by Lyssa Layne
We’re just locking up the shop out front when we see a gray van with its headlights out coming up the back road and turning into the complex.
“Go, go, go,” I urge both girls under my breath. No one says anything else. We all know where we’re going.
We meet back up at Mouth’s apartment fifteen minutes later. We all took alternate routes. We didn’t even discuss that ahead of time, that’s how in sync we are with our life of crime now. It just came naturally. I scoff at the thought and lift my hand to knock.
The door swings open before my knuckles even make contact with the wood.
“Thank God,” Lucas sighs, wrapping me in his arms the second he sets his eyes on me.
As soon as I’m folded into his chest, I decide I never want to leave. This place, this safe little cocoon, will do me just fine for the rest of my life. Then I remember what’s left on the outside.
“How’s my brother?”
“Better.” Mouth shows up in the hall behind us. “Now get inside and close the door. You’re letting all the bugs in.”
“Doc says the bullet didn’t damage anything major. He lost a lot of blood though, and without a transfusion, he’s gonna be out of it for a long while, recouping. He’s passed out right now. Probably sleep through the night,” Lucas fills me as we walk through the apartment to Mouth’s bedroom.
My brother looks dead, lying there, barely breathing and white as a fucking skeleton. I’ve imagined this moment. Had nightmares like it. He’s given me plenty of reasons to over the years, but still, some part of me always convinced the rest that it would never really happen. That this was just part of his path, winding and narrow as it might be at times. It always kept going. I’m undecided tonight whether I was right or not. He’s still here, but how far beyond this night does the path he’s on really stretch anymore? And how many of us are on it with him after this?
“Here.” Mouth hands me a throw pillow from the couch and an old quilt. “I don’t have much in the way of extra beds, but there’s plenty of floor space to go around.”
“Thank you.” And I don’t just mean for the pillow, but I don’t have the strength left to verbalize any of it. I don’t have to. It’s Mouth. She knows.
Holding onto Lucas’s arm, I slide down to the floor taking him with me. Together we sit, him leaning against the dresser, me cradled into his chest, both of us facing the bed and my brother in it.
The small room seems crowded now that I’m looking around. Everyone’s in here, curled up on the ground, resting against walls and furniture. They’re all staying. For Marcus. For me.
Memphis clears his throat, breaking the sullen silence sinking in around us all. “Who’s going to tell her?”
“Tell who what?” It’s me. I’m her. I know that. I just really, really don’t want to be anymore.
“We know why Marcus was shot,” Mouth explains as Lucas holds me tighter. “That Rediger dude found out he was selling his half of the place back to you and he didn’t like it. Said he didn’t give two shits about the money Marcus owed, there was no way he was giving up the goldmine Marcus handed him with the club. Marcus argued, said there was nothing he could do, a deal was a deal. Rediger would get his money and then the club would be done. Then Rediger pulled the gun…”
“Oh.” It’s over. Everything is over. We’ve lost.
“It’s not the end yet.” Lucas’s calm voice warms my ear and soothes my soul, even if I don’t believe the words he’s saying.
“It is. This was our shot, this was the way to get him out and it didn’t work. We don’t have a backup plan…and now, now that we’ve gotten ourselves so thoroughly involved, we can’t even go to the cops.”
Sketch shakes her head at me from across the room. “That was never an option anyway. Face it. Rediger was always going to win.”
“What if he loses?” Lucas asks like it’s an actual possibility.
“What are you talking about? There’s nothing left for him to lose. It’s over. As far as he’s concerned, Marcus is dead.”
“But then wouldn’t you inherit everything back anyway?” Princess interjects.
“No. Not if Rediger has it in writing that they’re business partners. Even if Marcus never signed anything like that, I don’t imagine it’ll take this guy long to forge what he needs to keep business going.” Memphis is talking to the room, but his stare is set right above my left shoulder. Whatever he just told us, he was saying something completely different to Lucas.
