by Lyssa Layne
“We need to get set up. Do recon. Plot. And figure out the best way to casually stage an accidental meeting with him.” Ash claps her hands excitedly just at the mere thought of this insanity.
“Why don’t you just ask Liv to introduce you?” Seems simpler somehow.
“Duh. Like we haven’t already tried that, like a gazillion times.” Madi sighs and I’m not sure if it’s due to her frustration with me or her aunt. “She refuses. As cool as my aunt is, she says she’s not into the idea of having ginger grandnieces or nephews with mini guitars strapped across their onesies just yet.”
I can totally hear her saying that.
“Yeah. I know. She’s funny.” Madi has her arms crossed over her chest, looking entirely bemused with me when I realize I’m grinning.
“Alright, I’ll give you guys a ride.”
“Really?” They don’t seem to believe their own good fortune. They’re right not to. I have an ulterior motive. I’ll take them to Liv’s house, but I’ll be staying there as well. She’s gotta come home sooner or later.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Heartbreaker
I’m exhausted, mostly from pacing. I’ve been doing a lot of that since I got back from lunch. That was over eight hours ago.
“You look beat,” Mouth observes as she tosses a filled trash bag toward the back door.
“I feel beat.” We’re the last ones left. Everyone else took off already for the night. I would have sent Mouth home too, but it’s Wednesday night, which seems to be Marcus’s busy night.
A loud bang, followed by people shouting proves my point.
“That sounded painful,” Mouth winces. I don’t know how she manages to muster any sympathy for those idiots anymore. Maybe it’s because she never opens, so she never sees the mess they leave behind after these fights, or maybe it’s because she comes from a family of missionaries, all out saving the world in one way or another. Most notably, her grandfather. The stories I’ve heard about his days running a makeshift hospital in the jungles of Guatemala always bring to mind the phrase about truth being stranger than fiction. Wild stuff. Scary stuff. Strange stuff.
“I hope they all get knocked out and this shit ends early,” I grumble. Then another loud bang. This one is so loud I swear my heart paused there for a second. I hate feeling jarred like that.
“If they keep up this noise, someone’s gonna call the cops.” Mouth’s staring at the door, saying exactly what I’m thinking. On the one hand, I’d love nothing more than for the cops to bust Marcus’s ass and put a stop to all of this, but on the other, there’s no way he’s going down alone if they show up. He’ll take me down with him, and with my name on everything right alongside his, he won’t even have to try real hard.
I take a deep breath and blow it out through my teeth. “I’ll be right back.” And I start for the door.
“I’ll come too.” I can hear her fall into step behind me.
“No way.”
“Well, there’s no way in hell I’m letting you walk in there alone.”
With my fingers already wrapped around the door handle, I don’t even bother to turn back. “You have to. Someone has to stay here to call for help if I don’t come back.” Then I walk out, slamming the door behind me, just in case I need to cancel out Mouth’s retort with a loud bang of my own.
I’ve barely taken two steps when I nearly have a run-in with one of my brother’s, well, for lack of a better word, clients. He looks like he had the shit kicked out of him, the way he’s stumbling down the sidewalk from side to side. Not that the blood gushing from where he used to have an eyebrow isn’t also a good indication of the hell he’s been through. And he’s young. Stupid young. Marcus should know better than to let these kids get into the ring. Hell, this one looks barely of age.
“Hey!” I call out to get his attention.
He frowns, trying to focus on me.
I shake my head at what I’m about to do, and then go ahead and do it anyway.
“Come here.”
“Huh?” I don’t think it’s a hearing issue, more a comprehension problem.
“I’ve got someone inside who can patch you up. Come here.” I wave him toward me, hoping gestures prove to be more successful than words have been thus far.
When I’m certain he’s following along, I turn back and bang on the door to the shop.
It swings open a second later, with Mouth flying through it looking like she’s ready to see some heads roll.
