Chapter 35
THIRTY-FIVE
“Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight!”
The faces were delirious. Their eyes hungry for violence.
Zoe could feel the primitiveness pulse through this basement that lay beneath a shuttered warehouse.
She smelled the sweat, blood, and the sharp sting of cheap liquor.
The only light came from flickering overhead bulbs, casting long, jerking shadows against the stained concrete walls.
Through the cacophony of voices, only one sound stood out: that of bone meeting flesh.
In the corner, a man wiped his nose with the back of his hand, blood smeared across his knuckles. He smirked, wild and reckless, teeth slick with red. Cigarette smoke curled in the stale air, distorting his smile. He liked the challenge.
Zoe’s body was wired and drenched in sweat, her muscles throbbing and drawn tight under the sickly yellow light. The ring was marked by flimsy ropes atop a bare slice of concrete at a slight elevation. Outside the ring bodies pressed tight, shouting, jeering, fists raised in anticipation.
She was winning this round. She’d fought stronger men before. But she needed this. She didn’t come here to seek a challenge; she came to quell the guilt.
Promise me you won’t look into it if anything happens to me. Promise me.
A dull thud echoed as a punch landed solid across her face, the wet sound of spit and blood hitting the floor.
Her head felt like it was going to explode.
She stumbled back, almost losing her balance.
Shockwaves rocked her skull, leaving her vision blurred.
She clenched her hands into fists, twisting her arm, ready to deliver an uppercut.
But she stopped. She gave him a window to hit her again. And he did. A brutal kick to the stomach and she was on the floor, curled into a ball, white-hot agony ripping through her body.
Another kick to the side of her face, and her teeth rattled from the impact.
A punch to her ribs, and her world tilted.
She could have fought back; she had the strength.
But she didn’t even try. The sharp pain searing through her body in dizzying waves was almost addictive.
She deserved this pain. She deserved it because she’d let Rachel’s killer walk free, because she had been lying to Gina for years that Rachel killed herself, because she was sick of seeing too many wrongs.
Benny jumped in and declared her opponent the winner. Money exchanged hands in the crowd. But she didn’t care. As her eyes swept over her surroundings, something—or someone—caught her eye.
Aiden.
He stood in a corner, his arms crossed and his eyes unreadable behind thick glasses.
Panic roared hot in her blood. He knew . She closed her eyes and let the darkness swallow her whole.
A few hours later, Zoe was staring at her bruised reflection.
Damn it. How was she going to explain any of this at work?
After being woken up by Benny and convincing him she didn’t have a concussion, she had searched the crowd for Aiden. But he was nowhere to be seen. For a moment, she wondered if she’d imagined it. But she hadn’t. She knew it in her bones.
The rain battered the motel window, unrelenting. There was a low roll of thunder, and the thin walls shook. The dim glow of the bedside lamp stretched long shadows across the room, flickering every time lightning split the sky outside.
A knock.
She sighed, knowing exactly who it was, and opened the door.
“We need to talk,” Aiden said.
Moments later, they were sitting on the floor, their backs against the side of the bed, inches apart.
“You should see the other guy,” Zoe said out of nowhere, trying to lighten the mood.
“What?” He stared at her, confused.
“It’s like in the movies. I always wanted to say that line,” she admitted, staring ahead.
“You hear that?” he murmured, tilting his head toward the window.
“The storm?” she asked, her voice low. “We’re talking about the weather now? Just do it, Aiden. Say what you want to say.”
“What were you doing in that place, Storm?”
“Why were you following me?” she volleyed back.
He exhaled slowly. “I have been worried about you and you refuse to tell me what’s going on with you. So yeah, I followed you.”
Zoe shivered at their proximity. Close enough to feel the heat radiating between them, but not close enough to touch. “I go to this underground fight club to blow off steam. It isn’t that deep.”
“Then why did you lose on purpose today?” he asked. The silence between them stretched and Zoe’s heart sank.
She wasn’t ready for this conversation. But tonight, she was too tired and defeated to fight it.
“Because I’m angry, Aiden.” Her eyes turned glassy.
“This whole happy-go-lucky thing I have going on isn’t a facade.
I swear it isn’t. I’m genuinely happy but…
this darkness exists inside me and I don’t know how to get rid of it. ”
“It looked like you were punishing yourself there, Storm.”
“I guess I was.” Her knee brushed his. Not by accident. “What do I do then? I really am a happy person. But that’s not enough. How do you actually move on?”
“Move on from what? You have to give me something.”
She gave him a look. “Why don’t you give me something for a change?”
He flinched and adjusted his glasses—an unconscious habit, Zoe realized. “I’m the shrink here.”
“I thought we were becoming friends.”
His jaw clenched. He turned his head, looking at her now, really looking. The space between them became as thin as a breath. “I’m a widower. That’s what you wanted to hear, right? Now who is Viktor Axenov?”
“The man who beat me up in Harborwood,” she confessed too readily. She turned to see his surprised face.
“And why did he do that?”
“Because I think he killed my mother.”
Lightning flashed, and for an instant, she saw the way his lashes flickered and saw him notice how her lips parted just slightly.
“And now he’s after you?” His voice sliced the thickening air.
“Kind of. I was looking into my mother’s life. She had so many secrets. I discovered something in Harborwood. An old acquaintance who gave me a key to a safety deposit box in Chicago. My mother kept something in there. But somehow Viktor found out, beat me up, and took that key.”
“And now he is in possession of whatever object your mother was concealing?”
“I don’t think so.” Her gaze lifted to his, steady, unreadable. “He doesn’t know which safety deposit box it is. But he does have leverage. He’s been keeping an eye on me in case I start digging around her death again.”
“Darren Galanis. He paid someone to follow you and report back.” He connected the dots. “You’re the one with a badge and a gun, Storm. Why haven’t you gone after him?”
Her fingers curled slightly, resting on the floor beside his. One inch closer, and she’d touch him. “He belongs to a shadow criminal organization. Even the FBI barely has any information on it.”
“What is it called?”
“Red Trigger.”
He froze. The air between them went from electric to cold. Zoe hadn’t realized how close they had been sitting, how intimate it had felt. But now a bucket of ice-cold water had been thrown on the moment. “Zoe, I?—”
Zoe’s phone rang, puncturing the heavy silence. It was Lisa. She answered.
“Hey.”
“Agent Storm, we have a problem. Amy Andrews…”
“Yeah, did you check her alibi?”
“She’s missing.”