"What are we going to do?" Nick asked, when he and Alex were nearly there.
Alex had been so embroiled in his own thoughts while driving that the question caught him off guard. He'd only pictured himself performing a daring rescue, confronting Victor and finally asserting whatever authority he'd gained by being the saner of the two of them. "You don't have to do anything if you don't want," Alex told him. "You're free. We both are."
Nick rubbed his thumb across the folded note, looking stern. "Yeah, but she isn't."
Alex parked next to Nick's stolen car, the only other vehicle in the lot. The strip mall was dark save for a faint glow coming from the back of the boxing club. He turned off the engine, letting the heater take its last gasps before the cold enveloped them. "Are you saying you want to help?"
"Of course."
"You've helped a lot already."
"Well, the next time I find myself in some romantic drama," Nick replied, "I'll be sure to bring you along, even this friendship out a little."
They both turned to the long windows of the boxing club, straining to see beyond a small square field of suspended punching bags. "We need to get in there. You're not armed?"
"Our stuff is still in the trunk," Nick offered.
"We have to follow his instructions. When Victor killed Dominic, he gained access to all kinds of things including the weapons cage. We have no idea what he's carrying, so let's not piss him off."
They got out, feet crunching on remnants of unsalted ice, and Alex stopped only a few feet from the car.
"What?"
He stared at the front of the building, imagining it on the night he first saw it – loud and muggy, choked with people. Now it was dark under a blanket of winter silence. "What if it's already over?" Alex asked. "What if he's just getting revenge?"
A comforting hand landed on his shoulder, patting too hard but kindly nonetheless. "He won't kill her, Alex. He's a real son of a bitch but he won't do that." They began their approach. On the way, Nick rubbed his stolen sedan on its hood and murmured, "Don't worry, baby. I won't let the bad man hurt you ever again."
#
There was a lot of fumbling in the dark. Octavia wrestled at each opportunity, but still Victor pushed her through the back door of the club after breaking the lock. She crunched her toes against obstacles in the dark, praying for a security system to go off but there was no evidence of an alarm. Victor found a row of light switches along one wall and brought the back of the club to life.
"Did you leave something here?" she asked. Victor was busy leading her to the elevated ring, glowing white under a bank of lights, then broke the cable tie that bound her arms behind her back. "Because we should keep moving."
He pulled fresh ties that he'd taken from the car and bound her arms in front of her this time, around a corner post.
"Talk to me," she groaned.
He stopped, giving her too much of his attention. "I'm loyal to you. Do you remember when you told me that?"
She hadn't said it in that many words. "You brought me here without telling me," she said. "You took my gun away and you hit my head with a car."
Victor glanced down at the Walther tucked into his waistband. "Because you aren't loyal to me."
"So, you're going to fight me in this ring?"
"No, cariña. That's crazy." And then he was stroking her hair and kissing her forehead, but all Octavia could think was, Oh God. Victor's telling me what's crazy.
At the far end of the club, she heard knocking against the glass door. Pounding.
"They got here fast," Victor said.
"Who?" Octavia felt a sweat starting under her arms despite the cold.
"I told them no guns, so I need you to hold this." Victor unsheathed the Walther, pushing her hair and sweatshirt aside, then stuffed it into the back of her pants.
"No, Victor," she cried. She tried twisting her hip toward her hands the minute he stepped away, but it was no use. Even when she hugged the corner post into one elbow, she couldn't find the leverage to reach her lower back. Victor had sprinted to the doors where the knocking echoed, loud and persistent, and the pain in her chest was nearly unbearable.
She'd really hoped they wouldn't come.
#
"I would feel so much better if I was armed," Alex said.
"It's three against one," Nick replied. "We don't need guns."
A memory flashed: the wet crunch of Nilsson's face under Victor's expert fist. Victor preferred to kill that way.
There was a clang and the door edged out toward them. Victor was silent, unreadable.
"No!" The word drifted toward them, echoing. As they came inside, Alex saw Octavia struggling against a corner post of the ring, stuck by her wrists. "You're not supposed to be here," she cried. Her expression, pained and frustrated. It was something other than the disappointment Alex had grown used to and it gave him a surge of confidence. She was worried and red-faced and beautiful.
"We did like you said," Alex told Victor, but he frisked both of them for weapons anyway. In the awkward waiting while he searched, Alex watched Octavia wrench at her bonds, bracing her feet against the ring and pushing desperately. He worried she would cut herself apart.
"She can't be trusted," Victor said. Then as if to demonstrate, he held an arm outstretched to Alex and Nick. "Choose one of us to leave with," he told her.
Octavia glared, becoming still. "I choose you, Victor. We have to go."
