Sneak Attack (17 page)

“It’s okay. We’re on edge too.”

“I apologize if my arrival added to your discomfort,” my mother said stiffly, setting the tea down without taking a drink.

“No, it’s not that.” Glancing at me, Mia laughed awkwardly. “I have a fight this Friday and we’re getting back into training this week.”

I barely resisted a smile. That was Mia’s way of politely sticking her nose up at my mother. She knew my mother didn’t approve of me fighting, so she definitely didn’t think my girlfriend should. That wasn’t something classy women did.

Mia, in her own, overtly polite way, had no problem flaunting exactly who she was to my mother. As much as I hated Mia getting back into the cage, right then I had nothing but pride for my girl.

She was who she was, take her or leave her.

“You’re fighting again?” My mother’s gaze swung from Mia to me. “Both of you?”

“Just her.” I grabbed a seat on the coffee table and pretended not to see my mother’s lip curl. It was a toss-up whether it was from my choice of seating or news of Mia’s new fight. “I’m training her to fight for some likely mafia types who probably want her dead because she cold-cocked one in the mouth for talking shit.” I cracked my knuckles at their audible inward breaths. “Any other questions?”

“Subtlety was never his strong suit,” my mother said, shaking her head as she lifted the tea again and took a tentative sip.

“No kidding.”

I let them share a moment of fond smiles at my brutish behavior then cocked an eyebrow. “You’re welcome to stay here for a few nights, but we’ll have to figure something out after that.”

A large part of me expected her to say no. Staying in Mia’s tiny apartment was where the rubber would meet the road for a fussy type like my mother. If she consented to moving in, even temporarily, chances were good this was more serious than any other of the times that had come before.

“I appreciate the offer.” She fiddled with the tea bag. “I’m sorry to put you to any trouble.”

My shocked gaze connected with Mia’s. Did that mean she was staying?

“It’s no trouble,” Mia replied quickly, shrugging at my raised eyebrow.

At least one of us had manners.

“Trayherne? Do you agree?”

I bristled at my mother’s usage of my full name. “Yeah, sure. Whatever.”

“Ignore him,” Mia said, taking the tea to set it on the coffee table beside my hip. “Let me show you to the bedroom so you can get settled. I’m sorry, I can only empty out one drawer for you.”

I could only imagine which lucky drawer that would be. It was probably mine.

“Oh, I can find my own way there—” Catching my narrow-eyed expression, my mother quickly changed her tune. “On the other hand, maybe I should do it now. Thank you, Mia.”

“It’s no trouble,” Mia said again, casting a disapproving glance at me over her shoulder as she hustled my mother down the hall.

I locked my fingers behind my neck and tipped back my head. This was good news. She’d refused to stay the other day, but she was back now. She was here.

And if she’d only stayed the other day when I asked, Friday night at the club never would’ve happened. Mia decking Lorenzo never would’ve occurred. I wouldn’t have to watch the woman I loved walk into a ring, knowing once that door was opened again, it would never be fully closed. Knowing it down to the marrow of my bones.

So, no, I wasn’t ready to whip out the ticker tape parade. We were going to have to deal with my father tomorrow, and that was just the beginning of a difficult week. I couldn’t say with any certainty whether my mother would be around at the end of it.

The buzzer rang and I groaned. Jesus Christ, we couldn’t catch a break.

I went to the intercom. “There’s no more room at the inn. Keep walking.”

“Nice, bro.” Slater’s laughter made me do a doubletake. “Let me up?”

“Why are you here? We’re supposed to be on the way to your place.”

“Yeah, well, you aren’t, are you? Open the farking door.”

That was my best friend, the non-swearer. How we’d ever found an inch of common ground in between his motivational tapes and granola smoothies, I’d never understand.

I hit the release and held open the door, waiting for him to bound up the stairs three at a time as was his usual way. He never walked when he could run.

“You lost, son?” I said when he emerged at the top of the stairs, a large wrinkled brown sack in his hand. “If you think you’re moving in, think again.”

