by E. M. Moore
“I’m sorry, Princess.” Oscar moves behind me, clasping my wrists in his hands, rubbing soothing circles along my pulse point.
“It’s not you.”
He spins me, taking me in. I’m sure I look like I’ve slept for sixteen hours, but he’s wise enough not to say anything.
“Something’s up. K wants a video chat with all of us this morning, so you should get ready.”
I close my mouth so tight I’m afraid I might break a tooth. “What time?”
Oscar moves hair off my shoulder, still watching me intently. “You got about a half hour.”
I nod.
He pulls me to him abruptly. “I’m sorry for leaving last night. Everything you said, I want it. I’m just so fucking scared to want anything anymore because the only thing I’ve ever wanted that I’ve been able to keep is you. I keep waiting for that to blow up in my face, too.”
I snuggle into his neck, kissing the slight curve lightly as I breathe him in. He’s freshly showered and smells like a rainforest. “You got me,” I tell him. “Nothing is going to change that. And you will play football again, Oscar. I promise.”
“Why is it whenever you say it, I believe it, but every time I try to tell myself the same thing, it sounds like a load of shit?”
I pull away, fingers just grazing his chin. “I hear I’m quite convincing.”
His eyes change, switching from adoration to something much more primal. “There’s so much dick in this apartment.”
“What?” I laugh. Totally not what I was expecting him to say.
“I’m just wondering how we’re ever going to have time for one another. I want my sexy cheerleader.”
I make a mental note to buy an actual cheerleader uniform. Better yet, I can steal one from school. Oscar would probably jizz his pants to see me in Heights colors.
“Fuck me. Don’t look at me like that.” He turns me away from him and taps my ass. “Shower. I’m sure the Crew wants their princess looking like royalty.”
I do as he says, hopping in the shower, taking an even quicker one than I ever did at Greenlawn despite the fact that there’s zero soap scum in this shower, and I don’t have to worry about any of the pervy residents walking in on me.
Well, that’s probably not true, but I wouldn’t actually mind any of the guys here walking in on me, so there’s the difference.
When I get out of the shower, I find everything right where I left it. I run a brush through my hair and put on a minimal amount of makeup before moving out into my room to dress. My closet is stocked with the same skimpy outfits, so instead of pulling on any number of those, I grab some joggers and a cut-off t-shirt. Once I’m dressed, I run my fingers through my still wet hair, but it’ll have to do because I’m sure my half hour is up.
I haven’t heard a word out of the guys since I’ve been in here, so I walk out. It turns out Brawler is the only one in the apartment. He lifts his head from his phone when I walk in. Rising to his feet, he pulls me in for a quick hug before saying. “They’re next door in Mag’s place. You better go.”
He leads me to the door, opening it. Mag’s door is open, and the copper-headed bodyguard is sitting facing the door, so he waves for me to come in and then gestures for me to shut the door behind me. Brawler stays where he is, which makes sense because this is Crew business, and luckily, Brawler isn’t Crew.
“She just walked in,” Oscar says.
Oscar moves over, allowing me space on Mag’s couch. I sit, facing the laptop that’s open in front of us that holds Johnny and his father. I trap a breath in my chest after seeing Johnny. He has a fresh black eye, and I immediately ball my hands to fists. Whoever touched him will fucking pay for that.
I’m about to open up my mouth and ask when Magnum butts in. “What do you need me to do?”
Big Daddy K smiles at Magnum approvingly. Subtle differences differentiate this Magnum with the Jacob of yesterday. This one looks like a giant steel rod is shoved up his ass. He’s so tense. His face not only impassive but serious. It’s a far cry from the guy who hugged me yesterday, but I understand the role each of us need to play. I wish I could play it better myself sometimes.
“I’ll get to that shortly but let me take a look at Kyla here.”
I take my eyes off Johnny. Other than a sad smile he gave me that I didn’t return, he’s super stiff next to his father, and I’m immediately on edge thinking it was K who hit him.
“I’m glad to see you back at the tower and safe.”
