Chapter 8
RAFE
The fight tonight won’t be easy.
I grab a roll of tape and start wrapping my hands. Tight around the wrists, looser around the palm. I don’t mind the pain. I welcome that part of it.
But broken hands and bruised knuckles are hard to explain in my day-to-day life. What I do at night is best left in the shadows. My hands and my face are the only two areas I can’t hide behind a suit.
It makes the fight harder for me. More technically challenging and the stakes much higher. I can’t let an opponent get a single good punch in on my face. I have to take them out before my defenses drop.
I wrap my left hand, movements slow and methodical.
When I’m in the ring, everything else fades away. There’s only me and him, and every single moment lasts an eternity. And then there’s the pain, well-deserved, driving away the gnawing guilt that haunts me.
I’m standing in the far back of the room. Far enough that the crowd blocks the ongoing cage fight from view. The air is thick with cigar smoke and sweat, and cheers rise in the familiar rhythm of a fight.
This place is hidden in the basement of an old office building in Milan. Phones are checked at the door and bets taken in cash. The roster is packed tonight. I paid the bookie extra to gain a spot in the line-up.
It’s been months since I’ve been here, but he recognized me all right.
I switch to my right hand. The calm I feel is like the absence of emotion. It only happens in places like this. Pain is coming, and with it, absolution.
I need it tonight more than ever.
The news is out now. The press statement went out a few hours ago, timed for the American media, and tomorrow will be a shitshow to control the narrative.
I hope Ben Wilde reads every single headline and weeps.
I promised him in that wine cellar several months ago that I would destroy him for stalking my sister. And that’s what I’ve done. Thanks to Paige, annoyance personified in a pretty blonde package.
Whoever I was expecting from her emails, it wasn’t her.
Chaotic, aggravating, and frustrating as hell. She’s whip-smart and makes being late a badge of honor.
I hate the way she winds me up.
I hate the red color she paints her nails.
And I hate the way we argue like it’s our job.
A loud cheer rings out in the room. Feet pound against the floor, hands clapping.
Someone must have won. I wrap the tape tight and tear it off with my teeth.
It’s been over a month since my last fight, and I can feel it.
The restless tension, the coiling anger inside me.
And the nightmares are starting to return.
My brother’s death and the crushing snow.
This has always been the only way through for me.
Tonight, I’ve been matched with a Scandinavian tech bro I know very little about. Most people who fight in these games would surprise the average person. Some famous, others criminal. All drawn in by the anonymity and the adrenaline.
I pull my T-shirt over my head. I should have warmed up before, but there was no time. There’s never enough time. And tomorrow I have to go to dinner at Sylvie’s and pretend Paige and I are in love. I can’t lose her as head designer, and she’s too damn perceptive by far.
My phone rings.
I’d checked my fake one at the door. I’ll never give these people my real one.
I reach for it, intending to click off the call when I see who’s on the other end. I’ve been avoiding her calls for two days, so I guess it’s time. I’m already about to take a beating. I can take two.
“Hi,” I say into the phone.
“Finally!” my sister Nora says. “You married a Wilde?”
“It was the only way to gain control over their company.” It’s hard to hear her over the cheers, and I take a few steps back, leaning against the concrete wall.
“I know you want that company. I know you want to destroy Ben Wilde,” she says, “and I know that’s partially because of me and what happened. But you can’t marry someone to do it. What the hell were you thinking?”
“Of course I can.”
“Marrying for revenge is extreme,” she says. “Aren’t there lines we don’t cross?”
“No,” I say honestly. Because there aren’t. Protecting my family is the only thing that matters. The only thing that’s ever mattered. I learned that the hard way, and we can’t go through that again.
I’ll make sure we never will.
“Rafe.” She sighs, and I can hear the disappointment in that sound. She switches over to French, the way we usually communicate. The benefit of an American mother and a Swiss father. “You didn’t tell me because you knew I’d try to talk you out of it.”
“That’s exactly why.”
“But you brought West to the courthouse last week instead. You know I’ve been giving him shit for that, right?”
“I figured. But I don’t feel bad for that, either.”
She laughs a little. It sounds tired. “No, you wouldn’t,” she says. “He’s annoyed, too, you know. You didn’t tell him until ten minutes before why you needed a witness.”
“He would’ve tried to talk me out of it, too,” I say. It’s weird that my best friend is dating my little sister. It was hard for me to accept at first, and even now that I have, it’s odd to wrap my head around. That these two parts of my life have combined in a way I never saw coming.
But my sister has gained a new protector, someone who will look after her as fiercely as I always have. And that will never be anything but good in my book.
He’s the only one in our group of four guy friends who knows about my marriage. I’m going to receive hell from the other two when they learn.
“I don’t have much time.” I wedge the phone between my ear and my shoulder and unsnap the vintage Artemis watch I wear most days.
“What’s she like?” Nora asks. “You have to tell me something. Why did she agree? When can I meet her? Did you sign a prenup?”
“Annoying. Because I own most of the shares of her company, and she wanted her uncle out, too. She agreed to get him out and get herself in. I don’t want you to meet her. Yes, of course we have a prenup. Our marriage contract has gone through dozens of lawyers.”
“But what is she like, truly? You can’t just say annoying.”
“She’s Ben Wilde’s niece.”
“I know her familial relationships,” Nora says, exasperation in her voice. “But what is she like?”
“I barely know her. She’s proud,” I say. “No close family. And she sold out her own uncle, Nora. That should tell you everything you need to know.”
Nora sighs. “Yeah. But her uncle is Ben Wilde, so…”
“He’s still her family. I don’t trust her.”
“Probably for the best,” my sister says. “I’d tell anyone else to stay alert, but I know you’re literally always alert. A bit too alert.”
“That’s right.”
“I can’t wait to meet her, you know,” Nora says. “I’m not going to let you tie yourself to someone just for revenge. Or if you are, I’m going to be there next to you when you do it.”
“Nora,” I protest.
“West and I are coming. Just you wait. You won’t be able to shut us out.”
I run a hand through my hair. I’m already sweaty, the heat in here intense. This many people are not meant to be crammed into one basement. Uproarious applause rings out. Another match has concluded, and it’s my turn.
“Where are you?” Nora asks. “Are you at a concert? It’s like two a.m. in Italy. I figured you’d be awake but working.”
“I’m out,” I say. “Look, I’ll talk to you later, okay? And don’t worry about me. That’s not your job.”
“Worrying is both of our jobs,” she says. “We’re family.”
“Yeah,” I say. And then, thinking about what she told me a few months ago—how she felt like my protectiveness smothered her—I add, “Thank you. You’re happy?”
“Yes. I’m still happy,” she says. “I promise. It’s not going to change between our phone calls.”
“Good,” I say. “Talk later. And I’ll keep asking.”
I hang up and turn my phone off, then slide it deep inside my duffel bag.
I quickly kick off my shoes. The fights are always barefoot.
We wear nothing but a pair of shorts. The deep red scar across my torso from all those years ago is barely visible in the darkness of the room.
There’s no one here who would care, anyway.
No one here who would ask me where I got it.
I roll my neck again and push through the crowd to face the man I’m fighting tonight. The crowd cheers when I step through the open door of the cage. My opponent is already there. He’s my height, maybe five years older, hands untaped and eyes focused.
A newcomer, I guess. He’s doing this for kicks.
The cage door shuts behind us, and the referee’s voice rings out. The storm around me fades away and sharpens into this single moment.
I raise my fists.