by E. M. Moore
“Oscar,” Brawler warns, cutting Oscar off completely.
I study Brawler. He’s put together again, very different from the guy who pulled someone else into the ring with him just so he could kick his ass. “Nice fight,” I say.
“You weren’t on the card tonight,” Oscar says flatly.
Brawler swallows. “It was a surprise fight.”
“I’ll say,” I deadpan. “I think that guy shit himself.”
Oscar turns his head to gaze at me. His eyes narrow like he’s seeing me for the first time. “You have a personality other than scared shitless?”
“She fights, too,” Brawler says.
“So I heard. Enough to catch Rocket’s eye.”
“Who doesn’t catch Rocket’s eye?” Brawler asks, laying it all out there.
A pin drop could be heard in the small room. Oscar slowly turns. It’s like waiting for the big explosion at the end of an action flick. You know what’s coming, but you don’t know exactly when it’ll hit.
The silence Oscar gives him is even eerier than saying something. To me, I’d rather see the storm coming at me than have to wait for it to suddenly appear. A look passes between them, and I get the feeling that whatever needs to be said between the two is going to wait until I’m out of earshot.
Oscar holds out his arm for me. I glance at it, dismiss it, and walk past him. “Aw, come on,” he says, good naturedly, joking, as if Rocket didn’t just push him up against a wall not ten minutes ago for touching me. “It’s a platonic arm. An arm of friendship. I don’t think you can catch sex from forearms touching.”
“I don’t know,” I say. “I think Rocket told me not to touch anybody.” I look over my shoulder to find them following me down the steps. It’s strange to be in the warehouse with no one else here. Without the thriving pulse of excitement, it just looks like a rundown building in dire need of a sweeping.
“And you’re the type of girl to bend to his every whim?” Oscar asks.
He’s pushing his luck. There’s no way he would be saying any of this if Rocket were still here, but hell, neither would I.
A smile pulls at my lips. “Nope. Not at all.”
“Don’t fuck around,” Brawler warns, his deep voice cutting through the teasing and adding a thick layer of tension.
“Or what?” Oscar asks, turning to drill his dark gaze into Brawler. “Don’t forget who I am and where you are.”
I glance back at Brawler, spotting the indecision on his face. It’s not that he fears Oscar. In actuality, I don’t think he does at all. I’m positive Brawler’s fears have nothing to do with members of the Heights Crew. They’re far deeper than that.
I sigh, loudly, enough to get both of their attention. “I’m not going to have to listen to you two bicker every time we’re together, am I? If that’s the case, I’m going to ask Rocket for two new guys to follow me around like puppies on a leash.”
Both men shift into matching fierce looks.
“Just let’s get in the fucking car,” Oscar gripes. He doesn’t offer me his arm again, which is fine by me. I just want to get home and out of these clothes. I need to dissect everything that went down tonight. I need to go through every scenario and figure out which is the best way to play this.
We leave through a side door, and Brawler locks up behind us. In front of us idles a big, black car. It’s by far the fanciest car I’ve seen in the Heights yet. The kids who have cars at school are lucky, but not in the fashion department or even in a car this decade department. They’re all rust buckets. But they’re treated as the luxury they are.
Oscar pulls the door open and gets right in, but Brawler stands aside, waiting for me to go in first. When I pass him, he stops breathing. His chest halts, and he tries not to look at me. I don’t understand what’s going through his head. “Thanks,” I whisper.
He doesn’t answer as he gets in after me. There must be a driver up front because as soon as the door shuts, the car lurches forward, and we’re being taken away from the warehouse. I try to look through the rear window at the three-story building behind us, but the glass must be tinted because I can’t see anything in the dark of the night. I just wanted one last glimpse of the place that gave me the only joy I’ve had since I got to the Heights.
“You must’ve had fun in there,” Brawler guesses.
I sit back in the seat and stare at him. “I want to fight again.”
Oscar laughs. The trilling sound catches me off-guard in the narrow confines of the car. “You’ll have to get permission from your keeper,” he says, sarcasm dripping off him. I get the feeling he’s not much of a fan of Rocket’s. Actually, I don’t think he cares much for Brawler either.
