Chapter 85
Chapter 85
–KNOX–
***
My opponent in the kickboxing ring has gotten a few good hits. The last one almost cracked a rib. Which is exactly what I wanted. Pain. It reminds me that I’m still alive.
“Come on, Hartley,” someone from the sidelines yells. “You gonna let a stockbroker outkick you?”
Laughter follows.
My opponent grins, panting. He’s younger, probably in his early twenties, cocky, all limbs and fast feet. He’s been running his mouth since round one, but I’ve let him.
I always let them think they’re winning.
A low voice near the ropes pipes up–it’s my trainer, Jackson, arms crossed and chewing gum like it owes him money.
“Wrap it up, Knox. He’s gassed. You’re just playing with your food now.”
The guy lunges again, going for a jab–cross. I take the jab, duck the cross, and drive my elbow into his ribs with satisfying contact. He wheezes.
“That’s what I’m talkin‘ about!” someone else calls.
One quick right hook to the jaw, then a left uppercut under his chin. He finally stumbles back far enough for Jackson to step in, clapping once. “That’s it!”
We lower our fists at the same time, both breathing hard.
He lifts his glove. I bump it with mine.
“Fuck,” he mutters, grinning despite the swelling forming on his face. “You hit like a tank.”
“Thanks.” I pull off my gloves.
There’s a smattering of applause from the side of the ring. Some people nod in approval. Others go back to shadowboxing or wrapping their hands.
Jackson steps up, slaps me on the back. “Well done.”
I’m already stepping down from the ring before he finishes the sentence.
No need to linger and watch other members of the club fight. I’ve done what I came here to do. Besides, there is someone I need to see, a certain sarcastic lady with four eyes. So I head to the locker room to freshen up and change.
The moment I step in, I tug off my shirt. My ribs ache. My knuckles are red and raw.
I like the ache.
The locker door creaks when I open it. I toss my gloves in first, then strip off the rest of my gear and head to the showers.
Fifteen minutes later, I’m back at my locker, pulling on a clean black shirt and tugging a leather jacket over it. And then I put my jeans back on. I’m drying my hair with a towel when the door creaks open again.
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Chapter 85
Someone steps in.
I glance toward the entrance,
At first glance, he looks old–bald, glasses, limping with a cane. But then I look closely.
He takes off his glasses.
One eye is shut. Scarred shut.
“I never thought I’d see you again, Captain,” he says.
I freeze.
That voice.
I squint. “T–Bone?”
He grins. “In the flesh and blood.”
For a full beat, I just stare.
Mateo Torres. The man who got captured with me and was never retrieved. He’s still alive?
I step closer, cautious. “How the hell…?”
He leans on his cane as he walks toward me. When he’s close enough, he says, “I don’t know if you’re excited to see me or worried, Captain.”
“I’m shocked.”
“Nothing usually surprises you.”
“How are you here, Mateo?”
“It’s a long story. I’ll tell you over drinks sometime if you give me your number. I had to track you down. You’re not easy to find, Knox.”
I just stare at him with so many questions running through my mind at once. There are memories I’ve worked hard to bury. For years, Mateo’s face has haunted my dreams. His voice too, humming that Russian lullaby he was obsessed with.
Back in therapy, Yara once said the dreams were guilt. That I carried the weight of being captain when we were captured. That deep down, I blamed myself for leading men into a nightmare. For helping take a father from his child, a husband from his wife.
Seeing him now doesn’t lift that weight.
If anything, it makes it worse.
Because the man in front of me isn’t the same Mateo Torres I left behind. Not really. The smile is thinner, the eyes darker. And the scars prove he was just as tortured as I was, maybe even worse.
“You look different,” I say.
“I should. Had a little work done on my face.”
My chest tightens. “How’s your wife? Your little girl?”
“My baby’s not so little anymore. Her mom remarried. Moved to Idaho.”
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Chapter 85
“Shit. That’s rough.”
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“It’s nothing compared to what we’ve seen, brother.” He taps the cane once on the tile. “I don’t blame her. She waited. Then she lived.”
I nod, lips pressed. “I bet the settlement from the government must have made up for it.”
There’s a pause. Then he says, “No one knows I’m back. Didn’t feel like telling them. They left me in that country after all.”
“We tried,” I say. “After I escaped… we looked. But they’d moved the camp.”
He doesn’t say anything. Just nods once.
Then: “That’s old news. I’m on a new path now. Bought some shares in a private company.”
“Must’ve cost a lot.”
“Money’s not an issue.”
I frown, instincts kicking in fast. Something about this whole reunion doesn’t sit right. A random encounter after all these years? A ghost showing up with a cane and a smile? And now he’s saying he bought a chunk of shares in a private company like it’s pocket change?
Nah. That kind of money doesn’t just fall into your lap–especially not when you’ve been declared dead.
He reaches into his coat and pulls out a small, rectangular card. “Since you won’t give me yours,” he says, handing it to me,
good seeing you, Captain.” “here’s mine. Call me sometime. We’ll hang out. It was
I take it. The card has nothing on it but his full name–Mateo Luis Torres–and a number. No job title. No company name. Just a blank, faceless invitation.
He nods once and starts walking toward the exit. The cane taps against the floor as he goes. He doesn’t look back.
I don’t move for a while. I just stare at the card in my hand, then down at the concrete floor, letting the weight of it all settle
- in.
The last time I saw Mateo, he was being dragged, screaming in pain.
We had a memorial and everything, for fuck’s sake. I’ll deal with this later.
I slide the card into my back pocket, grab my gym bag from the bench, and head for the exit. I know I won’t be calling him anytime soon. Being around a fellow survivor will just land me back in therapy. I’m not ready for that. There’s a reason I ignored everyone else after I came home.
My car is where I left it, tucked into a corner spot behind the club. I toss my bag into the trunk.
When heading to the driver’s side, my phone rings.
I pull it from my pocket.
‘Bunny‘ flashes on the screen.
My mouth curves, just slightly. I answer. “Hello, girlfriend. I was just about to call to remind you it’s the weekend. I haven’t seen you all week.”
“Knox,” she says in that sweet voice of hers, “where are you?”
I slide into the driver’s seat and pull the door shut behind me. “At a private kickboxing club. Just finished. Heading out now.”
14:16 Thu, 22 May MD
Chapter 85
“You went to watch a fight?” she asks.
“To fight.”
“You fight?”
“As a hobby.”
“Only you would do something as intense as that and call it a hobby, Knox.”
I smirk, starting the engine. “I have other intense hobbies too. Fucking Sloane is at the top of the list.”
Her breath catches, and even through the phone, I can almost feel how hard her heart is beating. “One of these days,” I say, “I might have to kidnap you and take you along with me wherever I go.”
“Why’s that?”
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“Because I always want to have you, Bunny. Everywhere. After meetings. At the club. In hotel rooms. In different countries. In the shower. In my bed, with the lights off or on–I don’t care. In my dreams. And in that room. You know the one.”
AD
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