Scare Crow (28 page)

Using his gloved hand, he dabbed at the blood that was leaking out of the corner of
his mouth, and then he glanced at the blood on the glove. All of a sudden, I saw something
change in Griff as he wiped the blood against his shorts. He smiled and waved at the
crowd. He rolled his shoulders back and went after Batte G
omez.

I watched him take on the buffalo swiftly and powerfully. He was careful, methodical,
relentless, and a lot faster than his heavier counterpart. Griff grappled Gomez to
the ground, and when the first round ended, he was sitting on Batte’s chest trying
to find a hole under his arms so that he could get to his
face.

The second round came as quickly as the first round ended. Griff charged as soon as
the bell rang, his fist ahead of him leading the charge. It found a space under Batte’s
jaw, and Batte fell back, his head hitting the rubber
mat.

Griff stood with his fists held ready in suspension. His opponent put an elbow under
himself in an effort to get up, but it buckled under his weight. He fell flat again,
and the crowd almost went quiet, or perhaps my ears had tuned them out. As Griff was
about to take advantage of his opponent’s incapacitation, the referee jumped in front
of him, fell over Batte, and waved his
arms.

The whole world went still, along with G
riff.

I could feel the wave of disbelief rise as everyone, including Griff, realized what
had just happened. Griffin the Grappler Connan had won. Against all
odds.

Griff’s team were jumping up and down around him while Griff turned, trying to find
me in the crowd, but he was being blocked by the crowd that followed the golden belt.
As Griff’s team parted to let the belt come through, Griff took off running. He flew
down the stairs, flew between the rows of
fans.

I knew where he was going. I was about to step over Joseph to meet him halfway and
drag him to the back, to where the cameras couldn’t catch us, but Griff was already
there. He lifted me up and kept me in his grasp while everyone nearby tried to jump
into our row to get their hands on the victor, stepping on my roommates, on Griff
and me, in the pro
cess.

Security had to fish all of us out, and we were shepherded back into Griff’s changing
room. Hunter had a bloody nose, and one of the twins’ shirts had been torn. They never
looked happier. I hoped that the stampede of people would have kept us hidden from
the cameras. I made a quick decision to just let it go. For the first time in several
months, I stopped worrying about what could happen and celebrated with everyone else.
I enjoyed the
now.

Griff still had me in his arms when I pressed my hands against his face. “You didn’t
think you would
win.”

“No,” he admi
tted.

“You should have told me, explained to me what you were walking into. I would have
never … we would have found another way. I thought you were going to
die.”

“No one would have let me die. I promise you that I won’t leave you, in life or in
d
eath.”

The door burst open as the rest of Griff’s fight team came through carrying champagne
and the belt he had left be
hind.

After the mind-blowing win, Griff was immediately booked for a press conference, interviews
with the media, and meetings with sponsors and promoters. I ended up driving home
with Joseph, while the rest of the lot stayed to follow Griff around, drunk on his
refound celeb
rity.

“You didn’t want to stay with everyone else?” I asked Joseph while we were in the
car.

“I’m not much of a dri
nker.”

I rolled my eyes. “How much did Griff pay
you?”

“Enough to make it worth my w
hile.”

****

I was going down the stairs for my regular 3:00 a.m. snack of peanut butter and apples
when I heard the door jiggle. One of my drunken roommates, rolling in after partying
with the fighters. After the roommates had gotten back from Christmas break, Griff
had ordered them to lock the door from now on. And no more parties! The order was
well-received, because it came from their beloved Griff. But at least once every weekend,
someone, usually a drunk someone, got locked outside after forgetting or losing his
or her key. There must have been twenty keys to our house floating around in bars
across ca
mpus.

I let the drunk someone on the other side of the door suffer before I went to let
him or he
r in.

