Spent - Part Three (Bad Boy Fighter Book 3) (10 page)

“He is. And Dad, I want you to be at our wedding.”

There’s a long silence on the other end. For a second, I think perhaps the phone dropped the call. I glance at the screen, but realize he and I are still connected. That’s when I hear a sniffle.

“Natasha,” my father’s voice is husky as he tries to fight back tears, “I would love that.”

“I don’t want you to walk me down the aisle,” I add in quickly.
 

“I wouldn’t expect you to.”

“Good. I would like you to be there, though. We’re not sure when we’re going to have it yet, but I want you to be there and to be there sober.”

“I won’t miss it and you don’t need to worry about me drinking. I haven’t had a drop of alcohol in nearly a year.”

“Where are you going to be living?”
 

Even though I’m having a hard time forgiving the man, I still can’t handle the thought of my own father bouncing around from hotel room to hotel room, or worse, living on the street. Any of those situations would just hasten his decline and perhaps provoke him to drink again.

“There’s a VA home back where I was staying before coming here to see you. They’ll let me move back into there.”

I let out a sigh of relief, “Good. Do you have a way to get back there?”

A Veterans Affairs home, while I’m sure isn’t the most glorious place to live, is still a far better alternative than what I was afraid he was going to tell me.

“Your mother’s husband has sent me money for a bus to take home.”

“Of course he did,” I chuckle, “Vince is a stand up guy.”

“Your mom needs someone who is good to her. I’m really happy she was able to find him.”

“She did well. He takes very good care of she and I both.”

My father breaths deeply, “I’m happy to hear that. I’m only sad that I couldn’t be the man to do that for you and her.”

“Is this a good number for me to reach you at when I have a date for the wedding?”

I’m not normally this rude and curt with people on the phone, but I really don’t want to get into pleasantries with my father, nor do I want to hear him continuously apologize. He and I have said what we needed to say. I can hopefully now go to bed without that dream haunting me again. And if he dies tomorrow, I’ll at least know that I reached out to him.
 

Beto clears his throat, “Yes, it is. It’s a track phone, but I’m usually able to keep it caught up on payments. Call me anytime.”

“Will do. Take care, Dad.”

“You too, Natasha.”

The phone call ends. I don’t know whether to smile or frown. I know I’ve done the right thing, but it’s still hard to process the fact that I’m trying to have a relationship with the man who beat my mother and I. It’s something that’ll trouble my thoughts for a while, but I do feel as if a load has been lifted from my chest.
 

But now, it’s time to give my man a hug and a kiss for listening to me. It had been so hard to sleep next to him last night, knowing that he was having those kinds of dark thoughts. While I love the fact that he’s so protective of me, knowing that he thinks killing a man could ever be an option leaves me unsettled. My hope is that it was just some fleeting primal reaction, an urge from his past, and not something he would ever consider acting on again.
 

Rising up out of the bed, I don’t bother to put on any clothes. I make my way out of the bedroom and down the hall in nothing but my underwear. I don’t hear Luke making noise anymore, but I’m not worried. He would have needed to have been at the arena hours ago to warm up if he was even considering trying to make it to the fight.

The sudden sound of an engine takes me by surprise.

As I turn the corner in the hall that leads to the living room, my face drops. Through the window I can see Luke’s car pulling out of our driveway. His gloves are up on the dash. My body begins to shake. Turning, I pace towards the dining room. The laundry is connected to it and my clothes are in the dryer.

My mind is spinning. I’m holding on to what little bit of hope I can muster that Luke isn’t going to the fight. Silently, I pray that he’s only driving down to the local gym to burn off some energy.
 

An upright note on the kitchen table catches my eye. It’s in Luke’s handwriting. It’s brief. And it states my worst nightmare.
 

Didn’t want to wake you.
My fight is at eleven. I love you and I’m going to find a way to protect you. Luke.

Wading up the piece of paper, I fling it across the room. Anger, worry, and adrenaline surge through my body all at once. Even though I’m all but naked, I’m sweating from the heat of everything I’m feeling. I thought I knew Luke. I thought he was better than this. The last thing I want is for anybody to
murder
for me, much less the man I love.
 

I rush over to the laundry area and quickly pick out some clothes. My body has taken over, because my mind can no longer handle what is happening. One thing that I can thank my father for is the fact that he helped to teach my body how to run on pure instinct. Right now, my instinct is to rush to the arena as quickly as I can and try to stop Luke.
 

I keep moving through the house, quickly slip on my clothes and gather up my things. It is taking me just a handful of minutes to get everything together, yet I know how Luke can drive and each minute that passes I risk not being able to catch him before he enters the ring.

He’s left the house late on purpose.

As I head out the door to the car, I try to call Luke for the third time, but his phone just rings and rings and goes to voicemail.

Events are quickly slipping out of my grasp, and I feel a fresh wave of anxiety as I turn the key in the ignition.

I turn off the car and quickly rush through the full carpark. There’s hardly five minutes before the fight is supposed to begin.

Rushing towards the trainer’s entrance, I burst through the door. Several people turn to look at me however my eyes land on Big Mike immediately. He motions for me to come towards him. When I reach him, he begins walking towards the arena. I follow beside him.
 

“I tried telling him not to enter the fight,” Mike begins, “But he wouldn’t listen.”

“Where is he?”

“He was headin’ straight in.”

I walk briskly, trying to keep up with Big Mike’s long strides. Luke isn’t anywhere to be seen, and neither is Derrick. My heart sinks as I begin to realize I’m probably too late.
 

“Where’s Baptiste?”

