Beautiful Soldier: A Dark High School Romance (The Heights Crew Book 3)

by E. M. Moore

  “Did you do this?” Magnum barks, gesturing toward Farmingham’s lifeless body.

  The guy has the audacity to roll his eyes, even though he’s barely spared a glance away from Brawler since he’s recognized him. If Brawler knows who he is, he hasn’t confirmed as much, and with the bunching of his muscles, I’m not sure he has. It has to be someone from the past though. No one calls him Mack anymore.

  “Simmer down, Magnum,” he spits. “I knew you’d show up, and we need to talk.”

  “You know I don’t like talking.”

  The guy ignores him. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to Kyla?”

  “I’d just as soon put a bullet between your eyes.”

  The guy leans coolly against the bar in the back as if he was truly just waiting for us to show up. “You know, that hurts. We were always friends.”

  “Friends don’t walk away from each other.”

  The guy’s gaze moves to Brawler’s, and true regret lies there. “I agree.”

  Brawler can’t stand it. “Alright, what the fuck is going on?”

  Magnum moves toward us, gun still outstretched. “Take Kyla and get out of here. I’ll clean up the mess.”

  “For fuck’s sake, Magnum.” Cold exasperation laces the intruder’s words. “I’m not going to hurt you. Or Mack. Or Kyla. I came here to talk. Isn’t that why you came here? To find out what happened to your recruit?”

  Magnum’s jaw tenses. “We don’t need your help.”

  A quirky smile turns his lips. “The fact that Rocket’s girlfriend was almost kidnapped and then framed for murder says you do.” He turns to look at me. “Hello, by the way. I’m Cole.”

  I step out around Brawler, making sure to drop his hand. Whoever the guy is, he obviously has history with the Crew, and he knows I’m Johnny’s girlfriend, so holding Brawler’s hand won’t do. “Sounds like you already know me, so I won’t bother introducing myself.”

  “Wait…Cole?” Brawler asks, his voice dipping a few octaves.

  Sadness washes over Cole’s face. “Yeah, Mack. Cole.”

  Mag moves forward, his gun still raised in Cole’s direction even after we’ve pretty much already solidified that they used to be friends—or at least know each other.

  Cole raises his hands in front of him in a motion of surrender. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

  “Not that you fucking could,” Mag scoffs.

  Cole licks his lips, looking slightly keyed up, but mostly bored. “I won’t try anything, Mag. I came here to talk and to talk only. I don’t even have a weapon on me, and I know how good of a shot you are with that thing, so I’d appreciate it if you lowered it the fuck down.” Mag doesn’t relent, and Cole sighs. “I didn’t kill your recruit, but I know who did. I knew you’d be coming here looking for info, and I have it. That’s the only reason why I’m here.”

  Mag drops the gun to his side hesitantly, but even so, just that motion lifts weight from my shoulders. So far, Cole hasn’t shown us that he means any harm, and I’m willing to take him at his word. For now. Mag must be too, otherwise he never would’ve lowered his weapon.

  “I remember you,” Brawler says, his voice far away as if stuck on a memory and not like we’re also discussing murder and gang shit.

  Cole rubs his neck, his many hoop earrings tinkling against one another for a surprisingly gentle tone that defies the moment.

  “Who is he?” I ask.

  “He was my brother’s friend.”

  Cole takes a deep breath. “And Johnny’s,” he says, locking gazes with me. Then, he moves his stare to the copper-headed bodyguard. “And Mag’s.”

  “We’re not walking down memory lane. You defected, and by right, I should be killing your ass right now.”

  “You won’t do that, though, will you?” Cole asks, smirking. He crosses his arms, showing off more ink on his skin. He laughs, and it’s not friendly. I don’t understand the power struggle going on, but Magnum isn’t happy about it. “I mean, we are family after all.”

  I blink, then swing my gaze over to Mag who expands like a bomb ready to detonate.

  He peeks at Brawler and me from the corner of his eye. “Cousins,” he elaborates. His face when he looks back at his family is this side of terrifying. “Start talking.”

  “It was Gregory’s guys sending a warning.”

  “We figured as much,” Mag says, his tone biting.

