She hitches in a short breath, then steals a quick look at me, a flash of recognition in her eyes as they trail to my ribcage. Has she seen the tat?
“We all lived together here at North House, seven of us boys and one girl—who we were all probably in love with, but she was Liam’s girl.”
I shake my head with nostalgia. “All we did was fight. It was harsh.”
“Yeah, we hated each other.” Josh and I both laugh.
“To say we were a handful would be an understatement,” I say. “We’d slam each other into walls, bust up the furniture—”
“Usually over someone’s head,” Josh interjects.
“I’m surprised they kept any of us, let alone all of us.”
“Christ, we put my Uncle Cade and Aunt Debra through hell.”
“That’s right, the introduction. You’re a North.” Elle tilts her head. “You’re biologically related to them?”
“Cade is my dad’s brother,” Josh explains.
“Cade and Josh’s father, Colt, got separated by the system when they were kids after their parents were killed in a fire,” I explain.
Her gaze turns solemn. “I didn’t know.”
“He tells the story to every teen that comes through that door,” Josh says. “Cade really knows how to connect to them.”
I nod. “It’s what inspired him to save teens and birth The Core and North House.”
“And how did you end up here?” she asks Josh.
“I went through a really rough patch in my teen years; it was so bad that my parents decided to send me here to my uncle’s place for a while.”
Josh and Elle sit on the loveseat while I stand behind them, leaning on my hands over the back of it. Thinking about what might happen when she sees my picture.
“Obviously you guys don’t hate each other anymore. What happened?”
“Ahh, that’s the core of the story,” Josh says. “It was a sweltering summer night in 2005. The girl who lived here with us at North House—”
“Liam’s girl?” Elle reiterates.
Josh nods. “She was attacked by a local gang and nearly killed.”
“Oh my God.”
He continues, “When we heard what happened, none of us said a word to each other—”
“Some words don’t need to be spoken; actions speak louder.” I think back to that awful, fateful night.
“We followed Liam upstairs and got ready.” Josh gets a faraway look in his eyes as he recalls the moment. “We laced up our steel-toe boots, grabbed baseball bats and other weapons we had on hand.”
“None of us thought we’d be returning,” I remember.
“We had each other’s backs that night.” Josh looks up at me.
“Been brothers ever since,” I say to him proudly.
“When we got back home—and we all came back—I thought Uncle Cade was going to kick our asses and send us all to juvie.” He shakes his head in astonishment.
I add, “We were bloody—and most of that blood wasn’t our own—bruised up, a few of us had broken bones. Right there, Liam tattooed each one of us, memorializing it and marking our brotherhood forever with ink. When Cade busted through the door, he did something none of us expected. He walked into the room, knowing what we’d done, and instead of killing us, he was proud of us.”
“Called us the brothers of ink and steel.” Josh and I look at each other, then to Elle.
“That’s a powerful story.” She dabs the tears from her cheeks. “What happened to the girl?”
“Long story short, she took time to heal and later she came back. She and Liam reunited and got married.”
Elle sighed, relieved. “I’m glad it has a happy ending. There aren’t too many of those.”
“Have you taken her to the shop?” Josh asks.
My eyes shift uncomfortably to Elle. “Not yet.” I shrug, throwing her a small smile. But I’d like to.
“What’s the shop?” she asks.
“The House of Ink and Steel tattoo shop. Liam owns it. Of course, now he thinks he’s some big celebrity,” he teases.
“Yeah, you think you’re one too,” I toss back.
“Liam Knight is your brother? The judge on that tattoo reality show? Is that who you’re talking about?”
“One and the same.”
“My roommate is into tats. She loves watching that show. I’ve seen it a couple of times.”
“But you don’t know the Jackhammer.” Josh shakes his head disappointedly while flexing his biceps.
Elle and I laugh again.
“Sorry, I’ve never watched fighting. But I have heard of you,” she tries to cover.
He grins at her attempt. Josh really couldn’t care less. He’s a humble guy. “You should take her to the shop; the artwork is pretty cool, even if you don’t want it inked on your body. Anyway, that gang fight was the moment, the pivotal point where our histories changed and we all started living toward a future,” Josh tells her as he opens the cover of the album.
All I can think about is how she’s going to get a glimpse of my teenage self, less than a year after Albuquerque. I’ve changed a lot since then.
Maybe this is the perfect way to bring it up. Or maybe this will drop the bomb that’ll shatter our fragile accord.
Christ, what’s wrong with me? She might not recognize me at all. Maybe it wasn’t even her.
I peer through the window to see that the kids are still playing basketball, even though it’s as cold as the Arctic circle outside—avoiding chores is serious motivation. They could interrupt us at any time, though, and when they see Josh, all hell’s going to break loose.
That feeling of anticipation hits my gut. Suddenly, I want her to see those pictures more than anything. Lay it all out in the open.
“This is us,” Josh declares with pride.
Shifting, I lean against the wall on Josh’s side, close enough to see the photobook, but with a vantage point that gives me a clear, direct view of Elle’s expressions.
Josh opens the thick binder stuffed with photographs and mementos Debra put together during the years we spent at North House. We became her and Cade’s kids; that never changed.
