England 2008

Aidan sat at the small dining table that was tucked in the corner of the tiny kitchen, her head in her hands as she stared down at the title belt between her elbows. There was a deep gouge in one of the sideplates. She wasn't sure why he hadn't felt the knife hit the belt, but she didn't care. It was all that had saved her from the blade.

“I can't believe you thought fast enough to act like he killed you.”

Her eyes turned up to Belinda and she gave a nod.

“I can't either, really. All I knew was that he'd get the job done for sure if he knew he hadn't gotten me the first time.”

She picked up the glass of whiskey with her good hand. Linnie had already set her fingers and taped them up for her. The liquor was the best they had for a painkiller, and Aidan wasn't complaining.

“There was no hesitation, not for a second. He didn't care. He's a fucked up son of a bitch, Linnie. This shit... We've got to call the police. This is beyond us.”

“I knew it was cold outside, but I didn't think hell had frozen over. You, the voice of reason? You are shook, aren't you?”

“Ha-bloody-ha. I'll beat the shit out of someone on the street, fine, but stabbing? That's getting into territory I'm not up for.”

“Well, put down the booze then. They're going to want a coherent statement out of you, and you're so full of adrenaline you can barely do that now.”

Aidan made a sour face as Belinda took the glass from her, but she didn't try to stop it.

 

 

- - - - -

New York, January 4th, 2016

Her elbows were planted firmly on the table, the folder between them, with her hair gripped tightly in either hand to hold her head up as she stared down at the information in front of her.

“Fuck.”

It was a muttered whisper the first time, but as she pulled at her hair to keep herself grounded by the minor pain, it got louder.

“Fuck!”

The chair scraped on the floor as she stood up, almost tipping backward but she caught it and flung it back toward the table where it collided with a bang, leaving a chip in the finish.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck!!!”

The empty water glass that had been sitting beside her was hurled across the kitchen, shattering against one of the cabinets. If it weren't for the fact that she needed the pages in order, she might have thrown the folder full of information across the room too. When she turned back around, Elsie was standing there.

The look on her face like a wounded mouse, hair disheveled and borrowed sleep shirt rumpled, she cowered at where the hall back to the bedroom ended. She was stuck between retreating and launching into a string of apologies, no doubt. Apologies that Aidan didn't want to hear. She took a deep breath and released her fistfuls of hair, giving a little wave toward the kitchen.

“Come on, come get something to eat.”

“Aidan, please don't be angry. I'm so sorry about all of this. I—”

“Stop! Don't you dare apologize to me, Elsie. You're always sorry. Sorry doesn't fix anything! How did you get into this mess?!”

Her arm swung toward the table where the folder was sitting, still open.

“Even you, with all your childish fumbling, can't have just stumbled into that blindly without any idea what you were doing!”

“I did. I mean... I didn't. I just... I'm s— I...”

“How do you expect me to fix this for you, Elsie? What do I look like to you? I'm a wrestler, that is my life. I have a match to train for and if any other teams ever show their face, I have titles to defend with my partner in less than a month. That is my focus, that is what I want to be concentrating on!

“I'm not a fucking super hero, and despite what I occasionally claim, I'm not God. I can't snap my fingers and make this right. You got me into this and now it's not just your problem, it's my problem too. I have to find some way out of it, and I don't fucking know how! I haven't even finished figuring out just what fucked up hole you're dragging me down into with you.”

“I'll help, somehow. I swear. Just tell me what you want me to do.”

“You can't help! For fuck's sake don't try to do anything else at all until I tell you to. Everything you touch turns into a nightmare and I have enough of those all on my own! This... this is beyond me!”

But who could she turn to? Her fingers were in her hair again, pulling harder than before as she turned her back on Elsie to pace the living area. Her heart was pounding in her chest and it wasn't from the anger she had just blasted the blonde with. The uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach hadn't left from the moment she had received the text from Elsie. Even in her wildest dreams... she hadn't imagined what she had been reading, and it was just scratching the surface.

She heard Elsie move up behind her before she felt the hand on her shoulder. Aidan just wanted to turn around and slap her. She didn't feel guilty for picturing herself doing it in her mind. She felt guilty for not feeling guilty.

“If you want to help... just make some breakfast.”

If nothing else the blonde was a good cook. Aidan didn't want to eat, the thought was nauseating. She would much rather have had a drink, but it was... nine-thirty AM.

 

 

- - - - -

England, 2008

“What a fucking bunch of bullshit!”

“Take a breath, girlie.”

“No! Fuck that shit! They're going to sit there and give me that look like they don't believe me?! I've got the fucking knife! And the holes in my jacket and shirt, the mark on the belt. Not to mention his hand print on my neck and broken fingers. What the fuck more do they need?! There's fucking fingerprints on the knife if they would check it, he wasn't wearing gloves!”

Belinda handed her a fresh glass of whiskey and practically helped her drink it because Aidan's hands were shaking so badly with rage. She had to wipe a few drops off of her face when she was done, but she never felt embarrassed about anything in front of Belinda anymore. Once someone changed in the same room as you every night and had helped you pull thumbtacks out of your cleavage and ass it just seemed stupid to be shy.

“I know that, Aidan. I'm not the one who doubts you, you can stop yelling at me.”

“I'm not yelling at you!”

She forced in a deep breath, checking her tone.

“I'm just yelling.”

“Why don't you lay down? I'm not patronizing, you, don't give me that look. We've got you a little buzzed, you're tired as fuck from wrestling, and you've been running on empty for days as it was. You need to sleep. In the morning, when we've got clear heads, we'll figure this out.”

Aidan wanted to argue, but she knew the big blonde was right. She relented, with a nod, and trudged back to her tiny room. It wasn't much to look at, but it was more of a home than any mansion in Rochester had ever been.

She had changed into her pajamas and was just about to turn out the light when her eyes fell upon a small bundle sitting on top of the dresser. She bit the inside of her lip as she stared at it for who knew how long. Finally, she reached out and picked it up, running her fingers over the front.

Elsie and Thea had dragged her and Belinda along to a carnival a month or so ago. Aidan and Linnie had hated practically every second of it, having desired to be in the gym training for an upcoming title defense instead. The glares she had given the two younger women when one of the entertainers insisted on having Aidan help him demonstrate could have killed.

“How long have you been an assassin?”

She had smiled and giggled but she had really wanted to roll her eyes. He had a nasally voice and bad teeth, even for a carnie.

“Stand back, ladies and gentlemen, this woman his highly dangerous!”

Of course, it had been all his own skill. He had put the knife in her hand, but he guided the motions and the way each of the three blades hit close to the bullseye on his target had nothing to do with any skill on her part. As a parting gift for being a good sport—and probably because he was attracted to her—he had given her a set of throwing knives for herself. They weren't anything special, but she'd researched them and they were a good beginner set. She hadn't touched them otherwise.

Releasing her lip from her teeth, she opened up the bundle, laid the small holder out, and withdrew one of the blades. Her conscience told her that maybe she should wait until she hadn't been drinking. She told her conscience to fuck off. There was a dartboard on the wall, and behind that was a big rectangle of cork board. At some point she had planned to practice and see if she could get the hang of it. Why not now?

As she stood across the room, fixing her body in the position he had showed her, she worked to remember all of the details. The first throw missed the dartboard by a long shot, but still managed to catch the edge of the cork instead of the wall. It was better than nothing. She hadn't thought she could make it stick at all. With a deep breath, she picked up the second blade.