Nine: A pINK Novel (A pINK Series Book 1)

by K. S. Thomas

  “Shit.” I groan. “What are the odds that call wasn’t important?”

  Lucas tips his head sideways and grimaces. “I don’t know. Memphis is in the hospital. Your brother is recovering from a bullet wound in Mouth’s bed, and chances are good your business is currently crawling with FBI agents. I’d say not good.” It takes two long strides of his to reach the chair and retrieve my pants. His hand slides into my back pocket and resurfaces with my phone. He didn’t even have to check them all. He already knew which pocket it was in. Someday really soon, I’m going to take the time to appreciate all these little things that make him so amazing.

  “Thanks.” I swipe the screen to see who it was when it starts to ring again. It’s Mouth. “What’s wrong?”

  “He’s gone.”

  Damn it. “What do you mean he’s gone? How could you let him leave?”

  “I didn’t, Heartbreaker!” She sounds exasperated. Given the circumstances and my accusation, I suppose that’s fair. “Place was empty when I got back. Bed was made. All his shit was gone. There’s no evidence left to suggest he was ever even here.”

  “That’s not possible.” I shake my head because it can’t be true. Something doesn’t fit. Something isn’t adding up. “He was barely strong enough to get to the bathroom and back. How in the hell would he have been able to dress himself, make the bed and clean up and the march out the door without collapsing halfway down the stairs? Check again. Maybe he fell. Maybe he – “

  “Stop it.” Her words are final. “He’s gone, Heartbreaker. He’s gone and he’s not coming back.”

  “Oh God.” I gasp, my hand covering my mouth to try and suppress the words about to come out. “Did he die? Is that what you’re not saying?”

  I can hear her exhale over the phone. “He’s not dead. I would tell you if he was dead. You’re not five and I’m not selling you some tale of goldfish being free and swimming the open seas when they really just got flushed down the damn toilet. Marcus is alive. I don’t know how; maybe he’s been faking how bad he was. Maybe he was getting a lot stronger a lot faster and was just waiting for a moment to slip out when no one was looking. Whatever it was, I promise you, he was well enough to survive a few hours without us when we left. He didn’t die. He left.”

  I slump down onto my mattress. Lucas is beside me in an instant. He can’t even let me fall on something soft and springy. I feel myself smirk at the thought. Maybe I’m okay with this after all. Hell, maybe I knew all along that it would come to this.

  I say goodbye to Mouth and let the phone drop to the floor. I almost hope it breaks. I don’t want any more news. I haven’t been subjected to a pleasant phone call in I don’t know how long.

  “Bed,” I state simply, pointing toward the pillows.

  Lucas nods, snaking his arm around my waist and scooting us both up the mattress until we’re high enough to lie back and stretch out. Except we don’t stretch out. We stay curled up, legs and arms tangled up in one another, faces so close to one another our noses touch and we breathe the same breath. We don’t talk. We don’t move. We just stare at one another for the longest time and I don’t think I’ve ever heard someone say so much without ever uttering word.

  When sleep finally comes for us, it’s deep and long-lasting. When Monday morning comes around to rear its ugly head, I’m tempted to hit snooze and doze back off. Even the worst mid-morning dream is bound to be better than whatever nightmare awaits back at the shop.

  After much moaning and whining, and reminding Lucas that his father warned him to stay away from Pink for the foreseeable future, I finally make it to work.

  Sketch pulls in right as I’m unlocking the door and I wait for her to get out of the car and reach me before I open it and go inside.

  “Think anyone’s been in here?” She asks, casually scanning the area and exchanging a glance with me, letting me know we’re both aware of the unmarked van parked nearly out of sight on the side of the warehouse.

  “Probably.” Then I take a deep breath and go for it. The buzz of the security system goes off as soon as we’re in. “Alarm is still set,” I point out, hurrying to shut it off.

  “I don’t think that counts for much,” Sketch says dryly, standing in front of me, a large manila envelope in her hands. “Unless you left this lying on your desk.”

  I didn’t. We both know that.