There was someone standing under the broken porch light, still holding the two paper
clips he had been using to try to jimmy the lock. When he took a step forward into
the light of the hallway, Meatball came charging down the stairs. I had time to loop
an arm out and latch onto his collar before he attacked the man under the c
loak.

This man looked filthy, like he had been sleeping under a leaky bridge, and smelled
like he had been eating out of a garbage bin. I didn’t immediately recognize him.
But when he pulled his hood off, when my eyes met his, I knew exactly who he was.
In this instant, I also realized that he was pointing a gun a
t me.

Nores
trom.

The bastard who had killed R
occo.

If he hadn’t had a gun pointed at me, I would have let Meatball rip the arteries out
of his
neck.

“I was starting to think I was never going to get you a
lone.”

I wasn’t alone. Joseph was sleeping upstairs. But I didn’t tell him this. Clearly
he had been watching me, and clearly he had lost touch with rea
lity.

“I am alone. What do you
want?”

He was jittery, moving in quick sequences. Like his brain was moving faster than the
rest of the world. Meatball was snarling, foaming at the mouth. I was having trouble
keeping him close to me. When Norestrom took a gentle step forward, Meatball lunged
up, almost yanking my arm out of its socket. So Norestrom went back to his original
spot.

“I won’t hurt you,” he told me. “I just need m
oney.”

I tried not to l
augh.

“How
much?”

“Just enough to disap
pear.”

I really wanted to punch him in the face. But I was also enjoying seeing him so squirmy.
I couldn’t tell if he was high or frightened out of his
mind.

There was a noise upstairs. Norestrom pointed his gun quickly at the stairs and quickly
came back to me. “I thought you said you were a
lone?”

“Don’t you have connections? People who have enough money to buy you your own island?”
I wanted to keep him calm and tal
king.

But his arms had started shaking, and the wildness in his eyes was mounting like his
time was about to run
out.

“Not anymore,” he answered. “Because of
you.”

He had been forsaken by Victor, by his own kind. I was loving this newfound
fact.

“I’ll give you all the money you need,” I said to him. “Just come back tomorrow, and
I’ll give you everything I
have.”

“I need it now. Tomorrow will be too
late.”

“Well, I don’t carry that kind of cash wit
h me.”

Back and forth his eyes went from my face to my guard dog. Until something else caught
his attention. In my struggle to keep Meatball at my side, my bathrobe had come undone,
and my belly poked out from my too-small T-s
hirt.

While the wildness of his eyes remained, a smile crept over his face. I recognized
that smile. It was demonic. It was the same smile he’d had on his foul face before
he had ordered his men to kill R
occo.

“Okay,” he said, backing away. “I’ll see you tomo
rrow.”

He would see me tomorrow. With Victor or with whoever else was willing to pay the
price of knowing that Cameron’s baby was hiding inside of me. With whoever was willing
to pay the price of being able to use my child as leverage in the underw
orld.

While Norestrom was lowering his gun and I was trying to figure out how to get to
the revolver that was in my purse on my bed so that I could shoot his head off his
shoulders, Joseph had sleepwalked down the st
airs.

“What’s with all the barking?” he muttered. Norestrom jumped and I jumped and Meatball
got free of my clasp of his collar. A shot rang out. Before Norestrom had time to
pull the trigger again, Meatball had bounded, slamming him to the ground and sending
the revolver flying into the pile of shoes stacked by the
door.

Norestrom was kicking and screaming, using his free arm to punch Meatball in the head.
I tried to pull Meatball away before Norestrom could really hurt him, but his jaw
was firmly set into Norestrom’s puny
arm.

Joseph rushed to help me, and together we finally managed to get Meatball off him.
Joseph held his collar, while I rushed to grab the gun on the f
loor.

Norestrom was already on his feet, getting ready to pounce on me until I raised the
gun. He was brought to a halt, his gaze jumping from my face to the gun that I was
pointing at his
head.

R
occo.

