by Nia Arthurs
YOU’RE BROTHER STOLE FROM US. PAY UP.
- Julius
The panic fades, replaced with an intense anger. First of all, he spelled ‘your’ incorrectly. Basic grammar, people.
Second of all, Julius scared the life out of me. And for what? An allegation that is totally and completely untrue?
Here I was, thinking I’d be body-snatched by aliens or cut to pieces by a bunch of psychos, and instead my house was surrounded by teenagers. It’s not just embarrassing. It’s plain disrespect.
“Oh, hell no!” I grab the rock and sail to the door. It’s hard to open the latch because my fingers are still trembling, but not from dread. I’m pissed. Furious enough to toss this rock at Julius’s head.
I finally get the lock to click and yank the doorknob. My feet thunder over the wooden boards of my porch as I burst outside and scan the crazy kids trespassing on my property.
The boys stop and stare up at me, each one hardening their expressions. There’s very little moonlight so it’s hard to recognize any of them, but I’m only looking for one.
“Where’s Julius?”
No one says a word.
I sneak my hand inside and smack the porch light so a golden glow spreads over the lawn. The sudden illumination causes the other boys to wince. Not that I care.
After a few seconds, I spot Julius standing at the base of the steps. He’s got one leg propped on top of it. His arms are draped on the railings. His twists flap around his dark forehead. He’s wearing a shirt three-sizes too big and pants that ride his buttocks rather than his hips.
Is he posing for a hip-hop mix tape? Either that or he’s holding still so his pants don’t drop to his ankles.
I thrust the paper in the air and glare at him. “What is this?”
“Why you asking me? Can’t you read?”
“Boy…” My nostrils flare as I inhale deeply.
This kid can’t be more than seventeen. If he’s already running around being a menace, I can’t imagine what kind of damage he’ll do in ten years.
That could be Tyron.
The thought fills me with compassion. I drop the stone to the ground. “I’ll give you five seconds to leave.”
“I’m afraid we can’t do that.” Julius climbs another step.
I hold my ground and stare at him even though my heart is trembling. They might be teenagers, but they’re male—which means they’re stronger than me. There’s also more of them. Five against one. It’s a losing battle.
Plain mathematics.
I need to deescalate the situation and get my phone so I can call for help. “Listen, Julius. I don’t know what you think my brother stole from you, but Tyron isn’t like that. If you leave now, I won’t call the cops.”
“We know you won’t call them.” He shakes his head. “If you wanted to snitch, you could have done it that night in the alley.”
I swallow, but keep my voice even so he can’t tell I’m rattled. “I did that to protect my brother. Not you.”
“What do you think I’ll tell the cops when they lock me up?” He advances, creeping closer.
“You wouldn’t rat on your own.”
“If it would give me a lighter sentence, I’d do anything.”
I wince when he shuffles so near that I can feel him breathing on me. Sweat pops on my temple. I can turn and make a run for it. Maybe try to move fast and lock the door so Julius can’t get in, but I’m afraid to take that risk.
If those boys enter my home, it’s game over.
Better to keep them out here where, hopefully, one of my neighbors notices and calls the police.
I lift my chin. “What is this? Your boys lose their respect after I beat you up? This your way of getting it back?”
He pulses forward and grabs me around the throat. “I let you win that night.”
Warning bells clang in my head. I knee Julius in the groin and jump back. He doubles over, holding a hand to his pelvis. I don’t wait around to check if he’s really down. My head swimming with fear, I run into my house and push the door.
A hand smacks against it.
Julius.
He yells as he throws all his weight into keeping the door open. I lean forward, doing all I can to reject him, but in a game of strengths I’m at a severe disadvantage.
My slippers start to skid back against the floor. I scream, digging my fingernails into the wood. It’s no use. Julius knows he’s gaining ground and so do I.
My arms tremble visibly. I’m running out of gas. My body is about three inches off the floor and my legs are threatening to slip into the kitchen.
With one last push, Julius has me. The door smacks my head and knocks me flat. Stars dance above, sparkling like the glass shards near my broken window.
I hear Julius’s tennis shoes clopping around me. Beside me. A groan slips from my lips. My head is pounding. Blood trickles down to my ear. I can feel it.
“Why did you have to make this more complicated, Amaya?” Julius whispers.
I cough and struggle to sit up. My head is pounding and my intense glare doesn’t help, but I don’t really care. “You could be so much better.”
“Where’s the money?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“STOP LYING!” Spittle flies from Julius’s mouth and lands on my face.
My chest heaves. “I said I don’t know.”
His hand comes up, and I brace myself for a slap when a sudden commotion outside draws both our attention.
Julius freezes and then whips his head toward me. “Who did you call?”
“No one!”
“Then who’s outside?”
I’m as clueless as he is. Hope stirs in my heart. Did my plan work? Did someone take note of the chaos and call for back up?
“Come here.”
“What?”
Julius roughly grabs my arm and yanks me to my feet. I twist away, struggling to get free when he brandishes a knife against my throat. I drop my arms and surrender immediately.
“Good,” Julius hisses.