“This is me.” Josh points to a group photograph Cade took a couple weeks after the fight, after we’d healed up. “Damn, we’re so young. I haven’t looked through this scrapbook in forever,” he remarks. “Liam, Talon, Reese…” Josh points carefully at each of us. “Ryder, Chase and Connor.”
Elle hitches in a quick breath. “Can I get a closer look?”
“Sure.”
Josh lends a hand as Elle lifts the book up to her face, peering deeply at the photo.
Own it, Connor. You’ve been waiting for this.
Pure shock paints over her features.
“This… is…”—slowly she turns and looks up at me—“you?”
“That’s me,” I say, as easy as I can.
Her gaze alternates between the photograph and my face. She quickly tries to hide whatever she’s feeling but fails. It’s as if every emotion she’s ever felt is bubbling up and over. Astonishment and awe. Disbelief. A lot of that last one.
“It was taken a little less than a year after I was in Albuquerque,” I tell her.
She exhales a short audible burst.
“Hadn’t you just got out of a high-security detention center?” Josh remembers.
A small, high-pitched sound escapes her throat.
“Yeah.” Moving to the chair beside her, I capture Elle’s stormy blue eyes with mine and say, “I’d been given six months for helping a girl escape from the police, so she could find her brother. I gave her my Saint Sophia pendant to watch over her and keep her safe.”
Her mouth falls open as her breath hitches and catches in her chest.
“IT’S THE JACKHAMMER!”
Suddenly, the room explodes, swarming with kids all trying to get as close to Josh as possible, begging him for autographs, wanting to touch him. Josh gets up and starts shaking hands
and hugging them.
Through all the commotion, Elle’s gaze is locked to mine. We’re connected and neither of us is letting go.
“Yeah, I’d love to take a photo with you,” Josh gushes to the very excited horde. “With all of you! Let’s go into the family room.”
In my peripheral, I see him pull his phone from his back pocket and fiddle with it while he heads out of the living room with all the kids in his wake. Except Lily, who climbs onto the couch and hides behind Elle’s back. Elle scoops her into her arms, perching her on her lap.
I try to smile, but I’m too afraid she’s going to retreat from me. After another few moments of silence, I’m willing her to say or do something. Anything!
That’s when her hand wanders up and finds the pendant. She begins to polish it between her thumb and forefinger, her eyes never leaving mine.
Elle
Albuquerque 2004
THEY’VE HAD ME locked up in this room like a prisoner for the past five hours. I know that because I keep watching the wall clock. The second hand is mocking me.
The pressure builds until I can’t take it anymore!
With a roar of frustration, I yank the slow-ticking clock off the wall and smash it against the floor. It makes a satisfying sound as the outer face shatters; shards of clear plastic skitter across the marred gray concrete floor.
How can they do this to people? Is the clock supposed to add to the punishment I’m already drowning in?
“ASSHOLES!” I shout against the cold concrete walls and locked, fortified door.
The night outside the window just keeps getting darker and darker as cloud cover moves in, obstructing the light of the moon and stars. I pace. Like those poor animals trapped behind those glass cases at the zoo. You can tell they’re going crazy being locked up like that.
My brother is gone. They took him away again. They don’t care about kids like us. Don’t care what we want. Or need. They don’t give a shit about anything except their policies and paperwork.
What they want is for me to stay put and be quiet.
That will never fucking happen!
They didn’t even bring me dinner. Douchebags.
I’d searched for any way to escape when they first threw me in here. Windows are barred, door’s secured and the heat vent is just a small rectangle. I’m screwed.
I walk up to the door… AGAIN… and pound it with my fists. “I NEED TO GET OUT OF HERE! PLEASE! SOMEBODY!”
Nobody cares, Elle!
The longer I’m in here, the farther away from me they’ll take him.
I promised I’d look after him. That I wouldn’t let anything bad happen to him. That no one would hurt him. That I’d never leave him… like Mom did.
I promised.
And I’ve already broken my word too many times. This is the fourth time they’ve found us and split us up. Once again, he was forced to watch me dragged off in handcuffs.
Slowly, I trace my fingertips over the windowsill and across the glass pane. The iron bars and locks tell me one thing: this place isn’t an ordinary group home.
I swallow my nervousness down hard, and it tastes bitter.
It’ll take a miracle for me to get away.
Suddenly, I hear someone messing with the lock. I peer at the door skeptically. Maybe someone’s bringing dinner? Yeah, right. When I broke the clock, it was rounding midnight. Probably just a bed check.
With a surge of adrenaline, I think, I could bolt the moment that door cracks open! Then I wince. Bolt in which direction?
They brought me through a side door, up a staircase and down a hall, and then they threw me directly into this room. I wasn’t given the grand tour—I never had a chance to see the layout of the house. Or the exit routes. If I try to make a run for it, they’ll catch and cuff me again before I even find the front door.
Taking a step back, I command myself to wait.
The door cracks open.
An older boy’s voice asks, “Do you bite?”
“Maybe,” I snarl.
“Good.” He lets himself in and closes the door carefully, silently, behind him with a cocky smirk on his face.