I try not to let my disappointment twist my face. I don’t want to show weakness in front of these guys. I want to be taken seriously. Now that Rocket’s chosen me as a girl to haul around, I’ll be seen as an object. That won’t work. I’ll have to have everyone’s respect. I’ll need to gain it, to prove myself worthy.
But how do you gain the respect of those who only respect the one thing you’ve never had? Power.
10
If I thought I was getting dropped off at the front door, I was wrong. Even Oscar follows us up into the shitty apartment building. I wait by my door, itching to get rid of them, but they both stay with me. “I’m here,” I finally say. “I made it safe.”
Oscar laughs. “You think you’re getting away with that?” He shakes his head. “If we don’t come in and make sure no one’s here, it’s our asses that are going to get reamed out.”
“How will he know? I won’t say anything.” More and more, this being Rocket’s girl is grating on my nerves. I really don’t need a keeper or two babysitters or someone who thinks they own me just because he likes the way I fight.
Oscar drops his head to the side. “He’ll know.” His voice turns smoother. “Just open up and let us do this. If you’re worried either one of us is going to touch you, don’t bother. You’re off limits for everyone in the Heights now. Unless they have a death wish.”
He looks away, face tight, and I sigh before opening up my apartment. We all walk in like we own the place when only one of us does. Oscar looks around, nodding, gaze dragging over the very few things I’ve brought with me. It helps with the backstory that I don’t have anything to my name, just like everyone else here.
Brawler pushes past him, going into the bathroom first, pushing the shower curtain aside, and then moving into my bedroom.
“Hey!” I move toward him, but Oscar stops me, his hands on my forearms. “He’s just checking to make sure no one’s here. Chill.”
I grind my teeth together. “Why would anyone be in here? That’s the stupidest shit I’ve ever heard.”
Oscar looks at me like I’ve just lost a few IQ points. “Word travels fast. The Crew has enemies. Those enemies are now your enemies. You’re not in Kansas anymore, little one.”
I press my lips together. I knew I was getting into a violent situation. There was always a risk, but I’ve suddenly become a lot more important than I wanted to be. If I’m attached to Rocket, Oscar’s right. I could be used in any number of ways. “Lucky me.”
Oscar grins, chuckling at my sarcasm. “I knew I liked you, Princess.”
“Kyla.”
“Princess Kyla.”
I sneer at him while Brawler comes out of my room. He holds his hand out, my cell phone in his palm. “Here.”
I stare down at it. My heart leaps into my throat, but it’s just my decoy cell phone. I try to relax, but Christ, he scared the shit out of me. The cell phone with my aunt and uncle’s number programmed into it is the only thing I have in this apartment that leads me to my old life. I snatch my decoy out of his hands. “Why are you touching my shit?”
Oscar tries not to laugh. Brawler tenses. No one gets to say anything, though, because the phone rings in my hand. I stare at the palm-sized piece of technology, reading the screen. Johnny Rocket scrawls across the screen.
>
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I growl at the privacy violation. I stare at Brawler who looks unapologetically back at me.
“You better answer it,” Oscar says, nodding toward the incessantly ringing device.
I swipe the screen, turn away from the two assholes in my apartment, and bring the phone to my ear. “Yeah?”
There’s a beat of silence. “Kyla?”
“It’s me,” I say, not attempting to hide my displeasure.
“Did something happen?” he questions. The fact that he’s being nice, almost concerned, is comical to me. Then, it pisses me off.
“Yeah, there are two guys in my apartment. One of them took my phone without asking and put your name and number into it.”
“Oh, I told them to,” Rocket says nonchalantly.
I try to picture what he’s doing on the other side of the line. Me going off about the misuse of my privacy doesn’t seem to have bothered him a bit. He’s very cut and dry, black and white. It doesn’t bother him because he expects his orders to be carried out and for the person on the other side not to give a shit.
“I’m glad we officially met tonight,” he says, his voice lowering.
