And JoJo wasn't willing to tell the cops, but fuck, I should have just called them myself. Which I'm gonna do. I'm gonna walk into the gym, and I'm gonna get my girl, and then we're marching to the police station and telling them everything.
I'm not letting her out of my sight again unless I’m guaranteed that she's safe.
Thank God she's here with Kit; his gym has gotta be the safest place in Vegas.
I park my car next to hers and run to the entrance, letting myself feel a small prick of happiness that she didn't run back home to her father.
I pull on the doors, but they're locked. I look at my watch; it's eight-forty. I frown. The gym doesn't technically open for another twenty minutes, but JoJo and Kit are both here.
I knock, wait. No one comes. I call Kit's number again, then JoJo's. Nothing. Makes sense—I mean, if they're working out they might have their phones put away.
But I'm feeling anxious. I just need to see JoJo, and then I'll be able to breathe regularly again.
I pull on the door, and see the lights are on. I pound louder. Nothing.
Frustrated, I wind around to the back of the building. It's an old warehouse that's been converted to a gym, but I know there are side entrances to the locker rooms that no one ever uses. Everyone just uses the main door.
I press on the door leading to the men's side and it doesn't budge. I walk around to the women's side. At first I think it's locked, but then I lean all my weight into the door and it pushes open.
I've never been back here, but it's a tiny little supply closet, with a ladder leading to a loft area.
I climb it, curious as to where it leads—and once I'm on the top rung, my heart stops.
This is where the voyeur watched JoJo and me. I don't even want to think about how many times. There’s a hole in the wall that gives a bird’s-eye view of the entire women's locker room. Feeling sick, I climb down, swallowing the bile rising in my mouth. What sick fucker is doing this?
I push through the locker room, not understanding why Ace's guys didn't close up the hole in the wall to make sure the view of JoJo was cut off.
The gym is empty, and I don't see JoJo's stuff anywhere. It's eerie, so quiet and still. Especially since I know JoJo and Kit are here.
Then I hear a cry. A whimper. Something crashing to the ground.
I run to where the sound is coming from, Kit’s office. The door's locked.
"JoJo, you okay? Baby, who is with you?"
She doesn't answer with words, just more cries, and I know someone has gotten to her. I push all my weight against the door, and when it doesn't give I kick it open.
Kit's holding her against a wall, and she's swinging wildly trying to get away. His pants are at his ankles, and she's screaming, kicking at him, trying to fight.
I don't ask questions, I push Kit off my woman, and then I punch him in the jaw. One solid jab, then another, drawing blood with my already raw hand. But I don't care if my bones are broken, all I care about is making sure no one breaks my girl.
He falls to the floor, and scrambles to get his pants on, standing up. A few punches aren't gonna take him down. He knows how to fight better than any man in Vegas.
But I'm not from Vegas. I'm from fucking middle America and I was raised to protect the ones I love. And I don't care if Kit knows how to fight in a ring, right now I’m fighting for my girl.
I serve another blow to his face, then another. The crack of bones sends flashes of fear through his eyes.
JoJo sobs behind me, and every tear she sheds fuels me. Kit gets in a few hits, but nothing is gonna take me down.
He punches me again, this time square across my jaw, and I step back, feeling a tooth knocked from my mouth.
Blood fills my mouth as I dodge his next hit. I pull up to my full height and don't hold back, putting all my heart and soul into the hit. It sends him back, falling onto the desk. The floor is littered with naked photographs of JoJo, and it makes me reach over the desk, choking him until he’s red in the face, gasping for breath, his arms waving, begging me to let go.
My hold is tight, and Jo screams behind me, pulling at my arms, begging me not to kill him.
I don't know where her mercy comes from, but I need her reality check. In a flash, I can see it clearly: finally getting my girl only to be sent to prison for murder.
I let go of Kit, knowing I'm not going to end his life. Pretty fucking ironic to say I don't want to be a mobster only to choke a man out the next day.
"Don't you dare move, you motherfucker," I tell him as he pants for breath, his face still red, coated in blood.
I take the hand of a shell-shocked JoJo, and lead her out of the office, running out of the building to my car.
"We have to go to the police," I tell her.
