by Becca Steele
“Cass.”
He was sitting on a rock, throwing pebbles into the sea. When I spoke, he didn’t acknowledge my presence. Yeah, he was definitely pissed off with me. I took a seat next to him. “Cass,” I tried again.
Still no answer.
“Fucking talk to me, will you?”
At that, he finally turned to me, his eyes blazing. “What the fuck, West? Come to tell me more lies?”
“I wanted to give you time to cool off, but we don’t have that time anymore. So just shut the fuck up and talk to me!”
“Which is it?” Some of the anger had left his tone.
“Which is what?”
“I can’t shut the fuck up and talk to you, mate. Got to pick one or the other.” Now there was a definite lift to the corner of his mouth.
“Mate? Are we still mates?” Picking up a pebble, I drew my arm back and threw it into the sea to give me something to do while I waited for his reply. Had I completely fucked things up between us?
He sighed. “Yeah.”
That one word filled me with relief, and my shoulders dropped as I turned back to face him. “I wanna apologise. When I told you nothing was going on with Lena, I lied.”
“No shit,” he muttered, rolling his eyes.
“Yeah, well, I’m sorry, okay? If it helps, I’ve been really fucking stressed about the whole thing. I even went to my dad for advice.”
He stared at me, surprised. “Seriously? Things must’ve been bad if you went to Arlo.”
“His advice was sound, actually. He said I should talk to you.”
“I always knew I liked him.” Swiping another pebble from the ground, he threw it out to sea.
“Nice shot.”
“I know.”
Clearing my throat, I attempted to explain. “My head was messed up. Still is, to be honest. Me and Lena…we decided that we’re not going to be together. So you don’t need to worry about that.”
“You’re not together because of me?” His mouth twisted, like he wasn’t sure how to feel about that.
“Not just that. It’s just better that we take some time to think about what we want.”
He nodded, his expression thoughtful. “Is she okay, though? Really okay? When she told me what had happened to her, it fucking killed me.”
“Yeah, she’s okay.” Picking up a smooth grey stone from the ground, I turned it over in my palm. “She…I’ve been careful with her.”
“If this is some reference to sex, don’t tell me.” Holding up his hand, he pulled a face. “I do not wanna hear anything about that, thanks.”
“Noted.”
“She’s my sister. I’m just looking out for her.”
“I know.”
We fell into silence for a while then. When he eventually spoke, his voice was low. “I’ve never wanted to think about her with a boyfriend before.” The face he pulled made me bite my lip, hard, to stop my laugh escaping. “And you. You’re my wingman. What the fuck am I supposed to do now? No one to pick up women with.”
“No more threesomes,” I added helpfully.
“No more nights out.”
“We’re still doing that.”
He smiled then, and it reached his eyes. “We’d better.” Reaching down, he grabbed two stones, passing one to me, then throwing the other out to sea.
“Anyway, I’m not with Lena at the moment,” I reminded him, before throwing the stone he’d given me. It hit one of the pier’s wooden support posts.
“But if you could be, you would, right?” Cassius gave me a sidewards glance.
“Yeah,” I admitted.
“Okay. Just promise me that you won’t try to hide shit from me again. And don’t hurt her, or I’ll chop your fucking balls off.”
“Leave my balls out of this.” I cupped them protectively through my jeans, and he smirked, so I glared at him. “I don’t think you have the balls to go near my balls.”
He thought for a minute, then shrugged unconcernedly. “I’ll ask Z to do it.”
Before I could reply, my phone buzzed in my pocket. “It’s Lena. We need to go.” As we both climbed to our feet, I updated him on the Martin Smith situation, telling him everything I knew—which wasn’t much. He frowned, picking his way over the stones back to the slope that led up to the paved area at the bottom of the pier. “This is another thing I’m really not happy about. She’s so reckless sometimes.”
“I know. I’ll watch out for her. But you know how she can be.”
Heading into the car park, I glanced down at his hand, holding his car keys. “How’s your hand?”
