Ryder
Savannah, GA
Wednesday night
The crowd was different from Charleston. Edgier, darker, threatening. There was an air of menace pulsing through the throngs of people. Perhaps it was the venue, a dark alley on the streets of Savannah. Or perhaps it was the city itself, the ghosts that were rumored to walk the night, the many skeletons buried under the streets. A city built on its dead.
I was grateful Jolie wouldn’t take the ring that evening. Her “ungodly” bandage had not gone over well with her manager. She’d been commanded to get that thing off before Saturday night. It was a blessing in disguise, as the audience tonight would be brutal. Already people cried out for blood.
I watched as a large man fought with another man half his size. The announcer had called their names before the match. The big guy was known as Igor. No last name. The smaller man’s name was forgettable, Michael or John or something common like that.
Igor bounced from one foot to the other, his back to me. Then he struck, taking the smaller man down with a sweep of his legs. Igor climbed on top and rained fists down onto the smaller man’s face. At first, the man tried to defend himself, but eventually he lay still, his head jerking side to side with each vicious blow. The referees stood back as the crowd screamed for vengeance. “Finish him! Finish him!” was heard throughout the alley. I was momentarily transported to another time, an arena filled with toga-wearing Greeks crying out for death.
“No mercy! No mercy!”
A chill ran up my spine as I watched Igor continue to pummel Michael/John to death. There was no doubt the man was dead. And there was nothing I could do.
Finally, the ref stepped in and lifted Igor’s arm high in the air. The crowd exploded with thunderous applause. And I saw Igor’s face. It was the man who’d tried twice to get Jolie’s attention. The man who’d touched her before I could get to her that night of the tryouts.
His gaze met mine, and he smiled. It was a victorious smile but also one of promise. His blue eyes were almost translucent they were so light, like a white-blue sky on a cloudy day. Eerie, as if he belonged in another world. Igor lifted his chin in acknowledgement and pointed his finger in my direction. His message was clear—I would be next.
I shook off Igor’s taunts, pulling my hood up over my head and jogging in place. I wouldn’t be distracted by his threatening glare. I had a fight to win.
Jolie and I had spent most of yesterday going through images of men that fitted the profile of the man in the green suit. We must have sifted through hundreds of pictures, but none had turned up anything. We still had no leads on who that man was and whether or not he was The Vicar.
And then that day had been about gearing up for the fight. The cut on my face was healing well, the bruising still evident, but the glue seemed to be holding tight. I had a feeling it would open up again, and I’d be adding several more to my collection. Nikolai had to be behind the target I seemed to have on my back, hence the razor blades from the last fight. I wasn’t exactly excited about what he had in store for me.
I hadn’t mentioned my suspicion to Jolie, not yet anyway. She’d freak out if she knew I was willingly putting myself into the ring with a man who didn’t just want to win the fight but possibly wanted to kill me.
I searched the crowd for her. She was standing just outside the ring, her eyes still riveted to the lifeless man lying on the ground.
There was no mat, no true fighting enclosure for this fight—just asphalt and a ring made of pallets lined up in an octagon shape. Being taken to the ground would hurt like hell. I’d have to do my best to stay upright.
Her eyes shot to mine, and I winked, hoping to calm her nerves. It had the opposite effect on her. Jolie’s gaze narrowed, and her hands went to her hips, as if she was trying to communicate her anger at the current situation.
Yeah, I know solnyshko, I know.
It sucked. Big time.
I’d yet to contemplate her words from yesterday: “When all of this is over, we’re going to talk about what’s going on between us.” The desire to believe that something might come of our relationship was overwhelming. But I knew it couldn’t be. And not just because of Nina. I was responsible for her death regardless of what Jolie had said. But it was also because of my dad.