I almost pull the phone away from my ear to make sure it’s still Rocket on the other side of the line. This guy is a wooer. A ladies’ man. He’s suave and cool and used to getting everything he wants, women included. And he’s certainly clueless to the fact that I’m seething on this side of the line.
I bite my lip, reigning my temper in. “It was better than the other way we met.”
Rocket chuckles and then he’s silent for a few sick moments. I can’t tell whether he’s thinking about getting head from the administration lady again. Or if he’s thinking about getting head from me.
“I have so many plans for you,” Rocket says, voice husky. “Meet me after school tomorrow. We need to discuss shit.”
My first instinct is to tell him to get fucked, but I can’t say that. “Okay… Where?”
“I’ll come get you. Goodnight, Kyla.”
He ends the call before I can say good night back. I take the phone away from my ear and stare at it. I have so many plans for you. His voice rings in my ear. My stomach tightens, wondering what that means. It could have a million different meanings.
“Everything okay?” Brawler asks.
I turn toward them. Oscar’s expression is guarded, but Brawler’s eyebrows are pulled together in a tight line of concern.
I straighten my shoulders. “Yeah. Good. Fine.”
Oscar’s phone goes off with a quick shrill. A second later, Brawler’s goes off. They both pull their phones out of their pockets and stare at the screen. Brawler’s brows arch as he reads. When Oscar’s finished, he slips the phone back into his pocket and gives a mock salute. “I’m out. See you at school.”
He takes off, and I expect Brawler to follow him, but he doesn’t. Instead, he takes a seat in the armchair. It’s almost one a.m., so it’s not like I want to stick around and have a chat with him. When he notices me staring at him, he says, “I have orders to stay with you tonight.”
“Orders? I thought you weren’t part of the Heights Crew. How can you take orders?”
Brawler leans back to engage the footrest then puts his arms behind his head like he’s settling in for the night. He even has the audacity to close his eyes. “I live closest to you, so it makes sense.” He opens one eye. “Plus, he’s paying me.”
Disappointment fills me. I guess he isn’t the nice guy I had him pegged as. Everyone can be bought.
“Can you ask Rocket about training with me?”
“No.”
“Why?” I snap back.
“You ask him.”
I groan in frustration. “I don’t know him.”
“I doubt that will last long,” Brawler says, both eyes open now, his muscles tenser than I’ve ever seen. “But if I were you, I’d keep your distance. For as long as you can. Oscar was right when he said you have enemies now. Rocket’s enemies, the Crew’s enemies, they’re now your enemies. And some of them are scary as fuck. If Rocket likes you half as much as he’s making it out to be, you’re in trouble.”
“Likes me? He doesn’t know me.” I don’t hide the fact that I’m laughing about this. It’s just outrageous. “It’s lust more than anything.”
Brawler shakes his head. “Not in this world. Rocket knows three things: gang life, sluts, and possessions. Let’s just say he never asked anyone to look after Cherry, and you don’t fuck with another man’s possessions.”
“I’m no one’s possession.” I grit the word out like it’s venomous. It is. It means being trapped in a cage again, and I don’t want to go from one cage to another.
Brawler snickers. “Don’t get me wrong, he won’t think of you as a possession. He’ll think he’s doing right by you. He’ll think he’s giving you a world you never would have had. He’ll even think he loves you, but he doesn’t know how to love, Kyla. None of them do.”
I press my lips together at his words. He’s throwing everything in my court. He knows what he’s saying can get him into so much trouble, yet he’s saying it anyway. He’s trying to warn me off. He’s trying to help, but he has no idea I need to do the exact opposite of running away. “And what if I said I wanted to leave right now?”
