29. Chapter 25
Zoe
Time is running out for me; that much is clear. Eli’s constant pressure to cut ties with Damien once and for all will end everything.
Meanwhile, it took me a little over a month to plan a meeting with Owen. Considering he’s a boxer as big as a damn tank, I had to try to ensure my plan had no holes.
One mistake. One slip-up.
And everything will fall apart...
Finally, the day came when my plan was about to come true.
It worked out well that Eli has plans with Ryker today. I didn’t pry into what they’re up to behind the door to their secrets. My own secrets are enough to worry about. At least I won’t have to lie about where I’m going; it’ll save me from a bunch of questions.
Ever since that evening when we talked about his mom, things started changing between us again. If I thought he spent a lot of time at my place before, now he’s practically a full-time resident.
It started with me making a little room for him in my closet, but it’s not big. So he moved his clothes into the room where Ash had lived before she moved out. His toothbrush and toiletries in the tiny bathroom, his shoes in the entryway, his favorite coffee mug…
And every single night, he ends up in my bed. Without exception.
Sex with him is incredible. It’s not that he’s an outstanding teacher, that he knows how to drive a woman wild, or that he can find the G-spot without GPS.
That too. Every time we get close, there’s a tenderness that used to be only a trace.
Now, it’s as though we’re the only ones in the world sharing a special secret.
Let’s get back to Owen.
He’s fighting at the club tonight. I mean, under the club, in the basement.
Thanks to my skills, it was easy to put a fake name on the guest list, because it’s not anyone who wants to get in that is let inside. Not a chance. A known member or fighter must vouch for a potential guest. It’s a closed circle of underground fights.
“ID,” growls the bouncer at the entrance.
I hand him the card and stare at the pitch-black door. Interestingly, from where I stand, I can’t hear a thing. No shouts, no chanting, no music.
The bouncer looks at the ID—one of many I have in my collection of various personas—and at me. Finally, he starts frantically tapping the screen of his tablet and checks my name on the guest list.
“All set.” The bouncer enters a code on the panel and opens the door for me.
The moment he does, a buzz of noise—laughter, shouts—reaches my ears. Here’s a completely different world.
In the middle of the place is a square ring. Of course. Instead of ropes, metal bars enclose the area, creating a cage.
People are crowding around this spot, jostling, talking, and drinking. On the right is a bar staffed by two men. Only two women are sitting at the counter; the rest of the people come up, order, and leave.
A hundred people. Maybe more.
Too many to keep track of.
My eyes sweep over everyone, and I exhale the breath I’ve been holding. No one I know catches my eye.
What worries me most is that I don’t see any emergency exits besides the door I came in.
That’s not a good sign. I’ve only been here once to get my head around the place, and I could easily have missed something.
The exit might be behind one door, and I couldn’t open them all one by one to check back then.
Fear should be creeping into my head, but it isn’t. Determination is what’s fueling me right now. I’m so close to crossing another asshole off my list.
I head to the farthest corner on the right.
There’s a hallway there with two locker rooms for the fighters.
When one fighter is in the ring, the other is getting ready to go in.
That means you could theoretically run into three fighters in a locker room: the one coming out, the one going in, and the one getting ready.
The key is to catch Owen when he’s by himself.
That’s right. I know it’s irrational. Risky as hell. And I’m holding onto the hope that he won’t recognize me. After all, the last time he saw me, I was a kid. Everything depends on that one thing.
Eli would beat the crap out of me right now if he knew how much I’m risking my life. Again.
He’ll find out after the fact.
Before I reach my chosen spot, another fighter emerges from the hall. He’s only wearing shorts, his bare chest smeared with some glowing crap. No bandages wrap his hands. Here, they fight with bare fists. And no rules. Anything goes.
At the last moment, I spin on my heel as the man passes me and walks straight to the cage. The crowd bursts into cheers. Some are happy, radiating excitement; others are booing.
Excellent. All eyes are now focused on the fight. Owen’s up next. It’s the perfect opportunity.
How do I know this? Well… Ash used to fight in places like this.
Once, she took me along to one of her fights.
That’s when I met the owner of this place.
His name is Marcel. But that’s beside the point.
What matters is that he let a kid like me draw in a graphics program on his computer.
He had a soft spot for Ash and didn’t see a problem with the fighter who made him a fortune bringing her kid sister along just one time.
