Chapter 7
Brody
The phone’s vibration rattled against the kitchen counter, the harsh buzz cutting through our peaceful morning like a knife. My heart stuttered when I glanced at the screen and saw April’s name. Something was wrong. April never called this early unless—
“April?” My voice came out rough, desperate. The peaceful morning light streaming through our kitchen windows suddenly felt wrong, too bright, too normal.
“She collapsed.” April’s words tumbled out in a rush, her usual composure fractured in a way that made my stomach clench. “There was a message—Jenny—she just went down, Brody. Graham’s with her in his office.” A pause, heavy with unspoken fear that made my chest tighten. “She’s conscious now, but…”
“What message?” The words scraped my throat raw. Each breath felt like a struggle, like someone was sitting on my chest.
“A picture of Jenny.” April’s voice dropped to barely a whisper, the sound making my blood run cold. “And a threat. ‘It’s you or her. One of you dies.”
The ceramic mug slipped from Drake’s fingers beside me, shattering against the tile in a spray of hot coffee and porcelain shards. The sound cracked through the kitchen like a gunshot, coffee spreading across the floor in dark tendrils that reminded me too much of blood. My hands began to shake, the morning sun streaming through the windows suddenly harsh, mocking our earlier peace.
“Listen,” April continued, her voice steadying in that way she had when she was forcing herself to be strong, “I know you want to come in now, but we have that PR meeting in thirty minutes. She’s safe with Graham. We need to maintain appearances, especially now.”
Drake’s hand found my shoulder, his fingers digging in hard enough to ground me as tremors ran through my frame. The kitchen suddenly felt suffocating, the peaceful breakfast we’d been sharing just moments ago now a distant memory, like something from another life.
Blood roared in my ears as I fought against the urge to just run to her, to hell with appearances. My free hand clenched into a fist, the fighter’s instinct to protect warring with the helplessness of distance. “We’re coming—”
“No, wait,” April cut me off, her tone brooking no argument. “We have that PR meeting scheduled in thirty minutes. The others are already at the gym with Sensei – we’re conferencing them in. We need to maintain appearances, especially now.”
My fingers shook as I typed out a message to Sensei: Scarlett collapsed. Message about Jenny. Meeting at office soon.
The response came quickly, Sensei’s usual measured tone evident even in text: Handling things at gym. Reeves reviewing security footage here. Conference us in for PR meeting. Take care of our girl.
Something in the careful wording made my stomach clench harder. Drake was already grabbing his keys, stepping carefully around the broken mug. Neither of us cared about it enough to clean it up. I watched him wince as a shard sliced into his bare foot, leaving a pink streak in the wandering trail of coffee through the grooves in the tile.
“We have twenty-eight minutes,” Drake said softly, his voice steady despite the tension visible in his jaw as he bandaged the slice on his foot. “Enough time to change and arrive looking professional.” The word ‘professional’ carried the weight of everything we couldn’t be right now – couldn’t show, couldn’t say, couldn’t do to protect our own.
The drive felt endless. Every red light stretched into eternity as my knee bounced with pent-up energy, my fighter’s instincts screaming to move, to act, to do something. The morning traffic crawled by in a blur of chrome and exhaust fumes, each delay another small torture. The leather steering wheel creaked under Drake’s white-knuckled grip.
“Talk to me,” Drake said quietly, his own voice rough with suppressed emotion. “Don’t bottle it up.”
“I should have been there,” I growled, the words tasting like ash in my mouth. My fist pressed against my thigh, knuckles white with restraint. “Should have known she wasn’t ready to…” The words trailed off, choking me with their inadequacy.
The elevator ride felt like drowning in slow motion. I watched the floor numbers climb, each soft ding echoing my thundering heartbeat. My reflection in the polished doors showed a man barely containing himself – jacket perfectly pressed, tie straight, but my eyes… they betrayed everything I was trying to hide. Drake reached over and adjusted my collar, his gentle touch saying everything we couldn’t voice.
“Remember,” Drake murmured as the elevator slowed, “she needs us steady right now.”
The doors opened onto the executive floor, the familiar scent of coffee and printer toner mixing with something sharper – fear? Tension? Through the glass walls of the conference room, I caught my first glimpse of Scarlett seated beside Graham. Even from this distance, I could see how tightly she held herself, like a porcelain doll one crack away from shattering. Her back was ramrod straight, chin lifted in that way she had when she was holding herself together by sheer will.
Our eyes met across the space, and my heart clenched at the mix of fear and determination in her gaze. Everything in me yearned to go to her, to wrap her in my arms and shield her from all of this. Instead, I gave her the smallest nod, letting my eyes say what my body couldn’t. I’m here. We’re here. You’re not alone.
The slight softening around her eyes told me she understood, and something in my chest both eased and ached at the same time.
Graham rose from his seat, moving toward us with practiced corporate grace. “Mr. Holland, Mr. Matthews, thank you for coming in.” His voice carried just enough for the curious onlookers in the cubicles, but his eyes held volumes of unspoken concern that matched the worry churning in my gut.
The conference room door clicked shut behind us, sealing us in the glass fishbowl of corporate pretense. The air felt thick with tension as Graham gestured us to seats. My hands ached to reach for Scarlett, to touch her, to verify with my own fingers that she was really okay. Instead, I gripped the arms of my chair, leather creaking under my fingers like a living thing.
