Tough Enough (26 page)

My pounding heart soars.

As though Calvin is nothing more than the trash Rogan referred to, he drops him unceremoniously onto the floor and steps closer to me. His emerald eyes stare unflinchingly down into my face. “I’d rather die than watch you date Calvin Sims
.
I’m tough as hell and I’ve survived a lot in my life, but I wouldn’t be tough enough to survive that. I couldn’t stand it. I just . . . I couldn’t.”

His voice is raw with emotion and I feel belated tears well in my eyes.

“Then, Rogan, please tell me there’s another way. Tell me that he won’t win. I can’t bear to see him hurt you. They’ve taken so much already. From me, from you. I can’t give them anything else.”

His lips spread into a thin, sad smile. “They won’t take anything else from you. You have my word.”

The statement sounds final. Definite.

“Wh-what are you going to do?”

“Something that could make you hate me. Something that you can’t be a part of. But something that has to be finished. The Senator has done things. To you. To me. To the brothers I served with in the Army. We did a lot of covert ops. Things I can’t talk about. Things the Senator shouldn’t have ordered. Now he’s trying to cover his tracks. He’s having people targeted. Assassinated.
My
people.”

I had no idea that Special Forces meant . . . this. The room has narrowed to a tunnel that extends from Rogan’s eyes to mine and contains only the sound of his voice and the blood rushing behind my ears. Part of me thinks that I should be outraged, shocked. Afraid. But the rest of me . . .
most of me . . .
wants this, wants to be rid of him for good.

And knowing that Rogan is one of the men who has sacrificed so much for his country, for those he loves, for
me . . .
well, I could never hate him for that. Only love him more.

As if on cue, my heart swells with it, threatening to rip me open with the pressure of it inside my chest.

“I . . . I could never hate you, Rogan.”

“It would kill me if you did, but I won’t lie to you. I would never disrespect you like that. That’s why I’m telling you. Senator Sims is guilty of war crimes, Katie, and he’ll pay. It’s the way it has to be.”

“And Calvin?”

“I’ve got plans for him, too.”

I nod. I don’t know what else to do. Or to say. I want this. Even though it may not change things between Rogan and me, he’ll be free. And so will I. At least we’ll have that.

He backs away, bending slowly to throw Calvin the Trash over his shoulder and turn back toward the door. Things feel so . . . unfinished between us that I want to ask him to stay. But I know he can’t. And maybe he shouldn’t. But I want him to anyway.

“Rogan?”

He swivels to look back at me, a crooked smile twisting his lips. “I love you, Katie. I think I always have.”

And with that, he walks right out the door and into the night, leaving me staring after, out into the inky darkness.

Rogan

If I’d been a few minutes later, Katie could be dead. She was reliving parts of her worst nightmare, had gotten herself into a shitty mess, for me. She did that all for me. Hating them as she does, hating what I do as she does—as she has every right to—she was considering walking right back into that world to save me. She’d risk everything for me.

I know what I have to do next. What I
want
to do next. For her. All for her.

After I take care of this piece of shit
, I think, throwing Sims’s limp body into the back of my rented SUV and slamming the door shut. After I climb behind the wheel and start the engine, I dial Jasper’s number. He’s at a small airstrip for private planes on the outskirts of Enchantment. We all flew in separately, but our destination (as well as our mission) is the same.

He answers the phone with a question. “Do you have him?”

“I’ve got him. I’ll make the call.”

“Tag just checked in. He’s at the airport.”

“On my way to the location. He’ll be there when you arrive. My flight is booked.”

“I’ll let you know when we’re in the air.”

“I’ll be waiting. Be careful,” I tell him.

“Check.”

And with that the line goes dead. I start my drive through the dark and deserted streets of Enchantment.

The three of us devised a plan for taking care of the Senator. He thinks he’s untouchable because of who he is, but he obviously forgot who
we
are—three men who were handpicked and trained by the government to move under the radar, to strike with silence and leave no traces. Removing threats is what we do. Or used to anyway. And Senator Sims is a threat. A murderer. On his order, lives were taken. All for his own gain. Some for money, as with Assad’s second-in-command, and some to save his own ass, as with Reid and Jasper’s mother. Senselessly, ruthlessly. Criminally. And there are consequences for those kinds of actions.

