Bad Boy's Honor: An MMA Bad Boy Romance (62 page)

Dad always did have perfect timing. He called just as Chloe and I were about to go into the restaurant for lunch together. Five seconds later, and I would have set my phone to silent and enjoyed a nice lunch with my new assistant.

Perhaps the interruption was for the best. Other than Kara, I’d never taken any of my employees for lunch, unless it was as part of a big group.  

Inviting Chloe for an intimate meal at my favorite restaurant might be considered somewhat inappropriate behavior for a boss.  

The truth was, I just really wanted to spend more time with her without it being about work. The short time we’d spent together in the nightclub had been a lot of fun, and I’d met the real Chloe. At work she was my diligent assistant, seeing to my every need and desire, but that night she’d let her hair down a bit. I wanted to see more of that Chloe.

But then Dad called.

He had the location of the two Barton brothers, but he also had it on good authority that they would only be there for another hour at the most.

Chloe had wanted to tag along, which I found flattering, but there was no way I could let that happen. I’d already lost one woman I cared about due to my fucked up life, I wasn’t about to lose another. Not that I cared about Chloe as much as her. I couldn’t--we’d only just met.  

We’d quickly developed a bond, but that was just a work thing. Nothing else. I hoped to God there was nothing else. I couldn’t afford to get close to anyone again.  

I didn’t have much time, so I broke into a jog and didn’t stop until I rounded the corner and saw the old factory. The chain and padlock around the gate had already been broken, so I looked around to make sure the coast was clear and then walked through.  

My instinct was to head straight for the main door on the off chance I might take them by surprise, but something didn’t quite feel right about the whole situation. There was no noise; not a peep. The warehouse was empty, so I’d assumed the brothers were using it to interrogate a rival or kick the shit out of someone, but that would have been noisy.  

There were no cars outside either. The Barton brothers had a fleet of expensive cars and were rarely seen without them. They never usually worried about subtlety, so they wouldn’t hesitate to park six figures’ worth of motor vehicles outside a factory. You’d have to be stupid to steal a car belonging to the Bartons.  

This wasn’t right. The Bartons weren’t here. Surprisingly, I felt relieved. I had reconciled myself the thought of killing them as part of my plan to avenge Kara’s death, but I knew I wouldn’t take any pleasure from it. I knew I’d be haunted by their dead faces at night, like I had been with the other two men I’d killed.  

What kind of person could kill without being emotionally torn apart by it? I knew the answer to that question and he went by the name of Dad. Death was so… permanent. There were few people in this world who truly deserved it, but the Bartons could probably count themselves among that number.  

The Bartons must have left already, but I couldn’t go back to Dad without having at least checked the place out.

I pushed open the door which had been left ajar. I did a quick sweep of the ground floor, but no one had been here in awhile. The ground was still coated in dust and there were no footsteps.  

There was a workbench at the far end, so I grabbed a hammer--light enough to swing hard, but heavy enough to do some damage. I never carried weapons when I was at work, much to Dad’s annoyance, so his last minute call had caught me unprepared.

I headed up the stairs, moving slowly so as not to make any noise. If they were here, I wanted to maintain the element of surprise.  

The upper floor used to be used for storage and office space, so there were lots of narrow corridors and places to hide behind. That could work in my favor if I was careful.  

I kept close to the wall and headed down a corridor towards the front of the building. I stepped so slowly and carefully that I was barely moving, but my footsteps still made far more noise than I would have liked. Each tiny sound echoed around the walls, and to my overly paranoid ears it sounded as loud as a fire alarm.

Then I heard something. A cough.

It came from the office straight down the end of the hall. I stopped and listened. This time I heard what sounded like someone fidgeting on a chair. At least one of them was in there.

I ducked down so that he wouldn’t see me if he looked out of the window, and then hurried towards the office as quickly as I could, clenching the hammer so tightly in my hand that I nearly snapped the wooden handle in two.  

I was so focused on sneaking up on whoever was in that room, that I didn’t hear the other brother, until he sprung around the corner and lunged at me with a knife. What was it with people trying to stab me this week?

My hammer was in the wrong hand, but I managed to throw up the empty one and whack him on the wrist. It was enough to send the knife sailing harmlessly past me. It looked ungainly, but it worked.  

The Barton brothers looked similar, but I recognized the one with the knife as Kevin, the younger of the two by a few years.  

The other Barton brother, Eli, leapt out of the office and pulled a knife of his own, holding it out in front of him, as if daring me to come at him.

The Barton brothers were famous for their preference for knives over guns. Chicago almost had as many guns as people, so the Bartons thought they were cool for not needing them. From what I’d heard, they had a massive collection of them and they used them to slowly torture victims before putting them out of their misery.

Fortunately for me, the Bartons were only used to using their knives in controlled torture situations; they didn’t have much experience using the knives in combat. They stood with the knives held out in front of them, as if they’d learned how to fight solely by watching movies.  

Movies didn’t do a great job depicting real-life street violence. The heavily choreographed displays looked nice on screen, but on the streets people fought dirty and did what they needed to do to survive.  

I was the better fighter. This wouldn’t be easy--it was still two against one and they had weapons--but I could definitely get out of this.