“I’m talking about the fights. That’s where he’s making all his money, right? What if he stops winning?”
“He won’t. Fights are fixed. I’d think you’d remember that. You seemed so impressed with that fact last time we spoke,” Marcus mumbles, his eyes still closed and I almost have to appreciate that he can insert sarcasm, even in the most inappropriate of times, even while barely conscious.
“Fights are fixed. Fighters aren’t.”
I turn back to face Lucas, my eyes narrow. “What are you talking about?”
He leans back, clearly dreading this next part of our conversation. “The fights are fixed because they market this shit to kids with no experience. No one can take down the steroid injected beast they set them up against. At least, no one until now.”
It takes exactly one heartbeat before it all becomes crystal clear to me. “Don’t even think about it.”
“Too late. I already thought about it. That was my plan A. Then I found out I could pay him off and get rid of him that way,” he gestures at my brother, “but now I’ve got Rediger to deal with and my money isn’t enough to entice him. But I don’t have to buy him off. I can bury him instead. With Memphis.”
“Memphis?” Sketch is back in the conversation.
“Don’t even look at me like that. I’m in this. I’m doing what needs to be done.” He glares at Sketch and she turns her lips inward until her mouth is nothing but a straight white line across her face.
“What happens to Rediger if his guy loses?” I ask the obvious question.
The room is silent for a long minute. No one says a word. Finally, my brother’s mouth begins to move even if his eyes still never even open. “He disappears. One way or another.”
There’s no mistaking what he’s implying.
Lucas
We’ve barely spoken in two days. There’s been plenty of ranting, yelling and silent treatment, but no talking. Not between us. Not as long as we disagree on this. I don’t try to argue my side. She’ll never admit it, but I know that she understands why I’m doing this. Why Memphis is doing this. It doesn’t make her like it any more. So, letting her go through every level of battle with me to try and stop me is the only thing I have to offer in comfort until this is all over.
“You’re seriously starting to scare me, Lucas.” I know by her heightened pitch, it’s true. I wish like hell it wasn’t, but there’s nothing I can do about it. Not now. This thing, this scary thing, has to be done. It’s the only way I can guarantee she’s safe. And not just for now.
“Listen to me.” I cup her face carefully between my palms and direct her eyes to meet mine. “I know what I’m doing. Memphis knows what he’s doing. Nothing is going to happen to either one of us. We’re going go in, sign up to fight, and then we’re going to put a stop to all of this once and for all.”
“But what if you’re wrong? What if you lose? Or worse, what if you have to fight each other?! Or some innocent kid who doesn’t know his head from his ass?” The agitation in her voice is growing with each question she pelts at me.
“I’m not wrong. I won’t lose. If Memphis and I have to fight each other, we’ll put on a good show until one of us bows out. If we have to fight the idiot kids before we get to the beast, all the better. We know how to take ‘em out and not kill ‘em. I’d think you’d be in favor of that.”
Her hands fly up to my chest, pushing away from me hard. “I’d be in favor of you not getting killed. That’s what I’d be in favor of.”
; “Liv –“
“No! Don’t you Liv me, you ass. Who the hell told you this was okay? Huh? Showing up here after all these years? Insisting I fall for your idiot immature ass in spite of my better judgement? Swooping in to save me every fucking time I fall? No one! No one told you to do that. No one wanted you to. You did it anyway. Well congratu-fucking-lations. I’m in love with you now. Why put me through all of that torture just to up and get yourself killed?”
“You just said you love me.” If she were anyone else, that would be the worst thing in the world to point out right now, but it’s not anyone else. It’s Liv. I know how to push her buttons. All of them. Including those that help diffuse her.
“That wasn’t meant to be romantic, Lucas. This is not a romantic moment. This is a fight. A big, nasty fight. Get with the program. I could be on the verge of dumping your ass.” But she’s already losing some of the fear that previously oozed out of every part of her. Her strength is coming back. It always does when she starts feeling snappy with me. We may need couple’s therapy down the road.
