by E. M. Moore
His words silence me. They’re like a riddle I have to figure out, and even though it doesn’t take me long, I still stop and internalize them, realizing the myriad of scenarios this could apply to.
A few seconds later, Johnny comes out with another well-dressed man in tow. He pushes him toward me, and the man stumbles. “Miss, I am so sorry for your intrusion tonight. My employee has been dealt with, and I do hope you’ll deign to dine here again.”
The gentleman’s eyes look so hopeful. I’d love to tell him it wasn’t his employee’s fault that Johnny turns into a caveman, but I don’t know what will happen if I do. Instead, I turn to Johnny to look for instruction like I can’t even think for myself. He gives me a slight nod, so I press my lips together before responding. “If you’ve rectified the situation, perhaps we might come again,” I say, feeling a solid weight drop to the bottom of my stomach.
The owner nods, giving me a shy grin before he apologizes to Johnny and heads back into the restaurant.
“Are you okay?” Johnny asks, slipping his hand around me and pressing his palm into the small of my back.
“Yeah,” I tell him, trying my best not to shy away from his touch.
The truth is, I’m not okay. He ignores me most of the night and then freaks out when a guy accidentally touches me?
He’s deranged.
18
I’m not used to wearing heels. In fact, I think they suck. I like the way they look on me, but they’re just not practical. Especially because if I have to defend myself in them, I’d never be able to. I’d die for sure. With the predicament I find myself in, I never know when I’m going to have to defend myself. So, note for next outing: no fucking heels.
Magnum appraises me, and I wonder if he’s figured me out, if he knows who I actually am. So much so that I avoid his gaze for the rest of the night, even though we’re stuck in the same warehouse room as before, high above the fights happening below.
At least Johnny is distracted through most of the fights. He’s antsy. Jumpy. I don’t want to know what happened in that restaurant after I left. With the wattage coming off him, it doesn’t bode well for the waiter. At least, he doesn’t see me as I watch Brawler from afar while he masters the crowd, getting them hyped up for the fights. Oscar’s here, too. He has his game face on, though. So unlike the one day we watched TV together. He sits in the opposite corner of the room, and I catch him glaring at me every once in a while.
The fights are half over when Johnny finally turns toward me. “You really like this, don’t you?”
I’ve been fiending to fight all night. Muscles straining while I picture what I would do in every position below. The blocks I would make. The shots I would take. I thought I’d be fighting in the fights, not watching them up here. I gaze up at Johnny, wetting my lips as I try to figure out if right now is the time to ask him if I can fight again. “I love it, actually.”
He grins, and this time, it isn’t forced. “I like that about you,” he says, reaching over and running a hand over my hair. “You’re not afraid to get your hands dirty. It makes me think you’re going to be a great addition to the Crew.”
I lean over and give him a peck on the cheek. Earlier, I spied a speck of blood on his collar. Another piece of evidence that what transpired between the waiter and him when I left did not end well. “I’ve been meaning to ask you,” I start, taking a deep breath to gather the courage. I don’t know why I’m so nervous. If he says no, it’s a no. There’s nothing I’m going to be able to do about it. “I’d love to fight again.”
His brows pull up. “Yeah?”
I remember how he stood in Cherry’s corner and hope spreads through my chest. Training and fighting is a good way for the edges of my dark mind to brighten. It sounds sick, and it probably is, but that’s me.
“Brawler’s been saying people are asking for you to fight again.”
“Really?” I ask, like I haven’t already heard that part. The excitement is real though. Brawler said he was going to do it, and he did. It’s nice to have someone in my corner.
However, my good mood doesn’t last long. Johnny’s eyes darken over. “I don’t like the idea of you fighting. If you lose, not only will I be pissed off you got hurt, but it won’t look good for me…or for the Crew in general.”
My initial reaction is to get defensive, but I see his point. I’m getting more and more used to the way the Heights Crew sees things. That doesn’t mean I have to like it, though.
