by Erin Watt
The drive to the docks doesn’t take long, and when we get there, there are already a bunch of cars parked near the fence that blocks off the shipyard. Reed and Easton hop over with ease, while I need two tries before I can haul myself over the fence. I land not so gracefully in Reed’s arms, and he pinches my butt before lowering me to my feet.
“You text Cunningham?” he asks Easton.
“Yeah, from the car. Dodson’s here.”
Reed’s eyes light up. “Nice. He’s got a wicked left.”
“It’s a beauty,” Easton agrees. “And he doesn’t telegraph it at all. It just comes out of nowhere. You took it like a champ the last time you fought him.”
“It hurt like a mother,” Reed admits, but he grins when he says it.
I roll my eyes. The two of them are practically skipping with delight over this Dodson guy and his manly fighting skills.
We pass rows and rows of shipping containers as we walk through the deserted yard. I hear faint shouts in the distance, the noise getting louder and louder the closer we get to the action. The guys who come to these fights don’t even try to hide their presence. I have no clue how they can get away with such an illegal activity on what’s obviously private property.
I voice the question to Reed, who shrugs and says, “We pay off the dockmaster.”
Of course they do. Since I moved in with the Royals, I’m learning that anything goes as long as you offer the right price.
When we reach the crowd of shirtless, rowdy boys, Reed and Easton don’t waste time stripping off their own T-shirts. As usual, my breath hitches at the sight of Reed’s bare chest. He’s got muscles in places that I didn’t even know had muscles.
“East!” someone shouts, and a sweaty guy with a shaved head comes up to us. “You buying in?”
“Damn right.” Easton hands over a stack of crisp hundred dollar bills.
It’s a big enough stack that I turn to Reed and whisper in his ear, “How much do these things cost?”
“Five large to fight, plus all the side bets that go on.”
Jeez. I can’t believe anyone would spend that much money just to beat someone up. But maybe it’s a guy thing, because every single male face I see is lit up with a feral sort of excitement.
Still, that doesn’t stop Reed from murmuring, “Stay with one of us at all times, you got me?”
He doesn’t kid around. For the next hour, I’ve got a Royal glued to my side. Easton fights two different times, winning once and losing once. Reed wins his one brawl, but not before his huge opponent—the one and only Dodson—splits Reed’s lip with an uppercut that makes me gasp. But my boy just grins as he rejoins my side, completely unfazed by the blood dripping down his chin.
“You’re an animal,” I say accusingly.
“You love it,” he answers, and then he kisses me—with tongue—and it’s such a deep, drugging kiss that I don’t even care that I can taste his blood in my mouth.
“Ready to go?” Easton waves around a stack of cash that’s twice the size of the one we showed up with. “Not sure I want to push our luck any more.”
Reed’s eyebrows shoot up. “You’re quitting while you’re ahead? Is that…” He mock gasps. “…impulse control?”
Easton shrugs.
“Aw, look at that, Ella, baby bro is growing up.”
I laugh as Easton flips up his middle finger. “Come on,” I tell the guys. “Let’s go home. I’m getting kinda tired.”
They put their shirts back on, slap hands with a few of their friends, and then the three of us head back in the direction we came from, with Easton trailing behind me and Reed. As we walk, Reed brings his lips close to my ear. “You’re not really tired, are you? ‘Cause I had plans for you when we get home.”
I tilt my head up to smile at him. “What kind of plans?”
“Dirty ones.”
“I heard that,” Easton gripes from behind us.
Another laugh pops out of my mouth. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s rude to eavesdro—”
Before I can finish, a hoodie-wearing figure darts out from between two shipping containers.
Reed’s head whirls to the side. “What the—”
He doesn’t get to finish, either.
Everything happens so fast I barely have time to register what’s going on. The hoodie guy hisses out some words I can’t make out. There’s a wink of silver and a blur of motion. One second Reed is standing beside me—the next, he’s down on the cold ground and all I see is blood.
My entire body seizes up. My lungs burn for air. I hear someone screaming and I think it might be me, and suddenly I’m being yanked to the side as footsteps pound the pavement.