Focus, Kyla. Fucking focus. I need to act the part, and with the way Johnny’s eyes are begging me right now, I know he’s thinking the same thing. “Thanks to you and Johnny,” I say. “Let me know what I can do to make it up to you.”
“Nonsense,” K says, though it doesn’t look like he believes the words at all. “That’s what family is for.”
My stomach heaves, and I throw up a little in my mouth. After just imagining my family being the ones surrounding me right now, the thought that Big Daddy K would even be in the vicinity is physically making me sick.
“I just can’t figure out why your fingerprints would’ve shown up on the gun.”
I swallow and take a leap. Heights kids own guns, so this shouldn’t be a revelation. “Probably because it’s my gun,” I tell K, locking gazes with him. He tilts his head just off-center, so I continue. “My gun was in my apartment, but it got ransacked after the shootout that night. What I don’t understand is how the police knew they were my fingerprints. It’s not as if I’ve ever been in trouble before.”
“Fucking Reynolds,” Johnny curses. “I told you he was after her for some reason.”
His father sneers at him, but Johnny doesn’t back down.
“He probably got your fingerprints from that school. Didn’t you have a meeting with him in the principal’s office that one time? He could’ve gotten it off anything you touched.”
A meeting? If he means browbeat into talking to him, then yes, I guess it was a meeting. Either way, his explanation makes sense. It’s one I came up with myself and even had my fingers crossed so damn tightly that it wouldn’t get traced even further back to Joanne Ridley. Because I didn’t know how they’d gotten them, I wasn’t sure who knew what, and I still need to keep that part of my life separate from this one.
“Don’t worry about the charges, Kyla,” Big Daddy K says, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d think he actually meant every word that was coming out of his mouth. His voice is like butter, and he’s so put together that looks are definitely deceiving in his case. He’s a monster in an expensive suit. “The lawyer took care of them, and we’re going to make sure they don’t stick.”
I bite my lip, wondering if that’s what someone told him six years ago when he killed my parents. They patted him on the back and told him not to worry about a thing because Crew people don’t go down for their crimes. The only difference between us is that I actually didn’t do what I’m accused of.
“Alright, plans,” K says. He sits back, crossing one leg over the other while Johnny still sits stiffly beside him. “I need everything to return to normal ASAP. We’re bleeding money here, and people are starting to get restless with what’s gone down on the street.”
“What about Gregory?” Magnum asks.
“I’m hoping he’ll go the way of Roza Fonz’s band of dimwits, but we’ve got our ears to the ground, trying to sniff him out. I haven’t forgotten what he did to you and Kyla, and as soon as we find him, he’ll pay just like Dunnegan.”
I try not to think about the life draining from Dunnegan’s eyes. Not that he was a good person, but I’m not judge, jury, and executioner. Big Daddy K fancies himself just that, though.
“Magnum, I need some of the guys still there to check something out. We got wind that a junior guy might have been found in the old fight warehouse this morning.”
Oscar sits forward. “Junior guy?”
“Farmingham,” Johnny explains.
“Farmingham? We never recruited him.”
<
br /> “But we were, and I don’t think Gregory’s guys ever got the memo. We think it’s a retaliation killing.”
Oscar’s leg jumps up and down. “So, you don’t think they’re backing down?”
K shrugs. “We’ve got to find that out, but I can’t let them think they’re getting to us, so everything is back on as of now. Start the fights again. Get back into the school, recruit, recruit, recruit. I’m sending some guys home today, and we’ll follow shortly. Everyone else is getting the same instructions. Johnny’s returning early to run Candy’s in Dunnegan’s…” He smiles. “...failure to remain alive.”
I can’t help it. I drift my gaze toward Johnny. His shiner doesn’t detract from his good looks, and now I’ll be seeing him soon. He’s going to take Candy’s over. He should since the new club aspect was genius. He took a high-class strip joint and made it into the place to be. He deserves to take that business over.
What the hell am I thinking? It’s a Crew-owned business, and he needs to get as far away from it as possible.
