by E. M. Moore
“Fucking shit,” Brawler mumbles behind me, his fingers tightening around my upper arm, letting me know he was the one to put a stop to the fight.
I blink, moving to stare down at an unmoving Cherry. She’s not dead. I don’t think, anyway. If she was, it wouldn’t matter to me. I have only one job here at Rawley Heights, and she was in my way.
Rocket doesn’t even spare her a glance. He moves toward me, stepping over her feet like she’s just an inconvenience to him. Brawler tries to tow me backward, but Rocket holds his hand up to stop him. Mirth dances in Johnny’s eyes. He reaches down to take my hand, squeezing my fingers in his. “It’s nice to formally meet you, Kyla. I enjoy surprises.”
Behind him, Cherry groans. He’s forgotten all about her though. I straighten my spine when his gaze doesn’t leave mine. “Sorry about your girl.”
Though he’s not acting like he cares now, that was his girl who’s currently trying to get to her feet without anyone’s help. Her face is bloodied, and her nose is definitely broken. She’s just fallen so far no one dare tries to step in. She let the “Princess” beat her. She didn’t stick up for Rawley Heights.
Then again, they’re all wondering about me now. If I can fight like that, I must be one of them. How quick the tide changes.
“I only have one girl,” Johnny says, his smooth voice like aged bourbon. “And she’s standing right in front of me.”
Brawler’s grip around me tightens for a split second before letting me go. His absence leaves a cold shiver running up my arms. Johnny’s girl? That’s not the plan.
I stutter for a moment, not sure how to react. The plan was to get into the gang through fighting. Work my way into their trust by winning them lots of money. If Johnny does this, that’s not fucking happening anymore.
My stomach clenches. The enemy’s DNA runs through him. If I have to gain their trust by sleeping with the enemy…
“Brawler,” Johnny finally says after he waits for a response I never give. “Get someone to clean Kyla up, will you? Then bring her to me.”
Brawler only grunts in response. Not that Johnny waits for any at all. He turns on his heel and steps around Cherry, still avoiding her like she’s invisible to him. She gazes up, hopeful, like he’s coming to help her, but he doesn’t even give her a second glance.
I blink at her, expecting her to turn her rage on me after being cast aside so quickly, but she doesn’t. Instead, she looks broken. Her head drops between her shoulder blades, and my heart grows heavy.
Brawler gives me a gentle tug as he wraps his fingers around me once again. He scoops down to pick up my shirt as we go, and before I know it, I’m in a back room that’s much nicer than the industrial look of the warehouse proper in the center. It takes me a moment to realize it’s a locker room. Fighters stretch and warm up. A row of lockers fill one wall.
“Get out,” Brawler orders as soon as we walk in.
The fighters stop to look at him, but they don’t move.
“I said, get the fuck out!” he roars.
They all jump. The few guys and women in the room pick up their towels and water bottles as they make their way to the exit.
When the door closes and I’m stuck here with him, he turns toward me. “What the fuck was that?”
“What the fuck was what?”
“You can fight,” he accuses, as if he’s just confronted me about something terribly illegal.
“Yeah,” I tell him.
He shakes his head. “You never said a word.” The disappointment lacing his voice unnerves me.
I don’t have an excuse. I purposefully didn’t tell him, but no way in hell am I admitting to that. “What? Do you want me to say sorry for not getting my ass kicked?”
“You can’t just fight, Princess,” he spits, still using the name I fucking hate. “You beat Cherry. She’s not the best, no, but Johnny only puts her up against people he knows she can beat.”
“I guess everyone should stop judging people they don’t really know,” I tell him, motioning toward my baggy shirt. It’s evidence of their prejudice. Just because I don’t look like them doesn’t mean I’m not like them. I’m as angry as they are. I’m as lost as they are. And I’m as stuck as they are. Except, I’m stuck in a mind prison I can’t escape from. One that shows me my dead parents every day.
He throws my shirt on the floor, knuckles turning white. When he glances up, he studies my best features. At least, what I think my best features are: my muscles. They show me I’m strong. They show me I can handle myself. When I feel like I can’t, like everything’s getting too big, I go work out. When I feel like I’m just an imposter, I look in a mirror. The muscles, the bruises that usually highlight my light skin from training, all tell me I can do this.