Even if you’re a sitting senator for the United States of America.

Because of my public association with the Senator and now my association with his son through Katie, I can’t be involved more than getting Calvin to the pickup spot. From there, Jasper and Tag will take care of them. Or, more likely, just Jasper. He’s the only one still in the game. Plus, his mother was killed as a result of all this. We all lost our friend, but he lost even more. And I wouldn’t want to get in the way of his . . . reckoning. It’s the only thing he can do for his mom at this point.

We all have to do what’s best for us, for the people we love, which makes me think of Katie. Again.

She’s chosen to live a quiet life, one as far from violence as she can get, and I feel like I’ve brought everything she’s tried to escape
right back to her door. How could I ever ask her to be with me when what I do reminds her of such painful times?

I couldn’t.

I won’t.

But I don’t want to live without her either. I’ve only got one choice as far as I can see, but it’s an easy one when she’s on the other side of it. Nothing is as important to me as Katie, and with Senator Sims out of the way, I’m free to do whatever I have to in order to win her back.

And that’s what I’m going to do.

I dial Johns to let him know that I still plan to fight in Vegas on Sunday.

When the light turns green, I make a hard right to turn into the only gas station in town. I buy a plastic gas can and fill it up before getting back on the road. As I pull out of the lot, I wake my phone and punch in the number of Senator Sims.

“What is it?” comes the gruff voice that says I’m interrupting.

“It’s Rogan,” I announce flatly. Already, satisfaction is unrolling in my stomach, like butterfly wings from a caterpillar’s cocoon. “I’ve got your son in the back of my car. He’s unconscious, and in about fifteen minutes, he’s going to be strapped naked to a tree in a very public park. And then doused in gasoline. I hope you can get here before I put a match to his dick at dawn.”

I hang up and drop my phone in the cup holder, expecting it to ring back any second. And it does. But I ignore it.

I pull into the lot of the park I met Katie at. I figure it’s poetic that he’ll get a little, teeny-tiny bit of what’s coming to him in a place that brings Katie so much joy. I’m not going to burn him alive. That would ruin the plan. I will, however, put the fear of God in him. I will make him sweat, make him wonder. Give him a few hours of pure emotional hell, wondering if he’s going to burn to death, naked in a public park.

I cut the engine and walk around to the back of the vehicle, opening the hatch. Sims is waking up, rolling his head from side to side, moaning. I lean in and punch him in the jaw, putting him out for a few more minutes.

I grab his ankles and haul him toward me with a functional yank. I don’t give a damn what I hurt or how sore this bastard is. The more he hurts, the better.

I toss him over my shoulder and slam the hatch shut before I carry him to a tree near the area where I purposely ran into Katie that evening. It was the first time I tasted those sweet lips.

I drop Sims in a heap at the base of the big oak and I set about taking off his clothes. Shoes and socks first, pants next. He’s going commando, which saves me from the unpleasant task of taking off his underwear.

“Thanks for making it easy on me, asswipe,” I mutter to the unconscious man.

Next, I take off his shirt and work on tying the long sleeves to his pants legs. I use his belt to restrain his hands behind his back before propping him up against the tree. Then I use his clothes to tie him to it. There’s no way in hell he’s getting out of this when he wakes up.

I stand back to admire my handiwork before I return to the parking lot for the gasoline can. I take it to the tree and wait for Sims to regain consciousness. It only takes about ten minutes for him to rouse. When he does, I slap his cheek a few times to help him focus.

“Got something to tell you, shit-for-brains. You listening?” I ask. I stand and kick the bottom of his bare foot. When he opens his eyes and sees me, I uncap the gas can. I want him to see. I want him to know. I want him to fear.

“I-I’m listening,” he says, still addled.

“Good. Can you tell me what this is?”

I start at his head, dumping about a half gallon of gas onto his upper body. He sputters for a few seconds and shakes his head. I know the instant he makes the connection. His eyes open back up, wide and terrified. I can see the understanding, even in the low light of the full moon. That’s when he starts to scream.