“Who the hell are you?”
“You can call me Con.”
“Like Con-artist or Con-vict?”
He laughs. “Either works.”
This boy is cute. He’s got jet black hair with long bangs that sweep across his forehead. Probably a year older than me.
And trouble.
Con studies me for a minute before saying, “This place is just one step down from high-security juvie. You must’ve done something pretty bad to land in here.”
“Is that a question or a statement?”
He smiles again, and I know I’ll never forget that smile. It makes my belly quiver and heat crop up in places I’ve never felt before.
“At least I amuse you,” I quip.
God he’s gorgeous. He wears faded Levi’s, a black Linkin Park tee shirt, and a pair of beat-up black Converse. A thin, golden chain drops behind his collar. His body is lean and muscular, and he has a rugged look to him, like he knows how to fight. Combing his fingers through his hair, he rakes his bangs back, revealing blue-green eyes that spark with mischief.
“It fucking sucks here. Totally nothing to do. I’ve been stuck here for the past two months. And you’re pretty goddamn entertaining, so, it’s a question.”
“Two months,” I echo, shaking my head. “I can’t be here that long. Why are you here?”
“They labeled me a high run-risk.” He leans his shoulder against the wall. “I don’t particularly like the foster care system. I’d rather be on the streets, making it on my own terms. And I definitely hate Albuquerque. They’re holding me here, so I can’t make my way back to California.”
“What’s in California?”
“Not so fast.” His eyes meet mine, and I feel an electric jolt that makes me feel warm and jittery inside. “I’ve already answered your question. Your turn.”
“What are you, a lawyer?” I reply snarkily. But I surrender, sigh heavily and sit on the edge of the bed. “My mom ran off over a year ago with some guy, and the geniuses in social services think it’s a good idea to split up me and my little brother. He’s only seven.”
He turns serious, stands straight and folds his arms across his chest. “That fucking sucks.”
“The last time they put us in separate foster homes, when I found him, he had bruises all over him. I broke him out that night.”
“How did you find him?”
A little proud of myself, I tell him, “During a check-in with a new social worker, she got an emergency call. I rifled through her files. Found where they placed him and was there two days later.”
“I hate to be the harbinger of bad tidings, but you’re going to need to rethink your game. They’re not so distracted here. This place is tough. I’ve been on lockdown almost ten times now. And that’s not ’cause I got out, I’d only been trying to. They have alarm systems on every window and door that have direct lines to the police department.”
“Outings? They have to let you out for exercise and sunlight,” I surmise.
“Yeah they do.” He smirks like I’ve hit on something, then becomes sarcastic. “In a twenty-foot-high cage, edged at the top with barbwire. They call it the ‘back yard,’ but kids here call it the prison yard. There are no off-property outings.”
The tension inside me is escalating. “What about school?”
“It’s a charter through the public-school system. This penitentiary has a ‘school’ room.” He makes air quotes. “Everyone does it on a computer.”
“What have you tried so far?” Desperation tinges my voice.
“Everything.” He shrugs and sits next to me on the bed. He’s so close, his thigh is nearly touching mine. I wonder what it would feel like for him to touch me. He’s saying, “Jimmying the outer door locks—that, by the way, sets off the alarms. Stealing keys…”
“How’d you get in
to my room?”
The grin spreads over his features as his head tilts up to get a better look at me. I feel myself melt a little more. “They keep the room keys in the office. I borrow them from time to time.”
“Are all the guards asleep now?” I ask.
“Yeah. And I know where the floors squeak, so I can walk around quietly. I get bored easily. No way I’m going to sleep at their nine o’clock lights out. I almost never sleep.”
“So, you’re not locked into your room?”
“I’ve been on my best behavior.” He circles his finger around his head to draw a halo.
“Hmm… I don’t know you very well, but you don’t look like you come equipped with a best-behavior mode.”
He likes that. I can tell by the smile that lights up his face.
I like when he smiles.
He says, “You must be hungry.”
“Starving,” I affirm.
“They make newbies go without their first meal, so they know they’re on probation.”
“That’s legal?” I ask incredulously.
He shrugs. “I don’t know. But the whole system needs to be fixed.”
“Totally! When I get out of here and get my brother, I’m going to finish school and become a social justice fighter.”
“Do they come with a cape?”
“Shut up.” I punch his shoulder.
He likes that too. Damn that smile.
“Can I trust you to stay here for a minute with the door unlocked? I need to go get something.”
Trust. “I don’t know the house like you do. I’ll wait.”
“Promise?”
That feels like a challenge. “Promise.” I lift my legs and fold them underneath me so he can see I mean business.
He nods before slipping out, and I think. If it’s as bad as he says…
I shake my head. Desperation won’t help. No, I can’t let his experiences discourage me.
Con might not be able to get out, but I’ll find a way.
When he comes back, he has a bag of bagels, a stick of butter, a spoon and a half-empty gallon of chocolate milk. I’m impressed, and my stomach rumbles at the sight.
“Whoa! I heard that from here.”
Risk: An Enemies to Lovers, Second Chance Romance Standalone (Brothers of Ink and Steel) Page 14