April slipped in with a stack of files, her heels clicking against the floor in a rhythm that seemed too normal for the circumstances. The large screen at the end of the room flickered to life, showing Sensei’s office at the gym. The familiar sight of the training space behind him – heavy bags hanging in the background, trophies lining the shelves – provided an odd comfort, like a glimpse of home in a foreign land.
“Status?” Sensei’s voice came through clear but tense, his usual calm demeanor strained around the edges in a way I’d rarely seen.
Graham leaned forward, his corporate mask slipping just enough to show his own worry. “We’re setting up the PR strategy for the upcoming fight. It gives us cover to meet, to move freely.” His hand twitched toward Scarlett but stopped just short of touching her. I recognized the aborted gesture – how many times had I done the same thing in public spaces?
I watched a bead of sweat trail down Scarlett’s neck, disappearing beneath her collar. Her fingers worried the edge of a folder, the only tell in her otherwise composed demeanor. The morning sun streaming through the windows caught the gold in her hair, and for a moment, I saw double – Scarlett in her professional armor, Bella in her fighting stance, both of them so damn brave it made my chest ache with pride and fear.
“We have to find her,” Scarlett said, her words hanging in the air with a resolve that spoke more of her emotional state than actual action. I knew that tone – it was the same one she used before taking risks in training, the one that always made my protective instincts flare.
Through the video feed, Sensei’s expression darkened. “Scarlett.” Just her name, but weighted with genuine concern. Behind him, the familiar worn leather of the heavy bag swayed slightly, casting shifting shadows. “We protect our family. All of our family.”
Something in his tone made my throat tighten. The conference room suddenly felt too small, too exposed. Beyond the glass walls, life went on; phones ringing, keyboards clicking, the soft murmur of conversation. How could everything seem so normal when our world was crumbling?
“The venue security plans,” Graham said smoothly, spreading papers across the table. His fingers brushed Scarlett’s as he passed her a folder, a touch so brief it might have been accidental. But I saw how she drew strength from it, her shoulders straightening infinitesimally. My heart twisted with equal parts gratitude and frustration – grateful she had support, frustrated I couldn’t offer the same.
Drake leaned forward, his voice pitched low. “We’ll need additional coverage for the perimeter.” The tremor in his hands was barely noticeable as he took notes, but I caught it. We were all hanging by threads, maintaining our professional facade by sheer will.
“Reeves is reviewing our current protocols,” Sensei added through the video feed. The familiar sounds of the gym filtered through – weights clanking, gloves hitting bags, voices calling out counts. The normalcy of it felt wrong somehow, like a mockery of our tension. “He’s being… thorough.”
April’s pen scratched against paper as she took notes, the sound unnaturally loud in the tense room. “He mentioned bringing in additional FBI resources.” Her voice wavered slightly. “Said this might be connected to other cases. I could talk to the guys about the investigation even though they are not supposed to share. We know and they could handle setting up the extra…”
I watched Scarlett flinch at the words, so slightly that only someone who knew her body as well as their own would notice. My fingers itched to reach for her, to smooth away the tiny crease between her brows that meant she was fighting back memories. The urge to protect her warred with the knowledge that she needed to appear strong right now.
“No.” The word came out rougher than I intended, dragged from some primal place of fear and protection. I forced myself to modulate my tone, aware of the eyes beyond the glass walls. “We keep this tight. Controlled.” Safe was what I meant. Private. Ours.
Graham’s slight nod told me the message was received. “Agreed. We’ll coordinate directly with venue security.” His corporate smile never wavered, but his eyes held steel. “Standard procedures.”
Scarlett’s hands had stopped their restless movement, now pressed flat against the folder before her. I recognized the deliberate stillness. It was how she held herself when we sparred, just before striking. The thought sent ice through my veins as I realized what she might be considering.
“I should be doing something,” she said softly, her voice carrying that edge that always preceded either triumph or disaster. “I can’t just sit here while…”
“You’re doing exactly what you need to do,” Drake cut in, his tone gentle but firm. “Being visible. Being strong.” Being safe went unspoken, but I heard it in his voice.
“I don’t care what we do…” Scarlett’s voice cut through our concern and plans, soft but carrying an edge that made my muscles coil tight. Her eyes met mine across the table, filled with a determination that scared me more than any opponent I’d faced in the ring. “We need to save Jenny. Even if it means I have to…”
The words hung in the air, unfinished but crystal clear. My hands clenched under the table, every protective instinct screaming. Drake’s sharp intake of breath beside me said he wasn’t alone in his fear.
The morning sun chose that moment to break through the clouds, flooding the conference room with golden light, catching the unshed tears in Scarlett’s eyes and making them shine like diamonds. She blinked them away quickly, but I saw – saw and felt my heart crack a little more. In that moment, I made a silent vow: whatever it took, whatever I had to do, I wouldn’t let either of them become another sacrifice to this nightmare.
The fighter in me understood sacrifice, understood putting your body on the line. But this… this was different. This was Scarlett, who’d already endured too much. This was Jenny, who should never have been dragged into our darkness. This was family, and family meant something different in our world. Something sacred.
I met Graham’s eyes across the table, saw my own resolve mirrored there. Whatever came next, we’d face it. Handle it. We had to. The alternative was unthinkable.