Let Me (O'Brien Family, #2)(74)

I whip around. “Tell her I love her . . . and that I need her, too.”

It’s like her heart breaks right in front of me, but I don’t wait for a response. I yank on the T-shirt Wren tosses me and head out, not waiting to see if anyone will follow.

My girl is hurting. Maybe not in the same way I am, but in a way that still counts and matters to me. Sofia wouldn’t be telling me as much if it wasn’t true. But me getting better like she needs me, too . . . Christ, I have no idea how to do that or what it’s going to take to get me there.

The cameraman backs away as I storm forward. I don’t know what he sees in my face, but it’s enough to keep him further back than usual. Killian and Curran rush to reach me, flanking my sides and joining my camp. The rest of my family must be scrambling to get to their seats, but for now all I see is the entrance to the arena.

Killian starts muttering instructions over the blast of the Eminem song I picked, the roar from the crowd and the music making it hard to hear him. But all that noise doesn’t compare to the steady pound of my pulse beating in my ears as my rage surges and takes on a life of its own.

Sofia said what she did because she wants me to stay in control and focus. But how do you control a bloodthirsty beast who can’t be satisfied―who’s so crazed, so mindless, so f*cking angry?

I tug off my shirt when I reach the cut man and pass it blindly to Curran, I think. Shit, I’m so irate I can’t keep still. I remember to open my mouth for my check, but with my skin feeling like it’s crawling away from my bones, I barely remember to lift my hands for inspection.

Maybe Lopez will get in a punch or two. But with everything I’m feeling, he won’t get much more than that.

“Finnie―Finnie,” someone yells.

The voice behind me is familiar. But I don’t care enough to look.

“Fuck, get him out of here,” Killian says, his odd tone cutting through the mayhem and forcing me to turn in that direction.

The hollers from the crowd, those that steadily build the moment I stepped out of the locker room and that vibrate the floor at my feet disappear. Like the flick of a switch, everyone is suddenly gone, everyone but Killian and old man Kessler . . . the father of the man who raped me.

As loud as thunder, the noise from arena returns in a deafening crash. My body trembles, my muscles twitching from the urge to start pulverizing. But despite the need, I don’t lurch forward. I stand there, frozen as all the hate and anger of my past collides with the agony of my present.

Killian shoves his face in old man Kessler’s, crazed that he’s here. Curran while clearly pissed to see him, hauls Killian away from where Kessler is leaning over the railing. I feel hands smack against my chest―telling me to keep it together, to keep going. But by now, I’m breathing so damn fast, I’m hyperventilating.

Old man Kessler scowls as if confused, yelling at the top of his lungs in his thick Philly accent, “I just wanted to wish Finnie well―tell him I wish my boy could’ve turned out like him―that he could’ve made something of himself.”

It’s what he claims. What he doesn’t know is everything his son took from me, everything he did to me! More officials arrive, the press shoving their way forward. But I barely sense them, blindly slipping away and into the octagon.

I don’t feel my feet strike against the metal steps nor pass along the smooth surface of the mat as I make my way to my corner. I’m just suddenly there.

Killian is on the other side of the fence, yelling to me, “Finnie, Finnie. It’s okay, Finn. It’s okay.”

Curran is saying something, too, but his words are jumbled like he’s speaking another language.

I think I should raise my hand when my name is called, but I don’t. It’s only when the ref calls us over that the fog I’m in begins to lift. This is bad. Real bad. I know it then. Yet it’s when my opponent and I touch gloves that I realize my living hell has only just begun.

I stagger back and simply stand there, failing to notice Lopez charge. All I see is Norman, the guy all the little boys in the neighborhood knew we should stay away from, but no one knew exactly why.

You’re Little Finnie O’Brien, aren’t you? his tenor voice asks.

I’m not aware my hands are down until Lopez nails me with a right hook that sends me flying against the cage. I bounce off, shaking as I fall onto my side. Lopez lands on top of me, nailing me repeatedly in the face.

It’s only from the hours and years of training that I respond. I roll away from the cage, going into defense mode before the ref can pull him off me and declare a knock-out.

My hand snatches Lopez’s wrist, grasping it tight before he locks me into a choke. Except as much as my body knows what to do, my head isn’t cooperating. It panics, just like I did that day.

Instead of positioning myself in full guard, I try to escape. He catches me with an elbow. The blow unlocking the next memory.

You like Legos, right? Killian says the ones from Star Wars are your favorite.

You know my brother? I asked him.

I know all of them. Especially Killian. He laughed again. Didn’t they tell you we’re friends? Jeeze, you look just like them.

I scramble to my feet and out of Lopez’s way. But instead of nailing him with a kick or a strike of my own, I back away like I’m fleeing for my life.

You like toys don’t you?

I have plenty of toys to play with.