Her Brawlers: A high school bully romance (Bad Boys of Jameson High Book 2)

by Taylor Blaine

  I could remember that. I could focus on the comfort in that statement. I didn’t really have a choice otherwise.

  Even though the bench was hard beneath my back, it was better than the concrete floor. I even had a soft towel for a pillow. I slipped in and out of sleep as I kept coming back to the fact that I had to fight. Again. This time, though, I was expected to kill someone. I had to go into it with that mentality which meant I didn’t want to go into it at all.

  Maybe I was being cowardly. I’d seen it enough in my dad to recognize the trait. I just never thought I’d see it in myself.

  Warm fingers closed around my cold shoulders. I should have pulled another towel on me like a blanket. “Gray, can you wake up?” Gunner’s voice broke through the haze I’d welcomed moments ago.

  I blinked, but barely, certain I was dreaming.

  “She’s pretty banged up. Do you think Blaze did this?” Brock’s hard voice turned grittier like he was planning someone’s murder inside every syllable of his question.

  I couldn’t remember what I looked like. I knew I had bruises and maybe even some scratches, but where the injuries were escaped me. Everything hurt so that wasn’t a reliable way to figure it out.

  “Do you think she’s unconscious or sleeping?” Gunner pressed the back of his hand against my forehead, then his touch disappeared.

  I could feel their eyes on me. The sensation wasn’t altogether terrible, not like Dominick and Blaze’s oily gazes had been.

  “Stryker is going to be pissed.” Brock’s voice held warning and the mention of Stryker answered my unasked question of where he was.

  I shifted onto my back and kept my eyes closed as I spoke. “Stop talking about me like I’m not here.” My throat was less burned feeling. I could handle some speaking. Maybe I wasn’t as weak as I’d been.

  “Ah, there’s the sassy wench we know and love. We need you to get up, Gray.” Gunner sat at my feet, pulling my legs onto his lap. “Come on. Let’s get you home and you can shave these legs.” He ran a hand up my calf, his chuckle sounding off like it lacked humor and was there to simply convince me to go with him.

  I forced my eyes open, every movement – even of my eyelids, painfully slow. At least the haze from the drugs was gone. I could handle the aches and burning pain, easily. It was the lack of control I had a problem with.

  Putting my arms behind me, I pushed myself to a sitting position, leaving my legs on Gunner’s lap. Brock pivoted, moving to sit behind me. He gave me a place to lean against and I sagged against his shoulder, leaning my head back, my hair cascading around his chest.

  Brock ran his fingers through my hair like he petted me and I didn’t complain. It was the first truly gentle touch besides Bruce that I’d had all week. I sighed.

  “Gray, what happened?” Gunner’s grimness brought me back from the soothing motion of Brock’s hands.

  I lifted my head slowly and opened my eyes, taking in Gunner’s knitted eyebrows and downturned lips. Swallowing, I tried folding my arms, but they hung limply at my sides and I realized I didn’t care if my chest and stomach were covered or not. “Blaze picked me up. I thought he was going to help me, but…” I blinked back tears. “He drugged me and I’ve been… somewhere all week. He…” I didn’t know how to say the things he’d done to me, so I didn’t.

  Something darkened in Gunner’s eyes and he flicked his eyes to focus on Brock and then back down to look at me. He nodded tightly. “We need to get you out of here.” He gently moved my legs from his lap as he stood and then set my feet carefully on the bench.

  “Where’s Stryker?” I blinked at Gunner; certain he wasn’t there without the head Jameson. I licked my lips and tried clearing my throat. “Sorry, my mouth is dry. I’m not sure how much you can understand.”

  In a second Gunner was by my side again, this time with a bottle of water he must have found by the far side of the locker room. He held it for me, tilting it slowly as I drank. I hadn’t realized how thirsty I really was.

  “She even has bruises on her chest and stomach, Brock.” Gunner’s growl startled me and some drops of water escaped my lips and dribbled down onto the aforementioned chest.

  I pulled back from the bottle and blinked at Gunner. “Yeah. I have them everywhere.” And I wasn’t joking. Blaze had been rough when he’d fondled me, gripping the inside of my thighs with a fierceness I had never experienced before.