“What the fuck?” She backs away in disgust when she sees the dude I’m bringing her way.
“Just…stick him in a chair…and do something with his face.” We have a first aid kit. I’m not sure a Band-Aid’s gonna cut it, but maybe she can take a handful of gauze and press it to his head long enough to slow the bleeding, channel her grandpop or something. I don’t even care. I’d just really prefer no one dies on my property tonight.
“What, like I’m a fucking nurse now?”
“Just do it!”
“You’re lucky I love you,” she shouts after me. This time I’m more or less running. I don’t need any other surprises crossing my path to slow me down. I need to get this over and done with.
As soon as I get inside, the noise is amped up by ten times what it was in the parking lot. And the smell, God, the smell is horrendous. Blood, booze and B.O. make for a disgusting combination, and even the gigantic fans Marcus has placed all over the damn place are doing nothing but moving the stench around. It’s like being stuck in a massive, stinky hurricane.
“My, my, my. What have we got here?” Some guy leaning against one of the pillars leers at me.
“A big fucking problem. Where is Marcus?” I demand, hoping desperately he’ll answer the first go around. The next time I open my mouth I probably won’t sound nearly as badass. I already feel like I might vomit, and it’s not even from the nauseating smell.
“Now, now, darlin’. There’s no need to be so angry. We’re all just here to have a good time.” He stands up straight and takes a few steps in my direction.
“That’s funny you think that. The kid I just found stumbling around my parking lot didn’t look like he was having a good time at all. Call me crazy, but a good time shouldn’t end in needing an ambulance.” I don’t know how I do it, but I manage to keep the quiver out of my voice until the very end. I try to exhale my nerves subtly, but I’m not sure it works. Especially not with Creepo coming closer.
“Your parking lot, huh? You must be Marcus’s little sister.” He smiles. It’s malicious and makes my hair stand on end. “He said you were feisty, but he never mentioned how pretty you are.”
“Strange, he told me all about how skeevy you are. Now, do you know where the hell he is or not?” I turn away, ready to start moving again. I seriously doubt this guy is going to be of any help.
His pervy charm vanishes and his expression turns cold. Apparently my feistiness has lost its pretty appeal.
“If your brother had told you anything about me, you would have known not to mouth off like that,” he snarls under his breath.
“I doubt it. I usually do my best to ignore anything he tells me.” Fairly certain I’ve just offended one of my brother’s criminally inclined business associates, I hurry to move toward the crowd surrounding the ring at the center of the warehouse. There’s a fight happening as we speak. I figured as much from all the noise we could hear over at the shop.
I’m marching around the thing at my highly determined pace in search of the VIP section my brother is bound to be sitting in, when a hand clasps itself around my arm with an iron grip, bringing me to an abrupt halt.
“Your brother is this way. Let’s go see him. Together,” the same guy from before hisses in my ear. The whiskey on his foul breath churns at my insides even more than having his hand on me does.
“Perfect.” I force a smile. Show fear and you’re dead. The only bit of advice my brother ever gave me. I was twelve at the time and he was in the middle of a meeting with
one of the higher ups of the local drug ring when I came running around the corner looking for him because dinner was ready. I let his dinner get cold every night after.
The VIP area isn’t on the main level, it’s upstairs in what was once an office space. It makes sense now that I’m standing in it. It’s got a huge window overlooking the whole downstairs, but it’s soundproof and doesn’t stink.
“Olivia.” A brief flash of concern crosses my brother’s face when he sees me, but he recovers quickly and smiles. “Finally came out to join us?”
“Hardly.” I try to shake the guy’s hand from my arm, but he won’t budge. It’s starting to hurt. “Can you tip this guy and send him on his way now? He was kind enough to bring me here when he heard I was looking for you.”
No one laughs at my joke, not that I was expecting them to. Somehow being a smartass just makes me feel less vulnerable, or, at least, like maybe I seem less vulnerable, even if it does tend to piss a lot of people off.