  With shaky hands, and shaky everything, I take the envelope from her. “God, I’m so over surprises like this.” I close my eyes and count to four. I’d planned on ten, but realized by the time I reached two that was never going to happen. Then, opening my eyes and the envelope simultaneously, I brace myself for whatever is inside.

  “And?” Sketch is craning her neck to try and see what’s written on the papers in my hand.

  I start counting again. This time I make it to seven. “It’s a death certificate.” I lock eyes with her. “For Marcus.”

  “What?” She practically yanks the sheet of paper from my hand leaving me to stare at the newspaper pages still left in my grasp.

  “This is from today,” I say, reading the date. “Who would send - “Then I see it. The headline. “Sketch, listen. Deceased male found early Friday morning lying face down in the brush along State Road 44 has been identified as Marcus Mateo Badilla. Mr. Badilla died from a fatal gunshot to the chest. It is as of yet unknown who is responsible for his death or what motivated the attack against him. Mr. Badilla has a history of criminal activity. Authorities do not believe the attack was random.” My voice is barely audible by the time I finish.

  “Wow.” Sketch stares back at me wide eyed. “I did not see that coming.”

  I glance back down at the article, reading it again, searching for some secret clues I might have missed. “Where do you think he really is? Witness protection or prison?”

  She takes the envelope I have pinched between my pinky and ring finger and proceeds to place the death certificate back inside. “Let’s go with witness protection while the image of him bleeding to death is still fresh in our minds. We can always switch to prison later when the shock wears off and our sympathies along with it.”

  “Always so practical.” I force a smile. Sooner or later it will happen automatically again. For the time being, I’m okay with reminding my face it’s capable of more than one sour expression.

  “Do we tell anyone?” Sketch hands back the slender package so I can hide away the newspaper as well.

  “I think Mouth suspects. And Lucas got a call from his dad, more or less implying shit like this was going down. I’ll tell him. I’ll let Mouth believe what she wants. The others we spare for once.”

  She nods. Minutes pass while we stand here, waiting for the last piece of the puzzle to fully blend in with the big picture. It’s still not pretty to look at, but at least it’s less overwhelming when it all fits. When it’s complete. There are no more questions. No more surprise left.

  “I’ll call Cherry. Tell her she’s back on the schedule,” Sketch announces suddenly.

  “Sounds good.”

  Then neither of us says anything else. We simply get work. It’s Monday. And for the first time in what feels like forever, it’s business as usual.

  ***

  “What do you wanna do with it?” Sketch asks, staring around the empty warehouse. It’s the first time we’ve stood in here since the night Marcus was shot over a month ago. No one from the club has set foot on the property since the big fight. They all cleared out that same night and never came back. Whether they caught wind of the FBI lurking around, or simply found more profitable pastures I don’t know and I don’t care. As far as I know, they left Marcus for dead, abandoned the club and took care of Rediger, all without leaving a shred of evidence behind they were ever even here. At least as far as I can tell. No telling what the mysterious van people found while they were here. But even they’ve left without so much as saying good bye or leaving a note.

  I guess I thought if they all washed their hands of the pl
ace, I could do the same and it would just...disappear somehow. It didn’t pan out. The building still sits here. Haunting me. Reminding me of all the terrible things that happened this summer. There’s not much I’d like to do with it. Except maybe one thing.

  “Burn it down.” Ideally.

  “Yeah. A fire. That’ll be a great way to end this whole debacle without drawing attention to ourselves.” She bumps me with her side and I bump her back.

  “You know you wanna do it, too.”

  She shrugs. “Actually, I had something more physical in mind.”

  “Oh, yeah? Like what? Taking the place apart by hand, one piece at a time?” Doesn’t sound like something I have the dedication for. I just want it gone. Wiped off the face of the earth, along with all the shit that happened here.

  “Not exactly. Hold on, I’ll be right back.” She breaks into a jog heading for the door. When she comes back in, she’s holding two sledgehammers. “How about some demolition therapy?”

  “Sketch, you’re like, the smartest girl I ever knew,” I say with awe in my voice. I’m only sort of kidding. She really is brilliant.

