"Okay, you win. I'm in a smidgeon of trouble. I'm on the after-prom committee at my school. It was my subcommittee's job to buy lights to decorate the room. Stuff like string lights and strobe lighting. The budget was five hundred dollars."
"And?"
"I didn't need to buy the lights right away, so I loaned the money temporarily to someone. I thought I'd have it back by now, but they're short. They don't have the whole five, and I couldn't buy the lights. Now the prom chair wants to see what I've bought and my receipts for the lights by the next meeting, or she wants the cash back so she can do it herself. The little control freak that she is."
"The committee gave you cash?"
Idiots.
"Uh, yeah. We held a couple of candy bar fundraisers to raise the money, and that's what you get when you sell candy–a whole lot of singles."
"So you loaned a friend money that didn't belong to you?"
"Yes." She rolls her eyes. Apparently tired of my interrogation. "It wouldn't have been an issue if my friend had stuck to the agreement. I thought I'd have the money back a long time ago."
"Who is this friend?"
"Relax, Wonder Woman. I don't need you to go beat him up for me. I just need you to temporarily loan me the money while I work it out."
"So it's a him."
That answers that question. It's got to be the guy she's dating. David, Darren, Damien . . . something like that. It has to be that loser.
"Give me your phone."
I grab Dawn's cell phone off of the table without waiting for her consent and start scrolling through her text messages until I land on the loser's name. It's definitely Damien, because there are a lot of ridiculous heart emoji's next to his name. Something about that irritates me even more, so I change my mind about sending him a nasty text, and decide to call him instead. I press down on the number under his contact, put him on speaker, and wait patiently while it rings.
"What are you doing, Sloan?! Please, give me–"
I swat her hand away.
"Hey, babe–"
"Hello, Damien," I say brightly. "This is Dawn's sister Sloan. Heard of me?"
"Oh, sure. The sister. What's up?"
"What's up is I need you to give my sister back that five hundred dollars she lent you. Today would be fantastic."
"I don't have it, and I ain't going to have it," Damien scoffs. "It was a gift from Dawn, not a loan, and if you really want me to keep it a hundred percent real–what Dawn and I give each other is really none of your business."
The nerve of this degenerate.
"Well guess what? Let me keep it real with you as well. My seventeen-year-old sister doesn't have that kind of money to gift to anyone. So you will give it back, or I'll be pressing charges first thing Monday morning."
"Press what charges? I didn't steal any money from her."
"Not for theft, idiot. For statutory rape. Trust me, judges love to send jerks like you to jail for a year on a statutory charge. You're too old to be messing around with a girl in high school."
"Cunt," I hear him mutter under his breath. Clear as day.
"What did you just say?" I ask in an appalled voice. My ears are burning. God, I hate that word "Did you just call me . . . a cunt?"
I can barely say the word without gagging.
"Yeah, I said it."
"Just get the money, jackass."
And then I hang up.
After ending the call, I notice that Dawn is staring at me with watery eyes. If she starts full-out crying I swear I'm going to toss a glass of water in her face. All she cares about is the way I talked to her boyfriend and not the fact that the user basically stole five hundred dollars from her . . . and called me names!
"What?" I say in a clipped tone.
"I can't believe you did that!"
"I did and you're welcome."
"You've just ruined my entire life, and that's all you have to say?!"
"Ruined your entire life? Don't you think that you're being a little overly dramatic?"
"Of course you'd say that. You haven't had a boyfriend since . . . never. And just for your information, Damien is twenty-one, not forty! That statutory rape threat was really below the belt. We're only four years apart, and we're in love with each other."
"You love a boy who just called your sister a cunt? That's what we're doing now? Falling in love with disrespectful assholes who steal from you? That's just wonderful. I'm so proud."
After we both finish our meals in awkward silence, I stand up and check my reflection again using my camera app. I've spent enough time cleaning up the latest Pearson family mess, and I'm ready to go. I place a couple of twenties on the table before I leave.
“Dinner and an Uber ride home are on me. When do you meet again with the committee?"
"Tuesday," she replies as a tear rolls down her face.
I pretend not to see it. My sister often uses crying as a manipulation strategy. Not really sure where she learned that tried and true technique. Marsha isn't a crier and neither is our side of the family.
"That gives your guy plenty of time to raise the money. I'm sure he can sell a few nickel bags or something over the weekend and get you the cash."
"My boyfriend does not sell marijuana!"
"Uh-huh." As if I believe that. He sounded high on the phone just now. "Anyway, if you don't have the money in your hands by Sunday night, call me."
Hope lights up her eyes. "And you'll give it to me?"
"No, I'm going to go over to his house with a freakin' baseball bat and get it myself."
My sister wipes her eyes and then gives me a deflated look.
"Don't."
"Get the money from him and I won't have to."
"I don't mean beating him up, because I know you'd never actually do that. I mean don't talk about him like that, because I really love him, Sloan. I just wish you'd be a little nicer. I'm not sure why but it seems like you already decided to hate him the moment I told you about him."
