Killer

I stare at him wordlessly, my arms across my chest. After Kinsey died, Dad worked even more than usual, which meant he was pretty much never home. He knew my mom was in a fragile state after losing my sister. Mom always had issues abusing alcohol and prescription drugs, but the big, important CEO couldn’t be bothered to make sure his wife was okay. That left me to be the one to find her dead in our swimming pool.

“So why are you here, Dad?” I snarl.

Not for a single minute do I believe Gordon Keating is here to see me. After Mom died and I lost my shit and went to jail, I never heard from him. No visits, no letters, no contact of any kind. Yeah, he used his money to pay for my fancy lawyer who still couldn’t keep me out of jail, but that was the extent of Dad’s involvement. He’s a cold fucking bastard who left me and Mom when we were at our most vulnerable by burying himself in his goddamn company.

Dad pulls a white envelope with silver embossing out of the inside pocket of his suit jacket. “I received this in the mail for you. They didn’t know your address and neither did I. There’s an identical one at home for me.” He holds it out and hesitantly, I take the thick, heavyweight envelope from him.

“What is—?”

One glance at the silver script is all it takes for me to realize what I hold, what it represents. I stop speaking, my mouth opening silently. Without the protective wall I’ve built up around me, the one I let Britt tear down, exposing my humanity, the invitation is like a knife plunged directly into my recently repaired heart. I bend over in actual physical pain, squeezing my eyes shut to stop the flood of guilt that threatens to drag me under.

“I’m sponsoring the event. I’d like you to be there, Keller.”

I know my dad is talking but I can’t listen. The pain is too great. When I try to open my eyes, a wave of nausea swamps me. Gasping for air, I stay hunched over, hands on my knees, head down, as my dad continues shredding what’s left of Keller Keating to microscopic pieces, leaving them to scatter in the wind.

“You owe it to your sister, to your mother, to be there. I’ll be in touch.”

I should stand up, get in his face, yell, scream, do something to let him know exactly what he can do with his goddamn invitation. Instead, I struggle to open my eyes just in time to watch a pair of expensive Italian loafers retreat as my father walks away. Moisture blurs my vision and a sharp stabbing pain digs under my ribs, aiming for the remnants of my blackened soul. The second I hear my dad’s car leave the lot, I run, envelope crumpled in my fist, until I’m back to my shitty apartment. Familiar agony rips apart my insides, guilt clawing its way to the surface.

I never should have let Britt in, let down my guard for her. I’ve become soft, weak, vulnerable. Without my protective, emotionless façade, the agony of the past is too much to bear. I need to put the walls back up, harden into the killer I am. Only Killer can deal with the guilt from Kinsey’s death.

I’ll have to let Britt go in order to make the pain stop. To become Killer once more.

Only, the thought of losing Britt is almost as painful as the guilt itself.

Exhausted, I snatch my towel and wipe away the sweat dripping off my body. As hard as I’ve tried to avoid looking in the direction of Britt’s office, I can’t help myself.

Of course, when I do, that dickbag Jackson Wolfe comes out. Undoubtedly, the ass is smiling and flirting with Britt like a persistent motherfucker. But when Wolfe turns around, I notice he doesn’t look happy, not even close. Wolfe’s eyes find mine and the man shoots daggers at me, a silent warning of some kind, before stalking over to the cages to speak with a trainer.

What the actual fuck?

Where does Wolfe get of

f acting like such a self-righteous prick? Like I’m a piece of shit and he’s so goddamn great. My eyes flick back to Wolfe, but he’s busy talking to one of the trainers. I glance back at Britt’s office. The door is already closed, so she’s either out or meeting with another fighter.

Shit. The thought of her with someone else, with Wolfe, makes my blood boil. Yet that’s the problem, isn’t it? I can’t have feelings. Keller Keating has feelings. Killer doesn’t. Feelings make me weak, open me up to the unbearable agony of my past, my guilt, my never-ending torture. To survive, I have to be strong, a solid wall devoid of emotion. Otherwise, the pain will drag me under.

I take a deep breath and shove everything I’ve felt since moving back to Atlanta out of my mind.

Killer is back, and he doesn’t give a fuck about anyone or anything except giving and receiving pain. Fighting—it’s the only reason I exist.

Britt

By the end of the day, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out Keller is actively avoiding me. By avoiding, I mean specifically going out of his way to prevent contact of any kind. My heart hurts from the rejection, but honestly, at this point I’m pretty much just pissed. I don’t need a big, drag out your feelings discussion, but a clue as to what changed between us would go a long way. By the next day, I’m halfway to depression.

“Britt.” Gabriel’s knock is accompanied by him sticking his head into my office.

I look up from where I’ve been staring at my laptop, not doing any work. “Yes, Gabriel?”

“Meeting in my office in fifteen minutes.”

“Wait!” I call out when he goes to leave. The older man turns back, his weathered face open and kind. “What’s the meeting about?”

Gabriel laughs, a deep, resounding chuckle that would normally make me smile. Today, I can’t seem to find the energy. “About our plan of attack, of course. For Killer’s next fight. See you in a few.”

The older man closes the door to my office and I sag in my chair, rubbing my tired eyes. How am I supposed to work with Keller if he won’t look at me or talk to me? My heart clenches in my chest. What if Keller wants to get me fired like he did Max?

No. I can’t believe Keller would stoop that low. But if he doesn’t want me anymore, maybe he could. Can I work with Keller without touching him in moments of passion, feeling the heat of his skin against mine? Without him protecting me and holding me and making me feel alive?