  We both choose two random walls, that separated the former club rooms from the main hall and the fighting ring, and then we start swinging. It doesn’t take too long before the commotion draws Mouth, Princess and Cherry as well, and soon all five of us are busy dismantling everything we can smash with a hammer or take apart by hand. It’s late in the afternoon before we get tired enough to slow down.

  There’s rubble everywhere. Piles of chairs and bar stools scattered throughout. Trashcans stocked to the rim with smashed glassware we took turns throwing at the concrete floors with full force. It was worth the cleanup. The only recognizable thing still standing is the ring at the center of it all. Damn thing is indestructible. Or, at least, it can’t be taken down with any of the tools we have on hand.

  “Now can we light a fire?” I ask Sketch, eyeing the monstrosity still mocking me. Mocking all of us.

  “I don’t know. Ask your boyfriend what he thinks.” She points at the door just as Lucas walks in. Memphis is right behind him. I guess not everything that happened this summer was horrible. Lucas came home. Lucas came home, to me.

  “What are you asking your boyfriend?” He kisses my temple, wrapping one arm around my waist and investigating the rubble all around.

  “If we can have a massive bonfire to roast marshmallows and make s’mores. And, you know, destroy the ring of doom here.” I point at the thing in disgust.

  “Oh.” He sets down the large paper bag he’s carrying. Whatever is in it smells really good. I love that he still brings me lunch. Well, judging by the size of the bag and the two Memphis is holding, it’s for all of us.

  “So, what do you say? Can we torch it?”

  “Nah. Leave it.” A smile starts to creep up his mouth as he exchanges a meaningful glance with Memphis.

  “Why?”

  “Because we’re gonna need it when we open up our gym in here,” Memphis explains casually, as if it’s obvious.

  “Excuse me?” It’s not obvious. Not at all.

  “Hear me out,” Lucas turns me by the waist until we’re face to face. “Memphis and I have been talking, and I think I finally figured out what I want to do.”

  “Yeah?” I love that. I don’t love that it involves this building.

  “Yeah.” He knows. He can tell, but it’s not deterring him. “It’s good. I promise.” He smiles. I already believe him. “We want to turn this place into a legit gym. Teach boxing, Mixed Martial arts, all of it, but the right way. The safe way.”

  “Training better fighters. This is a good thing how?” Sketch is still skeptical. She’s clearly not as easily swayed by his smile as I am.

  “It’s a good thing,” Memphis explains, “because we’re not going to teach the hulking beasts and bullies. We’re going to teach the little dudes. The underdogs. The kids who need a boost, whose self-esteem and self-confidence have taken a beating and need to learn how to soar over all the bullshit.”

  “Are you going to teach girls?” Mouth inquires, but it’s less of a question and more of a threat to better say yes.

  “Of course,” Lucas confirms.

  “Then I’m for it,” Princess announces almost simultaneously to the words coming out of his mouth.

  “But how are you going to make money?” Sketch. Always the practical one. “It doesn’t sound like you’re planning on running a business as much as you’re opening the doors to a non-profit organization. I’m not knocking it. Just wondering how you’re going to feed yourselves.”

  “Personal training,” Memphis answers, “We’ve both got the background for it.”

  “You do?” The military, sure, I can see that. But bull riding?

  Memphis makes a face at me, clearly not appreciating my skepticism. “You don’t think it requires a healthy, fit body to do what I do?”

  He wrestles bulls. I guess working out would come in handy for that. “Point made.”

  “Speaking of what you do,” Sketch interrupts again, “Are you giving it up for good now? For Juli?”

  “I’m not giving anything up for anyone.” Memphis scowls at her. She is kind of putting a damper on their big reveal. “I’m making a change. For me. This isn’t my long-term plan, Sketch. I’m just going to help Lucas get this thing up and running. Then, when things are solid, I can still decide if I miss life on the road or if I’m ready to retire and choose a safer, more settled lifestyle.”

  Sketch nods and turns away, uttering something involving curse words and Juli’s name under her breath as she goes.