Kevin stood in front of me while Eli moved around behind me. I kept flicking my head back and forth between the two of them. Kevin looked a little less sure of himself now after his previous failed attempt, but Eli still had a wicked grin on his face.  

They’d planned all this. They knew I was coming and they’d set a trap. Good thing the Bartons weren’t all that smart.

I could try and make a run for it, but the corridor was narrow and I’d have to push past Eli to get back out. He could easily stick the knife in me as I passed.  

Instead, I decided to spring a trap of my own. I started turning in a circle to keep both of them in my vision, and then I took a tiny step to the side as if I were considering trying to bolt passed them.

I pretended to stumble, as if I were about to fall over. The brothers took the bait. They both lunged for me, thinking I was there for the taking. Eli reached me first so I grabbed hold of him, let myself fall to the ground, and used my momentum to throw him in the direction of his brother.  

They collapsed on top of each other, and Kevin took a cut to the face in the process. Nothing life threatening, but it was nice to see them bleeding.  

I quickly stood up while they were still getting untangled and then slammed the hammer down on Eli’s wrist. To my surprise, he didn’t drop the knife, but I’d broken enough bones that he easily let go when I pulled it from his hand.

Now
this was nearly a fair fight.  

Eli got to his feet first, but he was now unarmed. I could take him, but I didn’t want to risk leaving myself open to attack from Kevin.  

Eli made the decision for me. He ran, leaving his younger brother still winded and struggling to get to his feet. So much for brotherly love.

Kevin had a knife. I had a knife and a hammer. And I was pissed.  

He didn’t stand a chance and he knew it.  

The second I made a move towards him he ran, following his brother down the corridor and towards the exit. I’d been having doubts about killing these two, but those doubts had long since evaporated.

I chased after them. They spent a lot of time in the gym, but they only worked on building muscle, neglecting to do much in the way of cardio. They were bulky and slow, physically as well as emotionally, so I knew I’d catch up to them.

The gap closed to merely ten feet when suddenly I screamed and doubled over in pain. I’d torn some of the stitches the doctor had used on my wound. I clasped my hand against my side to try to stem the bleeding, but that just made the pain worse.

If the Bartons had turned around and seen me bent over on the floor, they’d be able to come back and finish me off. Fortunately, they were too concerned with running away, and must have interpreted my scream as one of aggression and not mind-blowing pain.  

The Bartons fled through the front door. I’d missed my chance. They hadn’t managed to kill me, but Dad just might finish the job for them.  

I slumped back against the wall, and kept the pressure on my side until the bleeding finally seemed to stop.  

The Bartons had been expecting me. But how? The obvious answer was that Dad had a mole in his operation, but that didn’t seem likely. Dad regularly made an example of anyone who was suspected of double crossing him, and made his thugs watch. That was enough to keep anyone on the straight and narrow.

I used my legs to push myself up the wall until I was in something vaguely resembling a standing position. Chloe was going to give me hell for this.  

I laughed to myself as I realized I was probably more scared of what she was going to say than I was of my father. Dad would be angry. I wouldn’t put anything past him, but I feared Chloe. Well, I feared disappointing her.  

I managed to walk--barely--and made it over to the office that Eli had been hiding in before Kevin had leapt out at me with the knife. The office had long since been cleared away of any valuable computer equipment, but there was still a load of furniture and filing cabinets.  

And a cellphone. Lying on the floor was a phone at least four years old. I initially dismissed it as something that had been left behind from when the factory was still in use, but then I saw a light on it flash.

For a brief second, I got my hopes up and thought that Eli had left his phone behind, but there was no way someone as flash as him would have an old phone. He was the sort of man who would pay for specially made diamond encrusted ones if they were available.

I discovered who owned the phone before I’d even picked it up. As I bent down, I saw the owner of the phone under the desk, laying in a pool of his own blood. Deep gashes ran down his thighs where the Bartons had had their fun with him before slitting his throat. Lovely.  

The dead guy was one of dad’s men. I’d seen him around Dad’s restaurants a few times. The Bartons must have tortured him until he made the call to Dad, knowing he would send me here to deal with them.  

There was nothing I could do for him now. I’d call the police at some point and tell them where to find the body, but first I needed to get the hell out of here in case the Bartons had done the same.  

Alan should have the car outside the factory by now.

I ignored the pain in my side and ran as fast as I could towards the entrance. It might have been more sensible to find a back way out, but at least this way I knew where I was going.  

I breathed a sigh of relief--mixed with a heavy dose of pain--when I saw the car out the front. I could always count on Alan to get me out of a tight spot. That’s why he earned six figures a year just to drive a car. You couldn’t put a price on men you could trust to have your back.

The Bartons would try to frame me for that murder, but even if they didn’t, I knew I needed to get out of town for a bit. Things were too hot right now.

The streets of Chicago often contained the sound of sirens, but for now there was nothing. I opened the car door and half jumped, half fell into the back seat.  

“To the airport, Alan,” I said, wincing in pain as I felt my side open wider with the impact as I hit the seat. “It’s time for a short vacation.”

“Oh, where are we going?”  

The question didn’t come from Alan and it didn’t come from the driver’s seat.

I turned to my left to look at the girl sat next next to me.

“Chloe, what the hell are you doing here?”