by E. M. Moore
Time slows as K says, “Brawler came to me yesterday and wants to recruit into the Crew.”
Noooo! I grip the table in front of me and glare at Brawler, eyes willing him to look at me, but he stands stoic.
He has no idea what he’s just done.
17
I keep willing Brawler to look at me. I stare every dagger I have into the side of his face because what in the ever-loving fuck is he thinking? Join the Crew?
Magnum presses in closer from behind. My muscles are so locked up it feels as if my skin will rip apart, coating the room in my flesh and blood.
Why would he do this? The Crew isn’t the place for him. He was the only one of us who could escape from this cleanly. Literally, the only one of us who could skip off into the sunset, but not if he does this. Once he aligns himself with the Crew, there’s no getting out without repercussions.
Think, think, think, I scold myself.
“Relax,” a whisper sounds from behind me. Magnum takes a deep breath and releases it. I try to match my breaths with his, but I feel like I’m going to throw up.
When I made the promise not to say anything during this meeting, I didn’t know this was going to happen. I had no idea Brawler would throw himself into the line of fire for no goddamn reason.
All the happy thoughts I’ve ever had about Brawler not being in the Crew crash at my feet. Well, at least Brawler is safe. At least Brawler can get out, sit like nauseous bricks in the bottom of my stomach.
This is someone I care about. I can’t just sit back and let this happen.
Johnny glances over. His gaze narrows as he takes me in. “Are you okay? You’re white as a sheet.”
“Just feel sick all of a sudden,” I croak out, thankful for the excuse on the tip of my tongue. I do actually feel sick from the rotten turn this meeting has taken.
Johnny places his arm around me, squeezing my shoulder and rubbing his hand up and down my forearm in an attempt to comfort me.
“What’s going on?” K snaps, eyeing the two of us with his anger-spitting gaze.
“Kyla doesn’t feel well.” Johnny goes to stand.
K slams his fist on the table and shouts, “Sit!”
For his part, Johnny hovers over his seat, flashing a look at his father. He doesn’t give in, but I don’t mistake the conflict in his gaze.
K pulls his suit coat together as if he’s pulling himself together from his little outburst. “We need to finish this.”
“At least let Kyla leave,” Johnny says.
K flicks his sinister gaze to me. “I have something to discuss with Kyla afterward. Surely, she can make it to the end of the meeting.”
I might not make it to the end of the meeting to kill his ass. I’m sure Magnum has his pistol in his waistband right now. I could slip out of this chair, grab it, aim, and shoot. I’d smile in the bloodshed. I’d revel in his shocked expression.
If Brawler goes through with this, Big Daddy K will have his hooks in everyone I care for.
I tuck my arm around my middle, clenching myself. As much as I want to tell K to fuck off, I give him a smile instead. “I should be fine. Thank you.”
I use my other hand to tug Johnny back down in his seat. He’s furious. His body is almost pulled as taut as mine, but we’ve already gathered the attention of the whole room, and I can’t have this looking suspicious.
“I don’t think I ate this morning, is all. It’ll pass,” I clarify, giving everyone in the room a small smile. Better they think I’m a sick wimp than an enemy contemplating the murder of their leader.
I think back to this morning where Johnny woke me with another round of intense sex, and then my fake grin turns into a real one as I return my stare to K. I fucked your son, even though you explicitly told us not to. I rode his dick until he came inside me. He can have this one, and I can have my silent one, too.
Big Daddy K does not own us.
“Well, we can’t have that for our prizefighter, can we?” He turns toward Trey. “Can you get Maureen to bring our princess some snacks? Fruit, perhaps?”
I lock my jaw down. That’s it. No one else is allowed to call me princess but Oscar.
Speaking of, I glance over to find him watching me. His eyes latch on as if he’s trying to convey some sort of message, but my head’s too fucked to figure out what it is right now. I’m already trying to calm myself down, and I haven’t jumped up and killed the asshole yet, so his secret message is lost on me.
