Survivor (First to Fight Book 2) Read online

  “Okay you two,” Livvie says between laughs.

  I give her a hug and tug on Cole’s nose. “You take care of your Momma, ‘kay, little dude? Tell her to bring you by next week. We’ll work on that right hook.”

  “So,” Livvie says, in a tone that I know from experience won’t lead to anything good. “Sofie and the boys came by for dinner. You should have stopped by to say hi.”

  “Livvie,” Ben warns.

  She holds her hands up. “Well, I’m just saying.”

  Ben rolls his eyes.

  I point a finger at her. “None of that, now. I just got finished kicking your husbands ass for talking shit. Mind your own business, little sister.”

  Livvie play-frowns. “If you say so.”

  “I do.” I back away in the direction of my office. Call it a tactical retreat. “Now scram. I’ve got work to do.”

  “See you later, man,” Ben says with a wave of his hand.

  I hold two fingers up in acknowledgment. “Later.”

  “Come over sometime this week for dinner,” Livvie adds.

  But she and I both know it’s a ploy, so I ignore it. “Goodbye, you nut.”

  Ben throws an arm around Livvie’s shoulders and pulls her into his side. I can hear peels of Cole’s laughter as they head through the double doors that lead into the parking lot. A lot of happy memories were made in this place. A lot of memories like these.

  My smile falls as their shadows disappear around the corner of the building. Alone now, the rest of the gym empty of members except for a couple in the locker rooms, all those thoughts I’d pushed away while in the ring with Ben come flooding back.

  The thought of her being so close shouldn’t affect me the way it does. My fingers shouldn’t itch to grab my keys and speed over to her place. I shouldn’t ache to pull her in my arms or want to crack a joke just to see her face brighten with a smile.

  Nassau never seemed like the small town that it is, at least not to me. It’s always been home base, the place that I go to chill out—or used to between deployments. Now it feels like a weight around my neck. The business that I can’t seem to get on track no matter how many promotions or reduced memberships I offer. The girl who I planned to marry, but haven’t really spoken to in years. But most of all, the itch beneath my skin telling me it’s time to leave, time to move, do something where I’m needed, something meaningful.

  The gym grows quiet as a couple of my regulars shout goodbyes from the locker rooms and then follow Ben and Livvie out the door. This gym had been in my family for decades—it was my father’s dream when he retired from the Marines. After my mother died, it became his baby. If he wasn’t at the cabin or fishing on the lake, he was here, shaping up-and-coming mixed martial arts talent or teaching a kid’s class. This place breathed life back into him after my mother’s death nearly killed him.

  When he had a stroke a few years back and my contract came back up for reenlistment, I couldn’t find it in me to leave him here alone. Livvie was still away at college and there would be no one to take care of the gym with him so sick. Leaving my guys, my brothers, hadn’t been an easy decision, but they understood. Even though it killed me to leave them behind, I moved back home to help Dad out while he recuperated. Then, after he died, the responsibility to keep it running fell to me and I didn’t want to let him down.

  I worried about it, though. Even now, as I flick the lights for the main room and lock the front doors, I worry about it. The walls of my office are plastered with pictures of my team, of my graduating class from boot. There’s even a photo of Sofie mixed in, though I do my best to avert my eyes as I settle in my dad’s old scarred up desk.

  As I pull out the medical kit from the bottom drawer to doctor my nose, I think about my unit. They’ve deployed recently and I need to email one of those bastards to see how they’re doing. It’s always with a mix of anxiety, though, because there are times when those emails hold the things my nightmares are made of. Someone’s been hurt. Someone’s been killed.

  Someone who could have lived if I had stayed.

  I open my laptop as a reminder to get on that shit before I forget, then open the handheld mirror from the kit and prop it up on my laptop screen to examine the damage. It’s swollen and blood has already pooled and hardened on my upper lip. My nose has been broken multiple times so I’ve given up going to the emergency room to treat it. There’s nothing I can do until the swelling goes down anyway. I open an antibiotic wipe and clean up the blood, grimacing through the sharp bite of pain.