“You wish. Your grumpy ass couldn’t handle my sunny personality twenty-four/seven.” He thumped my gut and stopped in the doorway to the apartment. “Damn, something smells good. Carly’s been baking again, hasn’t she? I love that girl.”

“She’d be better for you that the assortment of chicks you insist on shacking up with.” As soon as I’d said it, I wanted to sew my mouth closed. My best friend and Mia’s sister together…no.

Though it was way better than some other potential pairings. Like, say, Carly and the mafia dude in training, or whatever the hell he was.

“Not shacked up now,” he said easily. “And hello, you can talk. Mr. Living In Sin.”

“A lot of sin,” I said, walking into the apartment and shutting the door behind us. “So where is the new chick? And again, why are you here?”

“She’s got a stomach thing. And Liam and Abs bailed to paint her new apartment, so I figured I’d come to you guys instead of the other way around. I knew you’d be running late, because hello, I know these things.”

“I was not running late. Mia was late.”

“Was not,” she called from down the hall. “Hey Slater. Be right out. Have a cookie.”

“Oh sure. He can have a cookie,” I mumbled, sprawling on the sofa.

Slater brought back two cookies and sat down beside me, biting in. “Oh God. That girl. Can I marry her?”

“No.” I snatched the other cookie out of his hand. “I hope you came over prepared to discuss strategy. We need to hammer out Mia’s training routine tonight. I’m going to ask her to take the week off from the bar—”

“I’m not taking the week off, Fox.”

I rolled my eyes. “Christ, stop eavesdropping and finish playing Miss Manners, will you?”

“I see domestic harmony reigns here as always.” Slater grinned and flicked crumbs off his fingers. The bastard had sucked down that cookie like a vacuum. “Who’s she playing Miss Manners for?”

“My mother,” I mouthed, and his eyes went wide.

“No shit.” Slater craned his neck to try to see down the hall into the mouth of hell—also known as where my mother would be bedding down for the next who knows how long. “She’s here?”

“Yeah. She’s sort of moving in temporarily.”

He glanced back at me and lowered his voice. “Does that mean…she and your dad…?”

“I don’t know what it means.” That was God’s truth. “All I know is that I’m sleeping in a bag tonight and I’m not in the mood for your cheerful shit. So let’s get down to it, okay?”

“Don’t worry, I came prepared.” He dumped out the sack on the cushion between us and grinned as if he’d laid a fortune at my feet. His fortune just happened to be old school cassette tapes, protein bars, bottled smoothies and fight DVDs. “We’ll eat, then figure out how to attack this.” He held up a DVD. “Found some footage of your Brit. She’s good.”

“She’s not me.”

I glanced over at Mia, who was standing between the living room and kitchen with her arms crossed. “No, she’s not, but she can still beat you unless we work you hard.”

“So work me then. Standing right here.”

“Hot,” Slater declared, and I kicked his leg, making him laugh.

“We’ll eat dinner first,” I said as my mother appeared behind Mia. “Then we’ll strategize for tomorrow.”

“Why wait for tomorrow? The Cage is twenty-four hours. Let’s go there tonight.”

“You have an early appointment tomorrow,” I reminded her, not wanting to mention her therapist’s name out loud. Not that Slater wouldn’t be cool about it, but I could only imagine my mother’s reaction to Mia needing counseling. Ridiculous, really, because she did as well, and I probably did too if I was being honest.

Not tonight.

She averted her gaze. “I moved it to next week. Figured we had enough on our plates this week, and Carly’s starting school Monday…”

I got up and walked around the sofa, well aware of the eyes focused on us. But it didn’t stop me from tipping up her face and making her gaze meet mine. “We can make the time.”

Something flickered through her expression. A question. She was wondering if that meant I’d go too. I didn’t have an answer.

“Next week.” She smiled and stepped away. “So who’s ready for dinner?”

I watched her walk into the kitchen and start unwrapping everything Carly and I had so carefully put together. Her shoulders were lifted, her spine straight. She was back to the Mia who’d challenged me to a fight last winter. The girl I loved with all my heart.

I just couldn’t tell if that was a step forward or back.

“
H
ave a seat
, Mia.”

