“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 f**king my wife.” A satisfied smile curls his lips. “I call that a win-win.”
Cocksucking a**hole. 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 f**king 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 f**ked 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 f**k 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.”
~*~
At five o’clock on the nose, I’m walking through the front door of Armadillo’s. It’s a dive bar for locals and boasts the coldest beer in town. One of those places you walk in and it takes ten minutes for your eyes to adjust from the bright sun to the dark room. I welcome the sound of pool balls smacking together and crappy country music. It’s a great distraction from the chaos whirling in my head.
As I move through the room towards the bar, eyes follow my every step. The pool balls fall silent, and the chatter turns to whispers. I drop my face and rub my forehead in a pathetic attempt to hide. Should’ve known being out in public would be uncomfortable. After all, these people think I’m a cheater who’s dirtied Las Vegas’s most profitable sport. Maybe meeting at the station would’ve been a better idea.
Dave’s sitting at the end of the bar, beer in hand. He waves me over.
Squeezing past a couple of bikers who don’t make it easy it on me, I’m grateful to make it to my barstool. “You’re early.” I motion to Dave’s half-empty pint glass.
“It’s been a crazy day.” He motions to the bartender for another. “What’re you drinking?”
I order a Sierra Nevada and notice activity in the room has gone back to normal. “What’s up?” No use avoiding the issue. He’s obviously got something he needs to say, and I don’t want to spend any more time here than I have to.
“We made some headway in your case.” The bartender puts our beers down, and Dave nods his thank you.
“That’s great news. You find the prick doctor who dosed me?” I grip my beer bottle so tight my fingers go numb.
“No.”
“Fuck.” My bicep jumps, and I want to hurl my beer across the room, but without the drugs in my system, I control the wild urge with ease.
“There’s been a development. Something that was brought to our attention by an eyewitness—”
“Dave man, cut the shit. I’ve lost everything. My career, my woman, and her kid. If you’ve got some good news, just fuckin’ tell me.”
“Fair enough.” He turns his stool toward me. “Stewart Moorehead set up his wife. He’s the one responsible for what happened to you. But he didn’t act alone. He had a partner to pull it off.” He leans in. “Taylor Gibbs.”
I shove back from the bar, my pulse drumming in my ears. My muscles contract with the urge to break something. “You’re f**king with me.”
He shakes his head and then goes onto explain how Stewart got Layla the job with the UFL, promising Gibbs the publicity he was looking for.
Unable to sit back down, I take a moment to register this new information. It doesn’t surprise me the lengths that Stew went to in order to ruin Layla. She even mentioned that he’d let her go too easily.
But Gibbs. I knew he was a media whore of the worst kind, but to discredit the sport for a headline is some f**ked up shit. And throwing out one of his fighters is unfathomable. He’s not only killed my career, but he’s tainted the UFL name, and taken a shit on mixed martial arts while flippin’ it a big fat “fuck you”.
“We’ve arrested Mr. Moorehead, and we’re in the process of getting Gibbs. That’s where you come in. The LVPD’s going to need your help in getting a confession. If not, it’s his word against Stewart’s.”
“I’ll do it. Whatever it is, I’m game. As long as it means he goes down hard.”
“I was hoping you’d say that.” He nods to my barstool. “Have a seat.”
I’m so hyped up on adrenaline it’s hard to sit still, but I pull my shit together and hear him out. He explains the plan, and for the first time in a while, I feel hopeful.
“You think it’ll work? Getting the recorded confession?” I take a long drag off my beer.
“It worked beautifully today.” He smiles and tries to cover it with a cough.
“What’re you talking about? And why are you grinning like a girl?”
“How do you think we got that information out of Stewart? We mic’d Layla and sent her in.”
My stomach drops, and the mention of Layla and Stewart in the same sentence makes my flesh crawl. But overriding my irritation is anger. “Why would you do that? Guilting Layla into coming face to face with the man who had her gang raped? Who lied to her about being the father of—”
“Calm down, Blake.” He holds up his hands. “She came to us. It was her idea.”
“Her idea.”
“She had suspicions about Doctor Xavier. Your positive blood test sent her on a mission to prove her theory. She came to me with the idea and said she’d get the confession.”
I’m dizzy, my mind spinning. I brace myself against the bar to keep upright, my head in my hands.
She did all that. For me?
The guy who choked her in her living room? In front of her kid?
I swallow past the lump forming in my throat. “She did that?”
He has the decency to keep his gaze forward, allowing me my privacy as I process all he’s shared. “She wouldn’t take no for an answer.”
She’s a single mom with a mouth to feed. Her job is her lifeline away from Stewart. And yet, she risks it to save my reputation. After everything I’ve done, she throws herself up to shield me?
That is what’s going on here, right? It has to be. But one question nags me to ask. If she cares about me, why haven’t I heard from her? Where was she when I was in jail, and why didn’t she answer my call? Maybe this is her parting gift. Her way of saying thanks for the good time, sorry it didn’t work out.
I groan and rub my temples. This is all so damn confusing. One thing at a time. First Gibbs.
“I’ll get Gibbs to confess. You name the time and place. I’m there.” Even off duty and in his civilian clothes, I decide not to share my plan to break Gibbs’s nose for conspiring with Stewart against Layla. I’ll wait until after he confesses, but it will happen.