  That done, I clean up a couple other cuts I’d gotten from one round or another. I throw the used wipes in the bin and pack the kit away for the next time Ben gets up the sack to break my nose.

  I close the drawer and my phone rings. “This is Jack,” I answer.

  “Yo, bromigo. How’s it hangin’?” comes the response.

  “Grady Williams, you sonofabitch. How the hell are you?”

  Grady and I had deployed a couple times, until he jumped on a fucking grenade to save my life and the lives of our team members. The resulting injuries meant a brutal recovery, but he was making it day to day. Like so many other Marines that had fought and bled for their country.

  Or died for it.

  “PT is a bitch, man, but I have the hottest therapist. An ass like you wouldn’t believe.” He chuckles over the line and I have no doubt what’s on his mind. “Anyway, what about you?”

  “Oh you know,” I reply, rifling through the mail on my desk. “Same old.”

  “So listen,” he says, “I just got an email from one of the guys and before you give me shit, I think you should seriously consider it.”

  Bright red ink catches my eye and I pull out a letter from our mortgage company. The word overdue burns itself into my retinas.

  “They haven’t announced it yet, but one of my old higher ups forwarded the info to me.”

  I rip open the envelope and say, “Oh yeah? What’d it say?”

  “They’re recruiting for service members with prior experience. Sweet bonuses, too. I saw it and thought of you. I know how much you miss the Corps. And I know you hate being a fucking business owner.”

  “Fuck you. What does the Corps need with a washed up grunt?” I try to mask my interest, but I’m sure I fail miserably.

  “I’m forwarding the info to you now.” His voice turns serious. “I know that place means a lot to you man, trust me. But I’m telling you. You shouldn’t pass this up. You miss the Corps like I do, man. And I’d go back in a second if I could.”

  “I know you would.”

  “You’ll think about it?”

  “Yeah, man, of course I will.” I toss the foreclosure notice onto the desk with the others and lean back into the chair. I run a hand over my face. “You sending it over now?”

  “Already done.”

  “I appreciate you having my back.”

  “Always. Anyway, hit me up if you do re-up, you lucky bastard.”

  “Go suck a dick,” I say in response.

  Grady clicks off and I toss my phone on the desk.

  My eyes flick over the wall in front of me and land on the photo of Sofie, smiling huge for the camera. For me. The picture was taken the day before she left my life for good.

  I get to my feet and turn off all the lights. Now that the boys are taken care of, getting out of Nassau doesn’t seem like such a bad idea after all.

  Past

  TEARS WELL IN my eyes and blur the darkened parking lot. I squeak out a protest against his sweaty palm as he starts to drag me behind the gym. My feet scrabble against the cement as I try to keep up with his long strides. There’s no breaking his hold—it’s like trying to fight against solid rock.

  He shoulders his way through a door propped open with a brick and plunges us into darkness. My heart trips over itself and white spots dance in front of my eyes. I can’t seem to catch my breath and I choke on the stale air from the deserted room he pulls me into.

  This can�
�t be happening.

  One shove sends me flying through the shadows and I trip over my own feet, landing on a pile of old mats that smell like plastic, sweat, and feet. I turn to my back and try to get to my feet, but a hand appears and shoves me back down on my back.

  “God, you’re fucking gorgeous,” he says, his hands running over my shirt, cupping and squeezing my breasts through the material. “Now,” he whispers against the shell of my ear, “now you’re all mine.”

  My thoughts grind to a halt and I panic, freezing as they slip underneath my shirt and grasp at my bra. For an eternity he fondles, pinching and tugging his way underneath the cups until he touches bare skin. At that, everything speeds back up and I surge up, slapping away his hands, biting, and clawing.

  He sits up on his knees and draws his right arm away, then backhands me so hard my teeth clank together and I taste blood. “Fucking bitch.” His left hand comes to my throat and presses me into the mat, my head vibrating from the blow and the rapidly decreasing availability of oxygen.

  My phone dings, causing my heart to thump heavily against my ribs. Damian chuckles as he reads the message on the screen. “What’s your passcode?” he asks.

