by E. M. Moore
The reminder of past Johnny sits like a dead weight in my stomach. It doesn’t change the way I feel about him. I can acknowledge the person he was, but still see the man he is right now. “He doesn’t treat me like that anymore.”
“He beat the shit out of Oscar for touching your wrist. He’s a loose cannon. Don’t you think it’s a little suspicious he offered me up, Kyla? When we were at the meeting, K asked who the best fighter was. He could’ve said anyone. Instead, he said me.”
“Well, you are,” I say, brows pulling together.
“He also knows we’re friends,” he says, disgust at the word lacing his tone. “He should also know that the last thing we would want to do is fight each other.”
I shake my head. I get Brawler’s suspicion. Johnny doesn’t have a great track record when it comes to me. No, I haven’t forgotten the bruising and the physical pain he inflicted, but I’ll maintain that was from a scared boy. Now, he’s a man, coming into his own. He’s not his father’s puppet any longer. He’s not in his father’s shadow, doing as he does. He’ll make his own decisions here on out, and hopefully, that decision will be joining the family I’m trying to build for us. One that will love him for who he is, background scars and all. “I love that you’re concerned,” I tell him. “But I think what happened there was just Johnny falling into a routine. His father asked a question, and he answered truthfully. He didn’t think about the consequences.”
Brawler looks like he wants to argue, but he doesn’t. This fighter has the biggest heart out of everyone I know. He’ll forgive Johnny, eventually. If only because I ask him to, he will.
“Well,” he finally says. “If you’ll stop distracting me. Your phone is in my gym bag. You need to call your aunt before we leave here. I’ve been texting her. I hope that’s okay. I was pretending to be you, but she wants to hear your voice. I figured pretending to be you was better than having her send the police, considering you were gone for a long time.”
I move to my tiptoes to kiss him on the lips. “You’re the best.” I grip his shirt in my hands, tugging him even closer to me. Leaving my phone with Brawler was the best decision I could have made. I knew he would handle it.
I walk out of the office with a weight lifted off my shoulders. Connection is what we all need. A place for us to fit in. To feel like we belong somewhere that’s different than the shitstorm surrounding us.
22
Brawler rocks at texting because for once, the conversation I have with my aunt isn’t strained with accusations about how I’m not talking to them or how they’re worrying about what I’m doing. When I get off the phone with her, I have an actual smile on my face. So different from my normal wave of guilt that plagues me for the rest of the night.
In fact, I’m in such a good mood that I invite everyone over for dinner at my place.
“Um, Princess?”
I turn my head toward Oscar, just knowing by his asshole smirk that he’s two seconds from making me want to slap him. Lovingly, of course. “Yeah?”
“Aren’t you forgetting about Johnny?”
I crack an even bigger smile. “No, in fact, I’m thinking about Johnny and all of us. I’ll make dinner. We’ll watch movies and talk. It’ll be great.”
Brawler gazes at his feet while Oscar still stares at me as if I’ve lost my head. “Johnny isn’t one to have people over.”
“That’s because he’s usually up his dad’s ass. If we want to help him, we have to separate the two. Insert...us.”
“Insert us?” Oscar grins. “That’s your grand plan?” His voice takes on a high-pitched female quality as he says his next words. “Guess what, babe? I found you a new family, and now we can all be together.” He drops his facade. “That’s what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?”
I barely contain the laugh bubbling up my throat, but I do. I also step forward and give him a playful shove in the chest. “Yes, asshole. The sooner he finds out he actually likes you guys the better. If he actually likes you guys.”
“Please,” Oscar scoffs. “I’m downright lovable.”
I roll my eyes into the back of my head. Literally. Well, okay, not literally, but I roll them as far as I fucking can. That Drego, always so full of himself. “Then you’ll have no problem winning him over.” I move to peek at Mag. “This is a good idea, right?”
He scratches his scruff. I’m beginning to think he does that when he’s nervous, or thinking, or hell, basically any time. “It could go either way.”