I sat and cast a nervous glance at Tray, who took the seat beside me in front of Elliott Knox’s glass and chrome desk. The office was austere and remote, much like the man himself.

To prepare myself for this meeting, I’d showered off the sweat from three hours of training that morning and swapped my bike shorts and tank for a simple black skirt and black top. It was the same outfit I’d worn to my father’s funeral. This was also the only skirt I owned.

Carly would be horrified.

I cleared my throat. “Thank you for looking into this matter, Sir.”

Elliott didn’t look up from the paperwork he was reviewing. He was wearing his gold wire-rimmed glasses, and he appeared more like a professor than my conception of a lawyer. Not that I knew many. Okay, any. My crowd consisted of bartenders and brawlers.

“You realize my specialty is medical malpractice.”

“I do, Sir.”

Tray leaned forward, not as willing as I was to play this particular game. “Did you find out anything or not?”

“Always impatient, aren’t you, Trayherne?” His father took off his glasses, set them on his blotter. “Though I have to applaud your choice of girlfriends, since yours is apparently a very wealthy woman.”

I let out the breath that had been caught in my chest all day. Hell, all weekend since I’d read that article online. “So it’s true.”

“It’s true. I did some checking around behind the scenes, and verified that the bulk of money is being held in trust for you until the age of twenty-five.”

Stunned, I glanced at Tray. He was staring back at me. “Why wasn’t I ever told about it?”

“The trust is bogus. Your aunt has been drawing from it as your guardian and still continues to do so, long after you’ve left her care.” He folded his hands over the papers. “I’m not sure how she managed it, but she set up a trust that was official looking enough to appease the courts after the settlement was reached, but it’s not legal. It’s not real. She’s been depleting the money all this time.”

“So it’s almost gone.” I gripped the arms of my chair. I wasn’t sure how to feel about that. I didn’t want the money, didn’t know what to do with it, but it had been mine.

It was blood money, yes, and a sort of profit from the darkest days of my life. But that payment had been granted in my name, and I hadn’t even been given the option of deciding what to do with it.

“I said the bulk remains in the account. From what I can tell, your aunt is a frugal woman, though I’m not a litigator, not a private investigator. There is much I’m not privy to.”

Words. He was saying words, but in my head they were translating to
blah-blah-blah
.

“How much money?” Tray asked, his voice only slightly less tinny than his father’s. It was as if they were talking at the other end of a long tunnel.

“Over two million.” He consulted his notes. “Approximately two-point-three—”

That was the last thing I heard before my head was between my knees and Tray was crouching beside me, rubbing my back. “Breathe, baby. Just breathe.”

“I’m fine.” I was. Mostly. Just a little lightheaded and a lot confused.

How could I have gone from being a struggling bartender and occasional trainer to a millionaire?

That kind of thing didn’t happen to girls like me.

Just like getting a guy like Tray. He wasn’t supposed to fall for you either, was he?

I hated that voice in my head. Nothing ever drowned it out.

“Here, have some water.” Tray pushed a plastic cup at me and cupped the back of my head, helping me drink. I nudged him back and drained the cup, squeezing it in my fist so the last few drops squeezed over my funeral wear.

I’d buried my father in this skirt, and now I was burying the girl I’d been yesterday. The one who had to struggle for every nickel and dime.

Who’d never felt good enough to play with the big kids.

“Are you okay to stand?”

Blankly, I looked up at Tray. Why was he herding me out so fast?

Then I glanced at his father, and realized we were sitting in a viper’s den as far as Tray was concerned. He’d gone along with this visit because of me. Now that I’d gotten the info I needed, he wanted us to get out of there.

I couldn’t blame him. I wasn’t sure my legs would support me right now, but I couldn’t blame him.

Nodding, I pushed out of the chair. The room wavered a bit but I was mostly steady. Until Tray’s father rose as well and I glimpsed the malice on his face, directed squarely at his son.

“That’s it then. You use me for your ends and then you dismiss me as if I’m your servant.” He tapped his fingers on the edge of his mile-wide desk. “That’s how we’re playing things now?”

Tray ignored him. He took my elbow and brushed a kiss across my forehead. “Ready?”