Brawler pushes the footrest down and leans forward. His sapphire eyes shining brilliantly. “Do it. Do it now.” There’s so much feeling behind his words that goosebumps course down my body. I should be doing what he says. If I had any self-preservation at all, I’d grab my shit and leave. He’d let me. I know he would. He’d suffer for it, but he’d do that because he doesn’t want anyone getting mixed up with the Heights Crew who shouldn’t. I’m not going to flatter myself and think it’s all me. It’s not. It’s just that Brawler probably has the best sense of right and wrong than anyone in a three-mile radius. “This is the only chance I’m giving you, Kyla. If you wait any longer…” He sighs. “There’s more at stake. But the deeper you’re in, the harder it’ll be for you to get out. The harder it’ll be for me to help you get out. I have others I need to care for,” he almost whispers.
His openness guts me. It also makes me afraid for him. Someone like Brawler shouldn’t be caught up in all of this. “Are you going to join the Heights Crew one day?”
He shrugs. His eyes tell me he knows he already lost me. I won’t be leaving tonight, and the disappointment makes him lean back in the chair. “Maybe.”
His answer is guarded and closed off. Not that I can blame him. I just gave him the equivalent of a ‘fuck you.’
“You don’t have to stay with me,” I tell him. “I won’t say anything. You should go home to your mom.”
“I’m staying,” he says, voice firm. “We should get some sleep before tomorrow. I’m assuming Rocket said he wants to meet you after school?”
“He did.”
He looks me straight in the eye. “If you’re staying, you should do everything in your power to stay on Rocket’s good side.”
“So, meet him when he wants?”
“Among other things.”
It’s the “other things” that bother me. Just what am I going to be expected to do?
In my mind, I know it doesn’t matter. I came here with one goal, and I’ll do anything to make sure I get it done.
Even if that means crossing a line.
11
In the morning, I’m awakened by a quiet knock on my door. I immediately sit up, sheets twisting around my waist. As far as having a roommate, Brawler isn’t bad. I didn’t hear a peep out of him all night, which makes me wonder what’s going on now. I pull the sheet up over my chest. “Yeah?”
“Can I come in?”
His question makes me smile. I doubt Rocket would be asking permission to walk into my bedroom. “Yes, I’m decent.”
He walks in, his massive body filling the doorframe and making me drool already, even this early in the morning. He has on a tight wife beater,
perfectly displaying his tattoos and muscles, and in the early morning light, I notice some swelling and bruising around his eyes. Remnants of the fight he started last night.
I glance at my alarm clock. My eyes round. He’s woken me up an hour earlier than I usually get up for school.
He must read the look on my face because he says, “I’m going to train some. I thought you might want to join in.”
I suck in a breath, but I don’t want to give away how much of a big deal I think this really is. “Yeah. Yes, please,” I say. I pull the covers off me and stand.
Brawler’s gaze moves down me, his blue eyes blaze, and then he turns away. The draft on my legs tells me I’m not wearing any pants, just the underwear and a tank top I threw on before bed.
Oops.
“Please,” I joke. “Like there’s anything left to the imagination after those tight ass pants Rocket made me wear yesterday.”
Brawler bristles. I can already tell I said the wrong thing, but I’ve no idea what part did it. The memory of what I was wearing, the sarcasm, or the fact that Rocket told me what to wear. Instead of dwelling on it, I pull out a pair of joggers and throw them on.
Once I’m dressed, I follow Brawler into the living room. He’s already pushed the armchair back, and since there’s really nothing else in the room besides a small TV stand, it’s a decent sized area to train. Without saying what he’s doing, he starts in with jumping jacks, so I start too.
Okay, I’m in pretty good shape. Really decent shape, actually. But Brawler’s a beast. I lost count at the number of jumping jacks we were doing after I started sucking in air at five hundred. I’m pretty sure he felt pity for me and stopped soon after.
Next, we run through some more calisthenics. Tuck jumps. Lunges. Surprisingly, there’s not much give in the floors of this building. At the time it was built, it was built to last, and it’s held up. I doubt even the neighbors under me know what we’re doing up here. I’d be more apt to think the neighbors I share a wall with can hear all the heavy breathing going on.
Again, without a word, Brawler starts punching the air, running through different punching combinations. In the soft light, a glow emanates around him from the window at his back. My apartment never looked so sexy. I run to my room, open the closet, and bring out some focus mitts.