"See?" he asked. "Don't trust anyone who tells you what you want to hear."
"Why'd you call us out here, Victor? What do you want?"
"A fair fight."
"You murdered my uncle," Alex replied. "You put us all out of work. Don't tell me what's fair."
"Your uncle backed out of an agreement and then raped my fiancé. Seems fair to me." Victor moved to a folding table opposite the ring where he lifted a roll of athletic tape and began stretching a piece loose. "You seduced my fiancé behind my back while you were supposed to be training me. I thought you were the responsible one. No more sneaking around, Corvin. If you want what's mine, you'll have to take it."
"And if she told you what she really wanted? Would you let her go then?"
Victor wound the tape around one fist, pulling tight. "She doesn't know what she wants."
"But if she did," Alex countered.
"No. Not unless you beat me."
Nick visibly suppressed an eye roll. "Not unless he beats a boxer in a fistfight? Level the playing field a little, Vic. Beat him at Chinese checkers."
Octavia burned a warning glance into Alex, who failed to understand why. Victor had finished taping both of his hands when he returned to her, pulling up the back of her sweatshirt. She wrenched away but couldn't escape, and then Victor was pointing a handgun at them. "I want a fight."
"Here's what's not fair," Nick muttered.
"If I wanted to make it easy, would I see which of us was better at killing for money?" Victor spit on the floor. "You think you're the good guys." He walked Nick unwillingly over to the ring, where his arms were bound like Octavia's to the adjacent corner post.
Nick asked, "Is that my Walther?"
Octavia hugged her post in a sad embrace. "Don't worry," Alex whispered. "I'll get you out of here."
But she kept watching him, not speaking, and the creases of her forehead deepened in a way that said she wasn't worried about herself. "Don't fight him," she said. "We're only here because my plan took too long. I hesitated again."
Victor finished with the cable tie, pointing Alex toward the ropes with a wave of the gun's barrel. Alex shed his coat, letting it drop to the floor. A part of him wanted to fight, itched to do something with the burden of grief and guilt that radiated from the base of his throat, squeezing his lungs too tight. Where would he go from here? How would they survive? Of all the opinions he'd had about being an assassin, he'd never thought it tenuous. His life, upturned in a moment like a wind-blown fleck of snow.
And it wasn't just his life – it was Octavia's. Victor had moved in on a girl grieving for her dead mother. He'd locked her in his apartment while pretending to be her loving boyfriend. He still used the term fiancé like an invisible brand to frighten off competitors and good Samaritans alike.
"If I agree to fight you," Alex began, "what do you do with the gun?"
"Alex-" Octavia started, but he silenced her with one raised hand.
Victor glanced between her and Nick. "It will be a safe distance from the ring." He set the Walther next to the pile of tape and boxing gloves on the folding table.
"And you won't try to shoot me?"
Victor chuckled. "If I wanted to shoot you, you'd be dead. I want to fight you. I want to win fairly so she understands why she has to come with me. So she'll stop pining for a loser."
"If I win, you let all three of us go unscathed," Alex said.
"And when I win, you and Nick leave. You thank me for setting you free, you apologize for everything you've done, and you never look back."
"Since I'm tied up," Nick interjected, "I hope it's clear that I don't agree to any of this, and that if I find myself anywhere near that gun, I'm using it." Across from him, Octavia grimaced like she had a bad taste in her mouth.
"You're acting like I can't fight," Alex replied. He reached out to accept Victor's crushing handshake. "I want to talk to Nick first."
Victor nodded.
"And then your fiancé."
Victor turned away with a scowl, peeling up his sweatshirt to reveal a white tank top underneath. "Ask her how it worked out for the other boy she cuddled up to."
"You bloodied a college kid. Big deal."
Victor smiled, surprised. "Is that what she told you?"
Octavia pressed her forehead tight against the corner post, avoiding them.
"That kid was the reason your uncle hired me," Victor continued. "He didn't think I could kill someone and I laughed in his face, told him to give me a day or two. He had to send Raul and that big van of yours to get rid of him for me. College boy went down your drains and you didn't even know?"
"Alex," Nick quietly hissed. He waited until Victor returned to undressing and Alex came close. "He could shoot both of us and just take her. He has the upper hand."
"But he doesn't," Alex whispered. "He thinks he's doing the right thing, impressing her. She's his biggest weakness and we have to exploit it."
"She's your weakness, too. As long as you're being clever, could you please factor that in? I am also in danger."
Victor's arm extended between them from above, veins like ropes across the surface. Offering to help him into the ring.
"I still need to talk to Octavia," Alex said.
"You can do it from up here."