  Sex with him would be hell, made worse by the fact that I’d held back for so long. He wouldn’t hesitate to make me scream. I remembered his threats and promises through my foggy haze.

  Nothing was going to erase those from my memory.

  Gunner growled at my matter-of-fact tone. I didn’t have the energy to tell him about the other guy who had done much worse and had spoken about doing even more when I was done with the fight. He’d even mentioned my mom which made me want to talk to him that much more. I could probably even endure a rape session, if it meant he’d tell me about my mom.

  I blinked. I couldn’t stay focused. Clearing my throat, I moved my feet so the soles were flat on the bench and I slowly slid them toward my butt so my knees were bent. I leaned toward my legs, wrapping my arms around them and bent forward. “Sorry, where’s Stryker?”

  “Let’s focus on getting you out of here, then we cover details. Okay?” Brock moved from behind me, opening lockers that weren’t locked until he found one with a bag inside. Clothes that weren’t mine fell from the unzippered bag to the floor.

  Brock bent, picking them up and inspecting them. A sweatshirt with a hood and a pair of sweatpants greeted him. He turned toward me, closing the space between us. He knelt on the ground beside me.

  With more care than I probably needed, Brock moved my legs from the bench and slid the pants onto my feet and up my legs. He stopped at the tops of my thighs, his touch kind but not distracting the way Stryker’s had been when he’d dressed me… I couldn’t remember the time frame, but I remembered Stryker’s fingers on me and that woke me a little bit more.

  Holding out an arm, Gunner gave me support as Brock helped me stand and then yanked the pants further up my legs and hips to settle just below my waist. They were a size too big, but they’d do.

  Brock pulled the sweatshirt over my head and helped put my arms in the sleeves. He reached behind me, collecting the mass of my hair in his hands and pulling out the length and letting it fall behind me on the outside of the hoodie.

  The soft material was even more welcome than I’d assumed it would be. Another wave of exhaustion hit me and I just wanted to know if I’d be able to lay down again soon. I kept my eyes open, though. Gunner had said something about getting out of there?

  “I’m supposed to fight in a little bit. Did you guys come in for Bruce to get me?” Alarmed, I glanced from Gunner who had moved to stand at my side to Brock who stood in front of me, inspecting me.

  Brock reached up and tugged the hood into place, my hair stuck in the rear by my nape.

  They didn’t answer for a moment which didn’t calm me down in the slightest. I reached out, my hands clawing at Brock’s arm. “Did you come to get me to fight?” If he had, dressing me didn’t make sense. Leaving my hair down, didn’t make sense. Telling me we had to get out of there fast didn’t make sense.

  But in my desperation not to fight I couldn’t make the logical match with my fear. There just was no way to figure it out.

  Brock shook his head, holding my gaze as he spoke with grave seriousness. “No, we’re getting you out of here, but we don’t have a lot of time. Minutes at best. We need you to focus and do exactly what we say, okay?”

  Gunner wrapped his arm around my back, his hold welcome as we moved toward the door. He bore a huge chunk of my weight and I found it easier to walk out than it had been to walk in.

  Three men stood with their backs to us, their arms folded across their chests as they stared in the direction of the club. I glanced toward the male locker room out of habit. I usually checked each way in the hal
lway in case any weirdos had followed me. You never knew what to expect in a bar with drinking.

  The door opened and Stryker’s silver eyes suddenly became the only thing I could see.

  I stopped, frozen to the cement floor and stared. He couldn’t see me in my state. I had to still stink, although I thought Blaze had hosed me off in the basement. I didn’t want Stryker to see me like I was. Even that wasn’t enough to make me move. I had to see him, drink him in. Thoughts of Stryker had been one of the only things that had kept me slightly sane in that prison.

  Gunner paused beside me, as if he too sensed there was no way he would be able to budge me as I stared at Stryker. My eyes widened as I took in the black silky boxing shorts and the MMA-style gloves which left his fingers free and a tighter padding around his knuckles.

  The expanse of his muscles was bare, unfettered by the presence of a shirt or other covering. He didn’t even have head gear on.

