuck.

“Told you I’d be back, you little bitch,” Tom bellows, inching toward me.

Chapter
22

“How the hell are you here? You’re supposed to be in prison,” I ask, barely able to speak, my voice cracking with unshed tears.

“Parole’s a bitch like that. You
act all perfect in jail and voila, they let you out when they think they’ve fixed you,” he says gleefully.

“I didn’t get a call. They’re supposed to call me.” Panicked, I quickly sit up and pull a tee shirt over my head, suddenly feeling too exposed in my skimpy fighting gear.

“How would they have done that? From what I’ve heard, after your momma killed herself, you went to live with Elaine, who died, too. You moved and never gave any forwarding information. You sure do have a thing for killing off those that try to love you, huh?”

Vomit rising in my throat, I swallow it down, immediately regretting my decision as the acid burns all the way back down to my belly. I send silent prayers that Garrett or Zan walk back in right now.

“What do you want?” I choke out, my breaths becoming shallow and short.
He’s going to kill me
.

“Haven’t figured that out just yet. You sure have grown up, Rian. Filled out real nice.” The smile on his face ignites all the fear I remembered from that day.

“My coaches will be back any minute. You better get out of here.”

“It’s a good thing that you’re leaving with me right now then.” Tom forcefully grabs my bicep, drawing me close to his body that smells of a filled to the brim ashtray and a gallon of the cheapest whiskey.

I think about screaming for help, yelling at the top of my lungs, only to realize it’ll just be drowned out by the cheering crowd. I’ve never understood being paralyzed by fear. I get it now. Being so scared, nothing works the way it usually would.

Garrett, please, I need you.

Tom drags me out the door, my feet not even touching the ground. I try to squirm my way out of his hold without luck. Heading toward the back door, my last ditch effort of being rescued is shot to hell when the bouncer who’s supposed to be here isn’t anywhere to be found, his chair empty, probably inside watching the bout with my teammate.

“Please, Tom. You don’t have to do this,” I plead. I think this is one of the signs of grieving.
Bargaining
.

Thinking Tom’s going to kill me behind a dumpster or something, I’m surprised when he throws me in the passenger seat of a busted old car that smells worse than he does. I get a brief glimpse of the backseat that’s littered with fast food wrappers, empty whiskey bottles and stained clothing. I turn my head back to Tom, ready to bolt as soon as he walks around the side of the car.
He sticks his face in my hair, breathing in my scent. Disgusted, I slap at him, slightly catching the side of his face.

Something
stings my arm and the world goes black.

This is what death feels like. Cold and empty. No shiny white light. No angels carrying you to heaven. Just a whole lot of nothing.

Garrett

“Where the hell is she?” I ask, fuming that Rian ran away. She was excited about her win, but I had to get back out and make sure that Colin had the same support as she did.

“I don’t know, but her stuff’s still here,” Zander answers. This doesn’t make any sense. Rian ran once before, but I thought everything was going to be different. She’s not seventeen anymore; we’re adults and just moved in together.

“Hey man, you seen Raven? She was wearing green?” I ask the bouncer at the back door. I think she was wearing green, anyway. No, she was, I remember.

“I took a break to watch your boy fight. He was fucking awesome, by the way. When I came back, I think I saw her get in the car with some guy, not sure if it was her, though. This girl was wearing green shorts but with a large white tee shirt over top.”

Walking back to the locker room, I fish through Rian’s bag, finding all of her
belongings—cell phone, wallet, house keys and street clothes. There’s no way she’d leave all this behind. Not for anything. I run back to the bouncer, determined to get answers.

“You got security cameras?” I ask, desperate for answers.

“They stopped working a few weeks ago, sorry, man.”

Pacing the hallway, I search for any sign of Rian, not finding anything to give me any indication of why she left, especially without any of her stuff. Zan and I wait around in the locker room until all of the fights are finished, which ends up being over an hour and a half, with no sign of Rian.