“You gonna do something about this, Marcus?” The guy asks, shaking me like a ragdoll for no other reason but to let me know he can.
“I’ll handle it.” He nods, reaching for me, but the guy still doesn’t let go.
“If you can’t, I’d be more than happy to.” Even without seeing his face I can tell he’s smiling again. His voice is dripping with the heinous intentions he has for me and the despicable amount of pleasure they would bring him. I could scream, or cry. Mostly I just want a fucking shower.
“I appreciate the offer, Mister Rediger. But she’s my family, my responsibility.” The idea that I’m the one who has brought shame to said family stuns me into silence.
Finally, the guy lets go and more or less throws me at my brother, who doesn’t bother to catch me as much as he passes me on toward the sofa along the wall. I land less ladylike than I would have preferred given the summer dress I’m wearing. Never again am I setting foot in Madi’s closet. Ever.
I’m ignored for the next twenty minutes or so and I’m about to say something to Marcus to let him know that Mouth has likely called the cops by now, when the room finally clears out and I’m left alone with my brother. He’s definitely not happy with me.
“What the fuck were you thinking? You trying to get us both killed?!”
“Actually, I only hauled my ass over here to keep you from winding up in jail. Again. You make too much fucking noise. I can hear it inside the shop at night. If I can hear it, others can too, and they’re not going to think twice about calling the cops on your little fight club here.”
“I’ve got it under control,” he assures me, lighting a cigarette. “You just worry your little head about keeping your girls out of my business and keeping their mouths shut. The rest, I can handle without you marching in here and stirring shit up with the boss.”
Finding that my legs no longer feel like Jell-O, I stand up from the couch I’ve been banned to since I got here.
“The boss? I thought the whole point of coming back here and setting up shop on your own property was to be in business for yourself.” Not that it would make the illegal aspect of his dealings more manageable, but finding out that someone bigger and badder is backing my brother definitely comes as a harsh blow.
“I am in business for myself, but I owe Rediger money. A lot of it. Until this place pulls in enough to pay off my debt, he’s got as many rights to things as any legit investor,” he explains casually.
“I’m sorry. I don’t think legit is the word you’re looking for. Legit doesn’t apply to anything you do. Ever.”
His eyes narrow, still not appreciating my humor. “Point is, you piss him off again and I won’t be able to do shit to save you.”
My lower lip curls in over my teeth and I bite down on it, hard, to keep from saying more stuff I shouldn’t. “Got it.”
I start toward the door, hoping it’s finally time for me to make my exit, when I decide I may as well get the whole story while I’m standing in this seedy place. No need to leave any reasons to come back on the table. “How exactly are you making all this money you need to pay back? Fixed fights? Betting? Drugs? A combination of all of the above?”
“You really wanna know?”
“I want to know how many of the kids I find bleeding in my parking lot had their asses kicked before they ever set foot into the ring, yeah.”
He nods, smirking. “All of them.”
“You’re a piece of shit, you know that, don’t you?”
“I know I’d like to keep breathing, and that means paying off my debt by any means necessary.”
“Good to know,” I whisper grimly. Then I leave, heading straight for the fire escape at the end of the hall. No way in hell am I chancing another run in with that Rediger.
Lucas
It’s nearly midnight when I finally hear the door open. All three girls crashed an hour ago, giggling about Sev Straight, up until the very end. I probably should have left at that point, but I’d already stuck around for several hours. Seemed wasteful not to stick it out.
“Hey,” I say, trying to announce myself before she freaks. It backfires and she screams loudly.
“Holy shit, Lucas.” She clutches her chest, trying to calm herself. I’m about to apologize when I spot it.
“What the hell is that?” I demand, pointing at her arm. There’s a mark wrapped all around it. It’s dark red and looks like it’s bruising.
“It’s nothing.” She brushes past me, moving toward the kitchen. “What are you even doing here?”