“This hand?” He waved it in my face. “This hand that you made me punch a wall with?”
“Oh, we’re blaming me, are we?”
“It seems fair.”
“I guess.”
“Thanks for your concern.” His voice dripped with sarcasm. At my pointed look, he sighed. “It fucking hurts, actually.”
“Sorry.” I meant it.
“Nah, it’s okay. Or it will be. Feels bruised.” He pressed the fingers of his other hand into his knuckles experimentally. “Yep, definitely bruised.”
“You should’ve used your left hand.”
“Yeah, because at the time, the first thought in my head was ‘which hand would be better to slam into a wall?’”
“Try to remember for next time.” I grinned at him.
“There better not be a next time,” he warned me, his own grin stretching across his face. “I’m a lover, not a fighter.”
“Yeah, alright.” I rolled my eyes.
“It’s true.”
We reached our cars, and he stopped with his hand on the door. “Want to drop your car back at the house and take mine?”
“Yeah, okay.” I went to get into my car but turned back to face him as he spoke my name.
“West?” His eyes met mine. “If I could pick anyone for Lena to be with, it would be you.”
THIRTY-ONE
We pulled up close to the location where the dog fight was supposedly taking place, parking in the shadows next to a red van with a huge dent in the side. No one had spoken much since we’d left the house, but Cassius and Weston had arrived back home at the same time, and West was sitting next to Cass in the passenger seat, so I was guessing they’d made up. One less thing to worry about. I wasn’t exactly looking forward to having a conversation with my brother, but he deserved an apology from me, at least.
But now, we were here to investigate—to gather as much information as we could. My goal was simple—to break this dog-fighting ring. Weston’s goal—to find something on Martin Smith.
Zayde’s bike pulled up next to the SUV, and we reconvened outside. I tugged the wig over my ponytail and pulled up the hood of my hoodie.
“Are you wearing a wig?” Winter hissed, staring at me.
I grinned. “Yep. I thought maybe I should disguise myself.”
“Ooh, good idea.” She pushed my hood back, running her fingers over it. “Feels good. Looks good. Cade, do you think—”
“No.” He tugged her into his arms, slamming his mouth over hers. Ugh. I heard him say something about how Winter’s hair was too gorgeous to cover up, or something like that, and it honestly made me feel nauseous. I caught Weston’s eye, and he had the same expression on his face.
“My brother is…” He trailed off with a shrug, still pulling a face.
“Yeah.” I made a gagging motion before I sidled closer, dropping my voice. “How did it go with Cass?”
“Good, I think.” He glanced over at my brother, who was showing Zayde something on his phone. “He threatened to have Z cut my balls off if I hurt you.”
“Ha! I’d like to see him try.” I smothered a laugh, and he pouted at me.
“You wanna see someone cut my balls off?”
“No. I’m kind of attached to your balls.” A flash of heat went through me as a vivid image of me sucking his cock came to mind.
“Yeah, so am I. Because they’re attached
to me!” he hissed, and this time I had to bury my face in his shoulder to stifle my laughter.
“What’s all this talk about balls?” Winter was suddenly in front of us, her eyebrow raised.
“Z wants to cut West’s balls off,” I informed her, and she spun on her heel.
“Zayde Lowry! I need to have a word with you.” She marched over to him, and I watched as he stared at her blankly, then took a long, hard look at Weston.
Winter’s voice drifted back towards us, saying something about a serial killer stare, and I glanced back at Weston, who wasn’t even looking at Zayde.
He was looking at me.
My laughter died away as he reached out, gently tugging my hood back into place. “You’re beautiful, whatever colour your hair is.” A grin tugged at his lips as I stared at him mutely. “Just thought you should know.”
Clearing his throat, he stepped back, his gaze flicking to Cassius’, who watched us both silently. Why had everyone perfected these blank expressions? How was I supposed to know what they were thinking?