Being a no-good husband ran in the blood. My father had had four wives, including my mother, while I was growing up and was currently living in Vegas with the fifth one. None of them had stayed. For years, I’d thought maybe it was me. That I was a burden and they left because they no longer wanted to care for me. By the time Dad had married the third and fourth, I’d learned how to care for myself, hoping they would stick around. Dad was easier to be around when he had a companion. But eventually, he drove them away. Every single one.
So, no, I wouldn’t do that to Jolie. Blake men didn’t do commitment.
I shook off the unpleasant thoughts just as the fight manager made his way towards me.
“You’re up, Petrov.”
I nodded my acknowledgement and walked over to Jolie.
“I don’t like this.” She hissed the words under her breath, careful not to be heard.
“Me neither.” I handed her my sweatshirt and then strapped on my gloves. “Have you seen Rubio or the other man?”
She shook her head. “No, not yet. I’ve been keeping my eyes open.”
I leaned in and pressed my lips to her forehead. “If you can sneak a picture with your phone, do it. But don’t be obvious. And don’t get caught.” She rolled her eyes and gave me a tiny salute. Smartass.
I jogged over to the makeshift ring and waited for the bouncer to open the gate. When he did, I stood in my corner. A five-gallon bucket had been turned over for a stool, and there was another bucket on the side, already filled with blood and spit from other fighters. Prize-winning accommodations here, y’all.
My opponent for the evening stood on the other side of the ring. His entire body was covered in tattoos, from his neck down to his toes. Not an inch of white space could be seen. His face had the look of someone who’d taken one too many punches: heavy-lidded eyes from constant swelling; mangled ears; a crooked, flat nose. But it was the look in his eyes that was the scariest thing of all. There was no warmth, no humanity there. This man had killed, and he’d enjoyed doing it.
I cracked my neck from side to side, loosening the muscles, while sending up a prayer that I would not leave Jolie unprotected this evening due to my death. I would come out of this, if for no other reason than to keep her safe.
The announcer called my name, but I didn’t raise my arm or acknowledge the crowd in any way. These weren’t my people. I was here to win, not to gain fans. The cheers turned to boos and then to insults and finally to cries for my death. None of it fazed me. Instead, I focused on my opponent who was grinning at me with a conspicuous number of missing teeth.
The MC moved quickly to announce the other contestant. “And in this corner in the white and blue shorts—Vlad Yankova!” This time the audience roared with cheers as Vlad ran around the ring, his arms already raised in victory. I would need to strike hard and fast. Take him out quickly, or I’d find myself in a world of trouble.
The referee stood before us. There was no going over the rules since there were none. Instead he asked us, “Ready to fight?”
We nodded. I stuck my glove out to bump Vlad’s, and he knocked it out of the way with a growl.
Okay, then. I was guessing we weren’t bound to be best friends.
The ref blew the whistle, and before I knew what happened, Vlad rushed me, knocking me onto my back. I had the forethought to lift my head so that I wouldn’t crack my skull open on the ground. I assumed that was what had ultimately killed Michael/John from the earlier fight. I raised my hands up to cover my face while Vlad tried to remove my head from my body with his fists.
Okay, new strategy. Let him wear himself down. This guy was a total crazy. His fists came down with bruising force, but he was punching so fast, most were glancing off my shoulders or my gloves. He was all frenzy and little finesse.
His arms started to grow tired, so I pressed my advantage, bucking him off. I stood up and rushed in, knowing I’d have to take advantage of catching him off guard. I caught his knees and flipped him up and onto his back. He landed with a crack against the pavement, and I dove in.
Vlad’s face split with a maniacal smile as I punched him, taking them as if he enjoyed the pain. And maybe he did. Geez, it was like dealing with a drugged-up psychopath. Could that be it? Was the guy on meth or LSD?
The ref blew his whistle, indicating the end of the first round. I sat down in my corner on the overturned bucket and pulled my mouthguard out to get some water. Jolie was by my side in seconds.
“What the hell is wrong with that guy?”
Her frantic voice broke my heart.
