Killer

  Unable to make sense of it, I blink away the images to see Keller giving me a look of amazement.

  “Britt, the only thing I care about losing, is you.”

  Keller

  “Gabriel, I want that little shit fired.” I pace the length of my trainer’s office, so furious I’m seeing red. “He tried to put his hands on Britt again.”

  “Now, Killer, it can’t be that bad. Maybe you’re, you know, overreacting because of your feelings for Britt.” Gabriel sits calmly behind his desk, hands folded, watching me go back and forth as I rant.

  “No.” I shake my head. “You haven’t seen what he does. He fucking sneaks up on her, Gabriel. He watches her without her knowledge. He’s spying on her, trying to catch her alone. It’s fucked up and I want him gone.”

  “Listen. I will talk to Britt and Max, sim?” I stare at the man, and damn it, if he doesn’t so much as flinch. “Boa, boa… I’m glad we agree.”

  It takes a minute of concentrated breathing to pull myself together. Once I’m sure I’m not going to hit something, I put my hands on Gabriel’s desk, leaning over it to get in his face. “I. Don’t. Trust. Him, Gabriel. I want him gone.”

  My trainer sits for a minute, thinking it over while making me crazy waiting for him to respond. “Fine.” Gabriel gives a sharp nod. “He has been acting strange lately. If this is how you feel and you think he is a threat to Britt,. I will dismiss him and you can have Jerry, você está feliz?”

  “No, it doesn’t make me happy, Gabriel. Firing that douchebag makes me fucking ecstatic.” I stalk over to the door, turning to face Gabriel before leaving. “Just know, if he goes near her again, I’ll kill him.” With those parting words, I storm out.

  I quickly clock Max hovering by one of the cages, trying to make it look as though he’s not watching for me when I know damn well he is. And he should. If he so much as breathes wrong, he’ll find a size fourteen foot wedged up his ass.

  The door to Britt’s office opens and she breezes past me toward Gabriel’s. I nod, but don’t stop her. We don’t interact at work any more than we have to in a professional nature. The last thing I want is for the other fighters to resent Britt or treat her shitty because she’s with me. Unfortunately, that little fucker Max probably spread all the rumors about us already.

  God, I could just fucking squeeze the shit right out of him.

  I head back to the free weights to do my lifting when Roxie walks over. “Killer, someone is here to see you.”

  I push back my hood so I can see the front desk. Holy fuck. A thick lump forms in my throat and I have to swallow several times in order to grunt a response. “I’ll be there in a second.”

  “Sure.” Roxie hurries away, probably freaked out by my facial expression, which is likely a thousand times scarier than just seeing the monster inside.

  I sit on a bench for a moment, stunned. Not many people unsettle me—Britt and Gabriel—that’s pretty much it. The man in the four-thousand-dollar bespoke suit standing at the front desk? Just the sight of him has my stomach cramping up.

  Why the hell is he here?

  “Shit.” I have no choice but to stand up and walk toward the desk. With each step, my heart hammers harder against my ribs. The man’s eyes meet mine and my heart skips a beat. They’re identical to mine. Exactly like Kinsey’s, an unusual silvery-gray color. Nausea burns in my gut, gnawing a hole the size of Texas through my midsection.

  I tilt my head toward the door and the man exits, me close on his heels. Once outside, out of earshot of the rest of the gym, I finally address the unexpected visitor.

  “Dad, what the hell are you doing here?”

  10

  Britt

  I can’t believe Keller had Max fired. On one hand, I’m angry at him for doing it. I’ve known Max for several years and hate the thought of him losing his job.

  On the other hand, I love Keller’s fierce need to protect me. The fact that he’ll go to any length necessary to keep me safe sends a warm, tingly feeling over my skin. And to be honest, ever since Keller arrived at the gym, Max has been acting downright strange to the point of being slightly creepy. Getting rid of him makes sense, but it still hurts my heart that it’s come to this.

  By the time I leave Gabriel’s office, grab my purse and exit the gym, Keller is gone. I send him a quick text to let him know I’m on my way home, and head out.