I glance down. Splattered blood paints my skin as I breathe in deep. Like war paint, it fills me with the thrill of victory and a power I never knew I carried before fighting.
Like Johnny just did, Brawler reaches for my hands. Instead of squeezing them like Rocket, though, he brings them to his face, inspecting them. “I’m fine,” I say, trying to pull away.
He tightens his grip. He’s looking for evidence of how much I fight. If I was just a novice, I probably would’ve broken a knuckle or two, but I’m not and I didn’t. I spend a lot of time in gyms, and I can’t fucking wait to get back into it now that I don’t have to hide.
“I see that,” he says, finally dropping my hand.
I bend down to pick up my shirt and use it to wipe Cherry’s blood off me.
Brawler snickers. “That’s not going to be good enough. Johnny wants you back with him, which means you’re going to have to take a shower and pretty yourself up.”
“Pretty myself up?”
“Didn’t you hear him?” he sneers. “You’re his now.”
“I’m no one’s.”
“Hate to break it to you, but you don’t have a choice.”
I lick my lips. I loathe to admit it, but he’s right. Rocket’s made a public declaration. To go against it, is to go against him and the Heights Crew.
I can’t afford to do that.
Brawler swallows, taking one last look at me and then spins to walk away, jaw tight. A minute later, a shower kicks on somewhere in the back of the locker room.
This isn’t the way I wanted to buddy up to the Heights Crew, but I won’t turn it down. I can’t. In fact, this could give me easier access to Johnny’s dad, and that’s all I want.
I can practically feel my fingers on the trigger now.
8
I scrub my skin until it's raw. Not because I want to make sure I look good for Johnny Rocket, but because I’m procrastinating getting out of the shower. Once I get out, I have to play the game. I have to pretend I’m all about the guy who shares DNA with the fucker I hate most in this world. Just because I know I have to do this doesn’t mean I want to. I grip the side of the shower while my stomach heaves. There’s nothing in it. I can’t eat before a fight. I learned that the hard way after puking all over the clothes I was due to wear in my first match a couple of years ago. Now, though, I grit my teeth, waiting for the feeling to pass.
“Princess, I didn’t take you for someone who spends hours in the shower.”
I close my eyes and swallow. “I didn’t take you for someone who stands outside creeping on a girl while she’s in the shower.”
Brawler’s silent for a few moments. He’s not that guy. Not at all. He’s just doing as he’s told. He stepped out of the room while I undressed, and for the majority of the time I’ve been in here, he’s been outside, but I must be taking too long. Rocket’s probably getting antsy.
I reach down to shut the water off. While I squeeze the excess water out of my hair, Brawler says, “There're clothes out here for you. Rocket sent them.”
I snap the curtain open so just my head peeks out. “Are you serious?”
Brawler immediately averts his gaze. “He thought you’d look good in them.” He takes a deep breath, his
muscles taut like he’s ready to spring. He motions with his hand to a stool that’s been placed by the shower. “There’s a towel for you there, too. I’ll wait for you outside.”
He slips through the door, leaving me by myself. Every time I’m around Brawler, he surprises me. Averting his gaze like I’m a virgin maiden. Helping me ready myself for Rocket, when he certainly could’ve—and should’ve—ordered someone else to do it, so he could focus on the fights happening out there. That’s not to mention the conflicting emotions in his gaze or the way he held me protectively for a brief second the instant after Rocket claimed me. Like he didn’t want to give me up to him.
Then again, I could’ve been on a fight high and misinterpreted everything.
The towel is surprisingly lush as I dry myself off and pull on the clothes Rocket thinks I would look good in. To my utter surprise and dismay, they fit. Like a glove. There’s no bra or underwear, but with how tight the clothes are, I don’t think I’d want to be wearing those pieces anyway. The shirt has an open back that ties around the neck. Extra material drapes over my chest, giving it a flouncy look but the rest is skintight. It looks like something Cherry or Nevaeh would wear, so I guess this is exactly what I should be wearing now that Rocket owns me—or thinks he does.