Footsteps approach us, and I glance at Finn who’s come out of the back room with fresh clothes on. They’re about to shut down the gym, and he’s dressed like he’s about to head out for the night. “What could go either way?”
“I’m inviting everyone over to my place for dinner. I’m cooking. You in?”
Finn beams, but Jax speaks up from behind him. “No.”
Finn spins. “What? Why?”
“We’re not going to the tower. Are you fucking crazy?”
“We were there to pick her up for the last fight.”
Jax shakes his head. “That was before someone tried to fucking bomb it.” He glances over at me. “Thanks for the invitation, but we’ll pass.”
I nod at his answer. I honestly can’t blame him for his reaction. He’s just trying to keep them safe. “I understand. Maybe some other time? We can all go out to eat or something.”
Jax throws his arm around Finn, discreetly squeezing his shoulders. “Yeah. Sounds good,” Finn says, though he doesn’t appear to agree with his brother at all.
I step up, throwing my arms around him for a quick hug. “Sometime, ‘kay?” He nods, and I pull away. “Thanks for the training sesh.”
“Same place, same time tomorrow, Princess,” Finn says, replacing his frown with his coach exterior.
Automatically, my gaze veers to my poster on the wall. Honestly, it’s fucking badass. I look fierce and determined. Basically, everything I hope I look like when my opponent stares me down from the opposite side of the ring just before the bell rings.
Finn follows my gaze. “Our enrollment is up thirty-five percent.”
Jax hits him upside the head. “Jesus. We don’t talk business in front of customers.”
“They’re not just customers, asshole,” Finn says, rubbing his head. “They’re our friends.”
Jax grinds his teeth together. He stops when he realizes I’m looking at him, and we stare one another down. I get his hesitation. I do. I’m just not used to it. Being feared in this way kind of sucks. “Well, we’re getting out of here,” I tell them. “See you guys tomorrow.”
We walk out. Oscar jumps on his bike, and Brawler gets in the car with Mag and I, taking up the backseat while I ride shotgun with the copper-haired badass hottie.
“We need to make a quick trip to the store,” I inform them.
Forty minutes later, we’re inside my apartment. I’ve already texted Johnny to tell him I’m cooking dinner for everyone tonight. He hasn’t written me back yet, but I’m not counting that as a tick in the “I shouldn’t have done this” column yet. There’s no telling why he isn’t writing back.
I make the guys sit in the living room while I start cutting up potatoes for scalloped potatoes and ham. My mother used to make this dish. Call me nostalgic because it sounds amazing. Magnum keeps sneaking into the kitchen while Oscar and Brawler find something to watch on TV. Every once in a while, they chuckle, and it makes my heart lift in my chest as if it’s suspended by bungee cords.
“So, real talk,” I say, staring at my phone again and not finding a response from Johnny. “Good idea or bad idea?”
“Good idea,” Mag says with authority. He reaches over and takes the knife and potatoes from me before cutting them just like I was. I smile up at him and start making the sauce that goes over them. “Johnny needs this. You think he’s ever known a family dinner that didn’t involve a bullet in a guy’s head? Like with Dunnegan? If he ever had it, he was probably too young to r
emember.”
“Do you think he’ll accept you guys?” I ask, gut twisting. I’m not sorry for what I’m doing, however I’m sorry that it might hurt Johnny. Even though, I don’t know, I believe he can be turned around. Everything that’s happening can’t be for nothing. It’s not as if I’m with Brawler and Oscar with the intention of leaving Johnny behind. I would never do that. It’s not even like I’m keeping the others from him because I’m trying to be a shady bitch. I’m not. This is just how it has to be right now, and I’ll fucking fight anyone who says otherwise.
“Don’t feel bad,” Mag says, glancing over at me. “I can tell it’s been eating you up lately, but don’t let it. You’re doing what needs to be done. I’ve been on the outside for most of this, and I’ve never once thought you had ill intentions. Never. That’s not you. Johnny didn’t give you a choice in the beginning. He never does. He’s dickheaded and stubborn. He’s done shitty things to you.” He licks his lips. “But then I saw the gradual change in how you acted around him, starting with the shootout. I think it scared you that you might lose all of them, so you just let yourself feel what you wanted to instead of holding back. To me, that takes a lot of bravery.” He puts down the knife and brushes his fingers across my cheekbones. “My gut feeling tells me...” He blows out a breath. “My gut feeling tells me Johnny belongs with us, but I don’t know if years of indoctrination will win out.”