He nudges me outside. The porch light glows over the bodies of his crew, knocked out on the ground. The rest are fleeing in different directions, their figures growing as small as dots the farther they go.
I pull my gaze back to my yard and gasp when I recognize Tyron standing over one of the prostrate bodies. He turns around and spots me. Brown eyes widen and he yells, “Sis!”
“Tyron?” I whisper.
“Amaya!”
My gaze skirts around the yard and lands on a tall man with dirty blonde hair and beautiful eyes. “Kent?”
“And I’m Wilson. Now that we’ve made the introductions,” another man says, “how about you put that knife down, young man?”
I stare at the stranger advancing along with Kent and Tyron. He’s tall and broad-shouldered with pale skin, black hair and a thick, black beard.
Did he say Wilson? As in Kent’s cousin, Wilson?
“Get back!” Julius screams. His voice gives me a headache.
“Let my sister go!” Tyron roars. “Now!”
Kent grabs Tyron before he can rush the porch and holds him back. His voice is firm when he says, “Whatever you think you’re doing, it’s not worth it. Let her go and we’ll sort this out calmly.”
A prick of pain starts at the base of my neck. Julius is pressing the knife deeper. Harder. Hard enough to hurt. Hard enough to draw blood. I let out a gargled moan and ease away from the knife which forces me to press myself more firmly against Julius’s chest.
I can’t stand the feel of him, but if it keeps me alive I’ll plaster my body against his. I’ll do anything.
“Listen,” I croak.
“This isn’t my fault,” Julius yells. His voice is frantic, desperate. He’s not thinking clearly anymore which is even more dangerous than when he felt he had control. “It’s your fault.” He stares at Tyron. “You should have just given me the money.”
“It wasn’t my money
to take,” Tyron says.
“Tyron returned the money tonight.” Kent steps closer and moves up one stair. He has his hands up in a show of surrender. His tone is soft and gentle. “I’m willing to pretend you and your friends didn’t attack me since I got my wallet back. But if you hurt her…” He nods to me. “There’s no way you get out of this.”
Sirens wail in the distance. Julius glances up, staring at the street. I can feel his breath thickening. Can even feel his heartbeat picking up steam.
He’s scared. Maybe even more scared than I am.
“Please,” Kent says, raising his voice to be heard above the sirens. He takes another step and then another. “It doesn’t have to end like this.”
Julius grunts and shoves me at Kent. He catches me soundly and pulls back, his hands covering my cheeks. Green eyes filled with concern, he lets out a breath. “Are you okay?”
I nod.
Behind us, Tyron and Wilson are tackling Julius to the ground just as police vehicles squeal to a stop in front of my house.
The red and blue lights flash against my face. I collapse into Kent and squeeze my eyes shut.
“It’s okay.” He soothes my hair. “You’re safe.”
I burrow into him, knowing that I am.
Chapter Fifteen
Kent
“How do you know how to fight like that?” I ask Wilson. “And could you hold the dustpan properly? None of the glass is going in.”
My cousin rests on his haunches and adjusts the mini dustpan before the pile of glass shards. Will’s forearms bulge as he moves. “I started boxing a few years ago. It helps me clear my head when I need to think.”
“Remind me not to get on your bad side.”
“Ha, ha.” Wilson glances up at me. “You know what I’ve been thinking?”
“That Belizean authorities are very efficient?”
“No,” he says.
“That I should have pressed charges instead of let Julius and his crew off the hook?”
“He’ll be incarcerated for what he pulled tonight anyway.”
“Then what?”
Wilson shakes his head, his brown eyes narrowing. “How did you know where Amaya’s house was? I didn’t hear Tyron giving you directions.”
I freeze, the broom hovering in the air. “I don’t know. I just got into the car and drove.”
“Have you driven Amaya home before? Or did you write down her address somewhere?”
“I don’t know.”
He purses his lips until they disappear beneath his thick beard. “Kent, I think…” He lowers his voice, “I think there’s a reason you only have memories of her.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Is it?” He rises, leaving the dustpan at his feet. “I’ve watched you lose your memories, every single one of them, for three years. You’re surprised every time you see me with this.” He rakes his hands through his facial hair. “And tonight’s the tenth time I’ve told you about my boxing.”
“Really?” I wince.
“Look, what I’m saying is… you haven’t been able to remember this handsome face, but you remembered Amaya. You even remembered where she lived. Maybe—”
“Maybe what? I should date her? Use her to remember other things?” I scoff even though my heart is racing at the thought. “Amaya lied to me. Manipulated me. If you’re trying to insinuate we should be together—”
Wilson throws his hands up. “Hey, your love life is your business, but you should tell your doctor about this. Maybe there’s a chance you can get better.”
“Stop.” I glance away.
“Kent…”
“Even if I do have memories of Amaya, that doesn’t mean I’m getting better. I’ve seen the scans, read all the reports. My brain is fried, Will. There’s no saving it.”
Wilson swallows. “When you talk like that, it scares me.”
“It’s just reality.”
“Reality is a matter of perspective. Change yours and there might be a chance I don’t have to bury you in a few weeks.”
I stare at him. “There’s no sense hoping for things we can’t control. Don’t tell my doctor about this. I mean it.”