The excitement of the fight still flows through me as I comb my fingers through my wet hair to get rid of the tangles. When I finally pull the door open, Brawler’s there, leaning against the wall like he’s been waiting for me for a while. “Where do you train?” I ask him. Now that my secret’s out, I need to jump back into the gym life. I started boxing and martial arts at the suggestion of a shrink who thought it would be a great way to release my aggression. Soon after, I started taking it seriously, so I could carry out my vengeance plan one day. From the second I stepped into the gym, I loved it like nothing else. Nothing calms me more than hitting pads or feeling the satisfying thwack of my fists against something hard.
“Excuse me?” Brawler asks, his eyebrows inching up his forehead.
“Train? You know, for fighting. You must train somewhere. You don’t expect me to think you just someday woke up with those muscles, do you?”
His lips thin, and his gaze narrows as he takes me in. He stops at my shoulders like he wants to graze my entire body but doesn’t dare. “When I was a kid, my brother taught me. He took lessons when we were little, but he learned most of it on the street. After him, I trained by myself.”
I try not to show the surprise I feel. I didn’t know Brawler had a brother. “Do you ever fight here?”
He laughs. “All the time.”
“Are you fighting tonight?”
He shakes his head. “No, just running it tonight. Or supposed to be. Now, I’m babysitting you.”
My hackles rise. “I don’t need to be babysat.”
A smirk crosses his lips. “You’re going to long for the days when you were just Nevaeh’s punching bag, Princess.”
“Stop calling me that,” I grind out, instead of focusing on what I should be. What does he mean I’ll want to be Nevaeh’s bitch again? Just how bad is Rocket?
He grins. “Not a chance. It’s even more appropriate now. You’ve caught the attention of the Goddamn prince. Congratulations.”
“Rocket?” I ask.
“You met him before tonight, haven’t you?” he accuses.
“Briefly,” I shrug, not understanding what the big deal is. “Actually, I saw him getting head from some lady in the administration office when I went to get a new lock the first day of school.”
Brawler’s eyes cloud over. He runs his hands through his cropped blond hair. “You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into.” He shakes his head. “You should leave.”
“If you think I’m going to leave, you have no clue the type of person I am.”
“Obviously fucking not,” he seethes. “You come into town wearing fucking extra-large garbage bags with this meek little attitude. Then, when you step into the ring, you destroy Cherry. He may have chosen you because of it, but he won’t let that go. He’ll punish you for that.” He blows out a breath, his severe look faltering. “What the hell am I even fucking talking about? He’ll be punishing you no matter what. You’ll be feared and hated. You’ll be put on a pedestal yet treated like shit in the shadows and behind closed doors. You—”
I bite the inside of my cheek. It was never going to be safe for me inside the Crew. I just have to deal with whatever comes. “You seem to know an awful lot about what happens with girls Rocket likes.”
“I have eyes,” he deadpans. “That’s all I need.” He breathes out, deep, checking the door behind him. “You should leave. Tell your guardians it’s not safe for you here. Or if that’s a line, which I suspect it is, you’d be smart to get the fuck out yourself. Staying here is stupid.”
“Real words for someone who’s a part of the Crew. Aren’t you afraid it’ll get back to Rocket? I bet he wouldn’t like it if he heard you warning me off him.”
Brawler’s blue eyes blaze. It’s like someone set a fire to neon blue metal, the sparks simmering in aqua. “I’m not part of his Crew.”
My mouth drops, but I quickly try to mask my shock at his anger. Of course, I know he’s not technically part of the Crew, but why associate with them at all if he reacts like that?
“I run the fights for them, like my brother did before me.” Brawler moves forward, crowding me into the wall behind us. “Do you want to know what happened to my brother?” His nostrils flare. Despite myself, him pushing up against me is having the opposite reaction it should. I place my palms against the wall at my back, so I don’t do something brash like throw myself at him. This is not the time nor the place. “He’s dead.” Brawler’s tone flattens. “He gave his life up for the Crew, and he died because of it, too.”
