Multiple calls and texts have gone unanswered, and now she won’t come to the door. The need to speak to her about the invitation, the shooting, has me at the edge of coming completely unhinged.
Several of Britt’s neighbors peek out of their own apartments to see who is making such a loud disturbance. No one challenges me or tells me to fuck off, and who would? I must look insane. Wearing loose shorts and tight T-shirt, covered in tattoos, with an expression on my face that likely screams of violence and danger.
I contemplate kicking her door down. It wouldn’t be too difficult, despite the outrageous number of deadbolts Britt has in place. A dozen strategically placed kicks is all it would take, but I can’t chance getting arrested. Hell, someone probably already called the cops.
Shit. I have to leave. Not only would an arrest get me kicked out of the AFL, but being locked up would keep me from finding Britt, and that’s something that I can’t allow to happen.
More frustrated than I’ve ever been in my life, I slam my hands into the door one last time and stalk back to my car. Pounding on the steering wheel doesn’t help lessen my agitation either. I breathe slowly to calm down, having absolutely no idea what to do next. The car is stifling, so I turn on the engine and lean back on the leather seat, letting the air conditioning cool my sweat-slicked skin.
While I wait for my temperature and blood pressure to return to normal, I notice the lot is only half full. It’s not surprising, being a Sunday afternoon and not a workday for most people. This time, I scan the lot with a purpose and realize Britt’s red BMW is nowhere to be seen.
“Son of a bitch!”
If I had just paid more attention I would have known Britt wasn’t here. She doesn’t use her car very often, usually walking to and from work just the same as I jog every day. Traffic is a bitch around here and taking a car makes very little sense. So Britt went somewhere a little further than the gym. Where would she go?
Fuck. I don’t really know jack shit about her. Not really. How can a person get so completely under my skin and invade my soul without me knowing such simple things as her favorite restaurant, or hobbies, or even if she has any family? Because I’m a selfish prick, that’s why. Wait…
Family.
With a new plan in place, I jerk the car into gear and head for the gym.
“Come on, Roxie. You helped me before. Why can’t you help me again?” I lean on the front counter where the tall woman is manning the juice bar, blending up a shake for another fighter.
“Killer,” she says as she pours the thick pink liquid into a tall cup and hands it to the guy at the other end of the bar. “It doesn’t feel right to invade Britt’s privacy like that. Besides, it could get me fired.”
I growl, slamming a fist down on the counter hard enough to rattle the glassware. “Fuck privacy! I need to talk to her. It’s urgent!”
Roxie frowns, looking at me but not looking at me. Not at my eyes anyway. She’s staring somewhere around chest level so she won’t have to see the monster. But the monster is gone. At least for now. The monster wouldn’t give a shit about Britt or the shooting or anything. Keller does.
“Roxie, look at me.” She flinches, hesitant to do as I ask. “Please?”
Roxie bites her lip and reluctantly flicks her eyes up to mine. For once, she doesn’t look away. I don’t see the fear that transpires when people look into my eyes. No, Roxie’s expression softens. She looks… sympathetic.
“Killer. Get Gabriel’s permission and I’ll give you what you want. Okay? That’s the best I can do.” Roxie reaches out and pats my hand before turning to the sink to wash out the blender.
Gabriel isn’t here on Sundays unless a fight is coming up, so I whip out my cell phone, find his contact, and hit send. It rings so many times, I’m about to give up when the call connects.
“Fala.”
I nearly sink to my knees in relief.
“Gabriel, it’s Killer. I need your help,” I rattle in rapid-fire Portuguese.
“Killer? What is the matter? Are you okay?” The man sounds genuinely concerned for me, something I haven’t heard from another person in over ten years.
“No,” I say, my throat closing up as I think about Britt. “It’s… it’s Britt. I screwed up, Gabriel. I need to see her. It’s very important.”
“So go see her,” he says simply.
“She’s not home,” I explain. “And she won’t answer her phone.”
“I see.”
“I need… I need you to allow Roxie to show me her emergency contact.” I swallow nervously, praying Gabriel understands the importance of the situation. “I think something really bad is going on with her.” My voice cracks and I rub my forehead. “She saw something at my place, something… personal. It shouldn’t have meant anything to her, but she freaked out and left. Gabriel, it scared the shit out of me.”
“You? You are scared? Meu Dios. Nothing scares you.”
“Gabriel…” I’m becoming desperate, which makes me angry. It’s impossible to keep him from hearing the hostility.