Against the Ropes
Page 28
“I thought you were going to faint. You were a little…unfocused.” His arms are warm around me and his footsteps echo in the near-empty warehouse.
Oh God. He’s carrying me. “Put me down. I can walk.”
“No. You’ve caused enough problems for one night. Taking on Misery wasn’t the wisest of moves, especially for a girl who professes to abhor violence.” He ducks under the bleachers and heads toward an exit door hidden in the corner.
“Sorry. I was just trying to help.”
“You did help. You gave me enough time to clear my head and get to my feet.” He pauses and his voice takes on a more serious tone. “But next time don’t put yourself in danger. You’re the healer. I’m the fighter.”
“I’m not a healer.”
Torment frowns. “You have a gift—a passion—for healing people. Don’t downplay it. You don’t just heal bodies, you heal people inside. Somehow you can see what people need—”
My cheeks heat and I manage to wiggle my way out of his arms. “Okay. You got me. I like to help people. I like to make them feel better. But it doesn’t make me a healer.” If it did, I would heal myself.
“You’re wrong.” He pushes open the door and I follow him out into the cool, still night air.
“Mr. Huntington, sir, the limo is over here. You’d best hurry.”
A cut-glass English accent is not something one hears often in Oakland. My head whips around just as a tall, broad-shouldered man emerges from the shadows. He is shorter than Torment by about three inches, and heavier. He has a shaved head, rounded body, and a cheerful countenance. From the slight sag to his skin and the wrinkles creasing his brow, he might be in his early forties—older than Torment, and much older than me. His suit—a stiff white shirt, striped blue tie, long gray suit jacket, and matching gray dress trousers—is more appropriate for an office or a wedding and not a Ghost Town alley reeking of stale beer and rotting garbage.
“Makayla, this is Colton. Colton, Makayla.”
Colton nods. “How do you do, Miss Makayla. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”
Finally? How does he know about me? Why does he know about me?
Instinctively, I thrust out my hand. “Hi.”
Amusement glitters in Colton’s clear, sparkling blue eyes, and he gives my hand a gentle shake. Then, he snaps his fingers and a sleek, black Bentley limo purrs out of the alley and stops beside us.
My eyes widen. “What is this? What’s going on?”
“Why did you bring that?” Torment grumbles.
“I thought it might be more comfortable if you were unconscious again, sir. We had difficulty keeping you upright last time in the Lexus.”
A door slams and a man in a black suit and flat-brimmed hat races around the limo and pulls open the passenger door.
Torment sighs. “Makayla, this is Lewis. He insists on wearing a uniform despite my preference for casual attire. Lewis, this is Makayla.”
Lewis narrows his eyes and gives me a tight-lipped smile. I immediately don’t like Lewis in his fancy uniform. I also don’t like limos appearing out of nowhere in dark alleys and men in suits who call Torment “sir.” I especially don’t like not understanding what the hell is going on.
Torment places his hand on my lower back and urges me forward. “After you.”
My breath catches in my throat, and I stare at the vast expanse of polished chrome, the uniformed chauffeur, and…Colton. Words fail me and I shake my head.
His jaw tightens. “It’s okay. You’re safe with me.”
My voice, when it returns, is soft and hoarse. “But what about your motorcycle?”
“Mr. Huntington’s motorcycle is already on a truck and on its way home,” Colton answers.
Everyone stares at me. Waiting. Expectant. But my brain is still playing catch-up and my feet refuse to move. “Why are you riding around in a limo with a chauffeur and a—”
“Butler, Miss Makayla.” Colton is quick to fill in the gap in my knowledge.
“Butler. You have a butler. Who are you?”
Torment tugs off his bandana and rubs his hand over the back of his neck. “We can talk in the limo. We don’t have time to discuss it here. The regulators are coming, and we need to clear the area before they get here. Jake is inside getting rid of the last stragglers and shutting things down. He’ll help Misery’s cornermen get him out. We’re free to go.”
Something inside me tightens. He isn’t who I thought he was. I don’t know him at all. But I do know not to get into a car—or a limo—with a stranger.
He reaches for my hand, but I back away.
His face falls. “Makayla—”
“Who. Are. You?” Raising my voice, I enunciate each word no longer caring if the regulators find us.
“You haven’t told her?” Colton asks.
Torment shakes his head.
Colton’s eyes flick to me and his blue eyes soften before his gaze returns to Torment. “Might I suggest you give her your phone and let her look you up on the Internet, sir? I retrieved your personal belongings when the whistle blew. I suspect in your current state, you will be unable to do justice to yourself and given our time constraints it is best if she receives her information from a reliable source. She might then be able to assure herself of her safety in your company.”
