by Hawk, Maya
“Sure. Kent.”
His arms fold across his chest, resting atop his bulbous belly as his head cocks to the side. “You from around here?”
“Born and raised. My mother teaches at the local Christian college.”
“And your dad?”
My breath caught in my chest. I didn’t like speaking about him, at least not casually. He left the day after my eighth birthday, and I haven’t seen him since. I don’t tend to let that define me, but I also don’t tend to offer that information freely.
“He’s a doctor,” I say, referring to Lewis. He’s the closest thing I have to a father right now, and even that’s a huge stretch. “Surgeon actually.”
“Nice, nice.” Kent doesn’t pry, and I breathe a soft sigh of relief. “So today is basically just a matter of showing you around, teaching you how to use the copy machine, getting you a computer sign on. Oh, you’ll need to get NCIC certified so you can access the database we work with.”
He picks up his phone and punches in some keys with his pudgy fingers. I hear a woman answer on the other end and his lips arch into a flirty smile.
Gross.
“Hey, Caroline,” he says. “I’ve got my intern here, uh, Jordan, and she’s ready for the office tour. You got a minute?”
Pause.
“Alrighty,” he says, pushing a huge smile into his tone. “I’ll send her down.” He hangs up. “Caroline is waiting for you. Room thirty-four. That’s them main office where you checked in.”
“And after this?” I ask, heading toward the door.
“NCIC should take all day,” he says, chewing on his lower lip as he stares at the wall like he’s deep in thought. His head nods from one side to the other. “Yeah, I probably won’t see you the rest of the day. I’ll see you tomorrow though.”
He scoots his chair up to his computer.
Just like that, he’s done with me.
Well, this is just great.
Sure glad I got to intern with the best.
It’s a load of fucking shit is what it is.
I slap a grateful smile on my face and trek down the hall to find Caroline, bumping into Thad on my way.
“You going to get the grand tour?” he asks.
“That and NCIC certification,” I say. “Are we the only two interns here?”
Thad nods. “In this district and this building, yes.”
We walk into room thirty-four, where a middle-aged blonde woman already waits for us. A file folder is pressed against her chest along with a set of dangling keys in her grip.
“Are we ready?” she asks with a smile. Her teeth are coffee-stained, but her red lips distract from that.
Thad and I nod, and he slips one hand into his pocket all cool and casual-like. I wonder if we can trade probation officers. I bet Gabriela would be ten times better than Kent.
Anyone would be ten times better than Kent.
Caroline walks us around the small office, telling us all about the copy machine and showing us how to collate, like I’m going to remember that five minutes from now. She then leads us down the same dingy, gray hallway, showing us where the break room is and the conference room.
A small classroom at the far end of the hall houses a whiteboard and several tables and chairs. She pops a video into the DVD player and hands us pens and paper, going over instructions.
We’re to watch some two-hour video and take quizzes. She’ll be back to check on us, and then the NCIC instructor will be in to take us down to a computer station.
I take a seat by the window. The classroom is dark and musty, and I could easily fall asleep listening to the drone of the video instructor’s voice as he talks about privacy laws and national databases.
“You all set?” Caroline asks, eyebrows raised.
We nod, and the second she flits out the door Thad scoots closer to me. He pulls his hand from his pocket and deposits a hard candy on the desk in front of me. Some kind of caramel thing covered in gold wrapping.
“What’s this?” I pick it up, twisting the plastic ends.
“Stole it from Gabriela’s desk. She’s a candy junkie. Bowls of candy all over the place.”
I pop it into my mouth, flicking my tongue around the sugary sweetness. I bet Gabriela has unicorns and rainbows and fluffy kittens in her office too.
I so wish we could trade.
“Thanks,” I say.
Thad smiles, our eyes catching for a second. My mind entertains my attraction toward him, but only for a brief moment. I didn’t come here to get a boyfriend, I came here for an internship.