“Not sure. Maybe drugs? Or could be he’s just crazy.”
“Possibly both?”
I shot her a grin. She seemed a little more settled now that she’d heard me speak.
“You’re okay?” Her smile faded to concern.
“Yeah. I’m hoping to wear him down, but the guy is like the Energizer Bunny. He just keeps going.”
The ref blew the whistle for round two, and I barely had time to stand up before Vlad was across the mat and in my corner. The second round was similar to the first. Vlad on top aimlessly punching at my face, while I protected it until he grew tired and then I flipped the script on him. Only, my punches weren’t aimless. They hit their mark every single time. His eyes were swollen, his nose bloody, his lip busted open and oozing all over the ground, leaking like a dripping faucet. He was a mess.
And I wasn’t much better. Although I was able to deflect most of his blows, there were a few that connected. The cut above my eyebrow had popped back open, and I was having a difficult time seeing with the blood pouring into my eye. When the ref called the round, I was grateful for the break.
With heavy legs, I stumbled to my corner. Jolie was there, a cotton swab already in her hand covered in petroleum.
“Here, hold this to the cut and see if we can stop the bleeding.” She handed me a scrap of cloth. I held it there for a few precious seconds while I consumed as much water as possible. Then I removed it so she could swab the cut.
The ref blew the whistle again, and I turned around in a hurry to find a blur of tattoos barreling toward me. Jolie yelped behind me as she ducked out of the way. Although she was on the other side of the makeshift enclosure, she was within swinging distance. Too close.
I backed Vlad up towards his corner, confused as to why he continued to fight me standing up. It wasn’t his style. He danced around me, charging and retreating, charging and retreating. When I was up against the barricade, I figured out why.
Arms shot out and wrapped around my waist, just as my hands went up to protect my face. They were like a vise grip around me, holding me so tight against the pallets that I could feel the splinters digging into my bare back.
I kept my hands up to protect my face, but without the use of my body, I was unable to hold my own for very long. Vlad’s fists were punishing, not missing this time. No, this time his aim was dead on. I felt my face swelling at each blow, the blood flowing into my eyes. I fought to free myself like my life depended on it, and at the moment, it appeared that it did.
With a burst of energy, I roared with frustration and pulled myself free of whoever had been holding me. With as much force as I could, I swung, missing Vlad. He danced around me, and I whirled around, stumbling in a haze. That’s when I saw him. The man who’d been holding me.
Igor.
I cocked my head, trying to focus my vision, but with the multiple blows to the head, the exhaustion and the blood running into my eyes, it was like looking through a film. Then Vlad was in my vision, his fist coming for my face.
I didn’t feel the blow. Didn’t feel falling to the pavement.
I felt nothing.
“Sasha! Sasha! Oh, my gosh, somebody help me, please!”
Why was Jolie screaming? And who was Sasha?
I opened my mouth to ask her, but nothing came out.
Then her frenzied whispered words penetrated the fog in my brain. “Ryder Blake, you open your eyes right now. Don’t you dare leave me here alone! Do you hear me?”
Jolie was in danger. I had to get up. I couldn’t leave her there unprotected.
I opened one eye, then the other. The announcer was still yelling about something, and the crowd was cheering.
“What happened?” I went to sit up, but she pushed me back down.
“Just stay for a second, please.” I relented, testing the movement in my arms and legs. My head hurt like a son of a—, but I wasn’t nauseated, and my vision was fine, except for the blood and sweat running in my eyes.
Jolie wiped at my face with a cloth, and I took it from her, dabbing my eyes. When I was sure I was okay, I sat up. Vlad was jumping up and down, running from one side of the ring to the other. Standing on top of the wood pilings and then jumping off.
Truly, the man had to be on something.
“How long was I out?”
“A few seconds. Not long. I had to kick a few butts, though, to get to you. I was sure that maniac was going to try and finish you off. The crowd was asking for it. Pleading with him to kill you. Once I stepped into the ring, though, the ref stopped Vlad’s pursuit.”
