by Jennifer Ann
“I won’t smoke this in here.” I shrug, narrowing my eyes. “So how do you know Brooke?”
Jordan merely chuckles while moving over to the stainless steel refrigerator. He’s not a bad looking guy, so it wouldn’t be too shocking if he confessed they’d once been more than friends. Doesn’t mean I’d be happy about it. But I gave the place a thorough once-over and deducted that he lives here alone. There isn’t so much as a picture to be found of the sexy brunette. If I had any damn money, I’d bet it all that they’re not together.
A minute later he returns with two cans of cola, gently tossing one my way. “Brooke’s got a heart bigger than most. I catch you messing with her, you’ll have to answer to me.”
I bite down on my lips for a second, suppressing a chuckle. If he knew the dirty list of things I’ve been fantasizing about doing to her, he wouldn’t be so casual with his threat. “She your sister or something?”
“Or something.” He settles into the lounger across from me, wheezing as he leans back and cracks the can open. Someone his size would get winded just moving a fucking toe. “We’ve been through a lot…may as well be related by blood.”
“You guys grow up together?”
One of his thick eyebrows lifts as he sips his drink. “You gonna grill me with questions all night?”
“I was raised by a drill sergeant. What do you think?”
“Brooke told me you’re exceptionally smart. I think you only act tough so the rest of the world doesn’t see how much you’ve been hurt.”
I toss the unopened can of cola onto the couch next to me, wincing through clenched teeth when a sharp pain stabs my ribs. “If this is the part where you expect me to spill my guts and cry like a fuckin’ baby, it ain’t gonna happen. Save your breath, big guy.”
“I don’t expect anything from you. I just know how it is. You’re not the first one I’ve met who came out of an abusive home with that kind of attitude.”
“Yeah? Are you talking from experience?”
With a small shake of his head, he sucks down more of the syrupy drink, then wipes his mouth with the back of his hairy arm. The guy has enough body hair to be a stunt double for Chewbacca. “Don’t matter. I choose to leave the past where it belongs—in the past. You can do the same…you can move on from this nightmare with your father and become a better man because of it.”
“That’s fucking beautiful. You a shrink?”
“Not even close. I’m a math teacher and defensive coach for North High.”
Part of me wants to bust a gut laughing, but not the way my body aches. “No shit?”
“No shit.”
With a mild degree of difficulty, I slide off the couch and rise to my feet, almost blacking out with another wave of pain. “Since you won’t let me leave, can I at least borrow your phone? My crew will be down at the cop shop by now, demanding to see me.”
Jordan pauses thoughtfully, can held to his lips. “What’s this crew of yours like? Any of them get into trouble?”
“They’re solid,” I say with a half-hearted shrug. “None of them have warrants out for their arrest anyway.” At least not currently. And when it does happen, it’s with good reason. “We started a band a few years back, and jam two or three times a week. Keeps our noses clean and shit.” For the most part.
“Oh yeah? What do you play?”
“Bass.”
“What’s your sound?”
“We mostly cover nineties grunge bands, but Ryker has written a few original songs with a bluesy rock vibe.”
“I’d love to hear you guys play sometime. I’m a rock kind of guy myself.” He throws a thick hand up at his side. “You should invite ‘em to come over tomorrow after school. So long as I don’t have to worry about drugs or weapons being brought into my home, they’re welcome.”
I stare at him, half expecting a second head to sprout from his shoulder. “You into dudes?”
“Hell no! I simply want you to feel welcome as long as you’re here. Sounds like you may be staying for a while.”
Irritation scratches at the walls of my chest. This place may prove to be as bad as juvie if this guy’s planning to keep that close of an eye on me. For years I’ve been doing my own thing. My old man never gave two shits about where I was unless he needed something, which usually ended up being a place to take out his frustrations.
It’d still be a bonus to sleep in a place where I wouldn’t have to worry about getting messed with while asleep. He’s even offering to keep me fed. Even when I had a mom, that shit never happened. If I was released back to the apartment to fend for myself, I’d likely starve.
When he tosses me his phone, I watch him from the corner of my eye as I punch in Ryker’s number. He could be testing me, seeing what kind of crowd I hang with. Maybe he’s trying to decide if he needs to sleep with a gun under his pillow as long as I’m around. South Siders can’t be the only ones with those kind of rational fears.
The next morning, I’m cutting across the high school parking lot when I spot Terrance Fisher—King Marty’s lead henchman—pacing at the edge of the property, ugly mug clenched in a scowl. Dude’s been in so many altercations on behalf of his boss that his face is like a melted puzzle from one too many poorly executed stitches. Terrance is a real son of a bitch too—the type that would eat his young if he had any fucking clue which ones belonged to him. The way he's always wearing a fedora and heavy overcoat with a suit, I’ve always wondered if he only listens to rap songs about big pimpin’.
Stomping what’s left of my cigarette with the toe of my scuffed boot, I approach him. “What’re you doin’ here?”
“Where’s Trask?” he growls in a dark, dangerous timbre.
I match his scowl while crossing my arms. “What do you want with him?”
“Is he here yet?”
“He usually gets in late—rides the bus with his sister to her school first.”