But if I were looking…
Thad would be awfully convenient.
He’s like the kind of guy you can’t help but be instantly attracted to because he’s charming in a benign sort of way and wears a dimpled smile and irons his shirt. He’s the kind of guy you can take home to your mother and she won’t be able to wipe that silly grin off her face until he leaves.
God, my mother would love this guy.
But again, I’m not here for that.
I’m 99% sure no part of me desires to remotely date Thad McHenry.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” I ask, feeling the weight of his steely blue gaze as I’m attempting to pay attention to the God-awful video.
“You’re really beautiful,” he says.
Left field.
Was not expecting that.
At all.
“Shouldn’t we be watching the video?” I point my pen toward the screen in the front of the classroom.
He pulls his stare off me slowly, peeling it really, and the room grows ten degrees hotter. Minutes tick by slowly, one by one, until I feel him looking at me again.
“What now?” I bite the end of my pen in an attempt to stifle a smile. It feels good to be admired, but I can’t allow myself to cave into these shallow emotions. It would serve me no purpose to distract myself with someone like Thad when I’m here to build a future for myself.
“You want to get dinner tonight?”
“Are you asking me on a date, Thad?” I can’t look at him.
I can’t make eye contact.
Do. Not. Engage.
“Do you want it to be a date?” he asks.
Well played.
“How do you know I don’t have a boyfriend?”
“I don’t.” His confidence doesn’t waver, not even for a second. I find that to be both charming and unnerving. “Do you?”
I glance down at my paper and attempt to scribble some notes, but nothing makes sense. I can hardly comprehend what the video instructor is saying right now. My body burns from the scorch of his intense stare.
“Jordana.” The way he says my name commands my attention. My eyes hesitate before drawing toward his gaze and lingering for a moment.
“Yes.”
“Do you have a boyfriend?”
“No,” I reply. “Not in the market for one either.”
“Am I not your type?”
I offer a half-smile. Thad is absolutely my type. Clean-cut. Well groomed. Educated. We even share the same major.
Everything about us says we belong together.
“That’s irrelevant,” I say, holding my ground and clinging to it with everything I have. “I’m not looking to date anyone right now.”
“That’s what you think.”
“Excuse me?” I pretend to scoff, but I’m secretly amused by his candor.
Slightly confused too, because I can feel him weakening my resolve.
“You know there’s going to be a quiz over all of this when we’re done?” I point my pen toward the TV screen. “Maybe you should focus on something a little more appropriate right now instead of figuring out how to get laid here.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Thad rakes his hand through his sandy brown hair and flashes a million dollar grin. “Who said anything about trying to get laid.”
“You’re practically undressing me with your eyes.” I lean forward, resting my chin on my hand and scoo
ting my chair away from him. “Psh. And telling me I’m pretty. You think that’s the way to get me? I’m not that vapid. Please.”
I’m flirting.
I shouldn’t be.
I’m presenting a challenge.
Setting up the chase.
Guys love to chase.
Until they catch you, and then they move on to the next thrill.
I sigh, recalling the handful of guys who’d come before Thad. They all started with a wink and a smile and a benign compliment, then transitioned to some flirty banter and suggestive innuendo until my resolve had melted like rain on chalk.
And when I finally caved in? That’s when it would all end.
No more dates. No more texts. No more stealing smiles in quiet lecture halls.
Thad is just like the rest.
I’m here to pass my internship and hopefully get a job.
That’s it.
“I know you’re not vapid, Jordana,” he says, cutting through the tension that lingers in the space between us. “That’s why I’m asking you to have dinner with me. You’re different from most girls.”
I roll my eyes. “Nice line, Romeo. But I’m still going to say no.”
He doesn’t wither and wilt. He sits up tall in his seat, pinning me with his iron-strength determination. “It’s all right. I’ve got all semester to make you mine.”