  I stop to get my mail before heading upstairs to my apartment and freeze with the key in the lock when I glimpse the gilded envelope with the SASS return address among the pile of bills and flyers.

  Before the panic can take root, I unlock the door and hurry inside, slamming it shut behind me, twisting each bolt into place. Everything in my hand slips to the floor except the thick envelope. I hold it away from my body, pinched between my thumb and forefinger as if it might explode like one of those messages on Mission Impossible. My hand shakes badly, but I manage to throw it on the small kitchen table with the piles of other stuff I ignore on a daily basis. Maybe out of sight, out of mind will work this time, because for some reason, I can’t bring myself to throw the letter away.

  Great. My nerves are shot and my mind is torn in a bunch of different directions at once. After the scene with Max and Keller, meeting with Gabriel not only about his decision to fire Max but also about Keller’s upcoming fight, and now the invite to the upcoming anniversary for “the incident.” I’m a complete and total wreck.

  Numb, I head into the bedroom, strip off my clothes, and climb under the covers, my phone tucked to my side. Still no response to my text to Keller. It takes so much energy just to keep from falling apart, I pass out from exhaustion a few minutes later.

  * * *

  By Monday morning, I’m a mess. Keller never responded to any of my texts or calls over the last few days. At first, I was merely pissed off, but with the looming anniversary, and spending the entire weekend alone thinking about it, I’m on the verge of a full-on nervous breakdown and having a difficult time hiding it from everyone.

  Exhausted from spending three days tossing and turning and getting almost no sleep, I end up doing something I hardly ever do and drive my car to work. I probably shouldn’t, especially after the recent seizure, but it’s less than a five minute drive and I don’t have to energy to walk.

  When I pull into the lot, I swear I spot Max’s car in the very back. No, it can’t be. Gabriel fired him, I should know. I had the unfortunate luck of watching Max storm out of the gym, shooting daggers at me the entire time, sending chills up my spine.

  I hurry inside and notice Keller isn’t here yet, which is disappointing. My first instinct is to tell him about possibly seeing Max outside. Then I remember Keller ignored me all weekend and the anger I felt at his callous treatment rises up.

  A knock on my office door accompanies the voice. “Britt, you have a minute?”

  I turn to see Jackson Wolfe in the doorway, a hesitant look on his face. My shoulders drop and I realize I was hoping, no matter how angry I am, it was Keller.

  “Jack, sure. Come in.” I wave the big man into the office. “What can I do for you?”

  “My shoulder is tight. Can you put some of that icy crap on it?”

  He might irritate me sometimes, but today, I thank god for Jackson Wolfe. I laugh at his unique description of my medicated ointment, instantly feeling lighter than I have in days. “Icy crap, Jack?” He grins and I giggle at him. “Get on the table. I need to check the joint before putting it on.”

  He hops up on the exam table and whips off his shirt. I close the office door so Jack has some privacy. He grimaces when I touch his shoulder.

  “Sorry. My hands are freezing.”

  “It’s okay, Britt. I’m hot enough for both of us.” He chuckles and once again, Jack makes me laugh.

  “If you say so, Jack.” After manipulating his shoulder, pushing and palpitating the joint, I dig my finger into the space between his clavicle and his humerus. Jack hisses and gives me a scathing look. “The
re’s no swelling, but if this is tender…” I dig into the spot again and he groans.

  “Can you please not do that? It hurts.”

  “Sorry, Jack.” I pat his shoulder and grab the big tub of ointment. As I rub it over the joint, I tell him my thoughts. “You’ll need to ice it a few times a day and take some ibuprofen with meals. If it doesn’t feel better by Wednesday, we’ll have to schedule an appointment with Dr. Watkins to get you a cortisone shot.”

  “Okay, Britt. Thanks.” Jack pulls his shirt on and hops down, but doesn’t leave. He stands next to the table, his thumb and forefinger rubbing together.

  “Jack?”

  The fighter’s face is hesitant. Whatever Jack has to say isn’t going to be something I want to hear.

  “I just… Britt… you know I like you. I mean, I have a lot of respect for you.”

  “Okay.”

