Chapter 40 #2
Jerry looked uncomfortable, and he shifted in his seat.
“I don’t know. Probably. Mafia is mafia.
But…I don’t think you need to lose your life over ‘probably’, you hear me, smitten kitten?
Don’t you go runnin’ off to be a hero that ends in your headstone.
That ain’t helpin’ anybody. Least of all your altar girl. ”
My hands clenched in my lap.
How the fuck can I help her at all?
Finally, Jerry pulled over.
We were in…
What the fuck?
He took us to the middle of fucking nowhere.
No cell service.
No witnesses.
“You plan on whacking me instead, old man?”
Jerry waggled his eyebrows, and I wasn’t comforted by that.
Perfect.
He popped the tailgate and started unloading gear out of the back—gloves, pads, headgear, a heavy bag, a crate of tools that looked like they’d survived a war as old as us.
I stared at him. “What is this?”
“Therapy,” he said. “The kind that actually works, not sulking on your ass.”
He tossed me a pair of gloves, and I caught them on reflex.
“Put them on, Jed.”
“I’m not doing this.”
I was already back at the passenger-side door, but when I tried to open it, it wouldn’t budge.
“Jerry, are you fucking serious?”
He smiled at me from the back, jangling the keys like a bell.
Fucker.
“I said I am not—”
“Jedidiah.”
That was it. Just my damn name, but hearing my name right now was more powerful than anything else.
I shook my head and put on the stupid gloves.
“Good boy. Now gear up, or you’re gonna regret it. I don’t go easy, even with you.”
He set up the heavy bag, anchoring it in the dirt with practiced efficiency, then turned to me.
“You don’t get to think right now,” he said as I continued to put on the wrestling equipment. “Thinking is what’s killing you. Shut off your mind and just fight me.”
He handed me headgear, and I followed the routine, strapping it on my head and listening as he continued.
“You swing. You hit. You breathe. You don’t fucking apologize. Got it?”
My pulse started pounding, and I half contemplated walking back to the truck window to punch the window out.
“Let out the anger.”
“I don’t feel angry,” I said quietly. “I just feel tired, Jerry.”
Jerry snorted. “That’s just rage and a pity party with nowhere to go and no one cheerin’.”
He stepped back one step and lifted his arms out by his sides like the crucified savior. “Hit me.”
I hesitated.
This is such a stupid idea. Why did I call Jerry Cross? I should have just gotten off my ass and gone back to work or drank my sorrows at a different bar, hell, maybe even the same one, why not?
“I said hit me.”
I ignored him, but then I felt my jaw crack sideways and blood trickled down my chin.
“What the fuck—”
Another blow clipped my sore sides, and something inside me snapped.
I swung.
The first hit was fucking weak and didn’t so much as jar him.
“Nah. Where is the man? I wanna see him. The guy who told a major mafia clan to fuck themselves. Show me him—”
The second hit was better, and the direct smash to his mouth shut him up for even a second.
“Hmm. Still not the Jed I know, but maybe you’re getting soft with all the little love hearts floating around your—”
Slam.
Pow.
Crack.
The punches kept going, and now my shoulders were screaming, and my breath was ragged.
Worse than the smacks to my sensitive muscles, another hit came. Suddenly, the memory surged up, and they were sharp and unrelenting. Instead of caving from the barrage of laughter echoing in my head, my grip tightened, and I hit harder and faster.
I hit again.
And again.
And again.
Jerry laughed with joy, his own breath as ragged as mine. Blood was pouring from our noses and mouths. As many jabs as I got on him, he returned them in kind. My footing slipped, and the dirt kicked up. My breath turned into something animal, unwilling to give up.
“Don’t stop,” Jerry barked. “Get your arms the fuck up. Find your footing. Fight back. Take control.”
Control.
I lost control.
I had no control because of them.
They took my fight.
They incapacitated and used me.
I screamed.
Not words
Just sound.
A war cry I held in since they broke my mind and soul.
I hit what was in front of me until my arms shook, and sweat blurred my vision with the blood. I didn’t stop punching until my chest burned like it was splitting open and my lungs flooded with pain.
I hit my target over and over, my body numb to pain and the voices around me. I hit until the image in my head fractured and dissolved into motion that floated away from me like burned pieces of paper.
When I dropped to my knees and couldn’t breathe, Jerry didn’t rush me.
He waited, crouching beside me with a smile on his busted face.
“There he is,” he said quietly. “That’s the part they didn’t take, Jed.”
I laughed once, and it sounded broken and hysterical. I covered my face with my hands, swiping at the blood that coated my face and arms.
“I thought I was gone,” I choked. “I thought—”
“I know,” he said, reaching into the bag he brought and bringing up a mirror to my face. “But you aren’t broken. You are still you. Jedidiah mother fucking Franklin.”
After I caught my breath, he stood and held out his hand.
“Up.”
I took it without hesitation.
He tightened the straps on my gloves and grabbed a rope from the bag. “You ready?”
“For what?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he raised his hands, wrapping me in the tight material.
Fear spiked at the thought that those memories might come back.
“I can’t—”
He smiled, showing me that damn mirror again and forcing me to look at my face. “Yes, you can.”
The first exchange was clumsy and awkwardly bound like this. I flinched when he moved too fast, and those fucking hands. Not one…but three sets were coming at me.
“You got this, Jed,” he coached. “Free yourself. You can beat this. My black eye and busted lip prove that. Now again.”
He kept hitting me, and that fear was replaced with anger, my body tightening and shifting to block him while finding the weak points of the rope.
I kept dodging him and pushing on the frayed parts of the binds until reaction replaced memory.
I didn’t stop until my body remembered it could respond to this.
I didn’t have to be trapped.
I could be free.
A roar escaped my lips, and I pushed with all my might, the binds snapping off my body and unraveling little by little. Jerry kept his routine, placing calculated punches while I forced the ropes away from me.
I caught his fist when the material fell to the ground at my feet, and he smiled widely.
I was shaking—but upright.
I was still standing.
Alive and as myself.
I could do this. I had to. I had to be there for Sayuri. She has taken care of me for too long. I had to fight.
And this time…
It’ll all be for her.