He watches me deflate and frowns. “I’ll see what I can do, Kyla.” He reaches up to run his knuckle over my cheek. “Just know if we do put you out there and you lose, there’s nothing I can do for you.” His gaze flickers, holding back a suppressed emotion. He’s saying that, but I wonder if he really means it.
Before I can delve deeper into that, Oscar stands in the corner of the room. He’s glaring down at his phone. “There’s a guy downstairs, Rocket. Says he wants to fight you.”
This makes me sit up straighter. Rocket doesn’t fight. The same rule applies to him that applies to me. If he fought and lost, there goes his reputation. On the other hand, no one would be stupid enough to challenge Rocket. Does this guy have a fucking death wish?
Johnny laughs, the corners of his eyes crinkle. When Oscar doesn’t immediately start laughing, the mirth dies on his lips. “Wait. Seriously?”
Oscar shrugs. Glancing down at the screen again, he reads off it. “Says you kicked his ass earlier, and he wants a chance to avenge himself. Also, if he wins, he wants a kiss from your girl.”
“The fuck…” Who the instigator is dawns on Johnny before it dawns on me. “Bring the fucker up.”
Oscar looks from me to Johnny, but eventually turns and pads down the stairs. He leaves the door open, so we can hear the crowd below, rooting for their favorite fighters. The sound sends goosebumps over my body. I wish I was down there with all of them instead of up here. There're no girls up here tonight, just Johnny, Magnum, and myself. Magnum is keeping himself scarce behind the bar, only glancing up when Oscar informed us about the intruder downstairs. Now that there’s someone making their way up the stairs, Magnum moves closer to us, standing guard.
Just as I suspected, Oscar shoves the waiter from the restaurant into the room. He catches himself easily on solid legs. Here, he looks older than I pegged him before. He’s even older than Johnny. His gaze moves around the room, first on Magnum, then on Oscar before stopping on me. His lips curl up in a flirtatious grin. “Hello again.”
Before I can answer, Magnum steps in front of me and Oscar cuffs him upside the head.
Johnny cracks his knuckles. “What’s this about you wanting a kiss from my girl?”
The waiter crosses his arms over his chest, slowly, deliberately. He’s really trying to antagonize my friends.
My friends? What am I saying?
“I figure if she saw how a woman should be treated, she might leave you. A woman like that doesn’t deserve to be ignored all night over dinner.”
I can’t see Johnny’s face, but his back bristles.
“Isn’t that right, pretty lady?” the waiter tries to ask me. A crop of hair comes into view, but Johnny immediately moves over to block me again. There’s now a wall of two muscled backs in front of me.
To be fair, they’re very nice backs.
“What makes you think she’d even want to kiss you?” Johnny asks. In his question, jealousy, anger, and uncertainty mix into one.
“Because she looked like she was dying of boredom, asshole.”
My eyes widen. I have no idea who this guy thinks he is. His voice is lilted in a slight accent, and I wonder if he’s truly from a different country, so he doesn’t understand who Johnny is. Maybe he saw just what he said he did. A man ignoring his date all night and wanted to step in. If that’s the case, what does he think he’s doing here? Whose place does he think this is? Maybe he is just dumb.
“Kyla, come here, Beautiful,” Johnny says, summoning me.
; I move to stand, kicking my discarded heels out of the way. Magnum moves over to allow me space to walk in beside him. Johnny turns toward me, and I do the same, staring into his dark eyes. They’re brimming with heat and hate tonight, and I’m not sure which emotion is going to win.
He cups my face. “Do you want to kiss the degenerate?”
I shake my head. “Of course not.”
The newcomer growls. “You would allow him to treat you like that?”
I turn my head to answer, but Johnny’s on me. He presses his lips to mine. They’re hungry and bruising, claiming me right there in front of everyone. He forces my lips open and my head back, taking my mouth for his. He dives his tongue inside, pushing it against my own, moving against me until he abruptly pulls away, and I’m left reeling.
“Answer the man again. Do you want to kiss him?”
Angry tears form in the corners of my eye. I didn’t kiss him back, but I doubted anyone noticed. He just stole a kiss from me. To prove a fucking point. “No,” I growl.