“The girls wanted a ride, so I brought them. Figured I better stay and keep an eye on them until you got home,” I lie. She knows.
“Who did you think needed a babysitter more? The sixteen and seventeen year olds? Or the one who just turned twenty?”
“Fine. I wanted to see you.” I take a stance directly in front of her, blocking her from the coffee maker. It’s a risky move. I know that. “What happened to your arm, Liv?”
“It got into an argument with someone’s hand.” She places her hand on my waist and pushes me to the side. “I’m fine, really.”
“This has to do with Marcus.” It has to. Marcus always has a way of leaving physical marks on people, even when he doesn’t put them there himself.
“I handled it, Lucas.”
“Looks to me like someone handled you.” I can feel my fists clench just thinking about it. I’d like nothing better than to drive straight over to that warehouse right about now and punch everyone who crosses my path square in the face.
“This isn’t your problem, Lucas. I don’t know how many fucking ways to tell you that.”
“You know, you’re really starting to piss me off.”
She looks startled by my statement. “Excuse me?”
“Save it. You know what I mean. You don’t want to admit what’s happening here, I can’t make you, but don’t you fucking stand there and tell me it’s none of my business when you get hurt. Like it or not, you matter. To me. So when you’re hurt, that fucking matters too.”
Her jawline softens and her eyes glaze over. For one miniscule moment I can see everything she’s feeling, fear being the most prominent. Then, she swallows it all down again, clears her throat and turns away. “I’m hungry. Are you hungry?”
I take a deep breath and remind myself that she’s safe for now. And that it has to be enough tonight.
“Starving.”
She nods, her thick curls bouncing around softly as she moves. “Alright then.”
Neither of us says anything while she turns on the oven, pulls two previously baked potatoes from the fridge, and places them onto a cookie sheet, which she then slides into one of the oven racks.
“I need a shower,” she announces when she’s done. Under any other circumstances, I’d jump on the opportunity to invite myself, even if I know she’d reject me, but tonight it feels wrong. So I keep my mouth shut and watch her walk from the kitchen, disappearing in the dark of the hall. I hear the bathroom door shut and the wat
er turn on a second later.
I’m torn between running out the door to track down Marcus and staying put, being here with her. She doesn’t need me, or even want me, but I can’t change how I feel. Can’t turn off this instinct I have to protect her, and I don’t even mean physically. I know she can handle herself. Liv is tough, but her heart is soft. It’s huge, and full of love and a willingness to do whatever it takes for those she cares about. And it makes her vulnerable.
Settled on remaining close to her for the night, I’m still in the same chair I sat down in when she walks back into the kitchen. Her hair is still wet and she’s wearing sweatpants paired with a white tank top that leaves unnervingly little to my imagination. I don’t stare… for long.
“Feel better?” I ask, trying to read her face. She looks exhausted.
“Sort of.” She shrugs and busies herself by reaching for the cupboard doors and retrieving a large pot from within. After she fills it with water and places the whole thing onto the stove, she goes about shucking several cobs of corn. “How many do you want?”
“Corn on the cob? I’m good with one.” I get up to stand beside her. “What else are you making? I can help.”
“Potatoes,” she says matter-of-factly, and with a hint condescension considering I watched her put them in the oven.
“Yeah, I know that. What else?”
She grins. “That’s it. That’s what I’m having for dinner.”
“You don’t want like…a protein?” Because I do.
“Not really.” She drops the last cobb into the water and clears the counter. “I mean, I have eggs if you want me to fry up one of those.”
“No chicken? Steak? Anything that went through a grinder?”
Her nose scrunches and I think I’ve grossed her out.
“Nothing with a face.”
“You’re a vegetarian.” It’s almost the worst thing I’ve heard today. Everything related to Marcus still tops it.
“I’m a vegetarian,” she confirms and I watch helplessly while she prepares a dinner consisting of side items.