“Really? You’re going to tell me you love me and break up with me all in the same conversation?” I laugh because it’ll piss her off even more, and pissed is so much better than petrified.
“Not a conversation, an argument. A verbal battle. A screaming match even, if you continue to be a jackass.” She turns her back on me and starts for the door. Maybe I should let her walk out. Maybe it’s better she doesn’t watch me leave.
“Who’s arguing? You said you love me. I thought we both agreed on that. If it helps, I totally love you too.”
“Yeah, well, stop it,” she shouts, disappearing around the corner.
I watch the empty doorway for the time it takes to take two long breaths and clear my head, then I reach for my bag and double check the contents. Just a few more hours and this will all be over.
Positive that I’ve got everything I’ll need, I pull the zipper just as two arms come flailing at me, wrapping themselves around my neck. Her body follows, pressing itself to mine as if she’s hoping to glue herself to me, because she knows it’s the one thing that would keep me from going.
“Please don’t die,” she whispers against my mouth right before her lips crush mine, kissing me with such fervor I almost forget where I am and what I have left to do. “I do love you,” she promises, kissing me again. This time longer, harder than before.
“I love you too, Liv,” I breathe into her, “and I’m not leaving you. Not today. Not ever. I survived bombs and bullets to come back here and be with you. Your brother isn’t going to be the thing that stops me now.” I’m going to be the one who stops him, and if that Rediger gets buried in the process, all the better.
“I want to go with you,” she says for the millionth time. Only this once, she’s not demanding, or announcing, or threatening, she’s begging. Pleading. It still doesn’t change my answer.
“No. You’re going to hang with Sketch, just like we talked about.” I rest my forehead against hers, closing my eyes and trying to focus on every last detail between us. The way she feels to my touch, how she leans into it, gives back to it. Her scent. Her sweet, delicious scent. The same candied mix of violet and pomegranate I’ve been getting high off since middle school. Only now, I’m allowed. Allowed to inhale her. Devour her. Keep her.
“I hate how you think you can boss me around like that,” she whispers.
“Kind of blows me away that you let me.” I can’t help it. My mouth twitches at the corners in amusement.
She shrugs gently. “Guess I must trust you an awful lot.”
And as soft as the delivery comes, the words hit harder than anything. The only person Liv has ever had faith in to do right by her under any and all circumstances, was her father. Maybe Sketch. All because her mother taught her that no one, no matter how much they’re meant to love you, can be counted on. But she’s counting on me. She has faith in me. I’m not going to let her down.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Heartbreaker
“Stop pacing, you’re making me crazy just watching you,” Sketch snaps at me.
“Excuse me for freaking out!” I don’t remember the last time we lashed out at one another like this. I can’t stand the way it feels.
“No!” She gets in my face, physically stopping me from putting one foot in front of the other. “I get it. You love Lucas. And you’re scared. But you’re not the only one with someone to lose. Memphis is important to me too.”
“It’s not the same.”
“No, it’s not. You have one person in the game. I have two. I lose Memphis and I don’t just wind up short another piece of my heart, I lose the last thing I have connecting me to my sister. The last person on earth who knew her like I knew her, who keeps her in my world by being in it himself.”
I slump down into the sofa behind me, defeated and feeling like shit. “I suck. I’m sorry.”
“We all suck. We’d have to, to wind up in this mess. Non-sucky people don’t have shit like this happen to them.” She drops back onto the recliner, a crumpled up pile of pathetic just like me.
“You guys sure know how to keep positive when things are bleak and dreary. Holy shit,” Mouth mutters passing us by to head toward the bedroom. She’s been taking care of Marcus around the clock. Improv medicine must be genetic because she’s got this nurse business down pat. She doesn’t even seem pissed off about it.
“I should call Madi.”
“You should definitely not call Madi.”
“I haven’t talked to her in days. I need to make sure she’s okay.”
Sketch rolls her eyes at me and somehow her level of annoyance helps. She doesn’t even have to say anything.