Swallowing hard, I nodded and cast a quick look at his father. “Thank you for your help.”

I didn’t know where I was supposed to go from here. Was I supposed to get an attorney to represent my interests? Would I have to sue my aunt to get the money that was rightfully mine? God, I didn’t want to do that. I didn’t want to deal with any of this.

Elliott didn’t appear to hear me. His focus remained solely on Tray. “So Sarabeth is staying with you. I’m surprised there’s enough room. How many people are staying in that closet? A half dozen?”

The corner of Tray’s mouth lifted in a hint of a smile. “Guess we’ll be able to afford more than a closet now, huh?”

For some unknown reason, that struck me as hilarious. I let out a giggle and then covered my mouth in horror. “Sorry,” I muttered.

Guess no matter how much money I had, I would always specialize in inappropriate reactions and awkward behavior. Twas my gift.

“You know if you end up having to bring suit about this money, you’re going to have to relive it all. It will all be dragged through the papers again.”

This time, Elliott was speaking to me. Coldly.

“I’m not bringing suit,” I said, though I wasn’t sure what I’d do. Too much was whirling through my head.

“Let’s go.” Tray nudged me forward with his arm around my waist.

“It’s easy to look down your nose at your parents when you’re a kid who’s never faced a real trial in his life. You’ve been shielded from everything, yet you stand in judgement of me.”

Tray stiffened, but the arm around my back remained gentle. “You know what I was never shielded from?” He stared straight ahead, at a place I couldn’t see. “From the sounds of you hitting my mother. From the bruises on her face. No one shielded me from that, and I’m glad for it. Because I know I’ll never be like you, no matter what happens.”

Though it felt like I was moving through syrup, I walked with him to the door. I kept waiting for his father to say something more, to try to defend the indefensible.

He never did.

We headed out of the building and crossed the parking lot to Tray’s ‘Vette without saying anything. The ride home was just as quiet.

I didn’t know what to say, about any of it. So much was changing. Between us, outside of us. The ground beneath our feet felt as solid as quicksand.

He was my anchor, and now he was swinging too.

Once he’d stopped the car outside my building and turned off the ignition, I closed my hand around his on the keys. “You’re nothing like him.”

Bowing his head, he didn’t reply.

So I continued fumbling my way through the dark, because he did the same for me, over and over again.

“You’re angry at her for staying with a man who hurt her. I’ve put that much together, even without knowing all the pieces. But she found the strength to leave. Finally.” I sucked in a breath. Telling him my truth hurt every damn time. “Sometimes it’s easier to stay in hell than it is to risk it’ll be any better on the outside of it.”

His head lifted and his gorgeous blue eyes seared mine. “You fought your way out. You didn’t stay. You were fourteen.” He laughed bitterly. “She’s forty-four.”

“I could’ve tried to get away sooner than I did. Yes, he used Carly as a weapon, but it wasn’t only fear that kept me there. He worked on my head, convinced me I was nothing without him. That I couldn’t survive on my own. A part of me thought I really did need him.”

“That’s Stockholm—”

“Don’t spout syndromes at me. I’m telling you the reality. You’re so strong, and I’m glad for it. But you can’t blame someone else for being weak, when they don’t know how to be anything else.”

“You’re the strongest person I know. I’ll keep telling you that until you believe it.” He grabbed the sides of my head and pressed a kiss to my forehead that felt like a benediction. “God, if only I had a quarter of your strength. Then I wouldn’t hate her for loving him, even though I still do too. I can’t stand it, but goddammit, he’s my father.”

“I know.” I gripped his wrist and held on. “Baby, I know.”

He shut his eyes for a moment. Two. When he opened them again, they were clearer. “We have work, then we’re going back to the gym. You doing okay?”

Such an innocuous question. I felt another laugh bubbling up, but I squelched it by reminding myself the conversation I would have to have with my aunt was far from funny. My amusement wasn’t arising from true humor anyway.

More from the absolute what-the-fuck that consisted of my life.

“I’m good,” I told him, and it was only partially a lie. Like some of the other things I hadn’t shared with him lately.