The moment was interrupted by Caiden beckoning us all closer. “Just like we discussed. This is recon only. Don’t get caught, don’t let yourself be recognised. If anyone does spot you…” His brows pulled together. “I guess you’ll have to pretend that you’re there to enjoy it. And on that note…”
He took a roll of money from his pocket, handing us each a small bundle. “This is just in case. Try to keep a low profile, but if anyone questions you, you can say you want to place a bet. I hope it won’t have to come to that.”
Shoving the money into my pocket, I glanced over at Winter. She was staring at the money in her hand uncertainly.
“Hey,” I whispered to her. “You don’t have to do this, you know. You can wait in the car.”
“No! I’m not being left behind.” Swallowing hard, she ran her thumb across the notes, before raising her gaze to mine. “I’m just not sure how I’m going to be able to act like I’m not bothered by what’s happening in there. It affected me enough, just the glimpse I saw of it on the TV screens.” Her hand fisted the money, crinkling it in her palm.
“Have you told Cade?”
“Yeah. He suggested I stay behind or out of the way.” Her voice hardened. “Fuck. That.”
“I’ll tell you what. Come with me. I’m not planning on being detected by any of the fuckers here today. We’re going to keep to the shadows and see if we can find out who’s running this shitshow.”
“Okay. Sounds good.” Her voice lowered. “I kind of wanted to wear a wig.”
“Next time, I’ll get you one,” I promised. She smiled at me and then turned to Caiden to tell him our plan. He nodded, relief clear in his eyes. Probably, if it was up to him, he’d keep her locked inside the car, away from any kind of harm.
We split, staying in pairs for safety, circling around to the waste ground where the fight was being held.
As we drew closer, I heard the noise. The whole area had been ringed by temporary fencing, tall metal sheets that were impossible to scale. From inside, there was the sound of shouts, talking, jeering, and the distinctive sound of snarling and whimpering. Winter sucked in a sharp breath, visibly steeling herself against the noise, before she squared her shoulders.
“These bastards are going down.” Her tone was pure venom, and I shivered.
“Oh, yes, they are. Everyone here has blood on their hands. And we’re going to make them pay.” I held up my hand, and she slapped my palm, then gave me a savage grin.
“Let’s bring them down.”
We circled around the area and discovered that the fencing had another opening on one side. To the side of the opening was a small shipping container, and we darted into its shadows, crouching down, while we worked out a plan of action.
“Feel that?” I grabbed Winter’s hand, pushing it against the cool metal. It vibrated under our palms.
“Is that…” She trailed off, pressing her ear to the container. “I can hear them.” From inside the container came the noise of rattling cages and the sound of dogs in distress. “Fuck, this is horrible,” she murmured. “Can we just sneak inside and set them free?”
“No.” I sighed. “These dogs…they’re not like normal dogs. They’ve been bred for one purpose only—to fight. That’s all they know; all they’ve been taught.”
“What does that mean for these dogs?” she whispered, her face falling.
“It means that sometimes the kindest thing to do is to have them put down.”
“That’s so sad.” Tears filled her eyes. “They can’t be rehabilitated or retrained or something?”
“Sometimes they can. Some are lucky. But not always.”
“We need to stop these people from doing this.” Her voice was resolute.
“We will. Let me think for a minute.” My eyes swept the area. A bell sounded, and the shouts increased in volume. “Okay, now. While the fight is just beginning.” We crept towards the fence opening, staying in the shadows. There was a huge, beefy guy standing next to the entrance, bulging arms folded across his chest.
“How are we gonna get past him?”
“First option, we wait until he’s distracted, then sneak inside. Second option, one of us distracts him while the other sneaks inside.”
“I don’t like the second option.” Winter shook her head at me. “We stick together.”
“Okay. Come on.” Reaching out, I grabbed her hand. “When I say, we go. I’ll watch the guy; you keep an eye out for anyone else.”