  “I guess… I want to know… damn. Shit, this sounds so bad.” He blows out a breath. “What I’m saying is, just be careful around Killer, Britt. He’s… not normal.”

  I stiffen defensively. “Don’t, Jack.”

  “No, no. I’m not telling you what to do. But come on, you have to see that the man is fucked up. Like seriously.”

  My jaw tightens. The last thing I want to do is discuss Keller with Jackson Wolfe. “I’ll keep that in mind, Jack.” I guess Keller and I haven’t been keeping our relationship as professional at work as we thought if Jack knows.

  “Sorry, Britt. Don’t be mad at me.” Jack gives me big puppy-dog eyes.

  Oh for crying out loud!

  “Ugh, Jack! Leave my personal business out of our conversations and I won’t be mad.”

  His mouth turns down, as if he wants to say more. Thankfully, he nods and leaves without pushing any further. If he did, I’d probably get angry and yell, and what good would that do? Keller would still be avoiding me, the anniversary of “the incident” would still be coming up, and on top of everything else, it would then be awkward to be around Jack. It’s easier to let his misplaced concern slide. Jack said what he needed to say, now it’s done.

  Unfortunately, my anxiety hasn’t diminished one bit. With Jack mentioning Keller, and the fact that he doesn’t want me near him, I’m even more high strung than before. I’m so damn tired of worrying about everything. Of constantly being afraid of nameless, faceless images from a day I don’t even remember.

  If Keller were here, he’d make it all go away.

  Damn him.

  Killer

  My arms ache, my shoulders are on fire, and my hands are completely numb, but I keep pounding on the heavy bag, over and over, letting the rhythmic smacking sounds lull me into a trance.

  Fuck you, Dad. The bastard tracks me down, shows up at the gym out of nowhere, and throws my entire world off its axis, spinning it back into the shit storm I left behind when I ditched this country.

  Ten years. It’s been almost ten fucking years since I’ve seen him. A little less than ten years since I got out of jail after serving six months for assault. Nearly a decade since I picked up and left for Thailand, living off my enormous trust fund. And on Friday, the first contact I have with my dad after a decade of silence is for him to give me that goddamn invitation.

  Gordon Keller Keating, CEO and founder of Hybrid Technologies, found a minute of free time in his busy schedule to see his only son, the only living member of his family, and it’s to give me an envelope inviting me to the tenth anniversary of the day my life ended. The day Keller Keating ceased to exist and became Killer.

  I wanted to pound his face in for dropping this shit in my lap. Everything had been going so good with Britt. I actually started feeling things—emotions and crap I haven’t felt in a decade. I almost felt… human. Dad managed to destroy all of that in less than five fucking minutes.

  “Keller, you look… different.”

  I shove back my hood and study my father—custom suit, rigid posture, expensive watch. Except for some faint crow’s feet and some gray at his temples, he hasn’t changed one bit.

  “Yeah, well, ten years will do that to a person,” I say condescendingly.

  Dad nods, clearing his throat and fiddling with one of his shiny cuff links. “I saw you on the television. Your fight. It said you were back in Atlanta, training here.” He points at the gym.

  I stare at him wordlessly, my arms across my chest. After Kinsey died, Dad worked even more than usual, which meant he was pretty much never home. He knew my mom was in a fragile state after losing my sister. Mom always had issues abusing alcohol and prescription drugs, but the big, important CEO couldn’t be bothered to make sure his wife was okay. That left me to be the one to find her dead in our swimming pool.

  “So why are you here, Dad?” I snarl.

  Not for a single minute do I believe Gordon Keating is here to see me. After Mom died and I lost my shit and went to jail, I never heard from him. No visits, no letters, no contact of any kind. Yeah, he used his money to pay for my fancy lawyer who still couldn’t keep me out of jail, but that was the extent of Dad’s involvement. He’s a cold fucking bastard who left me and Mom when we were at our most vulnerable by burying himself in his goddamn company.

  Dad pulls a white envelope with silver embossing out of the inside pocket of his suit jacket. “I received this in the mail for you. They didn’t know your address and neither did I. There’s an identical one at home for me.” He holds it out and hesitantly, I take the thick, heavyweight envelope from him.