CHAPTER FOUR – TITAN
“I don’t typically hire felons.” The body shop own leans back in his creaky chair, raking his palm across his five o’clock shadow.
I’ve been pounding the pavement since dawn, a stack of pathetic little resumes in hand. I’m wearing a button down shirt I stole from my father’s closet and a simple blue tie with khakis.
I look like a fucking schmuck.
But I need a job.
I’ve got to get out from under my father’s roof and away from that absurd situation he calls a family before I go insane.
“But times are hard,” the guy continues. “Money’s a little tight. Business is slower than usual. Government gives me a little kickback for hiring your kind, so, uh, what the hell.”
He reaches across the table and offers me a limp handshake. I immediately lose all respect for the asshole, but I don’t let it show. This is the tenth place I’ve stopped into today, and he’s making me a job offer.
“Thank you, sir,” I say, squeezing his hand tight enough elicit a wince from his weathered face.
“Just don’t go stealing nothing,” he ads.
I pull in a sharp breath and force a smile.
“I’m not that kind of…felon,” I say. I fucking hate that I’m a convicted felon. Once upon a time, I was a good guy.
Still am.
Just not on paper.
“Ten bucks an hour to start,” he says. “You’ll be doing lube and filters all day. Maybe someday you can work your way up to minor repairs.”
I nod.
My life’s ambition right there.
Minor vehicular repairs.
I should be designing bridges, not draining oil from Mazdas and Nissans.
A guy roughly my age struts into the office. His oil-stained, pin-striped shirt has “Kyle” embroidered on the name-tag.
“Titan, this is my oldest boy, Kyle.” Terry, my new boss, says his son’s name in one, quick syllable. “Kyle this is Titan. He’ll be doing lube and filters for us. He’s a convicted felon.”
My teeth grit, and I resist the urge to clock him across the face on the spot.
“Ooh, what’d you do?” Kyle is amused. I’m not sure which is worse, being judged or being seen as entertainment for some pussy working in his dad’s shop because he couldn’t go out on his own and get himself a real job.
It’s right there, on the tip of my tongue, begging to be said.
I almost killed a man.
But I really, really need this job.
“Assault with willful injury,” I said. I have to be honest. They’ll see it if they ever run a background check on me, though judging by the way Terry runs this hole-in-the-wall establishment he’s probably the one-man HR department. I doubt he’s the kind of guy who runs background checks. “Someone hurt two people I cared about, so I hurt him.”
Kyle purses his lips and nods. “I can respect that, man.”
And then he sizes me up, taking me in from head to toe the way a person might stare at a lion if they were separated by a thick plate of shatterproof glass.
“Hey, let me show you around,” Kyle says, suddenly taking me under his wing. “When you starting?”
“Tomorrow,” his dad yells after us, as we leave the room.
Kyle shows me around the shop, giving me a tour of tools and showing me where the garage door levers are and pointing out the hoists and drills, and then he takes me back to the supply room where they keep all the filters.
“You change oil before?” He scratches the spot just above his right ear.
“They taught us basic auto mechanics in the pen,” I say. “Took a few classes.”
“Good, good,” he says, his eyes darting back and forth between mine. He glances around, like he wants to ask me a question but doesn’t have the balls to do it quite yet. He’s trying to find the words.
Fucking pussy.
Whatever it is, just say it.
I don’t have time for fucking games.
“The fuck you want, KJ?” Kyle glances over my shoulder as a scrawny guy a little younger than us shuffles in. He treats him like he’s just imposed, when clearly all the guy wanted was a goddamned filter.
KJ grabs a filter off the shelf and holds it up in the air, saying nothing before he turns and leaves.
“Fuckin’ KJ.” Kyle shakes his head.
“That your brother?” They almost look like twins except Kyle is broader in the shoulders with lighter hair, and he’s clearly the stronger of the two in both brute and personality.
“Not by choice,” he huffs.
“Always wanted a brother,” I say. “Someone to beat the living shit out of when I’m pissed at the world.”
