Someone bumped into me. “Oh, sorry,” the woman said as she gave me a pitying look before she kept walking.
Instead of spewing swear words at her, I tucked my chin down then started on my quest. Rain poured down and so did my tears. I thought about my little girl who was almost four years old and about how much I wanted to hold her right then. I wanted to squeeze her dimpled cheeks, look into her dark-blue eyes, and feel her thick black hair. What are you doing, Ruby? You’re only torturing yourself. Get your ass in gear and get a job.
I’m trying, I screamed at my subconscious.
I picked up my pace as I traded thoughts of Raven for a plan of where to start looking when the fast food restaurants opened the next day. Burger King had the most promise. The manager was a young guy who seemed to like me by the way he smiled at me. Then I would check in with Taco Bell and a sub shop.
The drugstore sign came into view. I wiped my face with the backs of my fingerless gloves and ducked into Walgreens. The bright lights froze me in place for a second. I hated light. Light meant happy times, but it also reminded me of when I performed on stage at ballet recitals—a memory that would never become a reality again.
I squinted as I scanned the signs above the aisles, spotting the cold medicine near the pharmacy in the back of the store. I hurried down the outside aisle, away from the cashier who was ringing up a customer. I skirted a display of foil pans, boxes of pumpkin bread mix, and other items for Thanksgiving. At one time, I couldn’t wait for Mom’s turkey on Thanksgiving. Now, I hated the holiday that was only weeks away. While everyone stuffed themselves with turkey and said thanks for the things in their lives, I was dumpster diving for fresh scraps.
Once in the aisle with all the cold medicine and pain relievers, I searched up and down for single packets of Advil.
A short man, donning gold-rimmed glasses and a lab coat, walked up with a box of NyQuil in his hand. “Are you looking for something specific?”
I’d like that box of NyQuil. “Do you have a packet of Advil?”
“They’re located at the counter up front.” He placed the box of NyQuil on the shelf next to the cold medication.
Somewhere, a phone rang, then the overhead speaker announced, “Pharmacy, call on line two.”
“If you need anything else, let me know.” He darted out of sight.
I kept my eyes on the man in the lab coat. He had his phone to his ear, reading a computer screen. Then I put my hand on the box of NyQuil. The price was way more than the three or so dollars I had on me.
Norma’s voice blared inside my head. “Please don’t steal.”
I didn’t want to, but she was in dire need of medicine. I looked up and down the aisle. The box of medicine seemed to burn in my hand. My heart sped up as it always did before I stole anything. Winter was the easiest time to steal since jackets and big coats could conceal most items. No one else was visible, except maybe the cameras somewhere in the store.
In lightning speed, I grabbed the box of NyQuil, slipped it inside my coat pocket, then casually strolled up to the front counter. I was careful not to run even though my adrenaline was rushing through me like the rapids at Niagara Falls. I blew out a breath, trying to calm my racing heart as I dug into my pocket and retrieved my money.
A young guy with zits all over his face smiled. “Can I help you?”
“A packet of Advil?”
The phone behind the counter rang. Zit Face picked it up. “Yes.” After a second, he glanced at me, drawing in his eyebrows.
Busted. I bolted out of the store.
“Hey, stop,” Zit Face shouted.
Cold air stung my heated face as I sprinted across the street. Horns blew as I almost collided with an oncoming car. Someone was yelling, but I didn’t dare stop to look behind me. After running several blocks, I ducked into an alley to catch my breath. As my lungs expanded, I spotted a light seeping from underneath a door near a dumpster. A faint aroma of grease carried on the wind. I sniffed like a dog searching for his next meal, the scent pulling me deeper into the alley. The closer I got, the more my stomach growled. I peeked inside the door. Loud shouts and whistles trickled out along with heat, spice, and more grease. I licked my lips.
The sound of an engine rumbled at the mouth of the alley. I skirted a box and hopped into the dumpster, a feat I’d become extremely good at. I landed on a bag of trash and something wet. The engine noise got louder, the lights of the vehicle spraying out. I crouched lower, holding my breath. A car door slammed. Then another. Deep male voices peppered the air. Please don’t let it be the cops.
