“Who are the other kids? How old are they?”
Cain was in his thirties when he attacked Dolly several years ago. If he’d had a kid young enough, they could be an adult now.
Duke shrugs. “Holden set up a meeting with the judge to find that out. If there are any more cases with the attorney general for unpaid child support, it could lead us to an older kid or more women who might be connected to Cain.”
I throw a few more light punches, still moving my feet.
“And to think, we could’ve just buried that son of a bitch, and no one would have known who to sue.”
Duke grimaces. “Yeah, well, hindsight is twenty-twenty. We won’t make that same mistake when we find this man. Or woman.”
There’s more than one body secretly buried on Redford Ranch. With thousands of acres and old cattle bones spreadthroughout, their unmarked graves will never be found. Justice doesn’t always happen in a courtroom.
Holden was imprisoned for protecting Dolly before being granted clemency and released early.
Cash’s fiancée, Monroe, was stalked for months and nearly raped by a sicko. We chased the guy down on the back roads, and Cash put a bullet through his head. I know the Redfords consider me a brother because I helped them bury his body on their property, and they trusted me enough to see where.
Sterling interrupts us. “You’re up, Seymour.” He claps me on the back.
I nod, pulling my shirt off over my head. I bend down to grab my gloves and mouthguard out of my duffel bag. I hand Duke my water bottle so he can give it to me when I need it during the fight.
“Kick some ass. I put money on this fight,” Sterling tells me.
“I’ll do my best.”
I walk over to where the ref has opened the cage. The speakers overhead are deafening. I walk through, seeing that Matthews is already inside, dancing on the balls of his feet. His skin is glistening with sweat in the sparse fluorescent lights, clearly warmed up and ready to go.
The ref has us bump fists. I’m towering over Matthews, but he’s packed with hard muscle. His skin is covered in tattoos, but the one I notice first is the teardrop near his eye, indicating that he took a life. His eyes are bright blue.
He makes the first move. I let him get close before ducking out of the way and delivering a counterstrike to his ribs. He grunts, but recovers quickly.
“Pretty boy can fight, huh?” he taunts.
I take another swing, letting the pent-up rage course through me. My fist connects with the side of his jaw.
He shakes his head out, but a grin splits across his face. Blood dribbles out of his mouth, and he spits on the floor before making a kissing sound with his mouth.
“Oh, I like it rough, baby. Keep it coming.”
I know he’s trying to distract me, so I tune him out and keep dancing around him. He lunges forward, catching me in the shin with a kick I didn’t expect. Pain radiates down my leg, but I manage to stay upright.
“He’s gonna go low! Watch his feet!” I hear Duke yell from the sidelines.
As if on cue, Matthews does it again, narrowly missing my shin. I take the opportunity while he’s off-balance to throw an uppercut into his gut before jerking him into a headlock. He’s smart enough not to give me the chance to tighten my hold. He jerks me onto the ground, throwing all his weight into it and ramming his elbow into my stomach.
My arm around his neck loosens enough for him to get out of the hold, and now I’m in trouble. I grit my teeth as his fist connects with my throat. A searing bolt of pain radiates into my mind and nearly makes me black out.
I choke on blood, blindly grabbing for a hold on him. He manages to escape, jumping up and using all his might to come back down with his knee to my sternum.
The crunch of bone is loud in my ears. At least two, maybe three of my ribs are splintered. I wheeze, the pain ricocheting through me. I start losing feeling in all my extremities. I catch a glimpse of his wide grin, still bloody as he keeps his knee on me for a beat too long to relish in his early victory.
He leans down closer to my face, saliva mixed with blood dripping down on me. “She’s gonna look even better than you do under me.”
I know—instinctively, I know—that he’s talking about Dolly. Adrenaline surges in my veins. I reach inside for the strength tobuck up underneath him, grabbing the knee still planted on my chest and twisting out from under him.
The problem with a direct shot to the chest with a knee is that he’s left in a vulnerable place if it doesn’t fully immobilize me. I twist around so fast that he doesn’t have time to stop me. With a swift knee to his gut, I pull all my remaining strength and swing. Haymakers aren’t always a good idea because they leave you exposed and vulnerable.
But when they work, they fucking work. The wide right hook to the side of his face has some power to it, and it knocks him out cold.