  “What is—?”

  One glance at the silver script is all it takes for me to realize what I hold, what it represents. I stop speaking, my mouth opening silently. Without the protective wall I’ve built up around me, the one I let Britt tear down, exposing my humanity, the invitation is like a knife plunged directly into my recently repaired heart. I bend over in actual physical pain, squeezing my eyes shut to stop the flood of guilt that threatens to drag me under.

  “I’m sponsoring the event. I’d like you to be there, Keller.”

  I know my dad is talking but I can’t listen. The pain is too great. When I try to open my eyes, a wave of nausea swamps me. Gasping for air, I stay hunched over, hands on my knees, head down, as my dad continues shredding what’s left of Keller Keating to microscopic pieces, leaving them to scatter in the wind.

  “You owe it to your sister, to your mother, to be there. I’ll be in touch.”

  I should stand up, get in his face, yell, scream, do something to let him know exactly what he can do with his goddamn invitation. Instead, I struggle to open my eyes just in time to watch a pair of expensive Italian loafers retreat as my father walks away. Moisture blurs my vision and a sharp stabbing pain digs under my ribs, aiming for the remnants of my blackened soul. The second I hear my dad’s car leave the lot, I run, envelope crumpled in my fist, until I’m back to my shitty apartment. Familiar agony rips apart my insides, guilt clawing its way to the surface.

  I never should have let Britt in, let down my guard for her. I’ve become soft, weak, vulnerable. Without my protective, emotionless façade, the agony of the past is too much to bear. I need to put the walls back up, harden into the killer I am. Only Killer can deal with the guilt from Kinsey’s death.

  I’ll have to let Britt go in order to make the pain stop. To become Killer once more.

  Only, the thought of losing Britt is almost as painful as the guilt itself.

  Exhausted, I snatch my towel and wipe away the sweat dripping off my body. As hard as I’ve tried to avoid looking in the direction of Britt’s office, I can’t help myself.

  Of course, when I do, that dickbag Jackson Wolfe comes out. Undoubtedly, the ass is smiling and flirting with Britt like a persistent motherfucker. But when Wolfe turns around, I notice he doesn’t look happy, not even close. Wolfe’s eyes find mine and the man shoots daggers at me, a silent warning of some kind, before stalking over to the cages to speak with a trainer.

  What the actual fuck?

  Where does Wolfe get of
f acting like such a self-righteous prick? Like I’m a piece of shit and he’s so goddamn great. My eyes flick back to Wolfe, but he’s busy talking to one of the trainers. I glance back at Britt’s office. The door is already closed, so she’s either out or meeting with another fighter.

  Shit. The thought of her with someone else, with Wolfe, makes my blood boil. Yet that’s the problem, isn’t it? I can’t have feelings. Keller Keating has feelings. Killer doesn’t. Feelings make me weak, open me up to the unbearable agony of my past, my guilt, my never-ending torture. To survive, I have to be strong, a solid wall devoid of emotion. Otherwise, the pain will drag me under.

  I take a deep breath and shove everything I’ve felt since moving back to Atlanta out of my mind.

  Killer is back, and he doesn’t give a fuck about anyone or anything except giving and receiving pain. Fighting—it’s the only reason I exist.

  Britt

  By the end of the day, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out Keller is actively avoiding me. By avoiding, I mean specifically going out of his way to prevent contact of any kind. My heart hurts from the rejection, but honestly, at this point I’m pretty much just pissed. I don’t need a big, drag out your feelings discussion, but a clue as to what changed between us would go a long way. By the next day, I’m halfway to depression.

  “Britt.” Gabriel’s knock is accompanied by him sticking his head into my office.

  I look up from where I’ve been staring at my laptop, not doing any work. “Yes, Gabriel?”

  “Meeting in my office in fifteen minutes.”

  “Wait!” I call out when he goes to leave. The older man turns back, his weathered face open and kind. “What’s the meeting about?”

  Gabriel laughs, a deep, resounding chuckle that would normally make me smile. Today, I can’t seem to find the energy. “About our plan of attack, of course. For Killer’s next fight. See you in a few.”