“Keep me updated,” K says, before leaning forward to shut the video down without giving me the chance to look at Johnny one more time.
Mag leans forward and shuts the laptop.
“Who’s Farmingham?” I ask first. I have a lot more questions, but they’ll wait. This seemed like the biggest piece of news since it might be directly related to Gregory.
Oscar’s jaw hardens. He runs his hands down his thighs. “He’s the guy you called out that day in lunch.” He turns toward me just a fraction. “You slammed his head into the table.”
I gasp. “That’s Farmingham? He’s dead?”
Oscar gets to his feet. “The guy was a fucking dumbass, but shit.”
Guilt seeps into my skin like a wet blanket weighing me down.
The door opens behind Oscar, and Brawler walks in. He catches my face, and immediately asks, “What’s wrong?”
Oscar turns toward me. What he sees makes him move forward. “You didn’t do this.”
“You didn’t recruit him because of me,” I say, knowing already that it’s true. They don’t even have to tell me.
Magnum takes a quick second to update Brawler before Oscar’s jaw starts ticking again. “Yes, and it still didn’t matter. He still wound up dead even though he wasn’t a part of the Crew.”
The guy was an asshole and a douchebag, but I didn’t want him to die. “What are the chances this is a message?”
Magnum speaks up now. “We treat every time someone in the Crew dies as a possible message from our enemies. Especially if they died under suspicious circumstances. I don’t know anything about this kid’s death yet though.”
“Gregory probably got antsy because everyone left, and he couldn’t find anyone important to send the message, so he started at the bottom.”
“The bottom? He wasn’t even on the bottom,” Brawler says.
“If he’s starting at the bottom, I need to put the word out at the school.”
I grab Oscar’s hand before he can turn away. “How many Crew members go to school?”
“It’s not just the members,” Oscar says, clearly distracted. “It’s apparently anyone who wants to recruit in.” He motions toward the side of the laptop. “I got you that phone. Johnny’s orders. I already gave out your new number to everyone. I’ll call you later.”
Oscar pulls the keys to his bike from his pocket as he exits Mag’s apartment.
“To answer your question,” Brawler says. “So many recruits. More than half the guys at school want to join. For some of them, it’s their only choice for anything. But there’s about ten junior members who are already in.”
My head spins. I’d only looked at major players when I researched the Crew. I don’t know why, but I never thought about all the little guys. The young ones, like me, getting caught up in this life when you could have some psycho like Gregory decide he wants to take you out to send a message to the higher-ups.
Coward.
“I’m coming with you,” I say, getting to my feet and facing Magnum.
He sighs. “I knew you were going to do this.”
“Johnny will get pissed,” Brawler offers.
I shrug. “I want to know what happened to Farmingham. Plus, I’m in the Crew now and K gave us an order. I’m rolling with it.” I head toward the door. “Be ready in five. I just need to change.”
Mag and Brawler exchange a look, but I ultimately win, and it’s mine and Brawler’s asses parked in the back of the car as we make our way to the old warehouse.
8
We arrive at the rundown warehouse, and a flood of emotions almost bowls me over. For starters, this place looks a lot shittier in the middle of the day. Little things stick out, like the litter of human waste on the sidewalk leading toward the alley. Cigarette butts, empty McDonald’s fries pouches, plastic wrappers, and just general trash dropped and forgotten.
When we step inside, though, it’s back to normal. The place looks the same as I remembered it, except it smells a little better without the raging fighters’ sweat and blood pooled over the ground. The same dim lighting leaves the shitty pallet-like seating in a haze. The place lacks the raucous crowd, making the area feel both bigger and void of life.
My heart squeezes painfully. I miss this. Brawler’s fingers tangle in mine momentarily, and I glance over to find him staring. His resolute blue eyes shine, and I know he’s following my train of thought. From what I’ve gathered, they shut the fights down. The cops were out in full force, so they didn’t want to dangle the underground fights in their faces like a carrot. A snowflake can turn into an avalanche quickly.
