Page 134 of Ghosted

Jagger brought her here. Jagger touched her, and he knows this building. Plus, thanks to my little stunt with him in the cage the other day, already looked ready to kill somebody over her.

I don’t need to make the story complicated. I just need to make sure everything leads back to him.

By the time I’m done, my clothes have stopped dripping as much, and the room looks almost peaceful again. Almost. Alice floats face down quiet in the blue light, and I stare at her for one last second, still pissed at her fucking audacity.

“You shouldn’t have picked him,” I tell her.

My voice sounds calm in the empty room.

That pisses me off too.

I grab my jacket from where I left it hidden in the dark and pull it on, wet collar cold against my neck. Then I look toward the door Jagger left through and smile because now I can see it.

Every second of it.

Jagger coming back and finding her when he realizes I’m not at the fight..

Him hitting the water like he can fight death if he gets his hands on it fast enough. Dragging her out. Begging. Bleeding. Touching everything. Leaving pieces of himself all over the body of the girl he chose over me.

There you go, baby brother.

Keep her.

I take the service stairs instead of the main exit because Jagger isn’t the only one who knows how buildings breathe after hours. Outside, the night air hits my wet clothes, and I walk until my breathing evens out, until my hands stop wanting to shake, until the smile finally comes back right.

Under a broken streetlight, I stop and laugh once, at the irony of everything.

He wanted a clean place. Instead, I gave him a fucking crime scene.

And now my little brother gets to learn exactly what fucking happens when he wins something that belongs in my hands.

12

JAGGER

THE ONE WHO STAYED

By the time I get to the warehouse, my hands are wrapped and my head is wrong.

Not empty. Empty would be so much fucking better.

This is too full.

Johnny. Alice. The cage. The water from the pool night still sitting somewhere under my skin, like chlorine can get into bone if you let it. I keep hearing her voice in the pool room, low and tired and sharp enough to cut through every stupid excuse I tried to hand her.

Don’t let him make you stupid.

I told her I’d try.

Then she told me to do better than try.

So that’s what I’m doing.

I’m sitting on an overturned crate in the back of the warehouse, pulling my wraps tighter across split knuckles, breathing through the urge to find Johnny before the fight starts and make the whole thing simple. The crowd is already loud beyond the curtain of hanging plastic that separates the fighters from the rest of the floor.

Music shakes the walls. Men shout over each other.

Money changes hands in stacks thick enough to make people feel brave.