by E. M. Moore
When we reach the top of the stairs, Brawler hangs a left and knocks on the door. Below, the frenzy of the crowd heightens. Shouting, panting, and a general hum of conversation buzzes through the air like frenzied electrical current. Once we walk into this other room, though, all of that fades away. As does the real world. I’ve now stepped foot into the nicest place I’ve seen since coming to the Heights. The place is decked out in leather couches and crystal decanters. Along the side of windows facing the warehouse, barstools sit nestled next to a long bar. The perfect spot to view the fights below. The back of the loft, however, looks more like a party room. Scantily dressed girls bring out glasses of liquor on circular trays.
Before I can move in farther, a figure steps in front of me. He does it so quickly I almost bounce off his chest, but I catch myself at the last minute. My gaze roams over his tight black shirt. It drags upward over a copper-colored beard before hitting a scowl that makes me step back even farther. “Who’s this?”
“Mag, this is—”
“There she is,” a voice speaks up from beyond this Mag’s impressive shoulders.
The tenor is sweet, yet confident. When Mag, who must be some form of security detail, moves out of the way, I stare right into Johnny Rocket’s pale blue eyes. No matter how much I don’t want to think so, he’s attractive. His dark hair and dark features give him a bad boy persona, which calls to me. I understand there are fucked up parts of me. I give attitude and dwell in the dark side of my mind. Honestly, I would run right over a pretty boy with a heart of gold. Johnny Rocket definitely isn’t that.
He comes right up to me to grab my hand like he did before. He brings it to his lips, grazing them over my knuckles. “You fought like a champion.”
“Thank you,” I tell him. As soon as he lets my hand go, I drop it to my side, heart racing. I can acknowledge how good looking he is, but I would never be able to get over who his father is. With that thought, I refrain from looking for the man who brought me to the Heights.
Big Daddy K. He’s like lore. A fantasy. A mystery. Everyone knows of him, but he stays in the background, living in the shadows like a puppet master. I often thought I could pass him on the streets—the man who murdered my parents—and never know. Goosebumps sprout over my arm.
With the way Rocket keeps staring at me, I have to look away. He’s a wolf, and I’m what he wants to sink his teeth into. When I glance to the side, Mag is there with his tight black shirt. He narrows his eyes at me. I’m no stranger to the suspicious crowd. Trust me. For someone who’s always looked for the guy who ruined her life in everything, I know what it’s like to be suspicious of the world, but Mag takes it to a whole other level. His eyes are like stone, his gaze dropping boulders on me that weigh a ton.
I’m not sure there’s a comfortable spot for me here. Nowhere to look. Nowhere to feel safe. But I knew that when I made my decision to get my revenge.
Rocket tucks my arm in the crook of his, taking me to the other side of the room. He smells like whatever cologne he spritzed over himself before he came here. It’s not an altogether bad smell. In fact, it smells a thousand times better than the BO mixed with skunk fragrance that filters the air below.
From behind us, Brawler excuses himself from the room. I turn to watch him go. At the last second, he looks up to meet my gaze. There’s fear there in his sapphire blues, but the unnerving part is that I think it’s aimed at me. I watch him as he makes his way down the set of steps and stands at the edge of the makeshift ring while Rocket settles us into a corner on the furthest barstools away from Mag.
Apprehension grips me. I’m in the lion’s den with no chance to escape and not a single ally in sight.
When I sit, Rocket moves his stool closer and then settles his hand at the small of my back. “I knew you were something special when I first saw you.” His pale blue eyes sink their teeth into me. “Kyla,” he muses, like he’s trying to imprint my name on his tongue. The thought makes me shudder, but I look up and smile anyway. His face reveals all the interest he has in me, but I don’t think it’s companionship he’s looking for. It’s straight up lust.
Well, I can’t just sit back and stare into his eyes. They make me want to draw a line in the sand when I shouldn’t have a line at all. “So, you like the way I fought?” I ask tentatively.
