“No one is protecting them. There’s some security flanking the perimeter but they’re about to FTD, so there’s really no point until the end. Astor security will go out there after.” Fight to death. The abbreviation I learned when I stepped out of the SUV and heard everyone talking about it. I see them then, and squeeze Reggie’s hand as a shriek leaves my mouth unexpectedly.
Both men walk to the center of the dirt ring about the size of half of a football field. They’re shirtless, wearing simple athletic shorts. Their feet are bare, and their hands are wrapped with white tape. Jesse is sweaty, his hair wet. Riley’s gaze scans the little plastic boxes until he finds mine, the black suits giving me away. I press a hand against the smeared plastic, willing him to hear me. “Riley,” I scream out. He can’t hear me over the deafening roar of the crowd. Thousands are here waiting for them to tear each other apart and I can’t push the nausea away. Riley wipes his knuckles over his mouth and lets his gaze flit from me to land on Jesse. Not even a smile. Not a nod. A wave. Nothing. The announcer starts talking about who they are and what the odds are and how much the betting pool is up to. Things that are important to everyone but me.
To the naked eye, this looks like an even match. Both men were muscled and burly, evil glints shining in their eyes. It looks fair, and I realize this might be the only place in the world where they’re even. The only place Jesse can get a fair shake down against copious amounts of money and power. A fight is simplistic at the core, and even if I hate it, looking at the men, standing in dirt, wearing the same thing, I understand—even support the fairness of what’s about to unfold. The playing field is level. Another huge roar from the crowd signals the fight is about to start.
My breathing is rapid as I watch the men, the anticipation too much to bear. If not for Reggie, surely I’d be on the floor, gasping for air, wondering how my life got this twisted. It feels like slow motion as Jesse shakes his head and droplets of sweat sluice the air. When he stops, he’s looking at me. Directly at me. He tips a lopsided smile and displays his devil-may-care attitude. It’s hot as much as it’s heart-wrenching. Riley watches him, knows who he’s playing to, then closes his eyes before swallowing hard. Jesse licks his lips, winks, then turns back to face Riley, bouncing up and down on his toes. They exchange words, and even though I can’t hear, I can guess.
“That was a dick move,” Reggie mutters, breaking his hold of me to pace our box.
The other guards line the back, where the only exit is. My ears ring from how loud the spectators are, and when the bell rings to begin the fight, I have to cover my ears with both hands. It feels like being next to a thumping speaker at a club. I won’t be able to hear properly for days after this. The second I think it, I realize how inconsequential it is in the big scheme of things. My brain is trying to distract me.
Jesse hits Riley square on the jaw, a solid right hook that whips his head all the way to one side. My stomach flips, the crowd cheers and Riley lunges forward, face red and filled with rage as he rains punches on Jesse’s face. I spin, covering my face with my hands. “I can’t watch it. I can’t watch it.” I repeat it over and over and shiver every time there’s a roar from the crowd signaling someone landed a hit. I remove my hands and watch the guard’s faces as they watch the fight. Somehow, it’s easier to watch it unfold on their faces instead of watching it myself. I don’t know which man is winning, and I can hear my heartbeat in my ears. “Fuck,” Reggie grinds out loud enough for me to hear over the cheers.
I turn to glance, intending only for a brief peek, but the fight is moving toward our box. Jesse directing his blows to push Riley toward me. Now that they’re close enough to see faces, there’s no way I can turn away. Blood coats Riley’s face, and Jesse’s left eye is so swollen I doubt he can see out of it. Reggie twitches, wanting to do anything but stand here watching this unfold, and as if on autopilot, I cover my mouth and cry. Part of me wants to vanish so I can’t distract them—so I’m not even here to witness the gore. “No,” I say to myself. “I can’t do this.”
Reggie pulls me away from the plexiglass a moment before Riley’s body crashes against it. Closing my eyes, I fold into myself and a security guard from behind grabs me to shield me. I glance up to see blood smeared all over the plexiglass. Jesse’s smirking at the ground, and Riley’s out of view, so I know he’s the recipient of the evil glint. The volume of the arena ratchets up to something near unbearable. I fling myself away from the guards and slam my fists against the dripping blood. I bang and scream even though I know there’s no hope of being heard. Riley rears up and knocks Jesse to the ground. He’s pummeling him, a burst of relentless energy seeming to come out of nowhere.
His legs on each side of Jesse’s waist, his fists rain down on his face. Over and over. It looks like he’s hitting as hard as he can, the force flexing every muscle in his back. “Drew, turn around,” Reggie says. “Don’t watch.”
