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“Maybe it’s none of your fucking business,” I snarl.
“Fuck, Kell. I never should have got you that fake ID. last year.” Logan slouches back in the booth, crossing his arms over his chest. “In the eight months since the shooting, you’ve turned into a fucking drunk. Dropped out of school to do what? Feel sorry for yourself all day?”
The waitress places another whiskey in front of me. “Shut up, Sanders. You’re not my goddamn mother.” I cringe, realizing what I just said. Then a weird sort of hysteria takes over and I begin to laugh maniacally. “Fuck,” I snort, “I don’t even have a mother anymore!” Slamming back half the whiskey, I laugh louder. “Hell, I hardly have a father. My mom got fucked up on pills and booze and fell into the pool, or maybe she just fucking threw herself in!” I wheeze, tears of laughter streaming down my cheeks.
As if a switch flips, the laughter stops and an icy calm slithers down my spine, oozing like a living thing slipping into every crack and crevice of my body. “No mother, no father, no sister…” My voice hitches. “Fuck.” I down the rest of the drink, praying for the blessed numbness to take over.
“Kell—”
My best friend gapes as I stare at him. Hell, not just my best friend, Logan is the only friend left since my sister died and my soul was buried six feet under along with her. Once more, my mood changes in the blink of an eye, uncontrolled rage replacing the frigid emptiness. Fury suddenly burns hot over the ache of loss.
Anger is so much goddamn easier to deal with than guilt.
Lurching to my feet, I stagger over to Logan’s side of the table. “You wanna say that bullshit to my face? Huh, Lo? That I should just get over it?” My fist twists in his shirt, wrapping the fabric around my hand. I lean down, almost tumbling face-first into his lap. “Fuck you. You don’t know what it’s like to be a killer. I fucking killed them, Lo. Me!”
Letting go of his shirt, I wobble as I stand up straight, hammering my chest with my fist on each sharp word. “I. Did. It!” I roar, heedless of the crowd in the bar. I turn to face the stunned patrons. “I fucking killed my family!”
Logan puts his hands on my shoulders behind me and I freak the fuck out. Spinning around, I shove him into the booth, landing hard on top of him, fists flying. Someone grabs me around my waist, trying to yank me off of my best friend.
“Don’t fucking touch me!” I can’t squirm out of the man’s strong grasp. Panic overwhelms me in my drunken state. My hands scramble for anything to hold on to, not finding any purchase on the slick table or fake leather bench seat. When my fingers finally grasp something I can hold, I pick up the heavy glass and smash it into the person’s head.
The next thing I know, my face is pressed into the filthy linoleum floor, the strong stench of stale beer in my nostrils.
“You have the right to remain silent…”
My hands are jerked behind my back while a knee digs in between my shoulder blades.
“…right to an attorney…”
Laughter and tears pour out of me, loud, inhuman sobs ripping through my chest. When the metal cuffs clink around my wrists, the sound marks the exact second my mind snaps.
3
Ten years later
Britt
“Britt, can you double time it downstairs to cage four? Jack just pulled something in his back.”
I glance up at one of the coaches at Souza MMA, the elite athletic complex
where I work as a sports therapist. “Sure thing, Max.”
“Thanks, Britt. He’s waiting for you.”
Once I finish restocking my backup freezer with disposable ice packs, I trot down the flight of stairs to the main level. Roxie, who works the front desk and is an all around awesome chick, grabs my arm when I pass by.
My first instinct is to flinch, or scream, or I don’t know, just run away. I can’t because I’m at work, at the gym. Despite knowing I’m safe here, I sometimes react poorly to being snuck up on or grabbed. Keeping myself composed, I reach up and finger the amethyst pendant I wear beneath my clothing for reassurance. Deep down I know it’s all nonsense, but amethyst is supposed to keep away negative energy, so I’ve worn it since Nina gave it to me when I finished therapy so many years ago.
Roxie’s face twists into a concerned frown.
“He’s in a bad mood, girl. Watch yourself.”
I laugh, tilting my head back to look up at the tall woman. “Jack is always in some kind of a mood, Roxie. I can handle him.”
She scowls, her red lips a shocking contrast to her outrageous blue hair. “Don’t let him bully you into something you aren’t up for, Britt. You’re too nice.”
I pat her hand before moving out of reach. “And you’re too sweet, looking out for me.” Giving her my best smile, I weave through the equipment to the section of the gym with the cages—six cages to be exact. Fighter’s League of America, full regulation-size octagons.