His hand on my back connects more assuredly. He leans over until his lips brush my earlobe. “More than you know.”
I pull away slightly as my body responds to his touch. His lips feathering over my ear felt…nice.
Rocket leans back. I think he’s just taken the hint, but it’s not that. He stands from the stool, a dark look crossing his face as he stares at the fights below. “What the fuck? I didn’t think he was on the card tonight.”
I follow his gaze. My eyes round when Brawler drags a guy into the middle of the ring, his fist connecting with his face.
Mag moves closer to the window without a sound. “He’s not.”
“Christ. Does he think we give out free fights?”
Rocket slams his fist down on the small bar top in front of us. I jump, unable to prepare myself for his outburst. His anger seemingly coming out of nowhere.
When I glance down again, Brawler’s looking straight at me. Our gazes collide like warriors throwing down a gauntlet. Then, he turns, a smile playing over his lips as he smashes his fist into his opponent’s surprised face.
9
My heart skips a beat as the anger pulsing from Rocket settles over me like a cold chill. I had him pegged as a man that was all show. It’s not like he looks like a wuss, but people in positions of perceived power use that power to throw their weight around without backing it up. Instead, he’s fuming. A knot tightens my core, a warning that he’s not to be fucked with.
“Watch her,” Rocket orders Mag as he gets to his feet. “I’m going down to deal with this fucking mess.”
I lean over to look back down at the crowd. They’re going nuts. Brawler must be a favorite because everyone is yelling and screaming. Even from up here, I can tell the room below is pulsing with violence. The angry shouts permeate this room’s sound barrier, muting it to a dull roar. As soon as Rocket makes himself known, though, the cries turn to silence in a ripple effect. Brawler, unable to ignore the reason for the sudden change in the room, lets the guy he dragged into the fight slump to the floor.
Rocket heads out of the main room toward the locker area. Brawler brushes his knuckles against his joggers to wipe the blood away and then follows him. The crowd parts, people giving them ample room to get by.
“Jesus,” I mutter, surprised at the show of brutality and respect. To be one, I didn’t think you could be the other, but I was wrong.
Mag makes a low sound of agreement. I turn in my seat, forgetting he was still in the room with me. Nothing is going on below now. In fact, the crowd starts to scatter and leave. Looks like Brawler threw in a finale that never should’ve been.
“He’s going to be in big trouble, huh?”
Mag’s gaze slices toward me. “He’s used to it.”
I let that sentence linger in the air. I’m not touching it with a ten-foot pole. I have no idea if I can trust this Mag guy or not. Ha. What am I thinking? I can’t trust anyone here. “I’m Kyla, by the way.”
“Magnum,” he says. He shifts. The hard outline of a gun on his hip I hadn’t noticed before protrudes. I’m beginning to think there’s a pattern with the nicknames everyone has. Magnum has a gun. Brawler likes to fight. I’m pretty sure I’ve heard someone call Oscar Bat before. Johnny’s called Rocket, which I can only imagine what the hell that means. Several meanings flick through my head, but I don’t dwell on any of them.
“You’re security?”
He nods but doesn’t say another word. He just keeps staring at me, which is as unnerving as it sounds.
“Not much for talking, huh?”
He cocks his head. “Don’t mind talking. Just not when I don’t trust someone.”
I shr
ug and look away. Instead of staying seated, I get up and look around the room. The ladies who’d been walking around with the trays are now behind the bar, sending me dirty looks. A bunch of questions hang from the tip of my tongue, but I won’t be getting answers. Magnum is as tight-lipped as they come, and the girls all look like they would murder me to be in my position.
A phone rings, and I look around to find the source. Magnum pulls a cell phone from his pocket and holds it to his ear. “Boss.” He nods. “Of course. Yes. Bye.”
Nerves pool in my stomach. Boss could probably only be one person, and I doubt it’s Rocket. He had to have been talking to Big Daddy K.
My heart lurches, and I stare at the phone as Magnum puts it away. I’m a call away from the man who took my parents. Since coming to the Heights, I’ve moved closer and closer. My plan is working, even if it makes my stomach roil at the same time.