“The fight should yield us close to fifteen thousand dollars,” one guy with a gruff voice said.
“Just make sure she shows. I’ll be taking your nuts if she doesn’t,” a deeper male voice added.
Two beeps echoed before the voices disappeared.
I poked my head out an inch above the dumpster and let out a sigh at the fact the dark-colored vehicle didn’t have lights on the hood or “police” written on the metal somewhere. At the same time, the need for food waned as my mind spun with the possibilities of what I could do with fifteen thousand dollars. That amount of money would definitely be a good start to getting an apartment for Norma, Raven, and me. I climbed out and brushed off my clothes, which was futile since I lived on the streets. Not to mention, I’d just sat in all kinds of crap in a dumpster.
The dim light on the building lit up the name Firefly on the metal door that was now closed. Damn it. I pulled on the doorknob. Pay dirt. Shouts and whistles erupted from the stairwell that went down, although another went up. I would bet it led up to the kitchen. My stomach voted to take the kitchen route. Sometimes, cooks and servers were nice enough to hand me scraps or a loaf of bread. Maybe I could get some soup for Norma. I heard more whistles and guffaws. Curiosity was always a bitch, so I chanted “eeny meeny miny moe, which way should I go.”
Another outburst of cheers rose from below, feeding my curiosity enough that I descended the stairs. When I reached the dirt-crusted floor at the bottom, a rat scurried by me. A bright light bled from a doorway up ahead, spotlighting yet another rodent. I checked behind me. Confident that no one was around to kick me out, I pushed forward toward the ruckus and onto a landing that overlooked a room below. A crush of male bodies was crammed wall-to-wall, all crowded around something I couldn’t see. Their fists were in the air, waving handfuls of money. I moved closer to the railing when someone grabbed me by the shoulders.
Jumping what felt like a mile in the air, I turned with my fist ready to pummel someone.
A tall, wiry man with dark hair and dark eyes let go of me and held up his hands. “I’m not going to throw you to the wolves.” His voice was gruff like the man I’d heard in the alley. “If you want to punch, then go down there.” He flicked his pointy chin toward the crowd.
Fighting wasn’t my scene, but if fifteen thousand dollars was up for grabs, I would sure give it a go.
He angled his head, a gold studded earring glinting off the brightness of the stadium-like lights. “Are you mute?”
I narrowed my eyes. “Thanks for the offer, but I have to go.” This was a bad idea. The dude gave me the creeps.
He blocked my passage, his hands now at his sides. “Seriously, come with me. I’ll even give you something to drink while you watch. Then you can leave.” He sized me up as though he was interviewing me before throwing me to the wolves, as he had so eloquently put it.
I tried to skirt around him again. “My mom is expecting me home.” A young woman in a room full of men wasn’t a good idea, particularly excited men.
“Where’s home?”
I glanced up, meeting his dark wide-set eyes. “Like I would tell you.”
He dragged two fingers down his day-old stubble. “You have a name?”
“People usually do.” I rolled my eyes. “Now, get out of my way.”
He chuckled. “Tough girl.”
I wasn’t always a tough, sarcastic girl. Actually, I
’d been shy in high school. But the streets had molded me into a person I didn’t like, a person I would have never imagined I’d become.
He scanned my body again.
“Look, mister. I sense you’re up to something, but give me a once-over again, I’ll kick you in the balls.”
He bowed his head and slid to one side. “You look hungry. Would you like some food?” His gravelly voice turned sweet.
My stomach growled for the fiftieth time that day. “What’s the catch?”
He gave a slight shake of his head. “None.”
There was always a catch, but Norma needed some soup or sustenance, and I did too. Another wave of hoots and hollers singed the air. My gaze tracked down to the active crowd, but I still couldn’t see what all the excitement was about.
The wiry man followed my line of sight. “You’re welcome to go down and check out the festivities.”
