“That’s not much of a life.”
She wagged a fry at him. “You’re smart—for someone so young.”
“Eighteen isn’t young.”
No, it wasn’t. And he was facing jail time for causing the inadvertent death of a sixteen-year-old during one of the cage fights. The dead man’s parents were the ones who had started the ball rolling on this, and even though this case was growing so big and threatening to topple everyone in its path, they were pushing forward.
For Benji, it was testify or go to jail. And even then, he’d picked jail. It was only at the DA’s insistence—and no doubt the scare tactics of a minimum twenty-five years to life versus freedom and WITSEC that he’d reluctantly agreed. She didn’t want to know the specifics he’d been threatened with.
“You sure you don’t want to contact your parents?” she asked, and he shook his head.
“No. It’ll put them in danger and I’ve put them through enough hell not being in contact with them for the last two years. You protect me, I’ll protect them.” He looked her right in the eye as he spoke those last words. He was older, wiser than his years. His sense of honor could very well get him killed. He reminded her of a young Reid.
She bit into her burger viciously, her teeth gnashing together the way they always did when she thought about him. She didn’t know why—he was the one who had every right to be mad, not her.
The boy pushed his plate back, finally satiated. He’d been living on his own for two years, making more money than he’d make at any other job in such a short amount of time. Even after a doctor told him that another concussion like the recent ones he’d suffered could either kill him or cause permanent brain damage, he still wanted to fight. Told the DA, “It doesn’t matter. It’s what I’m good at.”
It wasn’t her job to counsel him. She was supposed to find him a safe place to live, give him money and ensure he kept a low profile until the trial, which already had constant continuances.
Three months, minimum. She took money from her wallet and put it down on the table. “Come on, if you’re finished. Let’s get you settled.”
“Gotta use the john.”
She nodded. Couldn’t exactly follow him in there but she did go in first to check. No windows. Perfect. She made her call to Al while waiting in the hallway leading to and not outside the door to be less conspicuous, and he rolled his eyes at the whole thing.
Once they were back in the truck and moving, there was silence for most of the trip. But when they pulled up outside the motel, where the marshals had a block of four adjoining rooms on the second floor, he leaned forward and put a hand on her shoulder.
“Are you going to give me a weapon? Because when these guys come after me, I’m not going to be able to fight them with my fists.”
She turned to face him. “No weapons. You won’t need them. You have me.”
She didn’t know if that answer satisfied him or not.
* * *
Grier secured the doors from the inside and alarmed them so Benji couldn’t leave. Those same alarms would alert her if someone tried to get in by buzzing the button she wore around her neck.
She was supposed to handcuff one of his wrists to something at all times.
He’s a dangerous kid, Grier. He kills with his hands, Jack had warned her. And she wasn’t stupid.
“Come on, settle in somewhere so I can put this on.” She held up the cuffs, was surprised when he offered no resistance. Maybe he was tired. She locked a wrist to the metal of the bed, the chain long enough for him to sit up, lie down and generally get comfortable. “Just yell if you need anything or want to move.”
There was a table with two chairs. She put the remote near him, and a bottle of water. The rooms were already stocked with snacks and there were take-out menus and clothes.
Once in, they weren’t coming out until trial. She and Jack would relieve each other, but they’d each be sleeping here, hence all the rooms. Plus, it was a good way to keep surveilling the street.
“You’re not scared of me, are you?” Benji asked suddenly.
“No,” she answered truthfully. “Should I be?”
“I only fight in the ring. For money. And I didn’t mean to hurt that kid.”
She wanted to correct him when he said hurt, but didn’t. It was in his eyes—he knew what he’d done. The only reason he’d gotten caught was through a routine traffic stop—but the police had an APB out on him, thanks to a video one of the members of the audience had filmed and put up on YouTube. It had been damaging enough to force Benji to admit what he’d done to the DA. But until he got in front of a jury—and even when he did—all bets were off. He could recant everything.
Grier didn’t want to know exactly how. “You’re doing the right thing now. Fighting for money the way you’re doing it isn’t legal for a reason. People get hurt.”
“Boxers get hurt all the time. Football players too,” he pointed out.
“Yeah, well, they’re trying to regulate all that now, aren’t they?”
“Never happen.” He was staring down at his cuffed wrist. His hand was fisted and she saw the scars on his knuckles, courtesy of the skin being broken open time and time again. “I miss it.”
“Fighting?”
“Training. It’s a release for me. You wouldn’t understand.”
“You’d be surprised at what I understand.” She watched him for a long moment. “I can’t let you leave here, but I could let you work out. I won’t be able to get much—some weights. A jump rope.”
His face brightened a little. “Yeah, that would be good. Thanks.”
“Get some rest.”
In return, the TV blasted behind her. When she turned back, his eyes were
