Her Champions: A high school bully romance (Bad Boys of Jameson High Book 3)

by Taylor Blaine

  She nodded, suddenly shy as she moved from the bed.

  I reached out, grabbing her hand and holding on until she glanced back at me with questions in her eyes. “That was amazing. Did I hurt you?”

  She shook her head and bit her lip. “No. I did it okay?” Then it hit me. She was nervous she hadn’t done it right. Another reason I didn’t particularly prefer virgins.

  But in that instance, I was glad no one else had known Gray before me.

  I shook my head, standing to move beside her and using my free hand to catch the condom from falling off. “You did that like a pro.” She rolled her eyes and laughed, but there was something in her eyes that made me question what part bothered her.

  I wasn’t calling her a whore, but I wasn’t sure how to back pedal. Maybe when we weren’t so raw and the newness had worn off, we could talk a little easier about the encounter. The last thing I wanted to do was insult her.

  She was anything but lacking and I had to make sure she knew that.

  After cleaning up, we pulled on our pajamas and climbed into my bed. I held her against my chest as we both fell into the exhausted sleep of people who had faced a tension cord for so long they weren’t sure they’d survive the cutting. We survived and as soon as she was ready, I couldn’t wait to do it again.

  Before that though, I had a responsibility to tell her about her mother and just what I thought was happening.

  I hoped it wouldn’t ruin what we were trying so hard to build in all of that insanity.

  Chapter 10

  Gray

  Sleeping with Stryker would go down in history as one of the best things I’d ever done. I couldn’t help grinning as we fell asleep in each other’s arms.

  But my smile faded the next morning when I moved to call Sara to tell her all about it and I remembered I couldn’t. Talking to Sara wasn’t an option until that night and I couldn’t tell her anything or say anything beyond checking to see how she was doing and if she was being mistreated.

  While I’d slept – I finally slept! – I’d missed three calls from Stryker’s old phone which I’d renamed in my contacts list “Mom”. I couldn’t know for sure it was her. I had no way to prove it, but I couldn’t deny the hope it gave me to just see the word Mom flashing on my screen or stacked up in my missed calls list.

  Every day I missed at least three calls and I answered at least twice as many. Whoever was on the other end just sat there, silently. I copied their actions and we listened to each other breathe for minutes on end.

  I still hadn’t told Stryker about the calls. I wasn’t sure what I would tell him. That I was having silent time on the phone with someone I thought could be my mom, but that I wasn’t sure?

  I swung my legs over the side of the bed, yawning softly as I padded across the room to the bathroom and shut the door. I gripped my phone in my palm, even as I used the toilet. I set it down to wash my hands and face and then quietly left the bedroom. Stryker still slept with an arm thrown over his head and his other arm draped across the mattress where my body had been.

  I couldn’t think too closely about what we’d done or that I wanted to do it again and again. We were running out of time as it was. I couldn’t make too many demands or ramp up my list of wishes. Gratitude for the time I had was going to be my mantra. Not to lie though, I could totally see me trying to convince Stryker to skip classes to do that again.

  The rest of the house seemed to sleep as I padded quietly down the stairs to the living room. A furnace kicked in somewhere and warm air blew from floor vents when I passed by. My palm ached from how intensely I gripped my phone.

  I didn’t want to face the truth about my situation. There were too many things outside of my control. I was in this situation and I wasn’t even old enough to do anything about it and yet there I was, training for a fight that would ultimately decide what happened to my friends and family.

  How was anything like that fair? How could I possibly cope with that kind of pressure? I had no idea; all I knew was that I had to perform as expected.

  I just wished the fight was that day rather than another week out. I couldn’t handle the nightly calls to Sara that were getting more and more despondent. Or the tension in our practices and all day at school. An absentee father I didn’t trust only made things worse. Top all of that off and things I’m not listing with the fact that I just knew my mother, who had abandoned me, was making silent calls from my boyfriend’s stolen phone.