Torment’s shoulders slump and he nods. Colton reaches into the limo and retrieves Torment’s phone.
Oh God. He’s carrying me. “Put me down. I can walk.”
“No. You’ve caused enough problems for one night. Taking on Misery wasn’t the wisest of moves, especially for a girl who professes to abhor violence.” He ducks under the bleachers and heads toward an exit door hidden in the corner.
“Sorry. I was just trying to help.”
“You did help. You gave me enough time to clear my head and get to my feet.” He pauses and his voice takes on a more serious tone. “But next time don’t put yourself in danger. You’re the healer. I’m the fighter.”
“I’m not a healer.”
Torment frowns. “You have a gift—a passion—for healing people. Don’t downplay it. You don’t just heal bodies, you heal people inside. Somehow you can see what people need—”
My cheeks heat and I manage to wiggle my way out of his arms. “Okay. You got me. I like to help people. I like to make them feel better. But it doesn’t make me a healer.” If it did, I would heal myself.
“You’re wrong.” He pushes open the door and I follow him out into the cool, still night air.
“Mr. Huntington, sir, the limo is over here. You’d best hurry.”
A cut-glass English accent is not something one hears often in Oakland. My head whips around just as a tall, broad-shouldered man emerges from the shadows. He is shorter than Torment by about three inches, and heavier. He has a shaved head, rounded body, and a cheerful countenance. From the slight sag to his skin and the wrinkles creasing his brow, he might be in his early forties—older than Torment, and much older than me. His suit—a stiff white shirt, striped blue tie, long gray suit jacket, and matching gray dress trousers—is more appropriate for an office or a wedding and not a Ghost Town alley reeking of stale beer and rotting garbage.
“Makayla, this is Colton. Colton, Makayla.”
Colton nods. “How do you do, Miss Makayla. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”
Finally? How does he know about me? Why does he know about me?
Instinctively, I thrust out my hand. “Hi.”
Amusement glitters in Colton’s clear, sparkling blue eyes, and he gives my hand a gentle shake. Then, he snaps his fingers and a sleek, black Bentley limo purrs out of the alley and stops beside us.
My eyes widen. “What is this? What’s going on?”
“Why did you bring that?” Torment grumbles.
“I thought it might be more comfortable if you were unconscious again, sir. We had difficulty keeping you upright last time in the Lexus.”
A door slams and a man in a black suit and flat-brimmed hat races around the limo and pulls open the passenger door.
Torment sighs. “Makayla, this is Lewis. He insists on wearing a uniform despite my preference for casual attire. Lewis, this is Makayla.”
Lewis narrows his eyes and gives me a tight-lipped smile. I immediately don’t like Lewis in his fancy uniform. I also don’t like limos appearing out of nowhere in dark alleys and men in suits who call Torment “sir.” I especially don’t like not understanding what the hell is going on.
Torment places his hand on my lower back and urges me forward. “After you.”
My breath catches in my throat, and I stare at the vast expanse of polished chrome, the uniformed chauffeur, and…Colton. Words fail me and I shake my head.
His jaw tightens. “It’s okay. You’re safe with me.”
My voice, when it returns, is soft and hoarse. “But what about your motorcycle?”
“Mr. Huntington’s motorcycle is already on a truck and on its way home,” Colton answers.
Everyone stares at me. Waiting. Expectant. But my brain is still playing catch-up and my feet refuse to move. “Why are you riding around in a limo with a chauffeur and a—”
“Butler, Miss Makayla.” Colton is quick to fill in the gap in my knowledge.
“Butler. You have a butler. Who are you?”
Torment tugs off his bandana and rubs his hand over the back of his neck. “We can talk in the limo. We don’t have time to discuss it here. The regulators are coming, and we need to clear the area before they get here. Jake is inside getting rid of the last stragglers and shutting things down. He’ll help Misery’s cornermen get him out. We’re free to go.”
Something inside me tightens. He isn’t who I thought he was. I don’t know him at all. But I do know not to get into a car—or a limo—with a stranger.
He reaches for my hand, but I back away.
His face falls. “Makayla—”
“Who. Are. You?” Raising my voice, I enunciate each word no longer caring if the regulators find us.
“You haven’t told her?” Colton asks.
Torment shakes his head.
Colton’s eyes flick to me and his blue eyes soften before his gaze returns to Torment. “Might I suggest you give her your phone and let her look you up on the Internet, sir? I retrieved your personal belongings when the whistle blew. I suspect in your current state, you will be unable to do justice to yourself and given our time constraints it is best if she receives her information from a reliable source. She might then be able to assure herself of her safety in your company.”
Torment’s shoulders slump and he nods. Colton reaches into the limo and retrieves Torment’s phone.