Easton. He’s tearing after the guy in the hoodie. And Reed…Reed’s lying on the ground, clutching his right side with both hands.
“Oh my God!” I scream, hurling myself at him.
His hands are red and sticky and I feel like throwing up when I realize there’s blooding oozing out between his fingers. I shove his hands away and instinctively apply pressure on his side. My voice sounds weak and hoarse as I shout out for help. I hear more footsteps. More shouts. More commotion. But my entire world revolves around Reed right now.
His face is almost completely white, and his eyelids flutter rapidly.
“Reed,” I choke out. “Don’t close your eyes, baby.” I don’t know why I order that, but the terrified, panicky part of me says that if he closes his eyes, they might not open again. I yell another command over my shoulder, “Someone call an ambulance, dammit!”
Someone careens to a stop beside us. It’s Easton, and he drops to his knees and quickly places both his hands over mine. “Reed,” he says grimly, “you okay, bro?”
“What the hell do you think?” Reed mumbles. His voice is wheezy enough to triple my panic. “Just got stabbed.”
“Ambulance is on the way,” a male voice announces.
I turn to find the shaved-head guy looming over us. Dodson’s eyes are lined with worry.
I refocus on Reed and feel sick again. He got stabbed. Who the hell would do this to him?
“Bastard got away,” Easton is saying. “Got over the fence before I could stop ’im.”
“No matter,” Reed wheezes again. “Y-you heard what he said, right?”
Easton nods.
“What did he say?” I demand, all the while trying not to vomit from the sight of Reed’s blood pooling on the pavement.
Easton lifts his gaze from his brother and locks it with mine. “He said Daniel Delacorte says hello.”
31
“How’s Reed Royal?” I ask for the thousandth time.
The nurse brushes by as if she doesn’t hear me. I want to yell, “I know you hear me, bitch,” but I don’t think that would generate the response I need.
Easton sits across the room from me. He’s volcano-hot and ready to explode and has been ever since he caught up with the guy who knifed Reed in the stomach. He wants to kill Daniel, and only the fear for Reed’s life is keeping him glued to the chair.
That and the fact that the cops showed up faster than we’d expected. I’d begged Easton not to leave me, because fear was riding me hard. What if there was another knife out there with Easton’s name on it?
I cannot believe that maniac paid someone to hurt Reed.
“The only reason I’m not making Daniel into an organ donor is because Reed would kill me the minute he got out of his hospital bed if he knew I left you alone.”
I nibble on my thumbnail. “I don’t know, Easton. Daniel’s nuts. You could take him in a fight, but then what? He’s doing shit that we wouldn’t even dream of. Hiring someone to stab Reed? What if the knife hit something major? It’s a miracle he’s alive.”
“Then we do something worse,” Easton says and he’s serious.
“And then you and Reed get sent to prison for assault?”
He scoffs. “No one’s going to prison for anything. This is between us.”
“Ca
n’t you just tell the police what you heard?”
“The knifer is long gone.” Easton shakes his head. “Plus, Reed would want to take care of it himself. Leave the cops out of it.”
I open my mouth to object, but I don’t have a good response. I didn’t report Daniel for hurting me and now look at what happened. He’s preying on other girls and hiring thugs to hurt the people I love.
Callum bursts through the doors, interrupting my thought process. “What do you know?” he asks us.
“Nothing. They won’t tell us anything!” I wail.
“They aren’t telling us shit, man,” Easton agrees.
Callum gives us a brusque nod. “Stay here,” he orders needlessly.
I’ve never been so happy to see Callum. Even if his own house is a mess, it’s clear people listen to him. He leaves the waiting room to go shake down some higher-up and find out what the heck is happening to Reed.
He returns less than five minutes later. “Reed’s in surgery. It looks good. They pulled him in there to see if anything vital was hit, but it was shallower than it appeared at first. The knife wound was neat and clean. There’s some tissue and muscle damage but that should heal with time.” He rakes a hand through his hair. “A clean knife wound. Listen to me, what am I even saying?” He levels a hard look at Easton. “I can’t believe you would take Ella down to wharf if it was this dangerous.”