  When I don’t respond immediately his right hand disappears for a second and then returns, flashing something thin and metallic, even with the lack of light. My body goes still as he brings the blade closer. He traces the curve of my cheek, presses the flat of it against my lips, parting them to knock against my teeth.

  “Don’t make this harder than it has to be,” he says lowly, exposing my throat and pressing the knife against the thump of my heartbeat.

  “2008,” I whisper.

  He taps the code in and sends a message to whoever texted. “There. Now he won’t be bothering us,” he says.

  “Wh-what did you do?” But I’m not sure if I want to know.

  He grins and his teeth flash in the darkness. “Just making sure we won’t be interrupted.” His body slithers over mine, his weight pressing me into the mats. “I saw the way you were looking at me. We don’t have to tell Jack. It can be our little secret.” His eyes gleam in the darkness, his mouth is a menacing slash above me.

  “Please, don’t,” I whisper. Tears seep from my eyes and I pull Jack’s face to the forefront of my mind as Damian grinds himself between my legs, unhearing to my cries. He’s just a few rooms away, just a few steps, and yet I’ve never felt so completely removed from him.

  Damian tugs at the button on my jeans, jerking them down and off my legs along with my shoes. A breath whistles through his teeth. A hand, gentler this time, slides up my leg from calf to knee eliciting a shiver. Teeth flash above me. “Oh, you like that, huh?”

  I shake my head against the mat, bile rising in my throat. “No, please, stop. Just let me go,” I plead.

  “Oh, no,” he says softly, his fingers tracing my panties. “I think you do like this.”

  “No, please,” I say as my whole body shakes uncontrollably.

  “Shut the fuck up,” he snarls, placing the blade at my neck and pressing down. Warm liquid trickles down my throat.

  I swallow my protests, causing the knife to slice deeper into my neck and I grip the mat in my sweat-slick hands, knotting the worn, loose material in my fingers. Oh God, he’s going to kill me.

  I’ll never see my Mom again. My brothers. Tears seep from the corners of my eyes and down my cheeks to join the pooling blood matting my hair.

  My eyes begin to adjust to the darkness and I can see his gaze follow the line of blood down my throat. He lifts the edge of the blade and draws it down my neck, not enough to break the skin, but just enough to cause the blood to rush to the surface. And enough that I cry out.

  He removes my shirt next and does the same thing down my chest and between my breasts, drawing patters with the very tip of the knife along my skin. It hurts almost as bad as if he were to flay me open. I don’t dare breathe a word for fear he will do exactly that, so I swallow my screams, my body going dead still under him.

  When he gets bored with that, he uses his teeth and I almost beg to have the knife back, because at least with the knife there was something in between me and his touch. His mouth presses over me hot and wet, tracing the lines he’s drawn on my skin. He pauses intermittently to bite viciously, unrelentingly, down. My shoulder, my neck, the soft curve of my arm, my nipples.

  Silent tears drip down my face and neck, stinging the raw wounds he’s carved into me. Later, it could be minutes, but it feels like hours, he lifts up and stares down at his handiwork. I shake with unreleased tears underneath him, my body bare and cold, right down to my bones.

  “Why are you doing this?”

  “I’m done talking,” he says. “Do I need to go get Jack? Bring him in here to play? I didn’t know you were into that kinky shit, but I can if you want.”

  The thought of Jack seeing me, seeing this, is more than I can bear, but it doesn’t stop me from bringing one knee up between his legs as hard as I can. I don’t get much leverage, but his pained inhalation brings me intense satisfaction.

  He hunches into a ball on top of me, his chest heaving in an attempt to catch his breath. I try to heave him off of me while he’s distracted and manage to get him sprawled on his back. Ignoring the burning pain from the shallow cuts all over my torso, I scrabble to my feet, feeling blindly for the door. My hand catches the knob and I yank it open.

  His weight slams into it beside me, then he grabs me by the hair and throws me to the ground. He prowls to me, then a booted foot connects with my ribs. “Fucking bitch,” he says.