“Do you have any soup?” I asked.
“If that’s what you want.”
“Actually, I’d like two plates of food and a bowl of soup to go. But I have no money.” If he asked for sex as payment, I was hightailing out of there as fast as I could. I would find food in some dumpster on my way back to Norma.
He waved a crusty hand down the stairs. “I offered you food, so don’t worry about the money. Head down and enjoy the show. I’ll be right back.”
I sized him up like he’d done to me. He wasn’t a bad-looking man. I would guess him to be in his late twenties. He was dressed casually in jeans, and he had defined arms but wasn’t at all broad in the shoulders. He sort of reminded me of a basketball player.
“One wrong move, and I’ll kill you.” I wasn’t joking. I carried a small pocketknife for many reasons, including protection. I’d never used the knife though.
He grinned. “My name is Tommy, and I’m not a pervert.”
I snorted. He sounded as if he was in one of those AA meetings. Regardless, I would bet he wasn’t an upstanding guy. “Ruby.” Once my real name was out there, I berated myself. I should’ve used an alias. Then again, it was only my first name.
“Well, Ruby, enjoy yourself. I’ll be right back.” He left through the same door I’d walked through.
I traipsed down to the melee, my curiosity pushing me forward. I plowed through fat men, skinny men, short men, and tall men, inhaling cigar smoke, cigarette smoke, body odor, and other disgusting scents.
They parted, some reluctantly, others easily. When I had a clear view of the object of their focus, my mouth dropped open. A beefy woman was beating the lights out of a girl half her size.
“Why isn’t she fighting?” I asked a cigarette-smoking man on my right.
He blew out smoke. “She’s afraid. It’s her first time.”
I waved at the brawl. “I don’t get it. Why is she even fighting if she’s afraid?”
The meek girl had blue streaks through her blond hair. She cowered in a corner of the makeshift boxing ring that had been formed using four metal poles and yellow police tape.
“The money,” he said. “The winner gets three hundred dollars.”
That’s all? The two men I’d overheard had mentioned fifteen thousand, which meant that these two women were getting screwed, although three hundred was quite a bit of cash for someone in my predicament. “The fight is fixed, isn’t it?” It had to be. Who would win between Hefty Girl against Meek Girl was a no-brainer in my book.
“Sometimes,” Smoker Dude said, “it’s not a slam dunk. Some shy girls have so much adrenaline and anger, they can beat the shit out of the larger opponents.”
I suspected I could beat the lights out of someone if my life depended on it. “But someone should end this one.”
Beefy Girl wore a crew cut, stood at least a head taller than Meek Girl, and had guns on her arms that mirrored Sugar Ray Leonard. She threw a punch that landed against Meek Girl’s temple. I wasn’t into boxing, but my dad loved to watch the sport.
“You get where you are? This is underground fighting. Only rule here is one girl has to be knocked out for the other to win.”
I had the urge to jump in the middle and save Meek Girl. I wasn’t by any means built like Beefy Girl. I was five foot four and on the skinny side since food was scarce these days. But between all the walking and dumpster-diving, I considered myself strong.
Beefy Girl threw a punch, connecting with Meek Girl’s nose. Blood sprayed out, making me cringe.
“Do it again, Vickie,” someone shouted.
Again, Vickie drove a fist into Meek Girl, this time connecting with her jaw.
I couldn’t take it anymore. I barreled through the bodies to the other side of the ring. “Fight, damn it.” I shouted as loud as I could at Meek Girl. “Kick her ass.”
Vickie bared her teeth like a rabid dog. “Get out of here.”
“Fuck off.”
She dove at me. I jumped back as she tripped over Meek Girl’s foot. Vickie splattered, face first onto the dirt floor. Meek Girl glanced at me, her blue eyes wide. The sound in the room died. The crowd seemed to hold their breath collectively. Some appeared mad, while others had curious looks on their faces.
Tommy ran over, grabbed my arm hard, and pulled me through the crowd. “What do you think you’re doing?” His breath smelled of alcohol.
