Fighting to Forgive (Fighting, #2)

“He doped up that fighter to get him busted for steroids. Got a couple bogus signatures from you that show you approved the fighter’s meds. I knew when all this shit blew up, you’d need me to bail you out. I’d fix it, and get you back and home where you belong.” A creepy laugh gurgles in his chest. “The best part of it all was an accident. Turns out, the guy he was doping was the same guy who was fucking my wife.” A satisfied smile curls his lips. “I call that a win-win.”


Cocksucking asshole. I grab his dick and twist it with all my strength. He howls in pain, and blood seeps from his stitched lip.

“Not this time, Stew.” I push back from the bed, barely escaping his hand as he grabs for my hair. “This time, I win.”

The door opens behind me, and I don’t have to turn around to know that five armed police officers are at my back.

Stew’s face goes slack, eyes darting.

“You guys get everything you need?” I call over my shoulder.

Lieutenant Hodgeson steps to my side. “Loud and clear. Great job.” He spears Stewart with a glare. “I’ve got a list of charges against you, Mr. Moorehead, including rape. I suppose you need a lawyer.”

“You fucking bitch.” Stewart thrashes on the bed, pulling at cords. “I’m going to kill you.”

Three police officers move quickly and handcuff him to the bed. “Sir, you just added another charge by threatening a woman. I suggest you keep your mouth shut until your lawyer arrives.”

I rip the hidden mic, wires, and box device from beneath my clothes. “Am I free to go?”

“Absolutely.” Lt. Hodgeson aims a smile my way. “Oh, and you might want to know, Mr. Daniels was released on bail last night.”

“Oh, um…” He’s out. “That’s good news.”

He nods toward me then turns to his officers and a still struggling Stew.

Knees wobbling, I push my legs to carry me out of the room. How does Blake feel about me now? It’s because of me that he has a police record. It’s my fault that he’s lost his career, and his reputation is destroyed. He’ll never forgive me.

As much as I want to run to his place, fall to his feet and sob until he takes pity on me, I’m probably the last person he wants to see.

And with such victory comes crashing defeat. After all, what joy is there in being free if I can’t share it with the people I love? I remind myself that Axelle is my life, my priority. She’ll always be enough for me.

Even if my heart is screaming otherwise.





Thirty-two


Blake

I’ve been at it for nine hours. Sitting in front of my computer, exhausting every search engine ever created, and nothing. No record of a Doctor Michael Xavier. Anywhere.

I took a break from my online manhunt to research the drugs that were found in my system. Both can be ingested and injected. Easily given without a patient’s knowledge.

That bastard totally fucked me. And now he’s gone.

Slamming my laptop shut, I toss it on the bed next to me. My stomach growls, reminding me that I’ll have to leave the safety the spare bedroom eventually or starve to death. As appealing as the latter option is, I can’t die yet. Not before I find that motherfucker who ruined my life and make him pay.

My fists dig into my eye sockets. “This pity shit isn’t going to get me anywhere. Concentrate.”

I grab my cell phone. Missed calls. Two from my brother, one from Lieutenant Hodgeson. No Layla.

Calling her isn’t an option. What if she tells me to fuck off? I scroll through my directory to her number, my thumb making passes over the word call lit up in green. I try to ignore the voice in my head that taunts me. I’ve done this at least a dozen times since I woke up. “Fuck it.” I hit the button.

It’s ringing, and I hold my breath waiting for her voice. Shit, what am I doing? She’ll call me if she wants to talk. An automated voice comes through the earpiece, asking me to leave a message. I grumble at being cheated of hearing her voice on an outgoing message. Even that would have been something.

The high-pitched beep sounds, and I freeze. Do I leave a message? What would I say? My throat is dry. I open my mouth to speak, but can’t do it. I pull the phone away from my ear and hit “End”.

I run my hand over my head. A million different things whirl through my mind, and I can’t get the shit to slow down. Layla’s got a lot to deal with right now. She’ll call me when she’s ready. Or not. Dammit.

This head-fuck is sidetracking me. I’ve got things to do, and I need to get to them. I redirect my energy to proving my innocence, and call Lt. Hodgeson.

“Mr. Daniels.”

“Hey, Dave. Did you call to tell me I left my toothbrush in jail? If so, you can keep it.”

He laughs. “No, nothing like that. Do you have time today to come down to the station? There’re a few things I need to talk to you about.”

Dropping my head back to my pillow, I groan. “I don’t know, man. Last time you and I talked at the station, I ended up behind bars.”

“Good point. Meet me for a beer?”

“Now you’re talking.”

“Great. Armadillo’s at five.”

“See ya then.”

*

J.B. Salsbury's books