A spark lights behind his murky eyes, making them overly bright. The vibe he’s throwing feels seriously off, like he’s desperate, and quite possibly doped up on something. “Yeah? Which school is that?”
His hands tremble at his sides, and beads of sweat cling to his thin upper lip. Considering how he prefers people to see him as intimidating, I’d say something’s most definitely up.
“None of your fuckin’ business,” I say with a shake of my head. “Man, you shouldn’t be here. Whatever shit you have goin’ on with him—”
He steps in my space, cloaking me in his stench of cigars and sweat. “If you think you’re all untouchable because of Ryker, think again. This isn’t over.”
“Not sure what this is, but okay.” I slowly take another smoke from my pocket, and stick it between my lips, holding the prick’s stare the whole time. “I’ll be sure to get him the message.”
I watch as he lumbers across the parking lot, shouldering anyone who crosses his path. One thing’s clear—Trask has tangled with King Marty, and it isn’t good.
Between first and second block, I’m shoving my chemistry book into my locker along with hundreds of other seniors when a hand clamps down on my shoulder. I’m ready to knock whoever it is the fuck out until I turn to find my best friend.
Ryker’s the one chicks lose their shit over. Perfect head of thick hair, sharp eyes as blue as the sky, bone structure of a model despite the fact that his junkie mom was probably on something the whole time she was pregnant. Although he wouldn’t be caught dead in a name brand like the kids in the metro, the fucker has style. When your uncle possess more money than God, you’re able to wear decent enough clothes that aren’t one thread away from unraveling like the majority of kids walking these hallways. Today’s choice of a black leather jacket over a Motörhead t-shirt proves it.
Panties tend to drop before Ryker even opens his mouth. I’m the one who charms my way in. Trask reads poems until they melt. Stone scares them right the hell off.
“Nice to see you among the living,” Ryker growls out, pushing me back a step
. “How you feelin’?”
“Fuckin’ peachy,” I wheeze through an attack of blinding pain.
He shuffles back, his expression flattening when his bright blue eyes take in my new shiner. “Shit, man. I wasn’t thinking.”
A few guys passing in the hallway behind him chuckle, and one mutters, “thugs.” I spent the last hour and a half avoiding the questioning stares of our classmates, wishing I would’ve used my injuries as a valid excuse to stay home. By all accounts, I should still be in the hospital anyway. But I’m no fucking pussy.
“No worries.”
I close my locker door to face him, finding his blue eyes zipping all over the place with the look of a feral animal about to get plowed over by a semi.
“Bender’s in trouble,” he tells me.
“No surprise there. One day your little psychopath brother is going to end up with a life sentence.”
Least he can save the rest of us a spot. If we don’t make it out of this neighborhood, that’s where we’ll end up. As many times as I’ve talked about getting out with Trask, it’ll take a miracle for that to happen the way things go around here. We’re lucky we’ve avoided the morgue this long.
“What’d he do this time?” I ask.
“Set his foster parents’ car on fire.” His piercing eyes cut back to mine, brimming with rage. If I didn’t love him like a brother, I’d be intimidated as fuck by those baby blues. I’d also be more inclined to tell him what I truly think of his uncle. “I can’t get Uncle Marty to bail him out of juvie.”
After Ryker and Bender’s mom OD’d two years back, their lives were turned upside down. King Marty took Ryker in to show him the family business of conning the common man for profit, but turned Bender away because they’re not related by blood. His uncle’s choice made Ryker as angry as I’ve ever seen him.
My gaze follows a small group of underclassmen chicks as they pass, throwing us both heated glances and giggling to each other behind their hands. For the first time since starting high school, I see them for what they are—girls. They don’t have full asses and the bold confidence of a woman like Brooke.
“What’re the cops saying about your case?” He peers over his shoulder, then leans in closer and lowers his voice. “They trace that gun back to my uncle and we’re both fucked.”
I quirk an eyebrow. “You mean you didn’t legally obtain it with a permit?”
“Fuck off. If I hadn’t given it to you, your sorry ass would’ve been the one getting wheeled out on a stretcher.” He shoves me back, although not hard enough to make my broken bones ache like before. “You have no idea the level of hot water you’re in.”
“I think I have a good idea.” With a throaty grunt, I hold his hard stare. “They found me standing over my old man while he was bleeding out from his head, gun still in my hand. I’d say I look pretty damn guilty.”
“You look like you came straight outta Hell.” His expression all at once shifts, becomes pitiful. So damn pitiful that I want to wipe it off his goddamned face. “What’d that asshole do to you this time?”
“Broke a few ribs, fractured some shit in my face, bruised my other kidney. Nothing new.” I start for my next class without waiting for him to follow, unable to deal with his little sympathy party. “Have you seen Trask around today?” I call over my shoulder.
“I don’t usually see him until lunch.”
“The other night he acted strange when I told him your uncle’s goons had been sniffing around our corner.”
Ryker hurries to my side. “Why? What’d they want?”
“Didn’t have a chance to ask. But Trask seemed worried.” I scratch my elbow, carefully chewing on my words as I choose what to say next. “And this morning I ran into Terrance on school grounds, waiting for Trask. He was hyped up over something—wasn’t himself.”