I’m being flippant and slightly sarcastic, but Kyle doesn’t pick up on it.
“Anyway,” Kyle says, eyeing my shoulders. “You do any fighting in the yard?”
“In the yard?”
“Yeah, when you were locked up. You fight at all?”
“A little. In the beginning. Why?”
He eyes the perimeter once more and then leans in. “You want to make a little bit of extra money? I know Dad don’t pay worth shit here.”
“Not looking to get sent back.” I shake my head, resting my hands on my hips. This guy’s fucking crazy if he thinks I’m that stupid.
“A thousand bucks a fight,” he whispers.
I do the math in my head and figure out that it’s almost the equivalent of working three weeks in this dump.
“All underground. No rules. No cops. Nothing to worry about.” Kyle licks his lips, like he’s hungry for a sale.
“And what if something goes wrong? What if someone gets hurt?”
“Ain’t been caught yet. Been doing this seven years now. And shit, someone always gets hurt,” he chuckles. “But nothing ever goes wrong. We’ve got everything covered. All you gotta do is show up and beat the fucking shit out of the sorry asshole we pit you up against.”
Kyle slaps his hand across my bicep, gripping the girth and squeezing his bony fingers into my flesh.
“These are fucking lethal.” He’s grinning like a man who placed a bet on a winning horse at the Kentucky Derby. “You could make a lot of money with these.”
“I’m not doing it for a thousand bucks.” Not worth the risk.
“Fifteen hundred.” He crosses his arms across his skinny chest and cocks his head back like we’re negotiating a used car.
I back up, placing my hands in the air. “I’m not doing this. Sorry. You got the wrong guy. I’ll see you tomorrow, man.”
I turn around to leave, but he grips my arm and pulls me back.
/>
Or rather…
He tries to.
I jerk my arm out of his pathetic grip and press him up against the wall, breathing down with a clenched jaw. “Don’t ever fucking touch me again. Do you understand?”
His eyes grow round and his jaw slacks. Kyle’s hands fly up in the air in protest. “Sorry, dude. Chill the fuck out.”
“I’m not trying to go back from where I came,” I sneer. I back away, tired of breathing his greasy scent.
“Two-thousand bucks,” he says. “Just to whet your whistle. I’m willing to take a loss on tonight. Give you my share. Try it once. This could be very profitable for you. We fight once a week, sometimes twice. You’d get a grand per fight until you work your way up to the regional division. Our top guys get up to ten grand per fight, fighting once a month.”
I pause. I’ve never lost a fight, at least not in the yard. And the only reason that drunk driver lived was because I allowed it. I easily could’ve killed the bastard.
“How long until I work my way to the top?” I ask.
His lips curl into a victorious grin. “Not long. A few months if you’re really good. A year if you’re just alright.”
“Two grand if I fight tonight?” Two grand could get me an apartment in this town tomorrow. I’d be out of my dad’s hair so fast it’d make his head spin.
“I’m sorry. I should’ve clarified. Two grand if you win.” He rubs his hand along his jaw. “Losers walk away with nothing.”
“I never lose.”
“Okay then,” Kyle widens his stance. “Meet me outside the Hammerhead bar around eleven. I’ll take you to the basement.”
I’m not usually the kind of man who lets a weasel like Kyle talk me into changing my mind, but in this case, I’m not exactly in a position to turn down copious amounts of easy money.
“If you make so much money doing this, how come you still work here?” I ask before I leave.
Kyle shrugs a shoulder and juts out his bottom lip. “Cause I make good money here too.”
“Ten bucks an hour is not good money.”
“Nah, I make double that,” he snickers like the cocky son of a bitch that he is. “It pays to be the boss’ son.”
Smug bastard.
I turn to leave, salivating at the amount of money that should be pouring into my immediate future. I’ll have enough to get a decent car, get a place of my own, and buy more time until I look for a real job.