  I could feel our connection like a strong cord stretched between us, tugging me toward him. Gunner and Brock grabbed my arms and held me. Even in my weakness, it took both of them to keep me from Stryker’s side.

  Dark hair hung across his forehead, the tips brushing into his eyes. I wanted to reach up and sweep it to the side. Nothing should cover those eyes.

  The last time we’d seen each other, we’d fought because I lied. I’d told him I could kiss anyone I wanted. I didn’t have to kiss him. I’d intentionally tried to make him jealous. I’d tried to hurt him. All I wanted to do right then was run to him, beg him to forgive me, and ask him to get me out of there.

  He seemed stuck in the moment with me, his eyes tracing my features and taking in my form. I could see the shift in his expression as he took in the bruises and scrapes on the parts of my body he could see. His gaze flickered to his cousins in turn, rage-filled questions burned in his eyes.

  Brock mumbled beside me. “She’s not in good shape.”

  Stryker glanced back at me, his eyes somber and strong. As if memorizing my features, his expression softened and his gaze roved my face. He didn’t look at Brock or Gunner as he spoke. “Get her out of here.” He didn’t wait for an answer, knowing they’d do exactly what he wanted.

  Stryker turned from me and strode down the hallway, flanked by the men in suits. He didn’t look back as he burst through the doors, releasing the cheering crowd’s exuberance at the start of a fight.

  My fight.

  Then it clicked. I kept asking about Stryker’s whereabouts and they hadn’t answered. All Gunner and Brock wanted was get me out of there. That had been their focus.

  Stryker had sent them on a job – to retrieve me – so he could fight.

  “Why is he fighting? What is he doing? That’s my fight.” My strength returned with the adrenaline and rejection thrumming through me. My senses became heightened and I could almost taste the sweat from the crowd, the cologne on the guys beside me, and the fresh coat of paint that had been applied about three months before in the hall.

  Brock and Gunner loosened their hold on my arms and I took the momentary lapse and ran with it. I broke free, forcing my beaten and weakened legs to push me forward to the door. I made it ten steps before Brock encircled my waist with his well-built arms and pulled me to a stop.

  Gasping for breath, I reached out toward the ring I couldn’t even see with my eyes, but I could picture in my head. I sobbed. “That’s my fight. It’s a death match. He can’t fight a girl. They’ll never allow it.” Nothing made sense and my words tumbled on themselves without any logical connection. At least to me. “They’ll all…”

  Gunner turned me while he spoke. “Stryker isn’t fighting a girl and definitely not the one you were matched to on your card.”

  I blinked at him. In my confusion, I stumbled and reached out, but I was caught by both of them before I even had a chance to completely lose my footing.

  “He’s not fighting her. Okay, is he fighting another Romanov?” I felt like I was floating as they half-carried me toward the exit doors. Where were we going? Stryker was behind us. He was going into the ring.

  We had to be there. We had to stop him.

  The fresh chilly air struck me in the face as we burst through the doors. It finished what the ammonia started and I snapped back into myself.

  I jerked from their grasp, setting my hands on my hips to stop me from folding over. “Who is he fighting? I need answers, you guys. Please.” If I’d been in fully functioning mode, I wouldn’t beg. But as I was, I would do anything to get things figured out in my mind.

  “Stryker isn’t fighting a Romanov.” Gunner glanced past me and then over his shoulder as he checked the parking lot.

  Thankfully, the sweats I wore protected me from the wind. I was still cold from my containment, but things were starting to feel warmer. “Who. Is. He. Fighting.” I wouldn’t ask again and I think they figured it out from the clenched position of my jaw.

  Brock sighed and reached out as if trying to distract me or to cool my anger. “He’s fighting Sergio Ivanovs.”

  My eyes widened and I stared at Brock in disbelief. “No. No. He can’t fight him, Brock.” I turned to Gunner. “Stop him, Gunner. Please. He can’t fight Sergio. He won’t make it.”

  “Have a little faith, Gray. Stryker will be fine. He’s a solid fighter.” Gunner patted my arm and jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “We need to leave. Most of the Russians still think you’re to blame for Sonya’s death.”