  “But you weren’t sure.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Hearing things,” he shrugs. “It doesn’t matter. You’ll find Gregory’s calling card in the recruit’s pocket. He wants you to know it was him. He wants you to know he’s not going away as easily as you’d like. He’s also actively recruiting in your area, so be careful. The Heights Crew has always had a lot of supporters, but they also have people who hate them. Right?”

  He eyes Mag, and it might seem like he’s just asking a question, but it looks like a hell of a lot more than that, too. Since he defected, he’s probably talking about himself and others like him. I know more than anyone how people can end up hating the Heights Crew. Even Farmingham’s dead body on the couch is proof of that. How will his family react? Will they hate the people who did it? Or blame the Crew because they’re the linking piece?

  “I want to help,” Cole says. “You know why I left.”

  But I don’t, and I’m sensing that’s a major part of the story that I’m missing. “And why’s that?”

  Cole goes to answer, but Mag shuts that shit down. “Is that all you’ve got for us?”

  “For now.”

  Mag lifts the gun in his hands again, lining up his shot. His finger steadies over the trigger, and Cole pales.

  I take in a steady breath, wondering if Mag is actually going to do it. His own cousin. “Just get out of here,” he says, eventually.

  He trains the gun on him the whole time he walks toward the door. Cole stops briefly before addressing Brawler. “Don’t get involved in Crew shit, Mack. Your brother wouldn’t have wanted that for you.” He doesn’t wait for an answer, just turns and walks away.

  We wait, his footsteps thudding down the stairs until the bang of the exterior door sounds, signaling his retreat from the warehouse.

  Magnum finally puts his firearm away, sticking it back in the waistband of his black tactical pants. He moves forward, patting down Farmingham’s pockets. In his front right, Mag sneaks his hand in and pulls out something. He peers into his palm, shaking his head. He turns, and Brawler and I slide closer.

  “Seriously?” My brows raise. “Fucking Runts?” A small package of Runts candy lies in the middle of my badass bodyguard’s palm like some cosmic joke.

  “Our intel said Candy’s was more his than Dunnegan’s.”

  “But his calling card is fucking Runts?” I can’t tell if I should laugh my ass off or be impressed that a bad guy is willing to use such an inferior candy as his calling card. Like, what the fuck do we do with that? I mean, he could’ve used Skittles if he was going for something sweet. Or better yet, chocolate. Dark chocolate. Dark chocolate with nuts. That’s a hell of a lot more sinister than candy shaped like fruit.

  Brawler doesn’t say anything to this, and upon closer inspection, he’s retreated inside himself. Mag looks at him warily. “You okay?”

  The dark angel wings on his neck catch my attention. They’re for his brother, and I’m sure that’s who he’s thinking about right now. He gives himself a shake. “Fine. I just didn’t expect to run into someone from the past today.”

  Mag moves over, placing his arm on Brawler’s shoulder. “We can’t trust Cole.” He locks gazes with me. “I don’t care what he says. Yes, he knew your brother, and he was friends with Johnny, but we’re not trusting him. Okay?”

  “What happened to him?” Brawler asks.

  Mag drops his hand. “He left after your brother died. Defected. No one’s heard from him since, but there are rumors he hooked up with another gang. I wouldn’t be surprised. I saw the hint
of a fire tattoo on his neck.”

  I’m almost afraid to ask. “And that is?”

  “Not from around here,” Magnum answers as he glares down at what’s left of Farmingham. “But there’s a gang in the tri-state area called the Dragons.”

  Fire. Dragons. It makes sense. I peek up at him. “How much trouble are you going to be in because you didn’t kill him?”

  “We keep this to ourselves for now,” Mag says, eyeing us both. “We’ll tell K we found Gregory’s calling card ourselves, which I would’ve. I don’t trust the fact that he showed up here, regardless of what he’s said.”

  Mag is thorough. He didn’t need to be told to check Farmingham’s pockets. The only thing Cole succeeded in doing was popping up out of nowhere as if he was trying to throw us off. Or offer help. He knew Magnum would show up at the scene and used the opportunity to talk to him. The reasoning behind it is the only thing that remains in the dark.

  Whatever his reasonings, I’m with Mag. We hold him at arm’s length if he decides to show up again with vague answers. I don’t care about his history with the Crew or my guys.