“But—”
We hear footsteps coming down the hall. I wheel on him. I don’t want Amaya to find out my condition is deadly. “We’ll talk about this later.”
Wilson falls silent.
Tyron walks into the living room. He’s got a second split on the other side of his lip and his shirt is hanging off one shoulder, but even with the extra bruises and scars, he seems lighter. Happier.
“Thanks for cleaning up,” he says, pointing to the dustpan.
“It’s no problem. We boarded the window too.” I brush my hands on my jeans. “How’s your sister?”
“She just got out of the shower. I tucked her in, but she doesn’t want to sleep. She says she wants to talk to you.”
“Me?” I point to my chest.
Tyron nods.
“It’s late. The doctor said she needs rest if she’ll get better.”
Tyron shrugs. “I told her, but when my sister sets her mind to something, there’s not much I can do to change it.”
“Go.” Wilson puts his hand on my shoulder. “I’ll take Tyron home.”
“W-what? If I go, she’ll be alone.” Tyron frowns.
“Amaya won’t be alone. She’ll have Kent.”
I lean over and hiss in my cousin’s ear, “What are you doing?”
“Where do you live, Tyron?” Wilson ignores me. “We should get a move on.”
“I’m not going home.” Tyron plants his feet on the ground and folds his arms over his chest.
“Don’t you have school tomorrow, kid?” Wilson asks.
“I’ll skip it if I have to.”
“I’ll give you one hundred bucks to leave.” Wilson whips out his wallet.
Tyron remains stonily silent.
His eyebrows wrinkling, Wilson pulls out another bill. “Two hundred. Three… hundred?”
“I’m not taking your money.” Tyron’s voice is as hard as his expression. “As much as I appreciate what you did by not ratting on me tonight, Mr. Barton, I don’t know you enough to leave you alone with my sister.”
“Go,” a new voice says.
We all spin.
My eyes lock on Amaya’s. She’s leaning against the wall near the corridor. Her curly hair is darker than usual, probably because it’s wet from her shower. She has it pulled back into a bun and curly strands frame her face. A large T-shirt swallows her small frame and dangles to just above her knees.
My heart quickens at the sight of her, but I can’t allow myself to be moved. Everything I’ve learned tonight points to one glaring fact—Amaya Mai cannot be trusted.
“You heard the lady.” Wilson uses the opportunity to shove Tyron toward the door. “Later.”
I take a step toward them. “Wait.”
“Kent…” Amaya takes my hand. Her brown eyes are appealing, vulnerable. “Let me explain.”
Tyron stops at the door. “Sis, are you sure about this?”
Amaya glances at him and nods.
Wilson drags Tyron out the door. I turn around.
“Kent…” Amaya whispers brokenly.
I shove the deadbolt and face her. “I’m not leaving. We should lock up securely before we talk.”
“Oh.” She wraps one arm around her elbow.
“Is that the only window that was broken?”
She nods and stares at the floor. Amaya has a bandage on her temple and one on her neck where Julius held the knife to her throat. The sight of that bandage shoots me back to the moment I saw Julius with her tonight.
I’m glad Wilson was the one who nabbed him because if I’d gotten my hands on the thug, I would have lost control and maybe we would both be cooling off our heels in jail tonight.
“Are you angry?” Amaya asks.
“What do you think?” I answer coldly. My intense feelings for her are clashing w
ith my common sense, the part of my brain that warns I probably shouldn’t get involved with a woman who’s so deceptive.
“I know.” She wrings her hands together. “I know you hate me.”
“I do.” Liar.
She winces. “Fair enough.”
“Wilson will be back soon. What do you have to say?”
“I know what I did was wrong, but I was desperate. My brother got arrested last year. For vandalism and destruction of public property. He served community service, but the judge warned that one more infraction would result in jail time.”
“So you decided that your brother staying out of jail was worth more than taking me to a hospital?”
“I did what I had to. Tyron wasn’t a part of the mob that hurt you. He was trying to get them to stop. I heard him.”
“He still robbed me.”
“And that was wrong.” She lifts her chin. “I’m not absolving him of what he did. I’m ashamed of him and of myself, but I couldn’t allow him to go to jail. I made a bad decision. For my family.”
“I get that.” I step closer to her, reciting everything I’ve learned from my journal. “But why follow me around for two days? Why invite me to San Pedro? Why…” Make me fall in love with you? I suck the words back before they can touch the air.
“At first, I wanted to make sure you weren’t going to be a threat. And then…” Her eyes dance away from me.
I stride forward and stop right in front of her. “And then?”
She lifts her face and looks at me. Her lips part. Her tongue darts out to wet them. My breath hitches at the sight. Amaya bats a curl away from her face. “I wanted to spend more time with you.”
“How can I believe that?”
“I’m telling the truth. I knew about your amnesia from the start. When I took you back to the hotel, I overheard the video you recorded to remind yourself of your condition. I knew you weren’t going to remember Tyron or anything that happened that night. But I still wanted to see you.”
Her words are followed by a pregnant pause. Every thread of my being wants to believe her, but even if she’s being sincere I can’t act on my feelings. Not when my days on this earth are numbered.