What the fuck?

My blood’s boiling. I can’t believe she’d do this shit again. Isn’t it bad enough that she left me once before without a word, but to do it again
?

Zan and I are both ushered out of the arena just before midnight so they can close up. I grab Rian’s stuff, throwing it inside my truck as I speed toward the apartment and Zan heads home with promises of calling me if he hears anything from her. I pull into the parking lot, almost grazing every car as I search for an open spot.

I have to make myself put the key in the lock and not kick the door down when I reach it. I’m praying that she’s lying in bed and was too tired to spend the rest of the night at the fights. She just needed to get home to rest and someone gave her a ride.

Stomping into the bedroom, everything’s the same as we left it.
The anger inside me needs a release and the closest thing to me is the bedroom door. Punching it with everything I have inside me, the wood splinters under my knuckles and the hinges crackle with the added pressure. The physical pain in my hand’s almost enough to drown out the emotional pain.

How could she leave me again? Haven’t I given her everything she always wanted?

The moment my mom told me she needed to be picked up from jail and I saw her that night, I knew that she was it for me. Jaime would never have been able to live in the shadow of Rian. She’s my soul mate, and I knew it when I was thirteen … eighteen … shit, I’d known it all along.

The vibrating in my pocket distracts me from the pain in my hand. With my opposite hand, I dig out my phone and see an unknown number calling. I waste no time answering.

“Rian. Is that you?” I ask, waiting to hear her voice.

“No, sir. This is Kimberly, head nurse at Lexington General. I’m looking for Garrett Rhodes. Is this the correct number?”

“Yes, this is Garrett. What’s going on?” My heart hammers behind my ribcage waiting for her answer. Did Rian leave with someone who hurt her? I flex my injured hand, needing the physical pain until she tells me why I’m being called from the hospital.

“A young woman was brought into the ER this evening. Her name is Rian Fields and you’re listed as her emergency contact.”

With the phone lodged between my shoulder and ear, I grab the keys to my truck and bolt out the door, taking the steps two, maybe three, at a time.

“I’m on my way. What happened?”

“All I can release over the telephone is that Ms. Fields was involved in a car accident and is in serious condition.”

Standing just outside the driver’s side door,
I barely have time to end the call and shove the phone in my front pocket before my stomach lurches, expelling everything, plus some disgusting acidic fluid straight onto the concrete. I wipe the corners of my mouth with my hand and carefully step over the vomit and pull out of the parking lot the same way I pulled in, only this time it’s not anger, it’s pure terror.

What the hell’s going on? Car accident?
My stomach churns again, but I’m able to push down the urge to pull over and vomit. There’s no time for that, I have to get to her.

I speed through town, paying no attention to the traffic signals. Wringing my hands on the steering wheel, my fingers anxiously tap in a quick, uneven rhythm when my truck won’t go as fast as I need
it to. Nearing the hospital, I follow the signs around toward the back where the giant red sign indicating Emergency Room is located. Pulling into the ambulance bay, I fly out of the truck, throwing my keys at the security guard who’s yelling at me for parking in a restricted zone. Not paying him any mind, I keep moving to the nurses’ station.

The small,
blonde-haired woman sitting behind the computer looks up at me and the fear in her eyes is unmistakable. I must look like some kind of maniac, I just don’t care. The only thing on my mind is getting to Rian and making sure she’s safe.

“Rian Fields,” I blurt out, trying not to scream. As the words escape my lips and the nurse flinches, I know my efforts failed.

“Yes, I’m Kimberly. I spoke with you on the phone. Let me take you back to her.” She quickly stands from her chair, walks around the desk and starts moving quickly down the hallway with me hot on her heels.