Okay, this really isn’t the time.
I search his fiery depths for real answers, but as soon as he’s said his piece, he closes himself off. I won’t be getting answers from Brawler tonight. Stepping back, he leaves my skin cold and wanting. We’re alike, him and I. The connection between us is already burning hot. I’ve felt it from the beginning but didn’t know where it stemmed from. The Crew took loved ones from both of us. That’s why he cares. That’s why he’s warned me off time and again. I recognize pieces of myself in him, and that’s why I’ve wanted to wrap my legs around him from almost the first moment. That, and his fighter physique and tattoos. I mean, I’m not immune to them. I’d have to remove my eyes for that to be true.
I highly doubt Rocket will give me the same feeling. Not that he should, but I’m already missing the ache Brawler’s awakened inside me. I haven’t felt anything like it yet. A yearning. A safe place to crawl inside that feels like we could understand each other. We’re linked in this horrible way.
Rocket’s claim won’t allow me a chance to explore this eruption of feelings I have for Brawler though. Not that my plan for the Crew would either. I close my eyes, conjuring up the images I’ve kept with me of my parents. I’m doing this for them. I tell myself there’ll be someone I meet after this who will make me feel the same way Brawler does. I don’t know much about love, but it’s just about chemical reactions and connection, right? Brawler can’t be the only guy who’s lost someone to a tragedy. Who’s also a fighter. And has badass tattoos.
I need to keep my head on straight.
I don’t say sorry to Brawler. I don’t acknowledge what he’s just told me. Something about the way he’s turned his back tells me it wouldn’t be welcome anyway. He doesn’t like to share his secrets, his pain. I know the feeling. And right now, I’m grateful for it. I can’t be sucked into him again.
But that also begs the question of why he just told what he did. Despite him not really being in the Crew, he works for them. Talking shit about your employer, especially when your employer is the Heights Crew, is a no-no. He doesn’t know me from anyone. I could run right into Rocket’s arms and tell him everything Brawler said.
I won’t, of course. But he doesn’t know that.
He’s taken a risk. There has to be something he sees in me that makes him want to help. I file that away. I might need help through this. I might need a lot of help. Brawler might just be the one to do it because of his love-hate relationship with the Crew.
“Maybe we could train together sometime?” I offer as he gathers himself.
“That’s up to Rocket.”
My hands clench to fists. The fuck it is up to Rocket. “I don’t want to give up training,” I say. I figure he trusted me with a truth, I might as well give him one back. “Sometimes it’s the only thing that keeps me sane.”
“I guess you better be a good little showpiece then,” Brawler snaps. He smacks the locker room door, and it opens for him, banging against the opposite wall. “Follow me.”
I run my hands through my hair, tuck my chin, and do just what he’s ordered. I don’t want to give up training and fighting but depending on how close I get to Big Daddy K, I could end this sooner rather than later. Giving up fights, and the connection I feel with Brawler, seems trivial compared to that. Sure, I’ll have to move out of the country and live in hiding for the rest of my life after I’ve killed him, but I’m willing to do all that for the pleasure of knowing I got my retribution.
Brawler doesn’t bother looking behind him to make sure I’m following. He thinks his warnings gave the desired effect of scaring me into submission. At least, that’s what I believe until we get to a set of stairs I hadn’t noticed in the preparation of the fight. As soon as he steps onto the first step, he turns. When he spots me, he looks pissed all over again. He shakes his head. He wanted me to leave. He was giving me a chance. It’s too bad I can’t take it. Moving forward, he takes the steps three at a time while I jog behind him to keep up.
Over the railing, another fight is raging below us. Two guys are going at it. Their chests drizzled with bright red blood that leaks from both their noses. The higher we go, the better view I get. Glancing up, a loft looms above it. I hadn’t spied this earlier either. I blame it on the butterflies from the fight and the pressure of needing to be noticed. The place is huge, almost like a penthouse or the fancy boxes owners of sports teams use so they don’t have to sit with the general public. It denotes exclusivity. Money. Privilege. I’m surprised this goes over in the Heights. They hate everything this loft stands for, except for the Heights Crew.