Johnny tucks me into his side and turns toward the man. “Do you still want to fight me? Because you won’t even get the prize you desire.” His hand moves over my dress, skittering across my rib. I worry for a moment he’s going to palm me in front of everybody.
The guy sneers at me. “You’re a whore,” he postulates. “A stupid whore.”
I flinch.
Oscar swings first. Surprisingly. He knocks the guy to the side, but Magnum jumps into action, getting in a good left cross before pulling the waiter’s arms behind his body and holding him for Johnny. Instead of hitting him, Johnny spits in his face. Saliva hits his cheek and starts to run, coating his skin. “I’ll let Kyla do the honors.”
I’m reeling so hard, I can barely see. His words hit me, scarring the surface like a tattoo, except those weren’t pretty words or images. It’s nothing I’d ever want written over my body. Nothing like the canvas Brawler has created for himself.
Disgust rolls through me. Johnny took something from me I didn’t want to give. “He’s not worth my time,” I say, trying to wrangle myself under control.
My arms itch with the need to take my aggression out on something, but not with this guy. I refuse to stoop to his level.
“I guess it’s on us, boys,” Johnny says, delight in his voice. “He doesn’t deserve the spotlight, let’s take him out back. Oscar, stay with Kyla.”
Magnum drags the waiter out the door. His feet thunk on every step as Johnny follows casually. They don’t even draw the attention of the crowd.
“Are you okay?” Oscar asks, moving forward, his arm outstretched.
I move out of his way. “Don’t touch me.”
I’m trying to stop the emotion from showing on my face, but I can’t. It keeps teeming there, threatening to spill over. Worse yet, Oscar keeps looking at me as if he knows what I’m feeling.
He backs off when I tell him to, though. I turn toward the fight, immediately finding Brawler in the crowd. He’s not hard to miss. He’s bigger than most everyone out there. Unlike everyone else, he, however, doesn’t miss the scene with Magnum dragging someone out the side door. He gazes up to meet my eyes, and I look away.
Not Brawler. Not right now.
“Are you okay?” Oscar asks, concern threading through every word.
“I’m not fine china,” I seethe.
“Duh,” Oscar says plainly. The word is so out of place in this conversation that it makes me want to laugh, but all I have to do is call up what that guy just called me, and my stomach sinks again. “Sometimes other shit can hurt worse than a punch to the face.”
I press my lips together and try not to look at him. I’m always saying that. Physical shit hurts far less than grief, anger, and depression, emotions that well up that you don’t have an outlet for.
When he doesn’t say anything else, I look over at him. He’s got a faraway look on his face like he’s remembering something. Or going through something. “Looks like you know about that,” I say, tentatively.
He nods. “Yeah, I do. Don’t we all?”
“I guess.”
I wonder if this has anything to do with his time in Spring Hill. Or maybe it’s that he can’t play football like he wants to. Then again, I’m probably far off. Maybe it’s family shit like mine. Or the fact that he thought he had an out, but now he’s stuck here again, not knowing if he’ll ever get a chance to leave again.
To change the subject, I ask, “Did you win your football game?”
His dark eyes shutter, then blaze while he answers. “Kicked ass actually.”
“Congratulations.”
I have a feeling he still wants to ask me who I am, but instead, he asks, “You like football?”
“It’s okay,” I tell him, more comfortable with this line of questioning. “I like fighting. I like competition. I like the idea of winners and losers.”
“So, you like things black and white? That rarely happens.”
“In sports it does.”
“In the game itself, maybe, unless you have corrupt referees or unfair rules. Directly outside the competition itself, there can be so much gray. I’ve done some dirty shit in the name of football.” He jams his hands into his pockets.
“For football? Or for you?”
“For me, I guess.”
Footsteps sound on the stairs. Glancing over, I find Johnny stomping up them, taking his suit jacket off and throwing it on the railing. Blood is spattered all over his crisp white shirt.
I don’t know how to feel about this. I’m not going to lie. A sick satisfaction rolls through me that Johnny kicked the guy’s ass for calling me a whore. If that’s why he did it.