  “I’ll call in our cleanup team,” Mag says.

  I drift my gaze back to Farmingham’s dead body as Mag moves to the side of the room, bringing his phone to his ear.

  “He wasn’t even our recruit,” I say, dumbfounded at the whole thing and trying not to look at all the blood pooled on the floor. I thought the guy was sleazy—an ass—but there are worse people who deserve to end up like this.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Brawler says. “Everything the Crew touches dies.”

  9

  In the back of the car on our return trip to the tower, Brawler traces lines over my thigh absentmindedly. Goosebumps spread over my exposed skin, settling in the base of my spine. It’s been so easy to come back to the Heights and fall into everything again. Everything feels so natural.

  And no, I’m not talking about the dead body. I’m talking about working with the people I care about.

  Magnum’s been quiet since the warehouse. As natural as it is for him to be self-reflective and listen rather than talk, he’s doing it for a whole other reason right now. His cousin showing up threw him for a loop. “You have a lot of history with him, huh?” I ask.

  Mag blinks, looking into the rearview mirror. He nods. “That’s an understatement. We came into the Crew at the same time.” He runs a hand over the side of his scruff. “I didn’t think I’d see him again.”

  “K?” Brawler guesses.

  Mag turns left down a side street, grabbing the steering wheel from underneath. “K wasn’t at the top then. It was Mayhem.”

  Now that’s a name I haven’t heard yet. “And Mayhem was where Big Daddy K is now?”

  “Top dog,” Magnum says, his words coming out on a breath. “But it doesn’t matter who gave the orders. Anyone who defects is shot on sight.”

  “That’s…a little harsh.” I entwine my fingers with Brawler’s. One day, we’re going to defect. All of us. We’ll have to make sure they never find us. “I don’t know why they won’t let people get out if they want to.”

  “People know too much. They can be used against us—them,” he says, correcting himself with a shake of his head. “Not many would go away quietly. Not many wouldn’t break under pressure from a rival gang and release as many secrets as they know. That’s why when you’re in, you’re in.”

  “You make it sound like we won’t ever have a chance.”

  Mag meets my gaze in the mirror again, but he doesn’t say anything to alleviate my worries. My stomach twists.

  Brawler hugs me to him. “Don’t lose hope.”

  “Hope is one thing I’ve never lost,” Mag says. He returns his gaze to the road then leans forward. “Shit. We’ve got a problem.” He pulls over.

  My heart rockets up my throat, lodging there until Mag has the car safely parked. Brawler and I follow his line of sight. “Shit.”

  Mag throws the car door open, and I scramble out of the car on the street side, leaving my door open. Magnum’s long strides eat up the cracked road so fast I have to jog to keep up with him, but eventually, we flank Oscar who’s getting shit from some guy.

  The thug pulls back, eyeing the sudden entourage Oscar has. For Oscar’s part, he doesn’t look perturbed at all. He’s still wearing that shit-eating grin like nothing in the world bothers him. I know that’s not true now, but it’s the image he likes to display for the world.

  “Is it true?” Blue bandana wearing a-hole asks. “My boy dead?” He doesn’t wait for an answer like he’s only interested in hearing himself talk. “We’re supposed to be kept safe. Chill and shit. Now word is we got a retaliation killin’. My boy,” he adds, pumping his fist against his chest.

  “Calm down, T,” Oscar says, bored. He kicks off the telephone pole he’d been leaning against when the guy got in his face and approaches him. “You know what it’s like in the Crew. No one ever sugarcoated it for you. Your boy is dead. Taken out by people with no regard for human life. That’s why we need to be in the Heights, and all the other pieces of shit competitors stay where they are. You feel me?”

  “But Farmingham, man? It ain’t right.”

  “It’s not, but bitching about it won’t do us any good either. We stopped recruiting him. He shouldn’t have been on their radar, but those pieces of shit didn’t give a damn about that.”

  Whoever this T is grinds his jaw. He doesn’t go to our school, not that I’ve noticed, anyway. He looks older. Mag’s age or even older than that. He’s got a tattoo of a tear coming off the edge of his eye.

  I see why. He’s a whiny bitch.

  “Now,” Oscar says. “You good?”

  The guy’s jaw ticks, but he’s done complaining. He nods, hiking his pants up his hips.

