“Whoa, what the fuck happened to you?”
His shoulders slump, and he lifts his chin to reveal a black eye and pretty decent knot on his forehead. “I probably should’ve come to talk to you sooner, but . . .”
My muscles tense. “Who the fuck did this to you?”
“Thinkin’ you already know who.” He swallows and avoids my eyes. “I overheard Reece and some of his guys blabbing a few months ago. They were talking shit about the UFL and how they were only here for a little while until they”—he motions with air quotes—“get what they need.”
“This back when they started fucking with you?”
“I tried to talk to them about it, ya know, get them to see things my way? These guys, Reece and his friends, they don’t respect the century-old fundamentals of MMA. To them, this UFL stuff isn’t a sport. It’s, I don’t know, a way to become famous by beating people up.”
Damn, I seriously dig where this kid’s mind is at. “So you confronted them.”
“Yeah, I told them they need to have more respect for the organization or go fight for someone else.”
“Shit, Killer. They’re bullying you because you’re defending their sport.” I grind my teeth and withhold the rapid-fire curse words itching to be released.
“They got pissed I’d heard whatever it is I heard.” He scratches his head. “I don’t even know what they were talking about, but ever since then, they’ve been threatening me, roughing me up if I talk.”
“So they’re only here to get what they need. What does that mean?”
“I don’t know. That’s why I didn’t come talk to you sooner. I thought once they realized I didn’t hear shit they’d back off.”
“But they didn’t.” I motion to his face.
“I walked into the locker room, and they were in there with a camera, like the handheld video kind?”
I nod.
“I told them they can’t have that in there, UFL rules, and I don’t know . . . They snapped.”
What the fuck were they doing in there with a camera, and why would being reminded of league rules cause them to beat the shit out of an eighteen-year-old boy?
“Makes me wonder what’s on that camera.” I scratch down a reminder in my notebook to call in Reece and the boys for a little talk and then let them all out of their contracts effective immediately.
“No clue. Lopez took off and ran with it right after he finished videotaping.”
My eyes snap to his. “He recorded the beating?”
Killer’s forehead drops again. “Yeah.”
As if an ass kicking isn’t enough, but they insist on humiliating the poor kid too? I’m fed up and ready to put an end to this shit.
I hit the intercom on my phone. “Layla, get Reece and Lopez in my office now.”
A soft knock on my door and Layla steps in with her eyes trained on a post-it note in her hand. “Vanessa gave this to me. It’s a message, but”—she hands me the little yellow note—“it’s kinda vague, not that I’m surprised.” Her eyes roll to the ceiling. “Vanessa’s as helpful as an STD.”
In bold handwritten letters, the note says “URGENT” and below it is an address. It takes a quick scan of the address for me to know exactly who the note is about. I’m on my feet and fishing my keys out of my pocket before I make it to the door of my office.
“Give me an hour,” I call over my shoulder to Killer and Layla as I move down the hallway.
My pulse throbs in my veins, is audible in my ears, and makes my heart race. There’s only one reason I’d be called to the nursing home, and God . . .
I’m not ready to lose her.
Forty-One
Cameron
My tires squeal as I pull into the parking lot of the Horizon Care Facility. Adrenaline fuels my muscles, and I sprint through the lot then squeeze through the sliding glass doors before they’re fully open. The sterile scent of the place turns my stomach and worry dampens my palms.
Pam, who works the front desk, looks up with wide eyes. “Can I help—Oh, Mr. Kyle.”
“Yeah, hey . . .”
“We didn’t expect you ’til Sunday.” Her easy smile doesn’t communicate anything close to urgency.
“I got your message.” I lean over to peer down the hallway. “Is she okay?”
“Message?” She looks around her desk as if the answer is lying around haphazardly on some scrap of paper.
“It said ‘urgent.’” I scour the area for any sign of disruption, my pulse pounding.
“I’m sorry. I don’t see anything here about an urgent message.”
“I received a message with this address.”
“Oh, well it wasn’t from us. Rosie’s just fine.”
I hear her words, but they don’t calm the fears. “I’d like to see her.”
“Yes, of course.” A soft smile curves her lips. “Rosie’s very popular today. I’ll take you back.”