Alex grabbed Victor's hand and then he was lifted up and over the ropes. Victor's other fist came from nowhere, crushing him in the gut. Alex doubled, sinking to the mat. He opened his mouth but the air refused to come. All he saw was Octavia, but sideways, helplessly wriggling her fingers toward him. Her skin pale like the first time he'd ever seen her. It was just a few miles away, in fact. She had been handcuffed to a sink cabinet, the mysterious figure with the damaged hands. Indoors so long she looked like her own ghost.
Her face darkened now, pink with anger, and her fingers gripped the post. His body recreated the electric shock of first seeing her. That little surge of excitement. She needed his help. Alex sucked air into his lungs and rolled until he could get to his knees, nauseous with pain. Nick hurled insults on his behalf, helpless as he was at the edge of the ring.
"You may speak with my fiancé now," Victor murmured, the toe of one shoe nudging Alex along his outer thigh.
Alex was on both knees in front of her, recovering.
Octavia said, "Please don't do this."
"You're braver than I am. You've dealt with Victor longer than I have and he's put you through a lot."
"If it wasn't for him, I wouldn't have met you," she offered.
"I've been trying to help all this time but I'm useless. I've never done the right thing. And I think I'm starting to understand – he won't be ignored. You take his punishments and you live to fight another day because you realize what it would take to finally stop him."
"It's too much," she moaned. She wiped her face with the bound bundle of her hands. "It's more than I'm willing to give."
"I didn't want to make waves, like you said. I should have stood up for you."
Victor's foot came crashing at Alex's lower back, bouncing him sideways into the ropes. "You're upsetting her."
"That's not fair, Vic, and you know it," Nick bellowed.
But the fight had begun.
#
Octavia bit into the post with her fingers, hot and sweaty, but she was barely able to support her own weight. Victor had come in tight to start, landing several blows to Alex's head and shoulders before heaving him up to his feet. Then there were shots to his rib cage. Alex had begun to retreat, never quite prepared for each assault, when she finished dragging herself up the post. Octavia hugged it with everything she had, feet braced on either side.
"I love him!"
Victor pulled his punch, slowing down. Alex was breathing again, standing straighter but with a hand on his ribs. "You're just saying that," Victor replied.
"No. I love him and I hate you."
"You're using him. You want to be free."
Octavia's elbows wobbled as her grip faded but she held fast, a sweat breaking all over with the effort. "I took that gun because I have to kill you. If I can't be with him, I don't want to be free."
Victor shot Alex a look of pure death.
"No, Victor," Octavia told him. "Come here. There's more I need to tell you."
Victor's face contorted as he approached, his mouth shrinking to a knot. His knuckles flexed against the tape.
"I did something I can't take back," she said. It would only take a few honest words to deflate him. Or burst him, like an overfull balloon. She stilled herself, trying to appreciate this last moment of quiet, the muscles in her arms nearly shot. "I slept with him."
"Even after I cut you," Victor replied.
She shook her head. "Because you cut me."
It happened so fast that Octavia reacted with comical lateness. There was a burst of violence – what she would later piece together as Victor's fist connecting with her mouth. The floor came rushing up to meet her at such speed that her ankles went lame and she collapsed. Her teeth ached. Above her, shouting. Her fingers still had contact with the edge of the ring but the pain seethed in through her wrists, rising as fast as a second-degree burn. When she opened her eyes, blood trickled toward her from the base of one hand.
Above her, Victor and Alex were attacking one another, but her cable tie had popped apart and no one noticed. No one except Nick, at least. She turned to catch his stare from the other side of the ring. She warned him off with a glare and Nick wisely turned his attention back to the fight.
Octavia hoped her hands worked better than her mouth did. She ignored the pain as she fumbled to her feet, desperate to stop Victor from the string of loud blows sounding above her. The fight was going too fast. They weren't evenly matched no matter what Alex thought. She lunged for the table behind her, hands closing clumsily over the Walther. When she turned to aim, Alex had both arms wrapped around his waist. He was slowly buckling toward the mat.
She wouldn't hit him by mistake. A blessing.
She locked eyes with Victor just as he turned, triumphant, and the gun jumped in her hands. Then he was falling, landing on both knees in what might have been penitence in a normal man. In Victor it was simply failure. A spot of blood formed on his chest, between two ribs or through one, the stain slowly fanning out over his wife-beater. He no longer paid attention to any of them; he just stared down at himself, overcome by his own bad luck. Incredulous.
Octavia was a good shot after all. There was a moment of morbid curiosity, of marveling at the Walther and almost smiling. She could have done the job the whole time. She was one of them.
It felt good.
"Untie me," Nick demanded. Sound was coming back. Other people, coming into focus.
Alex had curled up, no longer moving, on the floor of the ring.