“Ain’t seen him since he arrived a couple hours ago. Been preparing to fight I guess.”

“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath.
 

Now I’m practically running towards the arena. For all his size, Mike manages to pick up his pace well and soon catches up with me. The sound of the announcer’s voice flooding through overhead speakers stings my ears. Tears well up in my eyes.
 

I’m too late.
 

“What the hell’s exactly going on here, Tash?” Mike huffs.
 

I ignore his question and pick up speed.

What can I tell him? My man is planning to murder someone?

“You tryin’ to give a man a heart attack?” Mike mutters, losing ground.

I rush through the arena door and find myself at the back of a crowd in a full house. My eyes widen when I see the fighters already in the cage. They’ve not begun yet, the announcer is still introducing them to riotous applause from the audience.

When I see Derrick’s face, I nearly collapse. I wasn’t expecting the sight of him to have such an effect on me, but I should have known better. My body might appear to be healed, but the man standing beside my future husband has forever scarred me.
 

I need you to stay very fucking still now, baby…

I feel bile rising, and I notice my breathing is full of the fervent beat of my heart.
 

I said, be still!

My hands protectively feel for my clothes, reassuring myself they are still there and not torn violently from my body. Shaking my head, I try to free my mind of his words, and snap myself back into focusing on the task at hand.

My Luke.

Quickly, I turn my focus towards Luke. He looks glazed over like he’d emptied his soul at the door, nothing like he normally looks in the cage. He casts a cold gaze over Derrick’s thin goading smirk.
 

Derrick is too stupid to realize that he should be worried, because Luke… he looks like a man with a nothing to lose in a kill or be killed state of mind, totally unafraid. I’ve only ever seen this ice hard look on his face once before, and that was yesterday, when he revealed his dark plan.
 

The sound of the bell dinging cuts through my mind and explodes the crowd into a cacophony of primal cheering, as it signals the fight to begin.

Leaving a confused Mike behind, I jostle my way through the standing crowd until I’m behind the seated rows, circling the cage. Angry spectators attempt to push me back but I stand firm and they soon return their focus to the action in front of them.

Luke is precise in his approach, moving quickly in towards Derrick, yet staying out of reach of his swings and hooks. And with every opening, Luke is quick to move inside and land crunching punch after punch before stepping away again. I’ve never seen him fight so viciously before. Tears stream down my face as I watch the man I love turn into a monster right before my eyes.
 

It’s horrible and fantastic at the same time. I want to cheer when my man avoids blows expertly and leap for joy when he lands one squarely on my attacker’s face, but knowing Luke's end game, these feelings are hollow and feeding a place of hate within me. I know this hate has the power to destroy both Luke and I, if this is plays all the way out both in the cage, and within me.

I watch, unable to look away. Derrick’s face is covered in his own blood from a cut over his eye. He wipes it away and is struck again. As he staggers back to catch himself I can see the smirk has gone from his face. Doubt and confusion have settled in.

Luke appears to be carefully metering his anger out with a steady wave of blows, not too close together, not too far apart.
 

His plan it seems is to stay just outside the realm of a referee’s call to stop the match. Knowing Derrick, there is no way he’ll submit to Luke. And if Luke keeps letting Derrick find his feet and clear his vision, a referee won’t call it unless Derrick’s injuries are significant, which by the look of things, could be soon.

The volume around me is insane, the taste of bile in my throat sickens me and the stench of sweat and blood hangs like fog in the air.

I hear Stewart yelling instructions to Derrick from the far side of the cage and I’m glad I can’t see him from where I’m standing.

After minutes of brutality, Luke appears to change his demeanor again. Stepping towards Derrick with narrow eyes and copper hair damp from sweat, his muscles tense in readiness. I watch him as he steps around a defensive uppercut and raises his fists quickly.

Derrick has no chance. A symphony of synthetic leather on skin rains down on him. And with every blow it appears the punch is not aimed just for his face, but for all the way through to the back of his head, ferociously weakening Derrick’s consciousness, collapsing his legs and rag dolling his body into a inch from being knocked out completely.

The five minute bell reverberates through an ocean of cheers and yells, fractions of a second before the black void can release him to safety.

A lump forms in my throat as I realize that this too was well timed.

Derrick slumps back in his chair, his face bruised and bleeding, and Stewart and a cutman quickly appear in the cage and by his side. The cutman attends to Derrick with towels, and cotton swabs while Stewart tries to wave away the physician who has come to inspect if Derrick can continue.

“Fucking Stewart,” Mike is beside me and I wonder how long he’s been standing there, “he’ll let his fighters die before they submit.”

I call Luke’s name, but he doesn’t look my way. Whether he hears me, or if my voice is lost in the hundreds of others calling his name, I can’t be sure. He’s just staring ahead waiting, his trainer offering him some water.

The minute is up quickly and the fighters are on their feet again, vascularity in their muscles and drowning in the roar from the crowd.

Derrick’s eyes flick around the arena. As they settle on mine I’m struck by a flashback of terror and I brace myself for his cruel sneer. But the expression on his face is fearful and he quickly looks away again, perhaps afraid to reveal a moment of weakness and the bell rings out signifying the beginning of the next round.

Luke moves in quickly and Derrick’s defence is slow to respond. Within a single minute Derrick’s left side of his face is a blood bath. Despite Luke’s heavy hits, Derrick manages to stay on his feet and move away long enough for there to be a break in the onslaught.

Luke is speaking to Derrick now, while he circles him. It’s impossible to hear the words, but I’m sure I know what it’s about.