I close my hand over his, pressing his palm into my cheek. “You care for him too.”
“Like a brother. I always have. When you initiate in with someone, you’re tied for life. No matter if that guy is now the leader’s son or someone who defected or...” He peeks out the kitchen at Brawler and lowers his voice. “...someone who didn’t make it.”
I bite down on my lip. “Brawler has a lot of mixed feelings about his brother. He blames him for his sister’s death.”
Magnum squeezes my hand, then lets go and reaches for the knife to start cutting the potatoes again. “I know he does. I’m not sure there’s anything I can say that would make him think otherwise.”
“Do you blame Manning for his sister’s death?”
Magnum gives a quick shake of his head. “I blame the Crew.”
Magnum and I finish up, then place the scalloped potatoes and ham in the oven, which still looks brand new. I don’t know if that’s because it’s cleaned a lot or if it’s from lack of use. I’m not that much of a cook. In fact, I don’t particularly like it even though I love home-cooked meals. However, maybe cooking is something I could use to try to bring us all together.
What Mag said about Johnny is probably true for all of them. How many times did they have home-cooked meals when they were kids? Did they sit around a table telling stories about their day? Did they laugh and joke?
I only have those memories from when I was a kid. I cherish them, hold them inside because that’s the last time I’ve ever felt truly at home. Hopefully, I can make a new home now.
I’m sitting on the arm of the couch, being drawn into the comedian Brawler and Oscar are watching after setting the table when the door to my place opens. I peek over my shoulder and find Johnny walking in. He’s not alone. Jiko Cardinale follows him. Both of them wear dapper looking suits while the rest of us are still in training gear. Well, aside from Mag who’s wearing his usual black tactical outfit.
“Hey,” I say, popping up from the couch to greet Johnny.
He gives me a quick kiss on the cheek. “Jiko’s in town to help me get Candy’s settled. Since you said you were making dinner, I invited him.”
“If there’s enough,” Jiko interjects.
“Yeah, there’s enough,” I tell him. I hold out my hand, but Jiko bypasses it. He steps forward, grips my upper arms, and kisses both of my cheeks.
Stunned, I just kind of stand there while Jiko laughs. “That’s how we greet each other in Chicago. It’s an Italian thing.”
I clear my throat. “I’m afraid I didn’t make an Italian dish, so I hope that doesn’t matter.” Uneasiness crawls over me. I don’t know why I don’t like this guy. Whether it’s just the usual being wary of someone or if there’s something behind it, I don’t know. “I’m making scalloped potatoes and ham.”
Jiko cocks his head. “Never heard of it, but I’m willing to try anything.”
Johnny glances around me and is greeted by a round of masculine voices. Apprehension pricks at my skin, but Johnny nods at the rest of them. So, that must mean he’s cool about having them over, right? I mean, he’s not beating Oscar up for being in my apartment, so that has to be a good sign.
If you think about it, Brawler and Oscar have every reason not to like Johnny. So, if they’re willing to try for me, shouldn’t Johnny do the same?
I fucking hope so.
“How did training go today?” Johnny asks, pulling up my injured hand.
I shrug as he works his fingers over my skin. “Not too bad,” I confirm. “I’d say I went fifty percent on the bags, and no issues thus far.”
Shadows crawl over his skin. “Except for Detective Reynolds following you.”
“Yeah, there was that,” I admit.
Johnny runs his fingertips down my arm while he looks at Mag.
“He didn’t come back around again,” Mag informs him.
“Make sure you’re doing bug sweeps from now on and be careful what you talk about in there.”
