Kayden draws in a slow, uneven breath as he gathers his thoughts.
“The girl in the picture is— was—my sister, Clarissa,” he says shakily. “And five years ago, I killed her.”
My stomach completely hollows out.
He must have noticed my discomfort because he frowns deeply but pushes himself to continue.
“Let me start from the beginning. A few years ago, when I was sixteen, my parents died.” A muscle ticks in his jaw when the words leave him. “I was making a lot of stupid decisions back then. Acting high and mighty. I got really drunk at a party one night and just wanted to get home, so I called my parents to come get me. Told them to take the shortcut that went through some cliffs.” His voice takes on a faraway note. “It was raining pretty bad and the police officer told me they lost control of the car and flew off the cliff.”
“Oh my God.” I clamp my hand over my mouth.
“We had no one else. Clarissa and I. No relatives, no family. Nothing. We had no way to support ourselves financially, other than the little inheritance we received from our parents. And we both knew what awaited us if we got absorbed into the foster care system. So me and Clarissa decided to make a run for it together. We spent the next few months living in crappy motels. Those were tough times, but they were happy ones too. And we were determined for it to stay like that. But of course, after a while, the money began to dwindle and we were running out of options. So, to keep us afloat, I resorted to street fighting.” A frown touches his mouth and I lean back against the armrest, realizing that that was the genesis of him dipping his toes into the underground. “I found out I was really good at fighting, and winning paid the bills. I didn’t like hurting the people I fought, but I didn’t want to disappoint Clarissa more. She wanted me close, and I promised myself I’d do anything to uphold that. To protect her from anyone who could separate us. We kept bouncing around while I fought in illegal fight clubs a few times a week, earning just enough to jump to the next place and evade childcare services all over again. Even though our situation was shitty, at least we were together.
And that was all we both ever needed.”
I nod quietly, empathizing with where he’s coming from. Everyone who fights in that cage has their own battles to overcome, and it seems like Kayden’s was a hell of an uphill one. I can’t imagine what his life was like then—being a teenager and already feeling like he had to do anything necessary to survive, even if it meant breaking the law.
“We thought we were so smart, that we had actually bested the system. But of course, it didn’t last. Eventually, we did get caught and thrown into foster care. The day it happened, my heart fucking shattered. Seeing Clarissa get whisked off like that, it was the most difficult thing I had to witness. And knowing that I let her down . . .” Kayden snakes a hand along his jaw, attempting to ease the strain building there. “Anyway, I was adopted by Brent’s parents because his mom was my social worker and they took me in because she was good with bad kids and was sympathetic to what I had been through. And Clarissa . . . she, um . . . she got this couple.” His hands begin to shake and I reach over and cover them with mine. He inhales deeply, as if trying to breathe in some courage, before resuming. “They seemed fine on paper but in reality they were real y good at hiding their abuse.
I was only allowed to see her once every few weeks, but every time we had our visits my suspicions grew. Her weight dropped and there were bruises under her sleeves.” His voice wobbles, each word singeing his tongue as it leaves him. “It was karmically unfair. That I got adopted by the best family in the world while Clarissa had the worst. Every day I felt like I was living in my own version of hell, watching them kill her slowly. And there was absolutely nothing I could do about it.”
Fury simmers in the pit of my stomach at the thought of his sister being isolated and assaulted like that. It’s sickening.
How cruel do you have to be to inflict pain on children? I don’t even want to think about what I’d do if Beth had to endure all that.
“I had Brent’s mom report it to the authorities, and pushed for the case to be urgent. But the police handling the case didn’t want to hear any of it because when they went to investigate, they found no evidence of abuse. I tried to get them to listen but they said I couldn’t be trusted because I’d tried to dodge child services with Clarissa, and they saw my complaints as another attempt to flee with her again. That didn’t stop me from being vocal about her abuse, though.
And by the time they even considered reopening the case again . . .” Misery burns a path down his throat as he croaks,
“Clarissa’s adoptive parents had already killed her.”
My eyes flutter closed, my chest tightening from what I’ve heard. To think that he might have been able to prevent his sister’s death if he’d had more time—it’s no wonder Kayden has been suffering from such massive guilt even all these years later.
“It didn’t take too long for those monsters to get thrown into prison and make headlines,” he tells me. “At least they’re behind bars now. But it’s not enough to bring her back.”
I frown, remembering that I heard about a couple who’d killed their adopted daughter. It had been big news for a while. But it never occurred to me that the girl had been Kayden’s sister.
Kayden’s eyelids hang low over his irises, the emotional turmoil he has to undergo to tell this story already beginning to take a toll on him. Tears flood his beautifully broken face and I lean forward, wiping my hands across his cheeks.
“That’s me. I’m a killer,” he says in finality.
The words ripple through the air and crack my heart wide open. I hold back the tears edging my eyes because I need to be strong for him.
“Kayden,” I say, shaking my head adamantly. “That’s not true. You can’t blame yourself for that.”
“Why not? Because of my mistakes, I set off the chain of events that left them all dead.” He slants his head at me, an edge to his voice. He tears his gaze from me, opting instead to stare straight ahead at the blank wall beside the television.
“After that, it was all downhill from there. I got so fed up with living that I considered ending my own life. But I didn’t, because I deserve to be punished for what I did to them, and if that means condemning myself to an empty, soulless life, then so be it. That’s the only thing I deserve.
“That’s why I continue to fight in the underground.
Fighting is the only time I ever let myself feel anything, even if it’s just pain,” he explains. “I use the money for food and other essentials. Then I donate the rest of to charities and shelters working to end these kinds of injustices against children.” His fingers curl into fists, knuckles going pale.
Raw determination flows from his eyes in the form of his tears. “So no one will ever have to endure what Clarissa did.”
Suddenly, everything that I’d once found confusing about him now makes complete sense. The reason his apartment was barren when I arrived. Why he dropped out of college.
Why he never got a better car even though he could well afford it. Every choice, every decision he has made up until this point has been to justify why his life isn’t worth living.