Joker by Andi Rhodes

Chapter Twenty-Three

^{I wanted to have the chance to take the fucker out myself… not anymore.}

Riley

The intro to Big For Your Boots by Stormzy blares from speakers that rest in the four corners of this abandoned warehouse basement. It’s my cue, and I don’t hesitate.

I clamp down on my mouthpiece and pound my fists together as I saunter to the ring.

People all around scream and flail their hands toward me, past the metal partition. I scan them as I go, looking for a familiar face. Or even an unsmiling, unimpressed face. I’m not sure what to look for, but I know one thing.

I’m not afraid.

I went to sleep peacefully and expected to wake up this morning with fear choking me. It never came. I thought maybe it would wait to make its appearance when I got here, but still nothing. Even when I watched Joker walk away, out of reach but never with me out of his sight, I thought that would do it.

But still, I feel nothing resembling fear. My hands squeeze into fists and release, and my heart pounds with anticipation. I haven’t even met my opponent yet, but I’m ready for her. She’s a warm up to the real opponent I came here to face.

I’m fucking ready for you, asshole.

I hop onto the platform and climb over the ropes into the ring. The room is so loud, I wonder if it throws off some boxers’ concentration. Not mine. I bounce while I diligently scan the crowd.

Nothing.

My music stops and there’s a brief pause before the other fighter’s song comes on. It’s a rap song I don’t recognize, and I give her a glance before going back to the crowd, but I have to do a double take. She’s huge, with bulging biceps, a heavy-set frame, and a masculine face hard with determination.

Fair enough. It figures they’d set me up with her first.

She lets out a growl that I assume is meant to intimidate me and throws herself over the ropes. A loud thud sounds when her feet hit the platform.

I’m looking out at the crowd, my eyes narrowed and jaw tight, but I still don’t see anyone who looks suspicious.

They have to be here. There’s no way they would miss this.

Another growl and I turn my head to my opponent, “Ronda, the Machine” as the announcer called her. I glance at her stance as she slides from side to side, her hands raised. I’m not even slightly worried. She’s gotta have fifty pounds on me, easily, but she’s so sloppy in her movements, she’ll be lucky if she gets a hit in.

I go to my corner, nothing but a waterboy down below to wash blood off my face if need be. No trainers. This isn’t that kind of league. This is more of a brawl than anything else. A brawl with a referee.

The ref looks at me. “You ready to fight?”

I nod.

He turns to Ronda. “Ready to fight?”

She nods, her eyes wide in a frenzy and her fists raised.

The ref throws his hand down when the bell rings, and he quickly steps back.

Ronda wastes no time. She barrels toward me, her fist raised, and a deep grunt hurls itself from her throat.

I take a step to the side and use her momentum to corner her into the ropes. She turns and I strike her face, my knuckles stinging from the impact. I’m used to gloves.

She falls into the rope and I lean into her, holding her there and anticipating her to shove me away so I can have access to her face again. Someone has taught her the basics, because her elbows block her chest while her fists cover her face.

She predictably moves her hands to shove me back, and I land a hard jab to her nose. Blood sprays and I hop back as she bends over, cupping her nose.

The crowd boos, and I glance out at the people. They’re booing at me, not Ronda.

Because this is a brawl and I’m playing by league rules.

Ronda lunges for me, and it catches me by surprise. Her hands are open as she goes for my eyes. I whip my head so she misses, and then I shove her back, my heart pumping.

A fucking eye gouge? Really? I glance at the ref, but he’s clearly not calling shit.

Okay then. Let’s play.

Ronda clenches her fist and goes to slug me, and I jerk left and lift my elbow. I crash it into the back of her head, and the crowd roars. She staggers, and I turn around and walk toward her. I grab her shoulder and spin her, and she swings a fist.

This one connects.

My cheek throbs, but I retaliate with three blows to her eye. My left hand shields my face while my right is on offense. This dumb bitch is too struck to even lift her hands.

The bell rings and I trot to my corner. There’s no blood to rinse off but I still take the bottle and squirt water into my mouth until I can’t keep up with swallowing.

I hand it back and bounce while I stare my opponent down.

She’s pissed. She’s taken her mouthpiece out while her face gets cleaned up, and she bares her teeth at me like a rabid animal. All that’s missing is foam seeping from her mouth.

She gets cleaned up, puts her mouthpiece back in, and we’re off to round two. There’s no way there will be a round three.

I give her four kidney shots in a row before she shields it with her hand and then I land an uppercut to the jaw and she’s down.

The ref begins counting and the basement vibrates with cheers. She’s getting back up, and I should be keeping my focus on her, but something catches my eye.

I turn my head to the left and spot a familiar face. One I never dreamed I should be looking for.

My heart stops in my chest and my world goes silent. All around Damian people jump and pump their fists in the air, but he stands still. His arms are crossed over his chest and his lips are in a thin line. When our eyes lock, he raises a hand and waves.

No.

No no no no.

Pain erupts in my jaw, and I fall to the ground. My ears register sound again, and I glance up at Ronda just before her foot rears back to kick.

