What If I Never (Necklace Trilogy 1)

“Happy to wait,” the man says. “A lady like you can’t be out here alone.”

I don’t know what that means, but I appreciate his kindness. “Thank you,” I say.

Tyler arrives quickly and opens my door. “What is this, Tyler?” I ask, exiting to the street.

“You’ll see soon enough.” He motions me forward and I follow him to that damn red door that feels like a bad answer to a terrible question.

From there, we enter what looks like a long hallway leading underground. Loud music radiates around us, vibrating with the promise of bad things to come. I stop walking, turning to Tyler. “If this is going to hurt me—”

“I’m more worried about him getting hurt, Allison. You care about him. I can see that. And I think the bastard actually cares about you. That means you might be the only one who can get him under control.” He turns and starts walking again, leaving me with only one option: to follow.

And I do.

I quickly double-step and catch up to him, wildly confused right now. The music is louder now, and I can hear voices and shouts, lots of voices, a crowd, I think. What is this? What is this? At this point, we reach two steel doors and Tyler opens one, motioning for me to enter whatever awaits me on the other side of this entryway. Not sure what to expect, I tentatively progress forward and find myself in what I think is an underground fight club, complete with a fight ring and crowds in chairs and standing around it.

Now, I’m really confused. Is Dash gambling on fights? Is that what this is?

Tyler steps to my side and I look to him for that answer. “I don’t know why I’m here.”

He points to the ring where two fighters and a referee appear to be ready to begin a new match. “Look closer,” he orders.

A bad feeling overtakes me and my gaze rockets to the rings again. One of the men has painted his face red, almost like a mask, a disguise, and oh God. It’s Dash. He’s in the ring. He’s going to fight. I turn to Tyler. “What the hell is this?”

“His reality for a long time. He began fighting in the underground clubs after his brother died. He got in trouble, almost landed in jail. That’s why he joined the FBI. He needed something physical. But that plan didn’t work. He always comes back to this when he’s fucked in the head.”

Anger spikes hard and fast. “My God, Tyler. This isn’t your story to tell me. Damn you. And you knew you were pushing him tonight. You knew.” I turn away from him and rush toward the ring, pushing through bodies, so many bodies, trying to stop the fight. I’m panting when I arrive ringside, and I don’t know how or why, but Dash’s eye rocket to mine.

The bell rings and the other fighter, a huge man that I know to be Russian, just because people are screaming, “The Russian Beast” at him, moves toward Dash. Dash doesn’t move. He’s staring at me. The Russian Beast hits him. And hits him again. Dash doesn’t fight back. He just lets him hit him and I’m screaming, trying to get Dash to fight back, to protect himself. I can barely take it. Dash goes down, knocked to one knee and the Russian is pumping his fists in the air, and the crowd just loves it.

I’m screaming, “No! Dash! No!” Over and over again.

The Russian Beast steps back in front of Dash and prepares to hit him, but suddenly Dash flat palms him right under his chin. The Russian Beast flails and falls to one knee. Dash is on his feet somehow, his face bloodied up, but his feet are agile. He steps behind The Russian Beast and closes him in a hold, a sleep hold I realize, as everyone screams, “Sleep! Sleep! Sleep!” And that is exactly what happens. Dash releases the other man and the Russian Beast face plants on the mat, sound asleep.

The referee grabs Dash’s hand and holds it up. The crowd goes nuts. Tyler steps beside me. “That is what he does. He comes in here, gets the shit beat out of himself by choice, and at the last minute, chokes the other guy out. It’s how he punishes himself for whatever the fuck he wants to be punished for.”

I want to know for what, I do, but I don’t ask. I’m angry. I’m hurt. I’m angry all over again. “Stop talking, Tyler. Just stop talking.”

“This place is illegal and one wrong hit and him or the other guy are dead.”

I whirl on him. “How do you even know he’s here?”

“This was a PR problem for Dash once before. I handled it and now I pay someone here to tell me if he shows up.”