“I was here the night he came in and beat that man nearly to death,” the girl says to her friend. “He had lost his mind, I swear. He was drunk and God knows what else. One of his security team had the crowd cleared out, but I was in his locker room, waiting for him to finish the fight. I wanted him so badly and had been trying for a while, but he wouldn’t have it. Anyway, you know me, I’m not a quitter.”
“Slut.” Her friend giggles. “But seriously, what happened after that?”
“Well, they came in and Max was freaking me the hell out, so I hid. He was smashing things and finally he started telling the security guard what happened to him. He was saying things about a car accident he saw one night when he was driving home from work. He said there was a kid that was thrown from the car and that kid like, died in his arms or something.”
It feels as if someone has punched me right in the heart. It twists in pure agony. I know there was an accident, Max had told me that he’d witnessed one and had to give a statement to the police, but he never, ever told me he had seen something like that, or lived through it. He said it wasn’t bad. He hid that from me. I didn’t piece it together, because the accident was at least a month before he started running off the rails. He went out one night around a month after, and I swear he came home different.
Was that night the night this girl is talking about? Did he lose it? Was he suffering before I thought it began? He was working so much after the accident, he seemed normal . . . but then . . . he was so busy, and I didn’t think anything was wrong, so I didn’t pay closer attention. I lived for a month in the same house as my husband, and all the while he was breaking and I didn’t know. If I had known, maybe he would have never gotten worse. Maybe he wouldn’t have had the breakdown that sent him down a spiral of darkness.
Max.
Oh God.
Tears are running down my face right now and I step forward, pushing through the crowd, needing to get out. I need air, God, I feel like I can’t breathe. The world starts spinning around me and my trembling hands shove at people as I try to get past the endless streams of them. It seems as if they just don’t end. I don’t know where I’m going. My vision blurs and I start panting, hands shoving, my body being pushed around.
The crowd is still roaring, people are still stomping and I’m being thrown about the sea of people as if I weigh nothing more than a sack of flour. People don’t care; they’re just waving their arms, pushing anyone out of their way to get closer. I spin frantically, trying to figure out where I am, to get my bearings, but I can’t do anything but fumble around, tears pouring down my cheeks. People start screaming louder and I lift my head to see Raide drive one last punch into Max’s face.
My husband goes down, blood pouring from so many different wounds it makes my stomach turn. He turns his head sideways and looks right at me. The tears blur my vision, but I can see his stare penetrating mine. He’s hurt. Oh God, he’s hurt. I start fighting harder, this time in an attempt to get to him, to help him. People are going nuts, but I keep my eyes on Max’s as Raide accepts his win. Max spits blood on the floor and sits up, barking my name.
I don’t make it to him, because an elbow launches out and hits me right in the eye, making my world go black.
CHAPTER THIRTEENTHEN – MAX – THE ACCIDENT
It’s foggy tonight. The cool, crisp weather is causing a light sheen of mist to float around. It’s dark and the only thing I can see on the road is a faded white line. I follow it as best I can, going slow, watching for the other cars and their headlights. I’m not too far from home, maybe five minutes, ten in these conditions.
I’ve been spending all my time at the club lately. It’s surprised me, because I’m actually enjoying it. I had it re-done with the help of an interior designer. She picked new, bold colors and we came up with a new, more modern take on the old rundown club. I still have a long way to take it, but it’s a start. It took six weeks to re-do, but now it’s open and it’s thriving. People love it and come from far and wide to spend a night dancing and drinking there.
Aside from questions and asking me how it’s going, Belle hasn’t come into the club, and I don’t blame her. It’s not her scene, but it doesn’t affect me in any way. I don’t expect her to spend her time there, and when we have children, I don’t want them being a part of it. Our life works for us; it’s balanced and fucking perfect. The only part that’s been hard is this right now, and that’s because I’m still hiring new staff and so therefore am spending more time than I’d like at the club.
I’ve also started an underground fighting ring. I haven’t told Belle about it, because I’m not sure it’s something she’d agree too. It’s not dangerous, and there are only boxing matches, but it’s still fighting and she’s never much liked violence. I set it out underneath the club, also putting down a training area for during the day when the club isn’t open. I let my boxers fight against each other every Saturday night for money, and the men seem to eat it up, betting and enjoying the atmosphere it creates.
It’s tripled my nightly income, so it’s more than worth it.
The sound of screeching tires snaps me back to my driving and I see a car launch off the road on the opposite side to me. We’re on a highway, but at this time of night it’s rather deserted. This is the first car I’ve seen. I pull over immediately as the headlights disappear, and jump out of my car. It’s so fucking dark. I go to my trunk and dig out a flashlight, and then I run over to where the car went off the road.
It must have slipped, or maybe something ran out in front of it. I have no idea why it went off the road like that. My heart pounds as I cross and reach the bank on the other side. I flash my light down, trying to see the car. It’s so fucking dark in the trees that line the road—it’s nearly impossible to see. Adrenaline fills my body and I run down, skidding a little as I slide down the narrow hill. This is a big drop. That’s not good.
I dodge trees and keep my light on the seemingly broken path the car created. I finally flash it on the silver, crumpled mess. My heart stops beating as I see it, smashed, bent around a tree, smoking. Fear rises up and clogs my throat, and I start running, hard and fast. I pull out my phone as I go, dialing an ambulance. If these people are still alive, they’re not going to be in a good way.
I manage to get through in a couple of seconds and I bark out what’s happening and where I think I am as I reach the car. I shine my flashlight through the windows but it’s too damned hard to see. The lady on the other line tells me someone will be there soon, and not to move or touch anyone. I hang up and shove my phone back, before taking the door handle and pulling it, over and over. It finally breaks open.
“Hello?” I call, listening for something, anything.
I flash my light in and a pained cry rips from my throat as I see the first person, crushed in the front seat. That person is no longer alive, and the graphic scene in front of me has my body going numb with horror. I keep moving, forcing myself to keep on checking. Someone could be alive. I can’t risk missing them. I flash my light around, but the car is bent at odd angles, and I can’t see the other side.
The windscreen is smashed wide open and there seems to be blood over the hood of the car. I run around the other side and try to catch a glimpse through the passenger door. It’s a mangled mess, but I’m sure I can see another person; it’s so hard to tell when the car is such a mess. I call out again, over and over, feeling vomit rise in my chest.