Ryker’s eyebrows pull down. “Why would Terrance come here?”
“Dunno. You s’pose Trask’s hiding something from us?”
“Hope not.” He gives me a blank stare. “Think I should say something to my uncle?”
He thinks his uncle walks on water because he’s “always looking out for the community.” Meanwhile, half the South Side hates King Marty for doing things under the table, and screwing over anyone who works under him. I have yet to decide if Ryker is in denial or he’s truly that clueless, believing that his uncle is still the humble man who owned an ice cream shop before earning the respect of the neighborhood by beating a man to death in the name of revenge.
I shake a surge of irritation from my thoughts. “If Terrance has some kind of beef with Trask, I would think your uncle probably already knows about it. When has that dumbass ever done anything on his own?”
Ryker nods, transferring his text book to his other hand. “How long are they making you stay in foster care?”
“Not sure, but after Saturday, I plan to split.”
“Then what?”
“Don’t know.” I don’t expect an invite to stay in one of his uncle’s many guest rooms. If he wasn’t decent enough to take in Ryker’s half-brother, he sure as shit wasn’t going to take me in either. “If my old man lives, I’m sure as shit not going home.”
Over the dull hum of hallway chatter, a guy shrieks, “Cops!”
A handful of kids dart off in every direction. Everyone else turns in search of the commotion. Slowly the crowd begins to part for three uniformed deputies emerging from a classroom ahead. They’re followed by two more guiding a shaggy redhead in handcuffs toward the nearest exit.
Trask.
Ryker and I exchange similar slack-jawed expressions before jogging toward him.
“Trask!” I yell, adrenaline pumping through my veins like lava. “What the fuck?”
He turns, making the two officers beside him stumble. The green hue of his eyes normally seems so much lighter when he’s not stoned, but today they’re as dark as coals.
“Don’t let them get to her,” he pleads. Holding my stare, the darkness in his expression shifts, becoming desperate and panicked. “Promise me you’ll keep her safe!”
I nod just before they jerk him back around to pull him in the other direction. It’s understandable that whatever bullshit charges they’re arresting him on, he’s afraid his family situation will be put under the microscope.
One of the deputies in the lead hangs back, shooting us a warning glare. We obediently stop, watching as our friend is hauled out of the school. Though he’s not putting up a fight, he’s dragging his feet. And he looks terrified.
Ryker turns to me, eyebrows creased with a deep frown that I want to wipe right off his face. “What the hell do you think they have on him?”
I can’t form an answer without losing my shit. I don’t know what the fuck is going on, but I have to find Sasha. I sprint off in the opposite direction of Trask, shoving over a dozen idiot gawkers aside. I’ll catch hell from Jordan and Brooke once they hear I cut class, but I don’t give a fuck. This is too important to blow off until later.
A big part of me fears it’s not child services Trask is worried about.
Terrance had to have been here this morning because King Marty is after Trask for something. It’s the only reason he’d specifically look at me when he asked them not to take his sister, and not Ryker.
4
Brooke
In the 20-some hours that follow after sending Liam off to Jordan, I’m so consumed by our initial meeting that my focus is total shit. I get called out on it after an IEP conference for another client at one of the middle schools. Takes me ten minutes to convince my supervisor afterwards that I’m merely preoccupied and not on anything.
In an attempt to collect myself, I take my time with a cold deli sandwich on the shore of the city’s biggest lake. It’s a few blocks down from the middle school where the South Side melds into middle class, and less likely to be frequented by thugs.
The late morning’s a little warmer than the past few days, making the park a hot-spot for the locals
to walk their little mutts, and stay-at-home moms to jog around the path in their designer spandex. I’ve always wondered what it must be like to have the luxury of spending every day doing whatever the fuck you want, making coffee dates and synching your fucking periods with other stay-at-home friends.
Leaning back on the blanket from my car, I will the warm sun to cancel out the paranoia lingering from my meeting with Liam. My heart flutters every time I remember the way he looked at me. But he’s so damn young. And I can’t let my feelings take the lead. It’s just every time I peered into those mischievous green eyes, brandishing his abuse for all to see, I saw a reflection of myself. I felt his pain, both the physical wounds and the mental anguish of being hurt by those who brought us into this world. We’ve both been through unbearable pain and rejection by those we expected to love us unconditionally.
As much as I want to show him that not everyone in the world is a heartless bastard, it would be close to impossible to open up without letting it go too far. Mere seconds after meeting him, he’d exposed my vulnerability unlike anyone before him. Getting emotionally involved with the beautiful, soon-to-be man would be dangerous, and that’s not how I roll. “Safe” became my middle name ever since I escaped the South Side.
There are too many ways I could hurt both Liam and myself.
Maybe Jordan could find him a nice girl from his school. One that would provide Liam with the kind of emotional stability he needs. But anyone who hasn’t grown up in the old neighborhood would never understand what he’s going through, or what he’s done to stay alive. Girls from other parts of the city would consider getting involved with him as “slumming it,” and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let some spoiled brat treat him with any less than what he deserves.