My caller hadn’t made contact this morning. I wasn’t naïve enough to think that maybe that phase was over. Instead I was wondering from which angle they’d come at me next.

“You sure?” His lips twitched. “Ms. Millionaire.”

“Don’t even start.” But I was smiling back when I touched my mouth to his. For an instant, everything faded away. The incessant honking outside the car, the street noises, the bustle of life in the city that never even napped, never mind slept.

There were just warm lips, and soft sighs, and the fact that I loved and was loved in return.

I couldn’t ask for anything more.

“I gotta go to work, baby,” he said, sighing as he pulled back. He trailed his hand over my hair. “Don’t wanna. Would rather go curl up in our bed and—”

I grinned. “Don’t you mean our sleeping bag?”

“I don’t mind curling up there either.” His eyebrow waggle was nothing short of lascivious.

Laughing, I eased back. “Go to work, sex maniac. I’ll see you later.”

He nodded, waiting a beat. Then he said the words I was waiting for, the ones I knew were coming. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” I said, scrambling out of the car and shutting the door on his laughter.

So I hadn’t mastered the romantic version of the statement yet. At least I could say it now. Occasionally.

I went upstairs to our apartment and found a note from Tray’s mom. She was following a lead on a job and would be back later. I smiled, setting it aside. Good for her. I didn’t know if she’d ever worked outside the home, so this was a big step for her. Lots of big steps, all stacking up at once.

Tray wasn’t ready to believe that she was really making a clean break this time, but I was trying to have enough faith for both of us.

After I doublechecked I hadn’t missed a text from Carly about how school was going—I hadn’t—I sat down on the couch and debated what to do with my rare couple hours of free time before work. Tray normally would’ve had class tonight after his shift, but he was blowing it off to help me train. I’d tried to dissuade him, and it had worked about as well as my attempts to dissuade him usually did.

Unless sex was involved, most of the time I struck out.

I tugged his laptop onto my lap, intending just to mindlessly surf a bit. I needed to chill for a while and not think about anything. Just veg. Maybe I’d go on YouTube and watch some cat videos. They were usually good for a laugh.

The news ticker at the side of Tray’s browser homepage caught my eye.

Bronx girl, 8, missing for three days. Family seeks public’s help.

That was the last thing I should click on. Even knowing it didn’t stop me. That article drew me like people were drawn to stare at car crashes. The awfulness was exactly what made it impossible to ignore.

Biting my lip, I clicked and read.

The eight-year-old, Miranda, had been playing in her front yard while her mother took care of the baby inside. Her mother hadn’t been gone for more than a few moments, just long enough to change her son’s diaper. By the time she returned, little Miranda was gone, her bicycle’s wheels still spinning in the gutter where she’d dropped it.

Neighbors had seen a brown van pulling away from the scene. A balding man behind the wheel. Nondescript. Jersey plates.

Three days she’d been gone. Long enough for unspeakable horrors to transpire, while she was still alive to transcribe them for others to cry and whisper over. Or they might become locked in her own head, never to escape.

She could be dead. Could be worse than dead. Three days was a lifetime. I knew that better than anyone.

Before I knew what I was doing, I followed another link.
Click here for more stories of missing children.
The page loaded, full of faces. Some smiling, some serious, all far too young. Most would be changed irreparably if they came back from what they’d lived through.

Some wouldn’t come back at all.

I couldn’t stop clicking. So many stories. I couldn’t digest them all. Sometimes I found my way to a survivor’s story. That’s what we were called.

Victims who became survivors. Endurers. There should be another word. I didn’t want to just survive any longer.

I wanted to live.

An article about a seventeen-year-old named Lainey Peterson caught my eye. She’d been taken on her way to school one day when she was thirteen. She’d stepped off the school bus just feet from her school, but it had been too far. Her backpack strap had broken off and she’d been the last one off the bus because she tried to fix it. She’d lagged at the back of the pack of kids, and a man had been waiting.

She’d been imprisoned for six weeks, raped and beaten repeatedly. Until one day he’d just let her off on a street in downtown Chicago, far from her home in Champaign. She’d wandered in circles, not knowing where to go or how to tell people what she’d lived through.