While Trey strolls into the back where the servants must hang out, Big Daddy K continues. His tone is far sharper than it was the first time around. I can imagine he’s bitching up a storm about feminine shit in his head. He probably never had to feed a dude at this table before just because he wasn’t feeling well. Yeah, the situation doesn’t look good for me, but the other avenue was getting out of this chair and telling them all to fuck off.
Now, that would’ve been far worse.
“You may remember that Manning Timms served the Crew until he lost his life in a retaliation by...” Big Daddy K waves his hands like he can’t be bothered to remember who killed Brawler’s brother, and I know Brawler must be standing there wanting to put his enormous paws around his neck and squeeze until the life runs out of him. Fucking asshole. “Brawler, why don’t you tell the group why you want to join the Crew?”
Brawler finally looks around, but his stare never lands on me. His gaze lingers over everyone in the room except me even though he must feel the hot pokers I’m burning into his huge, chiseled body. “The fight organizer position has served me well, and I believe I’ve brought a great deal to the Crew just as the Crew has done for me.” His voice is sure, almost practiced. The only tell that he’s lying through his teeth is the way his jaw ticks, and the fact that he won’t fucking look at me. “I believe I can serve the Crew better if I were a full-fledged member. It’s time to stop sitting on the sidelines and join things head on. I know my brother loved the camaraderie and the brotherhood, and I’m looking forward to experiencing that as well. The only family I have left is my mother, so I can commit to complete dedication to The Heights Crew.”
The acid in my stomach sluices around, tossing like a ship in a storm. I don’t care why he thinks he’s doing this, I’m just going to kill him. That’s that. I’m going to murder his ass before he even has the chance to join the Crew, which is going to end up killing him anyway. Out of everyone I’ve met here, Brawler does not belong.
Fuck. His fighting career. What’s going to happen with that? He’s giving up so much. This is going to be Oscar all over again. Dreams ripped out from under him because the priority isn’t about him anymore, it’s all the Crew.
The backs of my eyes physically hurt and burn with the fight to wrangle in the tears that threaten. I never wanted this for him. I’m sure he has some very thought out reason why this is a good move, but it’s not. Nothing he will say will make me change my mind.
“Well, you certainly look the part,” one of the businessmen boasts.
The table laughs, and it’s sickening. If they only know the reasoning behind his neck tattoos. The story that made me fall for him even more.
“If the table agrees, we’ll fast track him. He’s already been helping the Crew out, and he’s almost graduated anyway. We won’t stick him in the group of this year’s recruits. Show of hands?” Big Daddy K lifts an eyebrow.
Around the room, hands lift in the air like they’re giving the boy scout salute. I glare at Oscar when his hand rises. Next to me, Johnny’s opposite hand rises as well, and I almost crack a tooth.
K glances around the room but stops on me. I’m still sitting with my hands tucked under my thighs, so I don’t accidentally jump out of the chair and throttle anyone. “Kyla?”
“Yes?”
“If you’re at the table, you vote.”
Dread twists my insides. “Oh, I didn’t—”
He sighs angrily. “You’re practically my son’s wife and you’re sitting at the table. Vot
e, dammit. Yes or no?”
I dig my nails into the chair underneath me. Everyone else in the room has voted yes. If I don’t, they’re going to ask questions, and I can’t give them the true explanation. But voting yes is going to kill me. It won’t matter in the scheme of things because everyone else has voted yes. My vote technically doesn’t count, but my hand weighs a thousand pounds as I lift it into the air slowly.
My heart cracks open inside my chest. I can tell myself my vote didn’t count all I want, but it feels as if I just sent someone I cared about to his death.
I’ll never forgive myself for this. Never.
K’s head bobs. “Excellent. We’ll discuss your initiation tasks and get back to you, Brawler. If you complete those, you’ll be sworn in, but not before.” He gestures toward the end of the table where Oscar is sitting. “Why don’t you take a seat? The next business item deals with the fight ring, so it will be good to hear your opinion.”