  All the air has been sucked from my lungs, but I manage to say, “Fuck you,” before he kicks again.

  Then he’s kneeling down beside me, brushing the hair away from my face and wiping away the tears. He cups my cheek and I try to infuse my glare with defiance, but the ache in my side is excruciating and all I can mange to do is squint my eyes.

  “I didn’t want to do that,” he says.

  “Then don’t.” I suck in deep breaths, but pain and panic and fear overwhelm my body’s need for oxygen. Spots dance in my vision and black threatens around the corners. It would almost be a relief if I could give in to unconsciousness. “You don’t have to. Let me go and I won’t say anything.”

  He pauses and despite myself, hope grows. Then he says, “No, I don’t think I will.”

  I sob in earnest then, even though it brings fresh waves of pain from my ribs and cuts. He soothes me, one hand roaming over his handiwork. “What do you want from me?” I manage when it feels like I’ve cried myself dry.

  “Everything,” he says. “Now let’s see if we can really have some fun.”

  My head lolls from side to side, even as I bite my lip to stifle my protests. I feel relieved. Relieved that the threat of pain has passed—for now. He sets the knife next to us, far enough out of my reach so I don’t dare try to make a reach for it. His hand explores in earnest now, mapping my legs and quivering stomach. Except they’re gentle, like a lover’s hands and my body recognizes them as such. Even though I hate myself for it, I soften at the loving touch, responding with a soft exhale. Relief shifts, molds, and turns into arousal and I’m so grateful there’s no pain that my weary body leans into the pleasure of his caress.

  “There you go,” he murmurs, sliding his hand down the seam of my panties. My hips catch and a sob breaks free. “Shh, it’s okay.”

  I turn my face away, but he pulls my chin back with a firm hand and makes me watch as he slides one hand underneath my waistband. His eyes are glued to the sight, so he doesn’t notice when I squeeze my eyes shut, but that only seems to make it worse, intensifying the light, easy, arousing brush of his fingers against me.

  My chest heaves as my body betrays me, moving toward his touch instead of away. The grip on my face turns bruising as his breathing grows heavy. “You like that?” he whispers, his fingers growing more insistent. “I know you like it. Show me how much and I’ll let you go.”

  I sh
ake my head, but he’s so intent upon his actions he doesn’t seem to notice. I go somewhere else in my mind, anywhere else, as his attentions ignite a fire low in my stomach. I stop fighting, and lie there, a mindless, base creature, enjoying the touch of a monster.

  When it’s over, there’s nothing left in me.

  No more tears.

  No more pleas.

  I’m hollow, scraped raw.

  Above me, he groans and bile leaps to my throat. He rolls off, breathing heavily and throws an arm over his head. “I knew you liked it,” he says after an eternity. “No one would believe that you didn’t want that just as much as I did.”

  His words float away as the darkness finally, thankfully consumes me.

  For days I try to call Sofie, but they all go to voicemail. The day before I’m due to fly back to South Carolina, I manage to corner her mom in their front yard.

  “Mrs. Varano, I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t important. I’m worried about her.” Begging leaves a nasty taste in the back of my throat, but I don’t know what else to do.

  Mrs. Varano pushes the screen door open. “You can try talking to her, but she’s been so very sick these past few days. She probably didn’t want you to catch whatever bug she’s got.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I won’t stay long. I just have to make sure she’s okay. You and I both know she’s not the easiest sick person to be around.” I try to make my voice light, but the joke falls flat.

  Sofie’s mom nudges me forward. “She’s in her room. You go on back.”

  The yellow hallway light flickers as I make my way to her room. I knock, but there’s no answer, so I push the door open, my heart racing. Sofie looks up from the suitcase she’s packing, her tear-streaked face red and puffy. Her baggy sweatshirt and sweatpants nearly swallow her.

  Her hand goes to her throat and her already pale face drains of color. “J-Jack, what are you doing here?”

  I frown, my brows pulling together. I look back in the hallway like I’m going to find the answers there, then look back at her. “What do you mean what am I doing here? What are you doing?”