“What are you doing? What the hell are you doing? Hellllp!”

“Hey!” I say, kicking his foot again. “No one can hear you. The best thing you can do for yourself is commit to memory every word I’m about to say.”

He’s panting, struggling against his restraints. I pour another couple of splashes of gasoline on him, letting it run down his chest, and then douse his junk real good. He screams again when the cold liquid runs down between his legs. I can only imagine what he’s thinking.

It’s probably pointless to talk to him. Chances of him actually making it out of the next twelve hours alive are slim. But I’m going to say my piece anyway. For Katie.

“This is for Katie Rydale. No amount of suffering is enough, but this is a good start.”

“What are you going to do?” he wails, panicked.

“Do you really have to ask?”

I take out a pack of matches and toss them up into the air, catching them and stuffing them back into my pocket. His eyes watch my every move, getting wider by the second.

“Oh shit, oh shit! You can’t do this! You can’t do this to me! You know who my father is! He’ll have your ass if you do this!”

“Will he? Because I don’t think even Daddy can save you this time.”

Even in the dark, I see him turn white as a damn sheet at the coldness of my smile, of my words. He knows I speak the truth.

“Please,” he begs, giving me some small bit of satisfaction.

“I bet you’ve never had to beg for anything, have you? I bet others have, though. Like Katie. I bet she begged for you to stop when you hit her. I bet she would’ve begged for you not to strike that match if you’d given her the chance. But I bet she wouldn’t beg you for a damn thing now, would she?”

I see the piss trickle from the end of his shriveled dick and I spit on the ground beside him. “Yeah, you just think about that. I’ll be back soon. With more gas.”

The pathetic shit starts to cry. “Please, please, please,” he chants.

“Maybe I should leave your fate up to Katie. You think?” I muse aloud, knowing nothing can change the course of events now.

“That bitch!” he spits in furious desperation. “Don’t listen to that bitch! She’s a fuc—”

I kick him square in the jaw, silencing words I have no interest in hearing. He doesn’t deserve to speak them.

“Enough of that, asshole,” I say, dumping the remaining gas on his head, making sure he’s soaked from head to ass. When he’s coming to, already whimpering like a little school-boy bitch, I put a hand in my pocket and walk off, whistling as I swing the gas can.

Back at the parking lot, I pick up my phone. I’ve got fourteen missed calls and two messages. I don’t bother to listen to them. I want Senator Sims to sweat. I just type in a text to my buddies that reads one simple word:
Ready
.

Katie

I’m drifting in that hazy place between sleep and wakefulness. My mind won’t let me rest completely, so I’ve been lying here for hours, thinking. Drifting. Wanting.

The television is playing softly, the bluish light flickering against my closed lids. I’m not concentrating on the words, but the name gets my attention.

I raise my head and glance down at the flat screen. There’s a small corner picture of Senator Sims, and a red banner at the bottom of the screen that reads BREAKING NEWS. Just below that are the words SENATOR AND SON FOUND DEAD IN WRECKAGE OF PLANE CRASH.

I sit up, fully awake now, my eyes wide and my pulse thudding. Am I dreaming? Am I hallucinating?

I stare at the screen, watching for more details. None come. Just that flash of news. Important news. News that could very well change my life.

People all over the country might be mourning their passing. I’m not one of those people. I feel only a sense of intense relief. And vindication. And freedom. I’m finally free. And so is Rogan.

The next thing to flash along the ticker tape at the bottom of the screen is a statement on the crowd’s anticipation of a mixed martial arts fight being held in Vegas tomorrow.

It’s Rogan.

On the one hand, I know I shouldn’t go. Shouldn’t even want to. But on the other hand, I desperately want to see him, to talk to him. To hear him say those three little words again. I want them to change everything.

But is that realistic? Is it possible? Is it possible for me to put the last few years behind me and move forward as yet another different version of myself? Or am I tough enough to embrace all the different parts and live as just me? Scarred yet whole. Free.

There’s only one way to find out, of course. And to do it, I’ll have to be brave. Tough. Tough enough to
live
, not just survive.

For the first time in what feels like a lifetime, I feel like I might be ready for that. Finally ready. Finally strong. Finally tough enough.