I pretend to not care who he was talking to and walk back to the stool I’d been sitting on. I’m getting antsy. I really don’t want to wait around here all night. If Big Daddy K is calling Magnum on the phone, that probably means he’s not here.
Relax, I scold myself. It’s not like I can just walk right up to him and take him down. I take a deep breath, trying to release all the stress I’ve been bombarded with. I’m in. I’m close. That’s all I need to accomplish right this minute. I don’t want to just kill Big Daddy K and get caught. That was never the plan. I have to bide my time. I have to make a concrete plan. I’m not ruining my life just because I want to take his. That wouldn’t give me satisfaction at all. I want to live a long and happy life after he’s gone, after I’ve made him atone for what he’s done.
The door opens then. Magnum turns stealthily, the first quick movement I’ve seen him make while he’s been here. I look around him, hoping to find Brawler. I’m admittedly worried about him, but also knowing it’ll probably be Rocket who’s come back up the stairs.
It’s neither.
“Princess?”
I stand from the stool. Oscar’s glaring at me with a confused expression. He isn’t the only one who’s surprised to see me up here.
He looks around. “Where is everyone?”
“Brawler jumped into a fight. Rocket had to take care of it,” Magnum answers.
Oscar rolls his eyes. “Always so dramatic, the big lug.”
Oscar looks at peace here. Maybe he wasn’t at my fight earlier, but he’s certainly watched the fights from up here before. The way he joined the Heights Crew would make me believe he would be a low-rung guy, but his attitude at school and familiarity with this place makes me think he has a bigger stake in the Crew than I thought.
He winks at the girls in the back, and they titter. As I’m beginning to notice, Mag doesn’t prolong their conversation, so Oscar has to return to looking at me. His dark eyes narrow, taking me in in my outfit that is so different from what I normally wear to school.
“What’s she doing here?” he finally asks, inclining his head toward me. His gaze moves down my body, pricking my skin at his attention. In this outfit, I’m exposed. Not that I don’t like it. I actually do. But to be this revealed in front of him makes me want to go hide in a corner.
“What? You just get here?” Magnum asks.
“Had to take care of some shit.”
Magnum eyes Oscar as he moves closer to me. I stand up straighter. Mag’s voice sounds far away as he says, “Let’s just say she kicked Cherry’s ass. Rocket was impressed.”
Oscar’s eyes gleam. “Kicked Cherry’s ass? Didn’t know you had it in you, Princess.”
“Don’t call me Princess.”
Magnum’s marble-like face starts to move until I see him almost smile. “If you saw her fighting, you wouldn’t use that nickname anymore. She was far from it.”
I glance over. The smile of appreciation hinting at his face leaves as soon as he realizes I’m looking at him.
Oscar can’t help but to be surprised. His lips part while he studies me again. This time paying particular attention to my arms and shoulders. “That good, huh? It’s a shame I missed it.”
“You mean it’s a shame it wasn’t Nevaeh whose ass I kicked.”
He winks. “Maybe we could still make that happen.” Moving closer, Oscar’s all smiles, slinking in like he’s got charm in spades to spare for me.
His heavy gaze drowns me in lust. I felt it the first time I saw him, and I feel it now. This time’s worse, though. He’s trying to draw me in. The sexy smirk of his plays on his lips like he knows exactly what he’s doing, and what girl doesn’t want a guy who knows exactly what he’s doing?
Before I know it, Oscar’s being hauled backward. He’s slammed into the opposite wall as I stifle a scream.
“My. Girl,” Rocket seethes. “You’re already on thin ice, Drego. Don’t make me kick your ass for this.”
Oscar holds up his hands. He’s trying to be his casual, nonchalant self, but his gaze flicks to the imposing body in front of him and then back to me. Magnum’s hand hovers over his gun as he eyes Oscar to make sure he won’t retaliate, but he doesn’t move from his spot either. When Rocket turns to look at me, Oscar drills a hole into the back of his head.