Easton pales. “It was never dangerous before. It was just a bunch of punks, like me, wanting to gamble and punch the shit out of each other. We knew everyone. Weapons are never allowed. This happened when we were leaving.”
“This true, Ella?” Callum demands.
I nod frantically. “It’s true. I never felt like I was in danger, and some of these kids were from Astor but also from other prep schools. I never saw any guns or anything.”
“Then you’re saying it was random?” It’s clear from the disbelief on his face that Callum doesn’t think this is random at all.
Easton rubs a hand across his mouth. “No, not saying that.”
“Ella?”
“It was Daniel,” I say in a small voice. “And it’s my fault.”
“How so? Did you hold the knife?”
I press my lips between my teeth to keep from crying. I don’t want to break down right now, even though I feel like I’m on the edge of a real bad emotional breakdown.
“I didn’t report Daniel. I should’ve but I didn’t want to deal with the mess. My past isn’t pretty and the testifying, the shit-talking at school…I already get enough of it.” And I thought I was stronger, but apparently I’m not. I hang my head in shame.
“Oh, sweetheart.” Callum comes to put his arm around me. “This isn’t your fault. Even if you had reported Daniel, he would still be out. You don’t go to jail just because someone fills out a police report. There’s a whole trial process.”
Unconvinced, I shrink away from his comfort.
Easton clears his throat. “Not your fault, Ella. I should’ve taught him a lesson.”
Callum shakes his head. “I’m all for a fist in the face if it does good, but I don’t see an end to this problem by beating the kid up. Hiring someone to stab my son is beyond the realm of an average bully. A few more inches to the left and…” His voice trails off, but my mind fills in the blanks.
A few more inches to the left and we’d be planning a funeral. And maybe Callum’s right that Reed’s stabbing would have happened even if I’d reported Daniel, but staying silent doesn’t sit right with me anymore.
I can’t drag Daniel down the front steps of the school and humiliate him into stopping. I tried that route once. And Reed already beat him up. Daniel’s not going to stop by himself.
Someone has to stop him.
“What if I reported what happened?” I ask.
“About tonight?” Callum prompts.
Easton frowns, but I ignore him.
“No, the other night. When he drugged me. I mean, it’s too late to get tests and stuff, but there were other people there in the room. Some guy named Hugh. Two girls from North. They know that Daniel drugged me.”
Callum draws back so he can look at my face. There’s a concerned expression on his. “I’m not going to lie to you, honey. These sort of things are really ugly for the victims, and your drugging happened a while ago. There’s no way for us to take samples of your blood. If the other people don’t—or won’t testify—it’ll be your word against his.”
I know this and it’s why I never reported it in the first place. Reporting it is a big hassle that never seems to have any good results, particularly for the person who was hurt. But what’s the alternative? Keep my mouth shut so that Daniel can continue to find victims?
“Maybe. But I’m not the only one he’s hurt. Maybe if I come forward, other people will, too.”
“All right. We’ll stand behind you, of course.” He says it matter-of-factly, as if there’s no other path he could conceive taking. Like my mom would do if she were alive. “We have resources. We’ll hire a PR team and the best lawyers. They’ll dig into Daniel’s background until the Delacortes’ ancestors’ skeletons come popping out.”
He’s about to say something else, but the door to the waiting room opens and a doctor appears. There’s no blood on his scrubs and he doesn’t look sad.
I sigh with relief. I don’t know why. I guess because if he had a lot of blood on him, it’d mean the surgery had been terrible and Reed’s life would’ve been staining the cotton.
“Mr. Royal?” he says as he approaches. “I’m Dr. Singh. Your son is fine. The knife hit no major organs. It was largely superficial. He caught the blade in his hands and he has wounds on his palms, but those should heal within the next ten to fifteen days. He should avoid any vigorous activity.”
Easton snorts beside me, and Callum throws him a glare. My cheeks turn a dark red.
“But if the Riders keep winning,” the doctor adds, “he will be ready for State.”