"Because you don't listen. Haven't I told you a thousand times? Stop going for the bad boys. The fake gangsters with hard bodies. The dumb ones with the souped up cars and tattoos on their necks. The ones who are always broke and full of excuses. Having a father and a fistful of fake uncles just like him wasn't enough for you? Find yourself a nice, soft in the middle, nerd. One that thinks that you're the best thing since sliced bread. A guy that knows the true meaning of respect. A guy who wouldn't dare call your sister the c word."
"So you want me to bang the type of boring guys you do all the time is what you're basically advising," she spits out caustically.
Ugh, the mouth on this girl.
"Exactly, little grasshopper." I pat the top of her head in a patronizing manner as I leave, even though I'd rather give her hair a good yank.
"But what kind of advice is that? It never works out for you," she says snidely.
"Yeah well, my guys don't steal from me. Call me if you end up needing my assistance, baby sis," I say on my way out.
"Forget I even asked."
"Trust me, I wish I could."
Nine
Sloan
Not two minutes after stepping outside of the restaurant does a skinny, stringy-haired boy approach me with an ugly frown across his face. The kind that looks permanently etched there. I know immediately who it is. The damn bum made it here in record time.
"Are you that Sloan bitch?"
There he goes again with the name calling. And does this creeper have a tracker on my sister's phone? How did he know where to find us so quickly?
I stare at him quizzically. Trying to figure out what my sister sees in this ameba. I don't get it.
"That's me."
"You had a lot of shit to say on the phone a few minutes ago. Why don't you say it now that I'm here?"
"If you need me to repeat myself, I have no problem with that," I say in the most condescending voice I can muster. "Give my sister her money back, because she did not give it to you, she lent it
to you. And especially because it wasn't even her money to lend."
"How about this is none of your business. Dawn can fight her own battles."
"So, you're admitting that this has become a battle. You're admitting that you're not going to willingly pay back the money you owe her?"
"If or when I pay her back has nothing to do with you. So I'm warning you for the last time to stay out of it."
He finishes his cautionary statement with an air of finality then sticks his greasy forehead to the restaurant's large glass pane window. I assume to look for my sister but primarily to dismiss me.
"Or what?" I ask bravely or stupidly depending on how you want to look at the situation.
He turns back around, surprised and apparently irritated that I've challenged him. It's obvious that he has a problem with women. A major one. Maybe his mother didn't hold him enough when he was a baby or something, because I see nothing but pure hatred in his eyes.
"What did you say?"
"I said or what," I repeat not backing down. "What exactly are you going to do if I don't stay out of it?"
"This, bitch."
The only time I've ever been hit in the face was in the middle of an underground game of fifth grade recess dodgeball. We weren't supposed to be playing dodgeball at all, according to the new school "acceptable game play" rules. But a group of the school's fifth grade renegades didn't like to follow rules (myself included), and unfortunately, I paid the price.
Little Joey McFallon was doing his best to get out of the way of the ball and accidentally elbowed me in the eye. Hard. I thought I saw a few stars then, but my sister's deadbeat boyfriend punching me in the eye–hurts ten times worse.
"Ouchhhh!!!"
I hate the feel of Philadelphia concrete.
Especially when it's against the side of my face.
Cold. Bumpy. Hard. Unforgiving.
I can hear the devil spawn's laughter bouncing around in the air above my head. Apparently proud of what he's done.
"Told you to mind your business."
I know that I've got to get up, even though I'd rather stay curled up in a ball on the ground. When he hit me, I didn't just fall down–I slid. So the part of my face that skidded against the sidewalk feels like it's been ripped to shreds. Everything hurts. I don't want to move. But this guy is a maniac, and I can't let him anywhere near my sister again. So I keep trying to move. To get up. It's difficult though, because not only is my face on fire, but one side of my hip is bruised. I must have hurt it on impact.
Then the laughing suddenly stops.
And I hear three rapid sounds.
Bap. Bap. Bap.
They sound like kicks or jabs into a person's stomach or chest. I'm not quite sure which. Definitely something squishy. Then Damien drops to the ground next to me. His face close to mine. His arms around his middle. His eyes rolling up inside of his head.
What on earth?
I try getting up off the ground one more time. Disoriented. Not really sure what's going on with me or around me. Every hair on the back of the neck leaps to attention.
"Don't move, princess."
Holy. Hell.
I know that voice.
Cutter effin' King gently slides his hands and forearms underneath my body. Effortlessly lifting me up and curling my body into his. When the side of my face accidentally rubs against his jacket I wince in pain. It feels like a cheese grater shredded my face, but it smells divine. Like leather and musk.
"You have the worst fucking taste in men," he practically growls.
Anger rolling off of him in waves.
"He's my sister's boyfriend," I try explaining. Then I panic. "Wait, my sister. I've got to get to her. She's still in there."
"Taking you to get patched up, princess."
"But my sister–"
Damien is still on the ground, grimacing in pain, but coherent enough.
"You better watch your back, bitch," he threatens me followed by a small groan.
Still firmly holding me, Cutter looks down at him and offers a few menacing words.
"Stay away from this woman and her sister. You touch them, you talk to them, and I'll be back. And trust me, it'll be ten times worse. You feel me?"