It’s like the same question I asked Oscar. Was it for football? Or for you? I have a feeling Johnny didn’t kick the waiter’s ass because he insulted me or even because he wanted me. It was all about his own ego.
Johnny walks in finally, unbuttoning his soiled white shirt. Some of the blood has even seeped through to his wife beater underneath, which he chucks off next until he’s standing there in just his crisp linen pants, leaving a trail of clothes in his wake. He comes up to me. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I say, glancing away.
“Don’t worry,” Johnny says, voice softening. “He’s been dealt with now.”
My stomach turns over. I don’t want to know the extent to which Johnny “took care” of the situation. But if it wasn’t me standing here, it would be someone else. This is just another day in the life for them.
“I have to help Magnum with this,” he says, motioning back toward the door they took the waiter through earlier. “Brawler will take you home.” Johnny glances over at Oscar to make sure he’s gotten the message.
Oscar nods. “I’ll call you later.”
With that, Johnny disappears into a side room to retrieve another white shirt and then leaves Oscar and I alone again. Downstairs, the crowd breaks up. I watch from up top as Brawler pulls his cell phone out of his pocket. Beside me, Oscar is just putting his away, so I know he’s sent the message to him.
“I can go home by myself,” I try feebly, knowing it’ll never work. Especially not tonight.
“You’re too cute,” Oscar says, his playful personality back again. “Not going to work.” After a beat of silence, Oscar presses his lips together. “Johnny realizes what he has.”
My face heats, then all the warmth drops to my stomach the longer Oscar just stares at me. My mind is screaming to tell him that Johnny doesn’t have me. That’s not how I work. That’s not what I want Oscar to think. But at the same time, Oscar’s a part of the Crew. Anything I say here could be used against me.
I close my eyes, making myself change the subject. “What did they do to him?”
Oscar breathes out, his dark eyes returning. He searches my face, and I think he finds the answer to what I really want to hear, but he surprises me with what comes out of his mouth. “You don’t want to know.”
Oscar and I w
ait in tense silence together. Neither one of us is willing to look away from the other, but we also don’t step across a line. It’s like we’re toeing a boundary line, each one of us placing it somewhere between us. I don’t know about Oscar’s, but mine keeps moving closer to him, allowing me a little freedom. I’m just not willing to step over it.
After Brawler finishes downstairs, he comes up to tell us he’s ready. I’m relieved because the tension between Oscar and me was getting a little too much. But instead of Brawler breaking it, he makes it worse. His stare stops on me, snagging there like he wants to look away, but can’t. Eventually, he forces himself to, and all three of us stand there awkwardly.
Oscar catches my eye, jaw ticking. I don’t know if it’s because he just witnessed what happened between me and Brawler or if he’s still drawing his own line. “I’ve got to go.”
When he passes Brawler, he whispers something to him that’s just out of earshot. I don’t bother asking them what they’re saying because I know they’ll never tell me, so instead, I follow him down the stairs. The two groups part ways once we’re outside, Oscar striding toward the bus stop while Brawler and I stop in front of a sleek, black car.
I just stare at it. Even when I’m not around Johnny, he’s everywhere I go. He’s got his “goons” watching me. I can’t leave the apartment unless I’m with one of them. He’s a part of every aspect of my life, even how I get home at the end of the night right down to the shoes I wear.
I yank the car door open and slide inside. My anger’s returning, so is the feeling of being trapped and called out. Of having to kiss Johnny when he wants, whether I want to or not.
Brawler watches me on the way home as I fume, but he doesn’t say anything. Johnny’s watching him, too. This car is not the time and place to trust if I was going to put my faith in him. It’s too risky.
The car slows. Once again, I throw the door open and immediately start for my apartment, leaving Brawler to catch up with me. I take the stairs, stomping up them. When we get to my apartment door, I wait for Brawler to open it because there was no place to put a key or cell phone in this dress, and I don’t carry a purse. I laugh, but it’s not a real laugh. It’s not a kind one or to denote that I’m happy. It’s the kind of laugh that means I’m going out of my mind. I can’t even open up my own fucking apartment door.
