Chapter 3 HER NAME IS MIMI

In a more softer tone, Elias asked again, "Who is that?"

I stepped into the hallway and pulled the door shut behind me.

"Not here. She'll wake up."

We went down the narrow stairs and out into the cold, under a single buzzing lamp. The street was empty. A cat meowing could be heard somewhere far off.

With a complicated emotion on my face, I asked, "How did you find me?"

Elias didn't look away from my face. "I didn't. You did."

"I saw you standing over the poster when I was coming from the gym. At first, I didn't believe it was you. I stayed in my car, telling myself it couldn't be, but my curiosity got the best of me. I had to confirm, and well, the rest is history."

I laughed. It came out broken.

Taller. Harder. The same dark eyes that used to look at me from the corner of the ring. I hated that I noticed.

"Her name is Mimi," I said.

His jaw tightened a little. "She's yours."

I thought about saying something, but ultimately decided against it. "She's six."

His eyes snapped to mine. "Six." He said it like a number he was checking against another one.

"Seven years, Jada. Not a call. Not a letter. I had to learn you were alive from a poster."

"You could have called me, too."

"You left."

I meant to say more, but the weight of the day had finally caught up with me, and my throat closed. The doctor's voice kept ringing in my head.

Ninety days. Maybe less.

My knees gave out. I sat down on the cold step and pressed both hands against my face.

"She has a hole in her heart," I said into my palms. "They said she needs surgery. Forty-five thousand dollars. I make sixty-three a week. And tonight Marcus came to my job and told me he's taking her. He has lawyers, Elias. He has a house." I choked on the last part, and I could not stop the flow of tears.

I cried like I had not cried in years, hard and ugly and loud, with my shoulders shaking.

Elias did not say a word.

He crouched down in front of me. After a long moment, one heavy, tattooed hand came to rest on my back. He was close enough that I could smell soap and leather. I hated that I remembered the smell.

When the worst of it passed, he spoke.

"You were the very best I ever trained, Jada."

Through my tears, I replied, "Don't. Please."

"I mean it. I have forty fighters at my gym now. Not one of them has your fighting spirit and dedication. And you sure as hell don't belong in an apron, Jada. You belong in the cage."

"I have a daughter," I stuttered.

"Then fight for her."

I looked up at him.

"There's a competition taking place soon," he said. "Underground. Posters went up all over the city tonight. Anyone with MMA training can enter. The winner takes three hundred thousand dollars."

"I know. I saw it."

"Then you know what it could do for you and Mimi."

"I haven't thrown a real punch in seven years," I said in a low voice.

"Liar," Elias said.

I almost smiled. "Well, I did manhandle three boys in an alley. In less than a minute."

Something moved across his face. It looked almost like pride.

"Left hand?"

"Low," I admitted.

He laughed, rusty, like a door that had not been opened in a long time.

Then he pulled a black card from his pocket and held it out.

ELIAS KANE. IRON CROWN GYM. An address was printed underneath.

"Take your time, Jada."

"I'll think about it," I whispered.

"That's all I wanted to hear." He pressed the card into my hand, and his fingers stayed on mine a second too long. "If you change your mind, come find me."

Neither of us pulled away first.

He stood and walked to the street. At the corner, he glanced up at my window.

"She has your chin," he said. Then he was gone.

Across the city, in a huge house with glass walls, the lights were low and the silence was expensive.

Marcus Bell stood at the window with a glass of whiskey in his hand. He did not drink it. He only watched the darkness.

Soft arms slid around his waist.

"Baby, why so tense?" Vanessa purred. She kissed the back of his neck, then his shoulder. Her knuckles were scabbed and bruised, as if she had been hitting something hard. On the shelf behind them, something tall sat under a black velvet cloth.

She stopped. "Nothing? Again?"

"I'm tired. That's all."

"Is this about what happened today?"

"Marcus."

"I need my daughter, Vanessa."

She stepped back as if he had thrown cold water on her face. "You what?"

"I need her." His voice cracked. "She is mine. She's the only one I'll ever have."

"You don't need her. We can adopt," Vanessa snapped. "I told you a hundred times! We can find a healthy baby, a clean start. You don't have to fight some waitress over a sick child just because you're..."

"Don't. Say it."

"Because you're impotent, Marcus!"

The glass hit the wall and exploded.

Marcus's chest heaved. His hand was still in the air. "Get the hell out. Now."

Vanessa didn't flinch. She folded her arms.

"Careful now. Everything you own came from my name. Every deal, every sponsor, every dollar in this house. You were nothing before you met me, and you'll do your best to remember that." She picked up her keys and walked away.

"Vanessa!" He ran after her, but the car was already roaring down the drive. Its red lights disappeared into the night.

He remembered the white room.

It was two years ago. The doctor looked at the test results for a long time before he spoke.

"Mr. Bell, I'm sorry. The damage is permanent. You will not be able to conceive children."

That same night, he had opened his laptop. A single thought passed through his head. I already have a child. Out there somewhere.

The next morning, he hired a private detective.

Eventually, a brown folder landed on his desk. Inside was a photograph of a little girl with curly hair, holding a stuffed lion, laughing at something outside the frame.

And a note. Six years old. Serious heart condition. Mother is poor and alone.

Mine, he had whispered.

His phone buzzed on the table.

He picked it up. The message was from the private detective.

A photo loaded. A dark street. Jada on the apartment steps, crying. And a tall, tattooed man crouching in front of her with his hand on her back.

One line beneath the photograph. Elias Kane.

"Where the fuck did he come from?" he wondered aloud.

"Kane," he said softly when the line picked up. "Yes. I remember him. He's the one who made her a dangerous fighter all those years ago."

He looked toward where Vanessa's car had disappeared. Then he replied, "Then we'll have to make sure he never gets the chance to do it again."