  Before sitting at the counter, I stopped at my thoughts. Boyfriend? Was that what Stryker had become to me? I wasn’t sure. We hadn’t discussed our situation. Did I want to put a label on whatever we had?

  I felt like the more things I tried to control, the more powerless I became. Was I ready to be tied down to just Stryker, too? Not that I was interested in anyone else, period. But my last boyfriend had ended up being a douche and I didn’t feel like repeating the process. Maybe Blaze wouldn’t have been such a jerk, if I’d kept things casual between us. I doubted it, but one never knew.

  I sank onto the stool at the counter in the kitchen, and leaned on my elbow as I stared at my phone. Did I really think it was my mom on the other line? What if I said something to her and it ended up being someone else? Someone who could hurt Sara or my mom?

  A trap. I’d worry about that when the time came. So far, most of the calls were late at night or during the afternoon. Rarely did I get any calls from that number in the mornings.

  I glanced across the kitchen, noting the green digital clock display on the oven face. Barely seven-thirty. Why was I up so early?

  I rubbed at my eyes and yawned, leaning forward on my arms. Next to me my phone buzzed.

  Jumping upright, I stared at the screen where Mom flashed. She never called at that time of day. Never being a time construct of only a week, but still, it was enough time to establish a pattern.

  Emboldened by the things I’d done with Stryker the night before and the acknowledgement of loss and pain surrounding anything that had to do with my mom and Sara, I grabbed up the phone and swiped the screen.

  Moving into the living room, I folded my legs as I took a seat in the corner of a couch with a view into the front yard. I couldn’t hear any breathing on the other end, but whoever had called me had to be breathing, so I took comfort in knowing that.

  Maybe she couldn’t talk. But I could and I suddenly wanted to say something, anything, to my mom. Even if it wasn’t her, I could at least pretend.

  I took a deep breath and spoke softly but clearly. “When you left, I thought for sure it was my fault. Dad kind of checked out, but you know how he is. There’s potential but nothing really holding it all together.” I picked at the hem of the leggings I wore. I wrinkled my nose. “You didn’t have to leave me. You could have taken me with you. I missed you so much.”

  I leaned my head back, staring up at the ceiling with the phone pressed against my ear. Blinking, I refused to let the tears release. My throat constricted and I spoke with a slightly choked sound, but I didn’t stop. “Why are you calling me? I don’t mind it; I just can’t help wondering why now? Right before Dominick gets me after I fight?”

  Nodding as if she’d spoken, I reached up and pinched the bridge of my nose. “Honestly? I’m scared. My last fight… I was up against the Russians and I killed the girl. Sonya Ivanovs. I didn’t mean to kill her and from what I understand, she had been drugged and beaten already by her brother Sergio. She’d already suffered a bunch of internal bleeding and my uppercut was the final straw.” I shook my head, closing my eyes again. “I mean, I get it. I do. Everyone keeps saying I didn’t kill her, but didn’t I? Didn’t I deliver the punch that ultimately killed her?” I fell silent and stared at the crease in the wall where the window frame stretched toward the ceiling.

  “I guess it doesn’t matter. The Romanovs and Ivanovs both want their revenge. They’ll be coming after me. And I have no idea what Dominick wants. The guy is… I can’t even think of a name bad enough to call
him.” I sighed, an emptiness in my stomach as I realized I spoke into the air. No one was listening to me. My voice grew softer but I had to get the last little bit out. “I miss you. Tons. I just want everything to go back to the way it was, before you left, before Dad’s gambling took over. He still gambles, you know.” I sighed. “I love you. Even after you left, I love you. I’m sorry, if I let you down in any way. I just wanted… I don’t know. I just want you back.”

  Before I could say anything else, the phone clicked and hung up. I pulled the phone away from my face and stared at the now-black screen. After a minute, I dropped it into my lap and stared up at the ceiling a little longer.

  A single lone tear coursed a path down the side of my cheek.

  Mourning my mom was getting to be old, but at least it was familiar. At least, it was something my body wasn’t going to go into shock over.