She doesn't speak. Her perfect brown eyes fill with tears. Her lips quiver; her hands shake.
"You're okay," I tell her, smoothing her hair. "I got you."
She doesn't answer, just gives me the slightest nod of her head.
In a million fucking years I never imagined her stalker to be the man we trusted. The man JoJo spent so much time with.
As I tear out of the parking lot, a black SUV crosses my path, reminding me that there is so much shady stuff in this town.
Its time I take my girl and never let her go.
Chapter Twenty-Four
JoJo
Walking into the police station with McQueen causes eyes to turn our direction. His face is bloodied and bruised, and my face is full of terror. But I hold his non-bandaged hand so damn hard. No way am I letting go of him now. Or ever.
I just want to tell the police everything, so they can get Kit and lock him up. So that I never have to fear him walking down the street again, watching me.
We begin to give an officer our full report, starting with the first incident, and a crew is dispatched to the gym as we sit finishing our story. I blink back tears, hoping he’s been detained. That he hasn't gotten away.
I don't know what I'll do if he’s freely roaming the streets, around any corner. Waiting for me.
I start crying again, everything within me shattered.
My father broke my heart this morning, then Kit broke it all over again an hour later.
"Shh, it's okay, baby," McQueen says, wrapping his good arm around me. "Officer, what should we expect from here on out?"
The phone rings, and the Officer holds up a finger, letting us know he's taking the call.
"I'll be right there," he says into the phone. "Yes, call in backup." He hangs up the phone.
"Everything okay?" McQueen asks.
The Officer shakes his head grimly, and it's obvious the call stirred something. "Kit was at the gym."
"Oh, thank God," I say, letting out the breath I didn't know I was holding.
"He was found dead."
I cover my mouth, but a gasp still escapes. McQueen pulls me closer.
"It was a homicide," the officer says tightly. "And you are both being held for questioning."
McQueen calls Ace's lawyer, Mark Denzel, so at least our asses are covered. We sit at the station until Denzel comes in and tells us we’re free to go.
Our Miranda rights were never read and there is no warrant.
"Really? We don't have to stay and prove anything?" I ask.
Denzel shakes his head. "No, they’d keep you here if they had their way, but it's not necessary. You both look like crap, and I suggest you go home, clean up, and wait for news. Obviously, don't skip town—but, as your attorney, I'll let you know next steps. "
"We should never have come here," McQueen says.
"No," Denzel disagrees. "It was the right call. Sounds like you’ve both spent a lot of time at the gym and your hands are all over the place."
"My body, too," I say. "Photos of me naked are all over that office. It makes me sick to think the police and detectives are going to see me that way."
McQueen pulls his arms around me as another wave of tears comes on.
Denzel adds more words of wisdom. "The important thing is, McQueen showed up when he did and got you out of there before something irreversible happened."
"You think he would have...." I ask.
"Stalkers are obsessed with their target," Denzel says. "They prey on victims they perceive to be powerless."
I feel McQueen's body tighten next to me, knowing this is all getting much too close for him. Gratitude for Ryan washes over me, but also sadness at the fact this situation with Kit has brought so many painful memories of his lost sister to the surface.
"Thanks for coming down, Denzel," McQueen says. "You have my cell?"
"Sure do, kids." Denzel nods good-bye, then heads into the station.
McQueen holds my hand and guides me to safety.
After the car is parked in the garage and we've walked into McQueen's bachelor pad, I take a hard look at him.
He looks awful.
"Let me make a few calls," he says. "I need to let people know I won't be in tonight."
"Okay." I nod, stepping closer to him, realizing there’s no way in hell he'll be getting up on any stage soon. Running my hand gently over his brow, I consider his wounds. "I think you might need stitches."
"Naw, those are for pussies."
“It’s not about being tough; you’re a professional dancer. I can’t have my man looking like shit when he heads to work.”
“You’re something else, Jo,” he says. “I think I’ll be fine.”
"You want scarring? Cool." I roll my eyes. "Sometimes I think you forget where I come from. I grew with boys coming through the front door better off dead. My mother spent two decades cleaning up men who thought they were fine. I learned a thing or two."