“You’re right. She’s fine. Pru would have called if she wasn’t. Reaching out unless it’s an absolute emergency is not a good idea.” I nod, confirming all of this for myself once more.
Princess stretches her legs out beside me. I almost forgot she was even here. She’s been curled up under an afghan in the corner of the couch for hours. I thought she was sleeping, but now I think maybe she was just pretending so she wouldn’t have to talk to anyone. She’s tough. I know she’s tough because she’s survived some shit that would have killed others, but this stuff, this violence, the threats and the power struggles, it picks at her old scars like they’re brand new scabs still healing. So while we’re fighting the war in the present, she’s under attack from the ghosts of her past. None of us can protect her from those.
“Hey.”
Her face turns to meet mine, but she doesn’t answer.
“You want some tea or something?”
Sketch snorts. “Tea?”
“Is that not what people drink in a crisis?”
“You’re thinking of Tequila.”
Finally, Princess breaks into a small smile. “Coffee. We all drink coffee in a crisis. That’s why they both start with a c. Coffee. Crisis. They match, see?”
“Then I suppose someone better make some.” I peel myself out of the cushions and get back to my feet. I try my best to ignore the clock when I pass it, but it’s impossible. It’s nearly one in the morning. Five hours. Five hours and no news. No news is good news. Unless everyone is dead and can’t call, In which case, no news is a fucking nightmare.
But I trudge on for the kitchen. I don’t say my thoughts out loud. No one needs to hear them. We’re all thinking them anyway.
I pour the water into the coffee maker. Fill the filter unreasonably high with coffee grounds. Fuck it. Nobody here is ever sleeping again anyway.
Then it happens. I feel the vibration on my thigh one iota of a second before I hear the ring. I scramble for my phone so fast I nearly drop it getting it out of my pocket. Princess, Sketch and Mouth all pile into the kitchen at the same time.
“Hello?” I didn’t even think to check the caller ID. For all I know, Dallas is drunk and calling to tell me he fucked up his new ink by going to the beach again.
“We’re
okay.” Lucas. Thank God. Tears pool my eyes the moment I hear his voice. “I’m at the hospital. Memphis is in bad shape.” He sounds worried, but it’s nothing compared to the expression on Sketch’s face. She hasn’t even heard the conversation, but she knows. She knows something. I have to tell her more.
“What happened?”
“Everything went according to plan. We kept moving through. Memphis and I wound up pitted against each other and we put on a good show, then he tapped out. I went up against the champion. He’s done. The whole thing is done, Liv.” He sighs loudly, but it’s not out of relief. “Rediger is out. Saw him being walked out by a couple of suits who meant business.”
“But what happened to Memphis?” I bite my tongue as soon as I say his name. Panic just flared in Sketch’s eyes like I’ve never seen there before.
“We were packing up when some guy got a little too handsy with one of the cocktail waitresses they brought in for the big event. Memphis told him to back off. Shit got crazy after that. Five guys jumped him before I could even get there. We fought our way out, but not before Memphis took a beating.”
“And now?” I reach out to take Sketch’s hand and for once, she lets me.
“He’s in surgery. Won’t know anything for a couple of hours.” He pauses to take another long breath and I can hear the subtle sounds of the hospital waiting room in the background. “Stay away from the shop. It’s still crawling with bad news, but don’t worry, even if the cops get called at this point, the fight club itself wasn’t illegal and there won’t be much else in the way of evidence left behind by now. Just, come here. All of you.”
I hang up. I should have told him a million other things. Should have said I love you at the very least, but I couldn’t. Couldn’t allow myself to say it, to show the gratitude I feel for his wellbeing when Memphis is still in jeopardy.
“Memphis is in surgery, and it wasn’t even from the fighting. He got in some asshole’s face for manhandling a girl working the event and got jumped for it. Lucas seems to think he’ll pull through, but it’s serious. We need to get to the hospital.”