  Headlights turned onto the drive of the Jameson household. Lights that belonged to a darkly colored sedan. Why was there a car driving up the one-resident drive? There were no other houses on that road and there was no one else expected to come out there.

  Standing while keeping my eyes on the window and what the car was doing, I called out in the general direction of the stairs. “Guys, someone is here!” Maybe they expected something or someone. Maybe we’d hit an early morning booty call by Gunner and Stryker. I had no idea.

  All I knew was that the car wasn’t familiar and it slowed as it reached the house.

  Thudding from upstairs suggested the guys scrambled to get clothes on and get ready for whatever drove down the drive.

  I held my breath as I moved to the door. Did I brace my arms against it and hope no one came in? The door was locked. Even the guys had picked up my paranoia over the last week and taken to locking every door in the house.

  Leaning on the door seemed stupid and inane at that point. I angled to the side, watching the car through the side window beside the front door.

  It crept closer, as if watching for some kind of life or something in the foggy morning. Frosty dew clung to the lawn and the sun would burn through the fog by probably ten, if we were going to have sun. More and more lately, clouds refused to give up the skies.

  The rear door opened while the car still moved and two people were thrown haphazardly from the doorway, one after the other. The bodies partially rolled, coming to a stop with limbs and torsos twisted together.

  I couldn’t make out faces or anything else that would help me identify them from where I stood.

  The front window of the passenger side rolled down and the barrel of a black gun poked through. Before I could think, I let myself drop to the floor. Narrowly avoiding a slew of bullets as they ripped through the front windows and some of the siding, I gasped.

  The sound of the car’s engine gathering speed carried easily through the broken glass.

  I heaved myself to all fours, breathing fast and deep as I tried to figure out just what was going on. Wasn’t it enough that I was fighting for these people? Wasn’t it enough that Dominick had taken my friend and might have my mom? Wasn’t it enough my dad was no help in the survival arena?

  “Gray? What happened? Who shot?” Stryker’s yell shook the walls.

  Not bothering to answer, I scrambled to my feet, desperate to check on the people flung from the car. I didn’t have to know them to be worried about them. Unlocking the door, I swung the panel open, flying from the house even as the taillights of the sedan disappeared onto the road from the driveway. The steps creaked with each thunderous movement.

  Light blonde hair splayed around the back of one of the bodies. I slowed as I approached. Both were blondes and fair skinned, judging by the arms tossed carelessly to the side.

  Sinking to my knees beside the girls lying in the damp grass, I ground my teeth together.

  Jaeda and Jasmine were awful people, but they didn’t deserve to be discarded on the lawn of the Jameson boys. No one deserved to be thrown away like trash.

  My chest rose and fell as I gasped for breath.

  The thunder of footsteps from behind startled me and I whirled on my knees to face them. The cousins ran toward us, each one garbed in anger and righteous indignation.

  Stryker stopped beside me, resting his hand on my shoulder as I stood. He studied me face. “Are you okay? I freaked out when I woke up and found you gone. The shots…” I doubted Stryker had ever freaked out a moment in his life, but the thought was nice that he might have emotions like that for me.

  I shook my head, but before I could comment or even focus too much on the embarrassment I should be feeling from the night before, a groan cut through the air around us. I spun, my hair pushing out in a dark brown fanning circle as I moved. Brock and Gunner crouched beside the girls.

  One of them pushed up onto her arms, shaking her head side to side slowly. She bent over the other, peering closely at the inert body. “Jaeda, are you okay?”

  Jasmine ignored us like we didn’t exist as she leaned over her sister. Her lank hair hung down past her face, blocking her features from view. She moved onto her knees, moving closer to Jaeda’s still form. Jasmine reached out and gently shook Jaeda’s shoulder, her movements getting rougher and rougher with each second that passed without response. “Jaeda! Jaeda, wake up.”

  Nothing.

  Jasmine sank back, her butt resting on her heels as she threw her head back, her hair falling behind her. Tears coursed down her bruised cheeks, leaving pale tracks on dirt I hadn’t noticed before.