All I could see was Rocco. How much he loved to goof around. How much he loved to
eat. How his teenage body had matured before his brain had had a chance to catch up.
Standing in this hallway entrance with a gun in my hands, I could hear the echo of
his laugh—a child’s giggle stuck in a man’s body. He was the funniest kid. He was
a brother and a confidant. He was sunshine in darkness. And the piece of shit who
had taken this child’s life, the one who had robbed the world of Rocco, was standing
in front o
f me.

I steadied my stance and felt every muscle of my arms tighten around the gun. The
blood left Norestrom’s
face.

He stood erect, a step away from the front door, and fished something out of his front
shirt po
cket.

“Hands up,” I gro
wled.

He had already pulled out a shiny badge and held it in front of him—a shield to my
gun. “I’m a cop. You can’t shoo
t me.”

Norestrom kept his shield in the air and took one step back. He was right; I couldn’t
shoot him. He turned around and grabbed the door ha
ndle.

I pulled the tri
gger.

I pulled the tri
gger.

I pulled the tri
gger.

With each pull, his body pulsed forward like he was getting hit by lightning b
olts.

I kept pulling the trigger until nothing but air came out and Norestrom was lying
with his cheek squeezed against the door and his limp body in a pool of his b
lood.

When the smoke cleared, a whimper from Meatball made me spin around. His front legs
gave out, and he fell to the f
loor.

No. No. Nononononononono.
I ran to my dog’s side. I grabbed his head, feeling warmth under my fingers. When
I pulled my hand away, I saw
red.

Meatball’s head went limp in my arms. My pajama bottoms were already saturated with
his b
lood.

“No,” I screamed. “Meatball. Not you. I won’t, I can’t lose
you.”

Meatball was looking blankly at my face, and his eyes started to close. I could feel
his breath leaving him. I started trying to pull him up, but his deadweight was too
much fo
r me.

“Please, Meatball. I need you. You can’t leave me here. Not like
this.”

Meatball let one long sigh escape him and forced his eyes open. “I won’t make it without
you.” The top of his head was soaked with my tears. He managed to wag his thumb-sized
tail. Then he dragged his head up to my face to lick my
nose.

I glared up through my tears and yelled at a dumbfound Joseph, “Hel
p me!”

Joseph roused from his daze and helped me carry Meatball to my car. While Joseph drove,
I had my big monster of a dog lying on my lap while I whispered urgently. I promised
Meatball all the popcorn he could eat. I promised him that I would pay Joseph’s mom
so that she brought him her famous meatballs every day of his life. I promised him
that I would never leave him as long as he never lef
t me.

With every breath, Meatball’s body weakened against my legs, sinking deeper into obscurity.
I knew he couldn’t see me anymore because he just looked vacantly at the seat ahead.
But I knew he could hear me. So I didn’t shut up. Not for one second until I was finally
pried from his side at the twenty-four-hour veterinary cl
inic.

****

I didn’t know how long I’d been pacing outside the surgery door in my blood-soaked
pajamas before the doctor came walking out. He took his time. Removing his mask, removing
his scrubs, taking a brea
ther.

He bade me to sit, but I refused. I was ready to wring his neck for informa
tion.

“The bullet missed his heart, but made a mess of his humerus.” He put his hand on
my shoulder, as though he could sense I was about to fall. “I was able to eventually
dig the bullet out, but he’s lost a lot of blood. He’s weak. Very weak. But I think
he’ll be
okay.”

I kept my eyes on his expression, while his words clumsily processed in my mind. When
the doctor smiled tiredly, I flung myself into his arms and hugged this perfect stranger
as though he were the father I never
had.

Joseph and I were brought into the back room, where Meatball was sleeping on a metal
gurney. The vet let him wake up just long enough for me to see him. When his eyes
flickered opened and he saw me, he tried to get up, but I soothed him back down. I
hopped onto the bed, gently pushed his big head onto my lap, and rubbed his ears until
he fell back as
leep.