  “Because I am.” I resisted their tug toward a yellow and blue Jeep. “I killed her. She might not have gone into the ring in the best condition, but my punch was what killed her.” I swallowed and stared at each one in turn.

  My voice grew husky as it constricted with emotion. “You don’t understand. If I don’t fight and win… my dad dies, Sara dies, you guys die, even… my mom.” The last came on a whisper and even though she’d abandoned me, I wanted to save her. I didn’t want to be the reason she died. I could barely handle the possibility that I was the reason she’d left.

  “If Stryker wins… you don’t have to worry about any of that. He agreed to the trade that was Vlasi Ivanovs’s idea. There has to be justice, Gray.” Brock had said if.

  I focused on the improbability introduced with that word. “You said if, Brock. I can’t hope that Stryker lives so I’ll be free from the consequences of my actions. Mine.” I thrust my finger at my chest and stared them both down. “He can’t fight this for me.”

  “You can’t fight the fight that needs to be fought. Do you think it’s that Romanov girl’s fault? Why should you fight her when she didn’t do anything wrong? A death match? It’s not her fault and she doesn’t deserve that.” Gunner jutted his jaw to the side as he crossed his arms and watched me. “The man responsible for Sonya’s death is Sergio. You can’t fight him. No matter how much you might want to. It would never be allowed. Stryker has just as much at stake here as you do.”

  That wasn’t possible. Stryker’s entire network of friends and family weren’t in danger.

  Unless they were.

  “What happens, if Stryker loses?” My whisper barely came out. I didn’t want to consider the possibility.

  “You mean, besides the fact that he dies and his death is covered up?” Brock tucked his hands into his back pockets and stared out toward the trees lining the south end of the parking lot. “Sergio goes after Jedediah, Vlasi, us, you, big pieces of the community, and I’m sure people I haven’t even thought of.” He nodded his head in the direction of the club. “Your friend, Bruce, is a conspirator, so he’ll be dealt with, if he hasn’t been already by Sergio’s men. So, yeah, Stryker’s failure would have even more loss around it.”

  My shoulders caved forward at the realization that one way or the other Stryker or I needed to fight. There was no way out except the death match. If it wasn’t me, it was Stryker. I suddenly had more willingness to fight than I’d ever had in my life.

  “I’ll fight. Get back in there and make the trade. It can s
till be stopped.” I took a step toward the doors we’d just left and paused at the look on Gunner and Brock’s faces.

  Gunner shook his head. “It’s too late. Sergio knows his father knows what happened. This is happening Stryker’s way, Gray. Get on board, or we’ll have to forcibly take you away from here.”

  The fact that they knew what I’d just been through and still made the threat proved how helpless I really was. I couldn’t breathe, and out there in the middle of the parking lot, I’d never felt so claustrophobic.

  Me or Stryker. The decision had been made and it was one more thing to add to my list of regrets.

  Chapter 13

  Stryker

  Renewed strength poured through me as I assimilated what had happened to Gray. I couldn’t process what could have happened. I didn’t want to think of her being raped or beaten, but the bruises were obvious along her neck and chest revealed by the open zippered-front of her sweatshirt. I could only picture what the sweats hid.

  Dark shadows could have passed as bruises under her eyes and her cheeks were sunken in.

  Even with all that, I wanted her.I dug my fingers into my palms, the leather of my MMA-style gloves creaking, something I could feel more than hear.

  Pushing through the doors, I lifted my chest as the crowd overflowing in the club yelled and screamed. They had no idea who I was but they knew something good was coming.

  I moved toward the raised ring, my breathing measured as I swaggered to the front, shaking my arms out and stretching my neck to the side, front, back, and side. Climbing into the ring on the canvas, I bounced a little on my toes and waited for Sergio to be delivered to me. I’d barely hold it together, if I could even do that with as much anger as I had bottled inside me.

  The room was warmer than it had been when I’d searched for Gray. I’d had to change fast after the meeting with Vlasi and Jedediah. Without even the proper warmup, I was at a distinct disadvantage until I realized that Sergio had no idea he was even fighting. At least I had time to get myself into the frame of mind.