Brawler walks around the table, head held high. He’s not wearing his usual clothes. He’s dressed in a polo shirt and khakis, and it’s difficult not to notice how damn good looking he is in them. The sleeves of the dark green polo hug his biceps, showing off how muscular he is. He looks like he’s come dressed for a job interview, which is exactly what this was, I guess. A job interview he never needed to have.
When he sits, he still doesn’t make eye contact. A chill goes through me. The last person who sat in that chair got their brains blown out. Coincidence? Probably not. We’ve signed Brawler’s death warrant.
Johnny squeezes my thigh, and I turn my attention to K again. From the back of the room, an elderly woman moves forward with a platter of fruit that she sets in the middle of the table. K’s gaze flicks from me to the platter, so I immediately reach out and grab a banana. A few of the other men around the table also take an offering. I force a few bites down because I don’t want to seem ungrateful even though I’m almost positive I’ll probably throw all this back up as soon as I leave here. I just hope I can wait that long.
“So, The Ring. As everyone else is aware, the Crew took a beating financially over the last several weeks. The fights stopped, as well as Candy’s. Those two were our moneymakers, and although the other businesses are great supplemental income for the organization,” he says, glancing toward the other guys in the room, “...it’s not enough to sustain us. We need to get the fights back up ASAP. I want Kyla headlining. The fight has to be good. Draw in the biggest crowds. I want that place packed and the audience begging for more.” He turns his gaze to Brawler. “Who’s your best fighter besides Kyla?”
“Limone and Kyla are our top fighters.”
K cocks his head. “Limone? She’s a chick, right? I’m talking best fighter. Male, female, transvestite. I don’t give a fuck. I want the best fighter opposite Kyla in The Ring.”
Brawler swallows, but Johnny speaks up. “Brawler,” he says. “Brawler’s the best fighter we have.”
“Excellent,” K says. “Set that fight up.” He laughs as if he’s told the funniest joke in the world.
My stomach bottoms out. Fight Brawler? This can’t be happening. I can’t fight Brawler. The idea is ludicrous.
K taps his chin. “Hmm. I think the fight should be one of your initiation tasks, Brawler.” He nods as if he’s enjoying this moment too much. “Yes, I like this. Your first initiation task is to beat our little Uppercut Princess.”
I grip the side of the table as the world tilts on its axis. Again. Twice within the span of fifteen minutes. I have to fight Brawler. Injured. Not only that. He has to beat me because he’s recruiting into the Crew.
“Maybe we should pick a different match up,” Johnny offers. Realization dawns on his face. His father has just signed me up for a trip to the hospital. He knows recruits will do anything to complete their tasks.
K zeroes his gaze in on his son. The challenge written there is enough to bring anyone to their knees. “I thought you had every confidence in the world in Kyla. Didn’t she beat Roza’s guy for us? Didn’t she—?”
“I do,” Johnny snaps. He tries to regain his composure and fails. “But she’s injured.”
“The Crew can’t wait for injuries, Johnny. You know how important it is for us to get the businesses up and running again.”
“I know,” Johnny says through gritted teeth. I slip my hand underneath the table and grip his thigh. It’s my turn to warn him. We can’t piss off K right now. He’ll hurt Johnny, and he might even take his defiance out on me. I couldn’t care less about that fact. I can hold my own, but Johnny cares. He wouldn’t forgive himself if his father hurt me because of him. Hell, I’m sensing this is what this is. He wants me to get taken down a peg or two. “I just thought we could give her another week,” Johnny says, calming to the point where he can speak with confidence. “Have Brawler fight someone else as the headliner since he’s not injured. Maybe even tease an upcoming huge fight. What will bring the crowd back if our two best fighters have already fought?”
“That’s Brawler’s problem, not mine,” K says dismissively, though the tick in his jaw commandeers my attention. He doesn’t like Johnny disagreeing with him. “He knows what’s at stake, and he’s never had a problem filling the fights before. Do you want to change your vote on Brawler?” He finishes with a defiant smirk as if he’s caught his son looking like an asshole.
“No,” Johnny says simply, the matching tick in his jaw too much to overlook.