  “Good.” Oscar’s fist flies through the air, clocking the guy in the jaw. The guy stumbles until his back hits the side of the building. The guy’s eyes round as Oscar stalks after him, suddenly taller and getting in this guy’s face as a red mark brightens his skin. “Don’t ever get in my face again, T.” He takes the collar of his shirt and throws him back. T’s head hits the brick wall behind him. Fury ignites in T’s eyes, but he stays where he is, gaze darting to the rest of us surrounding our friend. Oscar runs his hand over his face. “Your fucking drunk spittle hit my cheek.”

  Oscar steps back, and the guy takes it as his cue to leave. He does so in a hurry, holding his jeans up as he goes, otherwise he’d be showing us his ass crack.

  I put my hand on Oscar’s shoulder. “Hey. You okay?”

  He shrugs me off him, sending me a warning look over his shoulder.

  I back off, only because we’re in public. I hate seeing him this angry, whether he’s putting on a show for the Heights or not.

  “Did you talk to everyone?” Mag asks.

  Oscar slowly turns. His hard mask is on, the one that grows wary when we’re alone, but is stuck messing up his perfect features when we’re anywhere else. “People are afraid. First Kyla, now Farmingham.”

  “K will make it right. He always does.”

  I can only imagine what that means. More bloodshed. Bringing someone in and killing them at the dinner table like he did with Dunnegan. Shooting someone point blank in the face. Someone will pay for taking out Farmingham. That’s how Big Daddy K runs this place.

  Oscar starts to walk away. His bike is parked up ahead, pulled right up onto the sidewalk.

  “Where are you going?” I call out.

  “Someone told me my mom is passed out a couple of alleys over. I have to get her and drop her off at home. Is that okay with you, Princess?”

  My blood boils underneath the surface. I stalk after him, calling out over my shoulder. “I’m going with Bat.”

  “Whoa, whoa,” Mag says, jogging up to meet me by Oscar’s bike. “What are you doing?” he whispers, gaze darting around.

  “Oscar needs help, so I’m going with him.”

  Oscar looks at me wi
th a challenging stare, eyebrow raised. He wants me to come with him. He’s practically salivating for it even though he’s trying as hard as possible to look aloof.

  “Johnny…” Mag starts.

  “I’ll deal with Johnny,” I tell him. He told me Oscar and Mag are watching over me. I’m sure he didn’t mean like this, but I’m not technically wrong. Besides, before the fight that never happened, Johnny was getting used to the idea of other people around us. I suspect he was even beginning to like it. I don’t know what a month of being isolated with his father has done to him, but I don’t think he’ll freak over this. Oscar is perfectly capable of taking care of me. “I’ll see you guys later?”

  Brawler and Mag both look resigned as Oscar holds a helmet out to me. His sly grin jumps as I slide in around him. I pull him tight, tight enough that he expels a breath. “Remember where we are,” I breathe.

  “I’m not an idiot.”

  “Just to look for your mom and then back to the tower,” Mag orders.

  “Yeah, Pops,” Oscar says, his chest rumbling with laughter at the look Magnum sends his way. “He’s touchy,” Oscar says to me as he starts the bike, the engine gunning to life underneath us.

  “It’s hot as hell,” I deadpan, sliding my gaze to Jacob’s.

  “Hold tight, Princess. I’ll show you hot.”

  Oscar takes off, shooting down the dead city streets. People are likely staying in after what happened to Farmingham. No one wants to be the next easy victim.

  A sickening feeling twists my gut. Farmingham had to be sleeping in the warehouse. I wonder if he was homeless. Or if he was just trying to escape something.

  But also, who knew he was sleeping there? Or was someone following him?

  A lot of unanswered questions flip through my brain as Oscar hits the side streets. He slows as we keep our eyes peeled for his mom. She wasn’t the nicest person the last time we met. In fact, she straight up scratched my face, but that was the drugs in her system. I don’t know what we’ll find today, if we find her at all.

  The first couple of alleyways are a bust. There’s nothing. No one is out and about, except for a few homeless men living in cardboard boxes lined with newspaper. Oscar bypasses them, the roar of the motorcycle kicking up around us and echoing back tenfold as the noise bounces between the buildings surrounding us.