  “So, what do you think? Want to lease the building to me?” Lucas turns things back on me.

  “No.” I love his plans, but I want to do more than just say yes. More than just support him. I want to give him what he gave me. His own place. “I’ll sell it to you though.”

  He leans in, kissing me softly. “Deal.”

  Lucas

  Three months. That’s all it took to get this place set up and filled with kids ranging in age from nine to nineteen, six afternoons a week. Mornings are reserved for one on one sessions, and even those are booking at a steady rate.

  Thanks to Liv’s buddy Jensen, finding the right crew to rebuild and renovate the warehouse was a piece of cake. Considering she not only handled all the demolition with the girls, but also sold me the place for a buck after handing me back my savings, I actually had the funds in place to do some pretty cool things.

  Memphis is still hanging around, but his heart isn’t in it. I can tell. He’s trying though. Wants to want this the way I do. Not for me, for Juli. After the hell she went through with him this summer, he’s not keen on putting anymore strain on their relationship by getting back in the circuit, especially now that she’s set on staying close to home. I know she’s angling for an engagement. Kids. The whole deal. She’s ready, I just don’t think he is.

  I feel a buzz on my thigh and reach into my pocket.

  “Hey, Ma.” She calls daily. Ever since I moved out.

  “I’m just going over the guest list for Thanksgiving dinner and I’m wondering whether I should put you and Olivia down.” Ever since Marcus unofficially died, she’s been a lot more accepting regarding my relationship. Guess she deems him a lot safer now that he’s in hiding for the rest of his life. My father’s still in complete denial, but I can live with that. I’m used to it with him.

  “Yeah, Ma. Holidays. Family events. You can go ahead and put us down every time.” I don’t mind reminding her. I gave her plenty of reasons over the years to think otherwise.

  “Oh, good. I can make Tofurkey too, if Liv would like?”

  That sounds nasty, but I appreciate the kind intentions. “No, thanks. She’ll be totally cool just eating side items. Trust me on this.” Some days I wonder how I’m still alive and kicking. Of course, I’ve learned a lot about this new diet I’m on in the last few months. I’m not starving anymore – most of the time
– and frankly, I’ve never felt better.

  “What about Memphis? Think he and Juli would like to join us?”

  “I can ask, but they’ll probably wind up at her parents’.” I check my watch. It’s almost time.

  “Okay, you do that and get back to me, by tomorrow if you can. I’m sitting down with Stephen to decide on the menu, and I want to be sure I know who’s coming before I finalize things.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” I walk into the back office. Memphis is already back here. He’s zoned out, staring at his wrist when I walk in. I catch him doing that more and more these days. Thinking of her. Probably because things are getting so serious with Juli.

  “Alright, I’ll let you go, I know you’re busy,” my mother chirps, the sound of conversation growing louder on her end. She’s the busy one.

  “Thanks for calling. Bye, Ma.”

  I slide the phone back into my pocket, stalling.

  “What was that about?” Memphis asks, pretending neither of us know what’s going on with him.

  “My mom invited you and Juli to Thanksgiving.”

  “Oh.” He sits up straighter. “I think we’re going to Juli’s house, but thanks.”

  I watch his fingers move to cover Riot’s name.

  “Ever think about having it turned into something else? Might help you finally move on. Get past it.”

  He shakes his head, grimly. “No.” He gets to his feet. “There’s no getting past it. There’s living with it. Dying with it. Pushing forward with it. But there’s no getting past it.” Then he walks out, taking it with him. Taking her with him everywhere he goes, painted into his skin, bound to him for the rest of his days, just like Liv’s Uncle Camilo. Only I don’t see how it’s romantic anymore. It just looks like fucking torture from where I’m standing.

  Lost in thought, I almost forget what I came in here for until the alarm goes off on my phone. I force myself to set aside Memphis and his past. We’re in the present. The now. A moment in time that seemed nearly impossible to reach not all that long ago. Who knows, maybe Memphis has a moment like this one waiting for him right around the corner, and he just doesn’t know it yet.