“You can’t honestly be serious about the football thing!” I burst out.
This time everyone frowns at me. Dr. Singh removes his glasses and rubs them on his shirt. “Of course I’m serious. We wouldn’t want one of our best defensive players out for the championship.”
Dr. Singh looks at me like I’m the crazy person. I throw up my hands and stomp away as Callum and the doctor talk about the Riders’ chances without Reed in the first playoff game.
“Easton, you aren’t going to let your brother play again, right?” I hiss.
“Doc said it was fine. Besides, you think I have any control over what Reed does?”
“You’re all insane. Reed should be at home, in bed!”
He rolls his eyes. “You heard what the doc said. Superficial wound. He’ll be up and around in two weeks.”
“I give up. This is completely ridiculous.”
Callum comes over to us. “Ready to go home?”
“Can’t I wait for Reed?” I object.
“No, he’s in a private room, but there’s no bed for you. Or you,” he says to Easton. “Both of you are coming home with me tonight where I can keep an eye on you. Reed’s sleeping and he doesn’t need to be worried about the two of you.”
“But...”
“No.” Callum’s not budging. “And you, Easton, are not going over to Delacorte’s house to do anything.”
“Fine,” he says sullenly.
“I want to go to the police station and report Daniel,” I announce. I need to do it tonight before I lose my nerve, and having Callum next to me would be the second best thing to having Reed.
“We’ll go there first,” Callum agrees as he ushers us outside to the waiting Town Car. “It’s all going to be fine. Durand.”
Durand gives a terse nod and climbs into the driver’s seat.
Once the car is moving, Callum dials a number on his phone and then lays it on his knee, face up with the speaker on.
A groggy voice answers after the third ring. “Callum Royal?
It’s one in the morning!”
“Judge Delacorte. How are you?” he asks politely.
“Is something wrong? It’s quite late.” Daniel’s father’s voice is hushed, as if he’s still in bed.
“I know that. I wanted to give you a courtesy call. I’m on my way to the police station with my ward and son. Your boy, Daniel, is—how do I put this—a fucking criminal asshole and we’re going to see that he does some hard time.”
Shocked silence greets us. Easton muffles a laugh with his hand.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Delacorte finally says.
“That’s possible,” Callum acknowledges. “Sometimes parents don’t keep a close eye on their kids. I’ve been guilty of that myself. The good news is I have a team of excellent private investigators. As you know, given the government work we do, we need to be very careful about who we hire. My team is particularly good at ferreting out any secrets that could impact a person’s ability to be honest. I’m sure that if there are no skeletons in Daniel’s closet…” He pauses for dramatic effect and it works, because the hairs on the back of my neck stand up and I’m not the one being threatened. “…or yours, you have nothing to worry about. Have a good night, Your Honor.”
“Wait, wait, don’t hang up.” There’s a rustling. “Just a minute.” A door closes and his voice is louder, more alert. “What do you propose?”
Callum remains silent.
Delacorte doesn’t like that. Panicked, he pleads, “You must be agreeable to something or you wouldn’t have called. Tell me what your demands are.”
Still Callum doesn’t answer.
The next time Delacorte speaks, he’s nearly panting. “I’ll have Daniel sent away. He’s been invited to attend the Knightsbridge School for Gentlemen in London. I’ve encouraged him to go but he’s been reluctant to leave his friends.”
Oh great. So he’s going to rape and stab kids in London? I open my mouth, but Callum raises his hand and shakes his head no. I settle back in my seat and reach for patience.
“Try again,” he says simply.
“What is it that you want?”
“I want Daniel to recognize that he’s done wrong and correct that behavior in the future. I don’t necessarily believe that incarceration brings about that change. In about five hours, two naval officers will show up at your door. You will sign the waiver that allows them to take his seventeen-year-old person with them. Daniel will then attend a military academy designed to correct the behavior of troubled youths such as himself. If he passes, he will return to you. If he doesn’t, we’ll feed him into one of the jet combines at the plant.” Callum laughs as he hangs up, but I honestly don’t know if he’s kidding or not.