However, he didn’t foresee how fascinated by computers I’d been for as long as I can remember. I knew shit about hacking, scripts, codes, and programs. Still, the open program tab captivated me, a program where Marcel literally had everything under control—all the information.
It’s ridiculous if anyone asks me, but it’s none of my business.
While looking for Owen, I had a hunch to start with Marcel. I wasn’t wrong. A stroke of luck? A sixth sense? It doesn’t matter.
As the noise behind me continues, I enter the lobby and grab an isotonic drink from my purse. I hate the stuff, but based on my observations of Owen, I know he adores it. I’ve taken at least fifty photos of the guy, and in every single one, he’s holding the same drink. Even outside the gym.
So, my plan had to take that drink into account. And it’s no secret that it makes things a lot easier.
My heart is pounding harder and harder. Doubtful thoughts pop into my head, but I shoo them away. It’s too late to back out now. No way. Not at this point!
Pulling up my hood, I take a deep breath and slip into the role.
I hum the “Wedding March” under my breath, grab the doorknob, and enter the locker room with unsteady steps. Cheerful as a lark, pretending to be drunk, I take three steps. Only once I’m inside do I stop humming and start giggling with the glee of an idiot.
“Oh, shit! This isn’t a bathroom,” I say, raising my head. Hiccupping, I look around the room.
Metal lockers line the room, and wooden benches sit in front of them. On the left is a door that probably leads to the bathroom and showers.
I turn around, as if this were the most fascinating place on earth.
And then I meet Owen’s blue eyes, staring back at me. He’s sitting on a bench in only his shorts too. Bare-chested. Hands clenched into fists.
He’s bigger than I remember him being. Terrifying. Suppressing this is my only option.
Once again, I break into a giggle. Inside, I’m trembling.
Does he recognize me?
Because if so… I’m dead.
“Oh, this definitely isn’t a bathroom. And you aren’t… my future… husband.”
“You’re right about that, little bird.” His voice gives me the same chills as it used to.
He doesn’t recognize me.
“You’re one of those, huh? The one who gets their ass kicked?”
I take a step in his direction and stagger, but I spread my legs wide to maintain some balance.
“No. I’m the one who beats people up, never the other way around.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see his sports drink sitting by the bench. Still unopened. I couldn’t have made this up better.
“No wonder,” I mumble. “You’re so big!”
I try to take another step, praying silently that he’ll show a shred of humanity.
I’m falling. I’m falling forward, the floor is coming closer and closer to my face…
Fuck.
Owen jumps up, takes a step, and I land right into his outstretched arms. That’s enough to paralyze me for a few seconds.
Fear overwhelms me; breaking free from his embrace feels like a natural reflex. In a split second, scenes of him hurting me flash before my eyes. It’s just a moment, but it’s enough for me to gasp for air in the way I did when he was drowning me in that icy lake.
“Little bird, are you okay? Come sit down for a moment,” he says, pulling me up. He puts me on my feet and helps me walk over to the bench.
My ass lands right where he was sitting a second ago.
“It’s a little stuffy in here.” My tongue gets tied. “Why is it so stuffy in here?”
“It’s not stuffy,” he replies.
“Yes, it is.”
His gaze wanders to the wall by the entrance. He walks over there, unsure if he can leave me alone.
One second.
That’s all I need…
I switch the drinks. A weight lifts off my chest.
A quiet hum appears as Owen touches the panel; cool air flows down on me from the ceiling.
“Phew… That feels good. Divine.”
Owen sits back down next to me. “Better now? How are you feeling?”
“Like I’m about to throw up, but a little less so.” I rest my hands on my knees and bow my head.
The less he sees of me, the better, in case he finds something familiar in my face. The shorter our interaction, the better for everyone.
I count to sixty in my head and take a deep breath. “I’ll have a drink, and then I won’t bother you anymore.”
I unscrew the cap when his heavy hand lands on my forearm.
“What the hell are you doing?” His voice drops.
My head sways slightly. “I want a drink. What does this seem to be?”
“That’s my drink.”
“That’s my drink, silly. Yours is right here.” The tip of my shoe points to his bottle.
I still don’t raise my head, waiting to see how things play out.
Finally, he grunts. “Sorry. You’re right. Guess we have the same taste.“
“The best taste.” I chuckle, and when he takes his hand off mine, I hold the bottle out to him. “Cheers? To your win and to you smashing someone’s face in.”