Mag nods. He’s been doing all of his bug sweeps in front of me now. He checked the apartment when we got here, and every time we see one of the guys, he checks their phones like someone may have slipped something inside in the middle of the night. Honestly, it could be coming from two sides. Or more. Detective Reynolds, who wants to see me go down for a murder I didn’t commit, and Gregory’s people, or the Dragons, or K. Literally, everyone.
“You should rub some Arnica gel on that,” Jiko says, motioning toward my hand. I raise my eyebrow at him. I actually have it down on my grocery list of things I need, but that’s usually a fighter/martial artist remedy. He smirks. “What? Didn’t pin me as a fighter?”
“Not exactly,” I say.
He shrugs, brushing off my slight. “I hear you have a big fight coming up.”
I don’t know what Johnny’s said to him, so I just nod. “Yep, Brawler and I are going at it, and I think I just might kick his ass.”
Without looking away from the TV, Brawler raises his middle finger in the air. It’s so unlike him that it makes me laugh. Not that he wouldn’t throw someone the bird, but me? That seems like something Oscar would do. Who, by the way, thinks Brawler’s fuck you to me is extremely funny considering he’s doubled over on the couch.
Johnny snickers beside me. He gazes at the scene, and I would give anything to see it from his point of view. What does he think in that devilishly handsome head of his? Is he wishing I hadn’t done this? Is he timid, like stepping into the ocean for the first time with the waves crashing over one another mere feet away?
Me? Having them there, like this? It only solidifies that I’m doing the right thing.
“We still have twenty minutes until dinner,” I tell them, grabbing Johnny’s hand and pulling him closer to the living room. “Let’s hang out.”
“Looks like we’re going to need to get another couch,” Johnny says, voice low. His tone is indecipherable.
I squeeze his hand though, and he squeezes back. “There’s that chair in the bedroom I can bring out,” I offer.
“I’ll get it,” Johnny says, kissing my temple.
He strides toward the bedroom, and I waver about going after him. I’m about to take a step his way when Jiko Cardinale’s voice stops me. “He’s got it bad for you, girl.”
Despite the fact that I don’t like those words coming out of his mouth, they make me smirk. “Yeah?”
He peeks toward the door and then leans in conspiratorially. “I’ve never seen him go against his father’s wishes like he does for you.”
I swallow hard. This conversation is suddenl
y taking a turn for the worse. “Yeah, and he’s got the bruises to prove it,” I say before I can stop myself.
Jiko blows a breath out of his nostrils, making them flare. “Par for the course.”
“Well, that’s a pretty fucked up game then, isn’t it?”
“You don’t know the half of it,” Jiko says, his ominous tone stoking apprehension inside me.
Darkness overrides his features. Shadows dance over his face, making the red tints I saw in his hair at the dinner where Dunnegan got shot stand out even more.
Jiko’s handsome. They both come from the same type of families, and if what Jiko is insinuating is true, he’s probably gone through the same shit Johnny has. It’s not shocking Johnny found a friend in him, if that’s what they are.
Johnny’s told me he’s cool, so maybe I should let my guard down around him. Paranoia in the Heights, however, is something that jumps out at you and clings like a bitch in heat. It’s hard to trust anyone around here.
Johnny comes out carrying the chair, winking at me as he settles it beside the couch. My heart fills just watching him.
I shake my paranoia away. I’ve already proved to myself there are good people here. I just wonder at the end of all of this, which way the scale will tip? Good or evil?
23
Johnny watches as I say goodbye to Magnum. Jiko left first, claiming he wanted to get to bed early for tomorrow. He actually hadn’t been all that bad during dinner…or afterward. Brawler left after him. Hesitation slowed his movements to the door like he didn’t want to leave me, but he had to get home to see his mother. He rarely misses a dinner with her, so he knew she would be worried he wasn’t there. Oscar left just five minutes ago, staying and—I don’t think it was my imagination—actually enjoying a conversation with Johnny.
Mag stayed just long enough for he and Johnny to talk about Detective Reynolds and how he’d followed us to the gym.
I close the door behind Mag’s retreating form, catching a glimpse of the way his pants hug his ass. Sue me. The guys are hot, so yes, I’m going to catch my fill when I can.