Covering my ears, I turn and bury my face in Reggie’s chest. He holds me as I cry, I look up at his face and he’s watching intently. He winces once, then again, and then he closes his eyes, sadness transforming his features. I sink to my knees and bury my face in my hands, and the nausea returns. The chants tell me it’s over. The uncivilized chorus of those celebrating money made and the boos from those who lost it all. I focus on my breaths because vomit threatens to rise, but the dirt beneath me smells sour. Like rotten flesh and stale beer. I throw up. Then again, until I’m dry heaving—nothing left inside me to give. I’m helped to my feet, and even though I’m weak and unable to speak a word, I have to look. I have to, to see the outcome for myself. Medics stand from a battered, bloody body and cover him with a white sheet while another team with a stretcher enters from the side. Laying a hand on my stomach, I search for the victor, but he’s nowhere to be found. There’s no victor tonight for the Astors. There are only various levels of defeat. A second medic checks the pulse and shakes his head a few times before pulling a brightly colored flag from his back pocket. He waves it in the air and the crowd roars with joy. Death. Death. Death.
“Let’s get you out of here,” Reggie says.
He gives orders to the other men. My phone begins ringing from my purse slung across my body, but I don’t reach for it, don’t know how. It’s an out-of-body experience and my limbs don’t work the way they did moments before. The way they did before everything changed. The phone rings repeatedly as Reggie leads us to a back parking lot. It’s not until I’m safely inside the car that Reggie removes the phone for me and answers the call.
“She’s fine. She’s in shock, but we’re monitoring her vitals now. We’re taking her to the secured location. All top-tier members will be at separate locations. Yes,” Reggie confirms.
A guard has a stethoscope pressed against my chest and I just realized it.
The crash after the build-up to this night hits me like a semi-truck. I feel the pain all over, but this is a new chapter. This is the part where I peel off the final layer and step into my life and this world. I sniffle, wipe my nose, and suck it up. I blow out a breath.
“I’m okay,” I say, removing the stethoscope from my body. I meet his eyes. “I had a moment, but I’m fine now.”
Reggie turns from the passenger seat, still on the phone, eyes apologetic. “I’ll tell her,” he says. “I know,” Reggie replies. “Yes, ma’am.” He clicks off the call and hands me the phone. I put it in my purse and try to hide my shaking hands.
“That was Amy. She wanted to make sure you were okay. I hate to ask this, but she wants to meet tonight because there is pressing business that needs to be dealt with now.”
I hiccup. “What can possibly be more pressing than his death?”
“Ma’am, Jesse Astor willed everything, and I do mean everything, to you. He requested it at the contracts meeting in Mexico. Combined with the shares that you were already gifted you now own more of this family than Riley Astor does. More than Riley’s parents even.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Drew
One month later…
Knowing everything in a short amount of time was easier than I expected. Easier because it shed light on things one would never expect, yet made life make sense. The values. The morals. The way in which the Astors orbit their territory and how they interact with those around them. I am an Astor in every sense of the name. Amy read me in the same night Jesse died. I sat wide-eyed, half in shock, half in disbelief because Jesse gave me everything he owned. There were properties and belongings I didn’t know existed until Amy listed them to me. Art studios in other countries, houses in different states, and what she really exaggerated upon was he had small businesses that were completely unattached to the family. If I wanted a clean break from everything, I could mesh into a coffee shop or run an HVAC company. He gave me options. I don’t know how exactly he figured I’d be able to walk away from the family, but if I figured it out and wanted to, I have the means.
I don’t want to leave. In fact, I’ve never felt more myself in my entire life. Jesse’s death might have offered another stone of grief, but I’m prepared to carry it. I’m stronger and wiser. The cards I’ve been dealt haven’t always been fair, but peace offerings were mixed in between the shit. Pirelle asked if I missed Jesse. I wasn’t sure how to answer because it’s a complicated question. Rather, it’s loaded. I miss the idea of him. I miss his smile. I miss feeling seen from his perspective. From the first day, he had ulterior motives. I’ve forgiven him. Not because he gifted me generational wealth, either. I forgive him because revenge feels like fire. You never intend it to spark a forest fire, when you only want to aim it in one specific direction. I was in the path of his destruction and Jesse Astor apologized and that means something to me.
Riley’s apartment in the city is home. We decided to make this our residence, and the apartment Jesse left me is Reggie and Callie’s now. It keeps them both close by for different reasons. Callie is sitting on a sofa in my closet. “You sure you want to do this, babe?” Her voice is soothing.
“I have to be there.”
She scoffs, filing her nails. Chaz would do her nails, but she says she likes doing them herself. Like me, she’s having a tough time adjusting to the lavish lifestyle and pushes random things away because they scare her. “You run shit now. Drew, you don’t have to be anywhere you don’t want to be.”
“I want to be there.”