I roll once, twice, then hop up. Ronda has been nothing but an uncontrolled ball of rage, and it’s made her an easy opponent, but now I begin to lose my control. And my patience.

I inhale a deep breath through my nose and don’t sidestep when she comes for me. She’s charging, her hands in front like she’s planning on spearing me. I rear my fist back and punch her in the eye with everything I have.

She drops to the ground in a big, burly heap and after the ref rolls her over and shines a flashlight in her eyes after pulling up her lids, he signals to the announcer. The bell dings five times, and my song plays.

I stare out at Damian. He’s smiling like he’s pleased, but my eyes are set in a glare as I stare at him. I shouldn’t be so obvious, but I can’t help it. The level of betrayal I feel is more intense than any love I’ve ever had for the man. And I loved him like family. He was family.

My arm is raised and words are spoken on the loudspeaker that I don’t listen to.

As soon as I’m down from the ring, I take off up the stairs to the first floor and toward a back hallway that leads to the makeshift locker rooms. It’s as secluded as it gets here, and the perfect lure. It’s been the plan the whole time, with the Soulless Kings inconspicuously surrounding me.

I had hoped not to need them. Before we left, Joker gave me back my gun. As promised. It’s stowed away in my gym bag, and as soon as the fight was over I planned to retrieve it. I wanted to have the chance to take the fucker out myself.

Not anymore.

I slow my footsteps, and finally hear the set behind me. I spin to face Damian and throw my mouthpiece to the ground.

“I like the new song,” he says.

Even breaths fly against flared nostrils, and I must look like a bull waiting to strike.

“What?” he asks, his face falling. “Not happy to see me?”

“Why?” I ask, the hurt cutting through my angry tone. “Why, Damian?”

He arches an eyebrow. “Why what?”

“Why would you do this?” My tone falls along with my heart, and I do the stupidest thing yet. I lower my guard. My hands unclench and my shoulders fall.

I was prepared to kill the man tormenting me, haunting my dreams. And now, I don’t think I can. Not now that it’s Damian.

He raises his hands like he’s surrendering. “Jesus, Riles. I just came to see you fight. I didn’t kick your dog. I thought it would be a pleasant surprise.”

I laugh dryly and take a sly step back. I glance at his waist, looking for a gun tucked beneath his jacket, but I don’t see one. His hands fall back to his sides, and he doesn’t reach for anything.

“You can drop the act. I know it’s you.”

“What is me? What are you talking about?”

“How did you know where to find me?” I ask with genuine curiosity. “How did you do this?”

His brows knit. “This place is not exactly a well-kept secret. There are reporters outside, and you happen to be a high-profile fighter at an amateur wanna-be boxing tournament. So, yeah, I heard about it. Two days ago, a persistent journalist shoved a recorder in my face asking why you decided to leave me to go fight for a bunch of crooks.”

“They’re not crooks,” I snarl.

He keeps his hardened expression for a minute until something registers and then his eyes go wide. He combs a hand through his hair.

“Fuck, Riles, please tell me your new family is not a bunch of motorcycle thugs.”

“Actually,” Joker’s voice sounds a little ways down from the hallway. Damian spins and I peek around him to see Joker, along with Piston, Greaser and Fender coming toward us. Riker steps out of a dark room by the hallway and it’s so close to Damian and me that I startle. They’re everywhere, waiting for us.

“We are her family,” Joker finishes. “And you would be terrified if you knew all the things we’ve done to people who have crossed us.”

“Riley, what the fuck?” Damian sneers, turning to me. “Are you going to tell these assholes to back up?”

“You know,” I say, my lips curling. “I should have known it was you. You made up that letter ‘the stalker’ sent and you said it was signed ‘Riles’. You didn’t even think to make it something else.”

Damian’s eyes widen again, and he goes to speak but it’s cut off by my laugh.

“Do you have any idea how guilty I felt for leaving your gym? For leaving you?” I shake my head and will away the tears burning my eyes.

“You think I’m the creep who’s been harassing you? Are you serious?”

I don’t answer and Damian’s face contorts in anger. “I helped raise you! And you think I’m a threat? But these guys?” He waves his hands toward the men slowly closing in on us. “These are your protectors now?”

“Exactly! You helped raise me, and I trusted you!” My heart squeezes and tears spill onto my cheeks. “My father trusted you.” My voice lowers several octaves.

Fender and Piston both take hold of Damian’s arms and he doesn’t even fight. He looks as hurt as I feel, and it makes me want to hear him out. Hear his explanation for all of this. But I can’t. I don’t even have the energy.

“I’m not the guy,” he says, only to me and in an even tone. “You can go to Hell for thinking I am.”

They turn him around and walk him out, a crowd of men surrounding them. Joker is the only one who stays back with me.

“I’ll see you there,” I whisper back to Damian who’s nearly out of sight.

I wipe my cheeks but they aren’t the last of the tears I have to spill. Far from it. Below us, the basement roars and the enthusiastic sound of hundreds of fans all cheering at the same time is a murmur in this space. I wish I couldn’t hear them at all.

“Who is he?” Joker asks.

