The Great Below

The Truth

 "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.