“Any idea where this...body is supposed to be?” Brawler whispers. His trained eye searches the interior. He knows this place better than anyone.
Magnum shrugs but moves forward on confident legs. He’s stealth, hands at his sides, eyes darting everywhere. “I don’t know much about the kid, but he was here, and he wasn’t supposed to be. Where do you think he’d be if that’s the case?”
Brawler’s gaze tracks upward. At once, we all look with him at the box they built for Johnny and the other higher-ups in the Crew to sit while watching the fights. I’ve spent my fair share of time up there, too, and yeah, it’s by far the most comfortable spot in the building. Why Farmingham would be up there, I don’t know, but he certainly wouldn’t find a better spot unless he likes chipped tile in bathrooms.
Magnum takes his gun out of the waistband of his pants and edges forward. His knees are bent, arms outstretched in front of him with his finger already on the trigger. “Watch her.”
Brawler moves me behind him as we follow Mag up the steps. There’s no getting around the creaks of our footfall on the old wood, so hopefully, whoever killed Farmingham is long gone, not waiting around to watch this play out.
“How did someone even find him?” I whisper.
Brawler reaches back for my hand, and I put mine in his. He gives it a squeeze. “I’m not the only one who comes in and out of here. Anyone with a key could’ve found him and reported it.”
Magnum crouches as we approach the box with its face full of windows. We’re staying just under the ledge to remain hidden. He climbs to the landing then turns to look at us. “I’ll check the place out. The vantage point isn’t ideal, so stay back until I tell you it’s safe.”
Brawler and I both nod. My stomach tumbles over itself as Magnum prepares to enter the room. He knows what he’s doing, but that doesn’t make it any less scary to find someone you care about seconds away from potentially putting himself in danger.
Magnum reaches out with his left hand to turn the doorknob. The catch releases, and he steps back, letting the door open on its own. He waits until there’s just enough space to allow him through before he lifts himself to full height and charges in. He cases the room like I’ve seen Navy Seals do on TV. I can’t lie and say watching him doesn’t turn me on, but that’s doused in a fraction of a second when he calls out, “Stay the fuck ba
ck.”
Just the tone in his voice, I can tell he’s not talking to us.
Before I can even think, Brawler moves. He doesn’t wait for Magnum’s orders. He charges in, pulling me in behind him, shielding me with his wide body. I’ll always want someone like Brawler on my side. He may get annoyed with Oscar, but he went after him last night. That wasn’t the first time either. And now, he’s just charged into a room to help out another one of our guys.
I squeeze his hands tightly, and he pulls me against him from behind, mistaking my show of emotion for fear.
“Mag…”
“What are you doing here?” Magnum demands. He hasn’t lowered the gun, so this person must not be a friend. He’s tense, shoulders bunched, still lining up his shot with the barrel aimed in front of him.
I peek around Brawler’s shoulders, which is a feat in and of itself since he’s twice my size, but I’m too curious about the man who’s shown up at the warehouses on the day Farmingham’s dead body was found. It can’t be a coincidence. Before I find the intruder, though, my gaze freezes on the prick who bullied me the first day at Rawley Heights. His arrogant expression is wiped from his face now. There’s a hole in his temple, his prone body half on the leather couch and half off. A small blanket bunches at his waist as if he was sleeping here when someone came up on him and shot him. Congealed blood puddles on the sofa and where it subsequently dripped to the floor. A smell in the air filters through my nostrils. Repugnant, but not terrible yet.
“Mack?”
Brawler bristles, and along with him, my back straightens. I peer up to find the guy they’ve both been staring at. He looks to be between Johnny and Mag’s age. Brown hair, shorn closely to his head. He has earrings adorning his ears and the flames of a tattoo licking up the side of his neck. Not to stereotype, but he definitely looks like the gang member type, so why Magnum hasn’t lowered his piece yet is beyond me. The air thickens with tension the longer the standoff continues. With my hand inside Brawler’s, he tightens his fingers to fists, almost crushing my small finger bones. Thankfully, it’s the hand I didn’t hurt in the accident.