I take a deep breath and finally look at Joker. “My trainer… he was my dad’s best friend.”

Joker frowns and his eyes shine with pity, and it’s the last thing I want right now.

I take a step back and yank my hair ties out. I run my fingers through my braids, setting my wavy hair free. “I’m going to go take a shower… Give me some space, okay? Please?”

Joker glances behind him, then to me. I can tell he’s eager to go to Damian, do whatever the hell they’re going to do. I didn’t care before now. I wanted the son of a bitch to suffer, before I knew who it was. Now, I hope they make it quick.

“I’ll wait outside the door.”

“No,” I shake my head. I don’t want him to hear me when I inevitably lose it in the locker room. “Just go with the others. I’ll meet you at the Harley when I’m finished.”

He nods in understanding. “Okay, Black Bird.” He kisses me on the forehead and then dips to kiss my lips. I return it halfheartedly. “Don’t give him too much of your pain. He’s already taken enough.”

With that, he turns and begins down the hallway. The muscles in his back ripple as he walks, and his tense arms pump in a way that tells me what he’s thinking. He wants to kill the man who’s hurt me.

I turn and hurry to the locker room. I fling open the door and walk to the bench, flopping down on it and holding my head in my hands. Despite Joker’s advice, I give Damian the last of the pain I could possibly feel. I wail.

I wail for myself and the months’ worth of fear and I wail for my father whose best friend betrayed him. He died believing I would be taken care of. He’s finally gotten his wish, but not from the man he had in mind.

I miss my dad. I wail because of that too. Because I’ve spent so much time accepting his death and not enough grieving it.

I even wail for the mother I never knew, who like Damian, doesn’t deserve it.

I cry and sob and scream and feel the full extent of all my pain. I’m almost done, my cries quieter and my heart slowing, when the door opens and the last of my healing is interrupted.

“I said I want to be left alone,” I snap, not turning to look at Joker.

“Hi, Riley.”

I whip around toward the feminine voice and see Leah standing a few feet in front of the closed door. Her lips are in a frown and her hands are stuffed in her hoodie pocket. A large suitcase sits beside her.

“Leah?” I ask, my forehead wrinkling with confusion. “What are you doing here?”

She shrugs and takes another step toward me but not stepping within a few feet of the bench. She’s keeping her distance, and I’m not sure whether to appreciate it or not. I’m too confused at her being here.

“You’re so hurt,” she observes. “I thought it would make me happy, but it’s honestly kind of depressing. You deserve it, though. What you’re feeling right now is a fraction of what you’ve put me through.”

I say nothing. My mind is frozen and even the cloud of confusion turns to ice. I can’t think through what she’s saying because it feels so off.

The ice melts and my confusion falls like spilt water.

My lips part and my eyes widen.

“It’s you,” I say, the words a mixture of a statement and question.

Leah sighs. “It’s incredibly hurtful that you could be so surprised.” She gives me a toothy grin and glances toward the door. “Damian sure made great timing, didn’t he? I almost didn’t think to send that journalist to tell him about your fight. Thought he’d get in the way and do more harm than good.”

The million questions that zoom through my mind silence, and I stand, my hands balling into fists. I grit my teeth and straighten my spine. “You don’t seriously think you could take me on, do you?” I ask, venom dripping from my tongue.

Leah smirks and shakes her head. “You? The Black Bird? Of course not.” She laughs and pulls her hands from her hoodie pocket, her right hand gripping the handle of a gun.

I narrow my eyes at her and don’t even acknowledge the gun. She won’t pull the trigger. She has so much more planned.

I lunge for my bag, hoping to get to my own gun, and my body seems to stop in midair when electrical current flows through me. I hit the ground with a thud but don’t feel the impact. My body convulses with overpowering shockwaves coursing through every cell of my body.

The convulsing stops and I gasp, lifting to see the end of a taser sticking into my abdomen.

It wasn’t a gun.

Leah presses the trigger again and another wave of electrical current has my teeth rattling and my mind trying its best to numb the pain. I’m helpless, lying on the ground flopping like a fish.

I gasp when she releases the trigger again and will my body to move, but it refuses. My muscles are zapped, literally, and my brain is soup. It’s only my will still fighting, and right now, it’s fucking useless.

Leah steps over me, her hand on the trigger. She lowers and shoves her other hand into my mouth while my eyes are trained on the taser. Two pills dig into my throat, and she yanks her fingers out and covers my mouth. I want to wrestle the pills from my throat, but they’re too far back and if I don’t swallow, I’ll choke.

I swallow.

Leah pulls the trigger again.

When her finger is off the trigger, she stares over me with her head tilted and smirks.

“This worked out great, Riles. Almost perfect. But you know what would have made it even better?” She lowers herself to my face, and it’s all I can do not to jerk up. My muscles won’t budge and my head is already getting loopy from whatever drugs I took.

“If that stupid boyfriend of yours had stayed, you could’ve watched him die.” Leah sighs, her cherry lip gloss filling my nostrils. “Now you’ll only get to hear about it.”

I don’t get a chance to ask what she means by that before my mind numbs and my eyes close.