We pass by multiple rooms, all filled with a sick or injured person in a bed and family surrounding them. All the while, the love of my life is lying in a bed alone and probably scared. If I knew where I was going, I would run circles around Kimberly. As we
approach the epicenter, where many nurses and doctors are gathered, Kimberly nods and a man in a white coat returns the gesture. Walking the length of the work station, he meets us at the end and Kimberly stops just before him.

“Dr. Gill, this is Mr. Rhodes, Ms. Fields
’s emergency contact. He came as soon as I called.” The doctor nods again, face solemn, and escorts me to the room at the end of the corridor. Stopping just outside the door, he turns to face me and explains the situation.

“Rian was brought in about half an hour ago. There was a bad wreck just off I-75
. The car she was in crashed into a semi parked on the side of the road, probably to avoid the fog. The semi truck’s driver is fine, a few cuts and scrapes. The driver of Rian’s vehicle was not on the scene when emergency responders arrived. Your friend’s in very bad shape.” I shove my hands in my pockets, trying my hardest to not wrap every digit around his throat and squeeze until he spits out exactly what’s wrong with Rian.

“We’re waiting on an orthopedic attending to come down and consult
on her case, but it looks like she’ll lose her arm at the elbow. There’s just too much damage to correct. The passenger side of the vehicle took the hardest hit. Her vitals are stable, she’s unconscious, but doing okay other than her hand and a few deeper lacerations.”

Lose her arm? How did any of this happen and where the hell is the driver? How does someone just disappear after a car accident? If Rian’s injured this badly, how is he able to just walk away without any damage?

“There’s nothing you can do to save her arm? Rian’s an MMA fighter. She can’t do that with only one arm. There has to be something. Pins and rods, something. I was in the service; I’ve seen guys get damn near blown to bits and put back together.”

“Well, son, that’s why we have an ortho coming down to assess. From all my experience in emergency medicine, I’ve never seen someone take on the injury that Rian has and be able to keep the arm. Every bone is broken, more than broken, they’re shattered. Blood flow is also a problem we’re dealing with. We’ll know more in the next hour, I’m just preparing you for the worst.”

He brings his hand down on my shoulder, squeezing lightly, and
nudges me toward the door. If she would have only stayed at the venue and let me take her home, this would have never happened.

“I have to warn you, Mr. Rhodes, she’s got a lot of equipment in there. Her hand is in traction until ortho decides on a treatment plan. I’ve also called the police to interview her once she’s awake, probably after surgery. I have reason to believe she was unconscious even before the accident. Some of her injuries don’t
coincide with a healthy, able-bodied person being involved in a MVA.”

“Okay, I understand. Can I go in now?” I don’t really understand anything. I just need to get to her, see her, see for myself that even with her injuries, she’s alive and breathing.

Dr. Gill opens the door, ushering me inside, but doesn’t enter with me. He must be able to see the anguish on my face and the fear radiating off my body. I just have to have a few moments before I’ll be able to breathe again.

Kneeling beside her bed, I rest my head next to her uninjured hand and fight back the tears that want to spill. Rian needs me to be strong and if she wakes up for some reason and sees me crying, she’ll break. I need to be her rock, no matter how hard it is. I have to be the person that keeps her centered.

Oh God, this is hard. Blinking my eyes repeatedly, the overwhelming emotion starts to stream down my face. Burying my face in the blanket, I allow the tears to flow, at least while she’s asleep.
When she’s awake it’ll be different
, I tell myself.

Deciding it’s late and I don’t know what the specialist is going to say, I wait to let my mom know. She’ll be mad in the morning, but until
I have more information, there’s no reason to wake her and wrestle with the decision of driving in the middle of the night. She’ll be terrified, but will do it for Rian. She’d do anything for Rian.

In the middle of my prayers, a different doctor walks into the room, announcing his name, something long and foreign that even after I
hear it, I still can’t pronounce it. On the opposite side of Rian’s bed, he examines her arm and hand. With the slight sag in his shoulders and purse of his lips, I know he’s come to the conclusion that Rian’s arm is beyond saving.