Page 64 of Driving My Obsession

My phone rings,and the blaring sound pulls me from sleep. The only person who calls my phone on a regular basis is Darby, and I know it’s not him. The Kursickis never miss a mark. Through eyes heavy with sleep, I grab my phone and bring it up to my face. I blink twice to be sure I’m seeing this right, but the name remains on my screen.

It’s Darby.

I answer the call. Instead of hearing the grinding voice of the son of a bitch I’m certain should be dead, the dark, heavily accented voice of Boris fills my ear.

“Did you hear?” he asks.

I wipe a hand down my face as I sit up. “Hear what?”

“Darby is dead,” he says with the slightest hint of excitement coloring his voice.

Oh, I didn’t just hear it. I set it up.But I can’t tell him that. “What? How?” I ask, feigning concern. Of which I have none.

Boris scoffs, and even that has an accent. “Someone found him in his office this morning. They said something about his severed pinky shoved inside his dickhole. It didn’t have something to do with you throwing the fight last night, did it?”

I sigh. “Is there a point to this call, Boris? Besides telling me the good news that Darby is dead.”

“Yes, yes, I’m getting there.” He takes a deep breath. “How would you like to do this fight club with me?”

“You’re the one who should take over, not me. I’m not undefeated anymore.”

He laughs. “Oh no, that was not a win I can be proud of. You still hold that title to me. I see no better fighters to run the show than us.”

I swallow hard, and Oaklyn stirs behind me. She sits up, pinning her ear to my shoulder to try to hear what’s being said. I look back at her. Running an illegal fight club turned out super well for Darby, obviously. Is that what I want? What I want for us?

For us.

I’ve never had to think of another person. I’ve never been so intricately linked to another person for there tobean us. I’ve always made decisions for myself. For me.

Sick of waiting for my answer, Boris pushes. “You either join, or you quit fighting.”

“You’d keep me out of the ring?” I ask.

“If you refuse my offer? Yes. As the true better fighter, my matka would rise from the grave just to slap me upside the head if I didn’t at least offer. Don’t offend me, bratr.”

It’s not the first time Boris has called me brother in his native tongue, but the annoyed snap in his tone took the endearment right out of the word. Now it sounds like I’m offending his great-great ancestors by declining.

So I don’t.

“Fine,brother,” I say. “I’ll meet you at the ring tomorrow. I have some shit to deal with.”

When I end the call and turn toward Oaklyn, her big eyes have lost all their sleepy haze. She looks at me, waiting for me to explain, but I don’t know what to say to her. This could be enough to ensure Oaklyn never has to work again if she doesn’t want to, but it means entrenching myself further into a dangerous sport built on the backs of my enemies. It could be risky.

I stare into her eyes. It may not be the right call, but it could give us a chance at making something good out of something that started so badly. It’s a chance I’m willing to take.

For us.

“You and that guy you were fighting are taking over the fight club?” she asks as she curls her legs under her. “You sure that’s a good idea?”

I pivot my body and push her onto the bed. I fall between her legs and her eyes slowly rise to meet mine. “There’s onlyonething I’ve ever done that I’m sure was a good idea.”

“And what’s that?” she asks with a sly smile.

I lean down and capture her lips with mine. “Letting you live, my beautiful little tragedy.”

Epilogue

Six Months Later

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