  She looked filthy, her clothes torn and muddy in spots. A dark red crack on her lower lip suggested she’d been hit hard enough to split the soft skin. Dark shadows gave her a hollow, haunted look with the extreme pallor of her complexion. That’s when I realized she wasn’t wearing any makeup. Her eyelashes matched her blonde hair and a smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks attested to the absence of foundation or coverup.

  After a second, Gunner stepped forward, closer to the twins but cautiously, like he didn’t want to ruin the grieving moment Jasmine was trapped in. “Jasmine? What happened?” He moved across Jaeda’s body, crouching down and pressing a finger against her neck which was bent at an odd angle.

  I couldn’t look too closely at Jaeda’s body. I wasn’t sure I hadn’t wished them there, dead and grieving before me. Jasmine was mean. Just flat out cruel and I couldn’t say I mourned with her. But I could say, I’d been in some tough situations and I didn’t wish grief on anyone, even my worst enemy.

  Jasmine sniffed, tucking her chin so she could see him more fully. She wiped her arm across her nose and then folded her hands in her lap. “We were turning tricks last night. I made… Jaeda go with me for a special client request from last week.” She closed her eyes as if she could block out the horror in front of her. “They were supposed to be a high-paying group of guys. Instead, they were three Russians. I said they didn’t have to hurt us, that we’d do whatever they wanted, but that wasn’t enough.”

  “What do you mean it wasn’t enough?” Brock moved beside her, his gentleness showing as he held his voice to match the ambience of the morning.

  Stryker pulled me close, careful to keep quiet as we all tried to figure out what was happening.

  Her answer was broken and torn apart as she whispered, “They hurt us, bad, Brock. Jaeda more than me. They asked… they wanted to know about you and what you’re doing. I don’t… She asked about Gray, but… every time one of them did, the other one shut him up.” She stopped, swallowing.

  The white and slightly purple fog hung lower, hugging the grass in the front lawn and clinging to the bull pines bordering the property.

  After a second Jasmine raised a shaking hand and stretched out her arm, pulling her tight long sleeve up her to her elbow.

  I winced at the mosaic of red lines all over her skin.

  “Son of a bitch.” Gunner’s expletive brought me closer to Jasmine. The cuts weren’t just random cuts.

  I covered my mouth as I realized she’d
been cut deep enough you could see the yellow of fat tissue under wounds that had been cauterized somehow. The wounds themselves weren’t just slashes here and there. I could easily make out a warning etched into her flesh like a branding she’d never be able to escape.

  He’s coming for you.

  The question wasn’t what would happen when he got there, but who exactly he was and who he was coming for. Hadn’t Jaeda and Jasmine been enough?

  Chapter 11

  Gray

  Jaeda’s death left a malignant shadow on the rest of the week before the fight. As if the conditions around the tournament weren’t rough enough, we had to get reminders on what was at stake? Did the Russians really think that beating a girl to death and leaving a message carved into her sister’s flesh was the way to lessen the stress?

  We had forced ourselves to eat a solid breakfast after an ambulance came and retrieved Jaeda and Jasmine. Jaeda was hidden by a black body bag while Jasmine stared into space, her lip quivering like a lost child. I didn’t have to like her to feel bad for her loss. No one deserved what she’d been through.

  A heavy cloud of depression laced with tension hung over the Jameson house throughout the week. As the day drew nearer and nearer, the four of us became jumpy, like anything could be the trigger that killed us.

  I dropped an egg on the floor in the kitchen and Brock rushed in, his hands splayed in front of him and his eyes wide. “What happened?”

  I just shook my head, holding up the broken brown shell. Without saying another word, he grabbed some napkins and knelt beside me to clean up. I didn’t bring up the fact that I knew he listened to the calls checking on Sara every night still or that I knew he stood just around the corner to hide.

  Stryker only held me at night, as if he was afraid of breaking me or like maybe we were close to breaking something between us. The tightrope was strung taut and we didn’t want to lose our balance.