She gave me a brief nod, already focused on our surroundings. I kept my eyes on the guard, watching as he pulled a crumpled pack of cigarettes from his pocket and fished one out. With agonising slowness, he lifted it to his lips. The strong breeze whipped the flame of his lighter, and he turned towards the fence, cupping his hand over it to shield it from the wind.
“Now!” We darted inside the enclosure, keeping low to the ground and hugging the fence.
Inside was chaos.
We’d entered from the same point that the dogs came from. There was a large circular pit, hollowed out of the ground, surrounded by low chain-link fencing with an opening on one side. The whole thing was lit by some kind of portable floodlights, throwing us into shadow.
A crowd ringed the pit, maybe around sixty or so. Not a huge number by any means, but any number of people was bad in my opinion. The fact that anyone would want to be entertained by something like this. It sickened me.
At the far end of the pit, a guy in black combats and a black shirt held up a small camera, focused on the ring, and I carefully tugged Winter close so that I could speak right in her ear. “Camera.”
She squeezed my hand, letting me know she’d seen it, before melting further into the shadows.
Everyone was intently focused on the two dogs in the pit, snapping and snarling at one another. Taking out my phone, I began to record.
Within a couple of minutes, the fight was over. I had to turn away as the twitching, bloody body was dragged out of the pit, while the victor was held in place by a metal collar attached to a pole held by one of the men, that seemed to tighten and choke the dog every time it tried to lunge forwards.
“What do you say, gentlemen?” A loud voice suddenly boomed around us, rebounding off the fencing. “Shall we make this final fight a little more interesting?” Heads turned towards a guy with a microphone, standing on something that made him tower above everything else. A huge hood obscured most of his face.
“Because of course he had to wear the biggest hood known to man. Couldn’t make it easy for us,” I muttered under my breath.
“Place your bets! This time, the fight will be a three-way death match!” The pure pleasure in his voice chilled me to my core.
The screen that was rigged up behind him on some kind of crane-type thing lit up with images and stats for each of the three dogs. Money began to exchange hands, the volume of the crowd increasing again. Most of the time, the fights ended without death (or at l
east, in the ring), but the death matches seemed to be a particular favourite of these spectators. The organisers would use dogs that had outlived their usefulness for one reason or another and put them in a fight, literally to the death.
Three separate cages were dragged into the enclosure, and the men worked with practised precision, positioning them ready to enter the ring. They held what looked like cattle prods, and when one of the men jabbed it into the side of the cage, it took everything I had in me to not rush over to him and jab that prod into his belly.
“I want to shove that prod right into his balls,” Winter all but growled, staring daggers at him.
“I was thinking his stomach.”
“Either works.” She shrugged. “He needs a taste of how it feels. Those poor dogs.”
The crowd quietened when microphone man called for silence, waiting with bated breath as the first two cages were opened and the dogs were herded into the ring, complete with the same kind of collar as the dogs in the previous fight. They lunged at each other, but the men holding them kept them apart as the third dog was pushed into the pit. I kept my camera recording, panning around the area so I could take in as many details as possible, then analyse it later.
Next to me, Winter trembled. “I hate this so much,” she whispered, forcing her eyes onto the crowds, away from the sight of the animals in the pit.
My spine prickled.
Then, the whistle blew.
A large hand clamped over my mouth.
And chaos reigned again.
THIRTY-TWO
“Evening.” Cassius strode up to the guy at the entrance without a care in the world, all confident, careless swagger. Falling in line with him, I let him do the talking.
“Fifty pounds entry fee,” the guy said in a bored voice, holding out his hand. Cassius peeled off a few of the notes Caiden had given him, and the guy shone his torch over them before nodding and stepping aside. “Have a good evening, gentlemen.”
Then, we were inside.
Cassius spoke out of the side of his mouth, keeping his voice low. “Cade and Z can do the sneaky shit. We’ll hide in plain sight. Keep your hood up. Both of us could be recognised if any of the Alstone lot are here. If anyone does recognise us, we know what to do.”