The tension between the two is palpable and raw. A few of the businessmen shift in their seats, no doubt feeling it too. K has probably killed people for lesser infractions...like my parents.
The reminder is a kick to the gut. I lean on Johnny and run my hands over his thigh. He’s just worried about me, but he needn’t be. I’ll do what I have to. For all of them.
But Johnny won’t understand the turmoil raking my body when I square up in front of Brawler. To fight to win. To hurt someone I care about.
Sparring is a different scenario. We never punch, kick or swing at each other with the intent to do real damage. This time, we’ll have to.
I move my gaze away from the clusterfuck that is K and Johnny’s relationship and peek at Brawler. He’ll have to fight me to win, even though it will kill him, too. If he doesn’t win, he doesn’t get into the Crew.
I don’t give a fuck about that, but he does. He never would’ve put himself in this position if he didn’t think joining the Crew was the right course to take.
I bet he never imagined this would happen though.
For the first time, he glances over at me and our gazes connect. The turquoise in his eyes swirl like fall leaves. His jaw tightens, hard as granite. As is mine. To outsiders, it probably looks as if we’re sizing each other up or staring one another down in preparation for the fight.
They have no idea the opposite thoughts plaguing us. How can I hurt this person? How can I hit them with the intent to do damage when all I want to do is hold them to me and keep them safe?
I don’t know how this is going to play out, but I know that the first time my knuckles connect with Brawler’s skin for real, I’ll lose a piece of myself.
That’s what the Heights takes from you. Your humanity. I see it in Johnny all the time. Little by little, piece-by-piece, it takes the part of you that makes you human. It either rips it from you completely or twists it into something you don’t recognize.
Hurting Brawler will do all this and more to me.
K wants a good fight, and he’ll get one. I just hope that afterward, Brawler and I can soothe one another. Forgive one another. Move on from this shit thing that’s just happened.
Because more than anything, I need us to.
“It’s settled then,” Big Daddy K says, his voice ringing with finality. “Brawler and Kyla fight Friday.”
18
This can’t be happening.
As Big Daddy K’s guests leave, I stay by Johnny. I track Brawler as he and Oscar walk out side-by-side. The upcoming co
nversation I’ll have with him won’t be fun. I’m angry. I’m hurt. I’m worried about everything happening at once.
Big Daddy K sees everyone out until the four of us are left over, me, Johnny, Mag, and the douche himself. Johnny threads his fingers through mine. He whispers, “You should go.”
I grind down on my teeth. There are a lot of things I need to be doing right now, but this is just as important as the others. Besides, K said he needed to speak with me. Unless that was just a dick measuring contest. A way to see if I’d stick it out in the room.
Johnny’s father moves into view. He prowls forward like a dangerous predator, his eyes on Johnny. “Out, Kyla.”
My back straightens. I can’t leave Johnny, I can’t. “I thought you needed to speak with me.”
“Another time,” K says through clenched teeth, gaze zeroed in on his son.
Johnny squeezes my fingers and lets them go, wiggling himself from my grip. “I thought I—”
“Go!” K roars, making me jump. His face turns a furious shade of red. “I will not be ignored.”
“Magnum,” Johnny pleads with his friend and bodyguard.
Magnum takes my shoulders, forcibly steering me from the room. I peek over my shoulder, watching the glaring match play out until I can’t see them anymore. The first crack of skin on skin whips through the room before the door is even shut behind us.
I turn, digging my heels in to go back, but Magnum has years of experience on me. He wraps his arms around me with a vise-like grip, speaking softly into my ear. “You won’t help. Johnny’s got this. He’s been dealing with this his whole life.”
Thankfully, no one else is in the hall as he carries me into the elevator, my feet just grazing the carpet at our feet. He presses the number for our floor briefly before returning his arms to me, holding me in place and soothing me at the same time.
“He hit him again,” I grind out, my mind flashing to all the terrible things K could be doing to Johnny right now. “He should put me in the ring with himself. I’ll kick his fucking ass.”