I jerked away from him when we reached the stairs. “The small girl wasn’t fighting.”
“So the fuck what? If she doesn’t want to, then that’s her choice.” He pointed to a bag on the stairs. “There’s your food. Now get out of here.”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “You wanted me to watch. Now you’re kicking me out?” I should have probably left while he was giving me a chance, but I didn’t want Meek Girl to get hurt. I also wasn’t afraid of Vickie, although I should have been. I didn’t know how to fight. I’d watched plenty of matches with my dad, and I had even watched Kross spar when he was in the gym at the academy, but I never ventured into the ring.
Tommy ran a hand through his wavy brown hair. “You want to fight?”
I jutted my chin out. “I want in.”
A wry grin broke out across his face. “You think you can win against Vickie?”
“Yeah.” Not really. But I wanted the opportunity to make money. In my mind, fighting was better than selling my body. My dancing skills could prove beneficial with my flexibility. Sure, it was illegal, and getting my butt kicked regularly would definitely not look good on my resume, but Norma had a point. We had to make enough money to be able to eat and find a place to live. Then during the day, we could continue to look for respectable jobs.
He roared with laughter over the cheers and jeers. “Be here next Saturday, same time.” He lifted the bag and handed it to me.
For the first time in ages, hope coursed through my veins. I ran up the stairs.
“Oh, and Ruby,” Tommy called.
Stopping midway, I tossed a look over my shoulder.
“I hope you know how to fight.”
I rolled my eyes. I wasn’t sure why because I had no business being cocky. “You care?”
“I’d hate to see your pretty face get messed up.”
I hadn’t been called pretty since I’d dated Kross. “You must have blinders on. But thanks, Tommy. I’ll see you soon.” I left, holding onto the bag tightly. I had a week to build up my nerve. I couldn’t believe I had signed up to get my face smashed in. But if I won, then all my efforts would be worth it.
Chapter Three
Kross
The gym was filled with people working out on weights, treadmills, elliptical machines, and throwing their fists into punching bags.
“Kross, damn it,” Jay bit out in his cigar-smoking voice. “What the fuck is wrong with you? You haven’t been the same since you went up to the academy to scout Liam. You need to win your next bout to impress Gail.”
For the last week, Gail and winning were the furthest things from my mind. Hell, my boxing career didn’t stand a chance unless I could snap out of the fuck
ing haze clouding my brain. I jabbed Liam. Jay had invited him down for a couple of days after I’d given the kid my thumbs-up.
“Weak. Where’s your footwork, Maxwell?” Jay sounded as frustrated as I felt. “The kid is showing your ass up.”
I stalked out of the ring, glaring at Jay’s hooknose and baldhead. He pinned his gaze on me, and I growled in return. I had enough anger in me to kill Liam, and I didn’t want to hurt him, although the kid had been tough in sparring with me. He took my punches and returned a few good ones of his own.
Jay marched up to me. “I don’t want to know what’s going on in your head.” He tapped an arthritic forefinger against my temple. “Take time off and get your shit together.”
“I’m fine. Besides, you said Gail would still give us a look as long as I kept my losses to less than three.” I wasn’t sure my head would be screwed on in time for my next fight, and I didn’t know when the next fight was. Jay was still working on the details. Still, my head wouldn’t be in the ring until I knew one way or the other whether I had a kid on this fucking planet.
“In the three years I’ve been coaching you, you choose now, when we’re so close to signing with her, to mouth off to me?” He scratched his shaven jaw. “I’ll let this slide. She called today. She has another prospect that seems to have a better record than you. She didn’t like how you went down at your last fight.”
I’d only lost one bout. I didn’t know anyone in my circuit with a better record than me. “Who’s the boxer?”
He huffed as his nostrils flared. “Reggie Stockman.”
I stilled. “Fuck.” Reggie and I had history. He’d been one of Sullivan’s cronies who’d helped put Kody in the hospital back in the ninth grade.
The Maxwell Series Boxed Set - Books 4-6 Page 3