Damien doesn't respond. I'm not sure that he can. I'm not even sure if he should. Cutter kicks him once again in the ribs and this time Damien responds with a yelp. Watching the jerk grimace in pain gives me mixed feelings of both glee and guilt. It's the strangest dichotomy.
"Answer me, dickhead. I said do you feel me?"
"Yesss," he hisses but looks right at me with the deadest eyes I've ever seen.
A chill runs down my spine.
Cutter turns back to me and asks, "We good now?"
"No, I told you my little sister is in there. Would you just leave if it were your brother inside?"
I may not know everything about the King brothers, but from what I've been told, they would probably kill for each other. He has to understand that I can't just leave Dawn inside while this maniac is still out here.
"Fine," he says after sucking his teeth.
"She's only seventeen," I add for good measure.
"Understood. Let's get her and go."
Now that the adrenaline rush I felt earlier is starting to subside, I notice that Cutter's normally beautiful face is a frightening sight. I'm not sure why, but one side of it is completely covered in blood. He looks absolutely lethal.
"Your face," I say. "Did he hurt you?"
"Don't insult me, princess. That piece of shit didn't touch me. This here is something else."
"You should go to the hospital," I say. "That looks really bad."
"Nah, babe, you should see the other guy."
He attempts to make light of his injury, but this time the flirty smile I've seen on his face about a dozen times doesn't reach his eyes. I get the feeling that the other guy actually does look worse. A lot worse.
"I hate that I have to do this, because if this were any other day I would patch you up myself, but I've got a few things tonight that just won't wait. I'm in the middle of work. So I'm going to go in there, get your sister, and then drop you two off at Jefferson."
Jefferson Medical is one of the best hospitals in the city and is walking distance from here. It's probably a good idea for me to be seen, but it's Cutter who probably needs to see a doctor more than me.
"I think you're the one who needs the stitches," I say although he chooses to ignore me.
Cutter walks into the restaurant effortlessly with me still completely held in his arms. Bloodied. Battered. Bruised. He's still angry. I'm still stunned. I'm sure we both look a sight.
"Can you put me down now? I think I'm fine to walk."
"You may have a head injury."
"You're making a scene."
"The answer is no."
Cutter carries me through the restaurant, weaving us through the maze of white tablecloths, as if I weigh nothing which as much as I'd like to wish was the case–just isn't. I'll never forget how a guy I was seeing last year tried to lift me in the shower during sex, and when he couldn't hold me, asked me to ease up on the chips. I kicked his ass out, but it was still mortifying.
"Point her out," Cutter orders quietly.
"There she is."
Dawn runs over to us.
"Oh my God, what happened?" she asks frantically. Looking at me. Then Cutter. "What happened to my sister?" she shrieks at him.
"We're taking your sister to the ER. I believe it was your boyfriend who just punched her in the face."
"What?" she asks incredulously as if one of us could actually make this stuff up.
"I said your lowlife boyfriend hit your sister like she was a goddamn man. Now are you going to the ER with her or not?"
The whole restaurant is staring at us.
"I um–"
"Let's go if you're going. Got things to do, little girl," he says as he strides back toward the exit with me still in his arms. "And when we get outside,
you better walk by that piece of trash like you don't even see him."
Dawn looks at me for a moment, stands, grabs her things, and follows us solemnly out of the restaurant. Typically I would not have let that slide. Normally I wouldn't have let someone talk to my sister like that. Especially a man.
But my eye is swollen shut, my face is on fire, and watching Cutter King silence my sassy, seventeen-year-old sister was probably the hottest thing I've seen in a long time.
Wait a minute, I think I actually may have a concussion.
Ten
Sloan
"Stop laughing."
"I can't."
"Try harder."
"I'm sorry, but it's just too funny. I should stop though, because when I laugh hard like this I either get nauseous or the sudden urge to urinate. At this rate, I just may throw up all over myself or pee my pants."
"You and this pregnancy are getting grosser by the minute. It's amazing to me that the dark knight still wants to have sex with you."
"You'll never have to worry about that happening. Roman always wants to have sex with me."
"Oh good grief."
Elizabeth continues to laugh. Even though I'm pretending that I'm annoyed with her, I enjoy hearing my friend laugh like this. I'm reluctant to admit it, but she's never sounded happier than she does now, and I suppose that her soon-to-be husband has a lot to do with that.
"I can't believe that you find it so funny that I was assaulted."
"No, drama queen, I'm not laughing about you being hurt. I'm laughing because it's hysterical that out of all the people in this city that Cutter King happened to be the one passing by that night. I mean what are the chances? I love it."
I've spent the last ten minutes in my underwear, underneath the covers, retelling Elizabeth the entire story of what happened with my sister and her brute of a boyfriend. Of course the only thing she wants to dwell on is the part about Cutter swooping in to save the day.
"I suppose it is a little ironic."
"Or serendipity."
"Oh brother."
"I've been watching you two since you both met at Lotus. There's an undeniable attraction between the two of you that someone would have to be blind not to see. It's just a matter of time before you call me panicking that you had a few too many lemon drops and now your naked, looking out of Cutter's bedroom window on a sunny Saturday morning."
The King Brothers Boxed Set Page 24