Rocket’s pale blue eyes harden to ice chips. “If someone touches you, it’s your responsibility to tell me. Got it?”
His curt words drill a warning into me. In theory, possessive guys are sexy. Hell, maybe they can be if I actually had a say in the matter, but it’s alarmingly clear Rocket claimed me, and there’s nothing I can do or say about it.
I may as well have my muzzle still in place when it comes to Rocket because I’m sure he wouldn’t find it endearing if I told him just what I thought of him claiming my body for his and no one else’s. Instead, I push my now dry hair off my shoulder. “He didn’t touch me.”
Behind Rocket, Oscar whispers, “A heads up would’ve been nice, Asshole.”
I peek at Magnum who doesn’t respond to Oscar’s comment at all. He’s too busy glaring at the two of us.
Rocket cups my face, and my stomach bottoms out. He’s far too touchy feely for someone I just met, for someone who’s staked a claim on me. The thought rattles me. I came here to take back control of my life. Not the other way around.
I peel his hands away from me, hoping I won’t get my ass tossed out a mere half an hour after I made it in. Hopefully Rocket likes girls who play hard-to-get because I’m about to be as hard-to-get as they come.
It turns out, I don’t have to just yet. Magnum speaks up. “Boss called. There’s been an update he needs to fill you in on.”
Rocket licks his lips, leaving them glistening as he stares at me. Anger flits through his gaze but it’s gone before I can even decipher it fully. “Looks like we’ll have to get to know one another better some other time, Kyla. Oscar?”
Oscar clears his throat. “Yeah?”
“Can you see to it that Kyla gets home safely?”
My hands tighten around his. “Don’t bother,” I say. The last thing I need is for people to be snooping around my apartment. I’m already paranoid about having anything from my other life there. I don’t need to have a coronary if someone like Oscar comes into my place. “I can get home by myself.”
Rocket cocks his head. “Oh, I’m sure you can,” he says, his pale blues practically twinkling. “But I take care of my own.”
A warning shiver works its way up my spine.
“I can do it,” another voice says. Without even looking, I know it’s Brawler’s. “She lives in my building.”
“Does she?” Rocket asks, smirking. The facial expression is a cover-up though. His gaze hardens again.
I keep my stare trained on him. He’s like a feral cat in that moment, letting his eyes do all the stalking.
Leaning in, his cologne coats me again. I close my eyes, and it isn’t long before my lips buzz. I squeeze them closed tighter, partly to block out what might happen and partly to keep myself from shying away if it does.
His li
ps graze mine. A soft caress, a barely there touch I could almost call sweet if I didn’t know who it was coming from. “Tomorrow, Kyla,” he promises, his lips still brushing over mine.
I can’t say he isn’t intoxicating. I’m stunned on my feet. Immobile. When he moves away, I sway in place while he leaves the room, calling everyone to follow him briefly.
The door closes, but I can still spy them through the glass. I mentally smack myself to pay attention. Rocket’s giving orders, his face fierce while the others nod their agreement or complacency. It’s hard to tell which. When he’s done, he and Magnum leave. Underneath all that glorious copper stubble Magnum boasts is a ticking in his jaw. They disappear down the stairs, but they must exit through a different door than Brawler and I entered earlier because they don’t cross the empty circle in the middle of the floor below.
The door to the loft crashes open. The girls in the back squeal, and it makes me wonder what they see and hear in this room. No one’s watching over them as far as I can tell, but that seems unlikely. For the biggest, toughest gang in the area, they have to be a well-oiled machine whether I see all the moving parts now or not.
Oscar saunters in. He bows slightly as if he’s an actual gentleman addressing a lady. I might find it more believable if he wasn’t wearing a hoodie with a backwards hat. “Looks like we’re tasked with keeping you safe, Princess.”
“Not that again,” I grumble.
“Oh, it’s definitely sticking now,” Oscar says, a flirty smile teasing his lips. “The Prince just left, and here you are, his new—”