She shook her head, inhaling a serrated breath and swallowing hard. I saw the movement of her throat and the tears welling in her eyes.
“I’m okay.”
“You probably have a concussion.”
“I don’t think so. Just a really bad headache.”
“You reopened your cut.”
“I’ll let you bandage me up when we get to the hotel.” I tried to smile but it pulled at the cuts on my lips, and I winced instead.
“Come on. Let’s get you out of here before Vlad comes back to finish you off.”
Jolie helped me stand, and I looped my arm around her neck. When we stepped out of the ring, Igor stood in our way.
I dropped my arm from Jolie and widened my stance, ready for a fight. Igor smiled his vacant, deadly smile.
“My time is coming. And when it is you and I in that ring, you will not walk away.”
His voice, with his heavy Russian accent, was chilling, deadly. It was obvious he believed what he said. He would try to kill me.
Igor was three inches taller than I was and he had about fifty pounds on me, all muscle. It would be a hard fight. Possibly the hardest of my life.
“You’re in our way.” I wasn’t going to acknowledge his threats. No way would he intimidate me.
Igor smiled wider. “And when I finish you, I will take your girl.”
I stepped closer, my face in his. I could smell the onions he’d eaten earlier in the day. “If you lay a hand on her, I will kill you.”
“You can try.”
Then he laughed, stepping back and disappearing into the crowd. Jolie took my hand, fear etched in every line on her face. “Let’s go.” Her voice was a whisper, barely audible over the crowd.
We pushed our way through the crowd, not caring who we pissed off in the process. My only goal was to get as far away from this place as I could.
When we reached the Charger, Jolie pulled out the car keys she’d been holding. “Get in.” She motioned to the passenger side.
“I’m fine to drive.”
“No, you’re not. And what happens if you black out or something, and we get into a car accident, huh?” I shrugged, reluctantly seeing her point. “Now get in.”
I did as she told me and slid into the passenger side. I’d never ridden as a passenger in the car. And no one else had ever driven it since I’d bought it.
“Go easy, okay? She’s got a lot of power.”
Jolie flashed me an excited grin, and I shook my head. She turned the key, the engine rumbling to life, and she closed her eyes, her head falling back.
Beautiful. Stunningly beautiful.
I hated to admit it, but Jolie was a great driver. She handled the Charger like a pro, and if her giddy expression every time she looked at me was any indicator, she was having the time of her life.
She was a rock. Solid. Everything she’d been through this week, and she just kept going, nothing fazing her.
We were a couple of miles out, when Jolie spoke up. “By the way, I got his name.”
“Whose name?” Though I had a good idea, I didn’t want to count my chickens before they hatched.
“The Vicar.”
I sat up straighter. “How?”
“He showed up during the first round. I saw him, but he didn’t see me. Rubio was there, too, although they were only both there for a few minutes. Gone before that last round.”
“So how did you get his name?”
I hated that I was having to pull the information from her.
“Chrissy. I asked her who he was. Matias Vicario.”
“Vicario. The Vicar. That’s him. That’s our guy.”
Her face split into a victorious smile.
“Good work, Jolie.”
“Thanks.”
“I need to call Levi.” I took my phone out, but Jolie’s hand landed on my wrist, stopping me.
“You can call him after I’ve tended to your wounds. Let’s get inside and get you fixed up. Then we’ll do the work.”
“It doesn’t work that way. We need to—”
“There is absolutely nothing that needs our immediate attention. It will wait an hour. Please, Ryder.”
I saw the concern in her eyes and figured I must look even worse than I felt. So, I nodded and pocketed my phone just as we pulled into the hotel lot. Jolie parked the car and waited for me as I climbed out carefully. Then she took my hand and walked with me inside the room.
The gesture felt good. Comforting. Right.
I tried not to think about what life would be like with a woman like Jolie on my side.