Laken (The Phoenix Club Girl Diaries Book 2)

by Addison Jane

  I found this space a couple of years ago when I joined the club here in Phoenix.

  At first, it was just for me.

  A place of solace.

  A place to go, clear my head.

  But it wasn’t long before a handful of local fighters found out I was in town and demanded I train them. While the idea of dealing with the shitshow that is the world of professional fighting and its asshole politics made me want to stab someone, it gave me something to focus on and a chance to get in a ring with guys who pushed me as much as I pushed them.

  It ended up being a welcome distraction.

  Until fucking now.

  I reached for the tall roller door, ready to pull it down and lock this shit up for the day, so I could make it back to the clubhouse for church. My fingers barely brushed the latch before I heard the unmistakable chirp of a police car.

  My shoulders tightened. An unconscious reflex even when I was confident I hadn’t done anything recently which could mean I was about to feel that familiar chill. The one that handcuffs send through you as the cold metal touches your skin.

  Without turning my entire body, I watched over my shoulder as a large SUV police cruiser crawled down the alleyway toward me, its wing mirrors barely fitting between the three-story brick walls on either side. It came to a stop as the alley opened into the large outdoor concrete space where I was standing, an old courtyard for the old apartments that used to be inside the adjoining building.

  The driver’s door creaked open and I turned, folding my arms across my chest as I squared my body with the unwelcome visitors.

  “Myth,” a deep voice announced, a familiar face stepping around to the front of the car.

  “Samuels,” I acknowledged cautiously, lifting my chin. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

  He grinned, lifting his mirrored sunglasses from his eyes and tucking them into the collar of his shirt. Samuels leaned back against the front of his cruiser, his elbow resting on the hood like we were old friends and he’d simply stopped for a fucking chat. “I was in the neighborhood.”

  I shook my head as I pulled my T-shirt from where it was tucked in the back of my shorts, tugging it on over my head before I addressed him. “I’ve got shit to do, so make it quick.”

  Austin Samuels was a local Sargent. Things hadn’t always been so pleasant with him, but since his little sister happened to be Meyah’s best friend, and also her brother’s old lady, he seemed to have warmed to the fact the club wasn’t out to rape and pillage the city.

  “I’ve got something of a… favor to ask.”

  I snorted, reaching for the roller door and tugging it down with force, the loud crash echoing in the shadows. “The answer is no.”

  Samuels ignored me completely and turned to his partner, a young blonde who seemed to be shifting on her feet nervously with her eyes focused on me. “Smith, grab him,” Austin snapped, making her jump and bringing a smirk to my face as I hooked my padlock through the lock and clicked it closed.

  She quickly cleared her throat, her head jerking back and forth before she scurried to the back door of the cruiser and yanked it open.

  At that stage, curiosity had gotten the best of me, and I watched cautiously, my eyebrows raised as she reached inside the vehicle. A few seconds later, she dragged a kid out of the backseat, her arm wrapped tightly around his bicep.

  The teen stumbled as she shoved him forward. He managed to find his footing—an impressive feat while handcuffed—before he fell flat on his face. Stretching his body to full height, he turned and glared at the officer over his shoulder. “Fuck you, bitch,” he snarled, spit flying angrily from his lips.

  My eyes widened in surprise for a moment. This kid couldn’t have been more than sixteen years old.

  “I got places to be. Take me to the station and give me a fucking court date already.”

  Rolling my shoulders back, I stood a little taller and narrowed my eyes before moving my gaze to Austin. “This ain’t a daycare, man,” I noted, shaking my head and turning toward where my bike was parked in the back corner, already fucking done with this bullshit. “No deal.”

  Austin sighed heavily as I turned my back on him. “You haven’t even heard—”

  “Daycare? Who the hell do you think you’re talking to, motherfucker?” the little smart-ass said.

  I paused.

  My feet suddenly feeling extremely heavy, not allowing me to escape as a wave of heat rolled through me. It was a familiar feeling. One that not so long ago I would have allowed to control me.

  Not just control me—consume me.

  I had a hot temper and shitty impulse control.

  It had been a problem since I was a kid.

  It was like your body was on fire from the inside out.

  For the most part, I’d learned over the years how to keep the fire under control, but the truth was, no matter how confident you are in your own strength, there were certain things that still made it burn at full blaze.

  One being little smart-ass kids with no fucking respect.

  “Motherfucker?” I repeated, cracking the knuckles in my right hand. I stood a little taller as I forced my body to face the little shit for brains.

  His eyes met mine.

  They were narrowed and glassy, and he was huffing and puffing like an angry bull.

  This kid wasn’t no fucking gangsta.

  He was absolutely fucking petrified. Yet, he thought if he talked tough, it would make people step back, and no one would notice.

  I always noticed.

  “See what I’m dealing with here?” Austin spoke up, shaking his head and running his fingers through his hair in frustration. “He’s fucking sixteen, he’s already done four stints in juvie. He’s too young to be tried as an adult. His mom doesn’t give a shit. Dad’s never been around. And his older brother is due out of prison next month. He’s a member of the 8th Street Hellions—”

  “What the hell you want me to do about it?” I cut in sharply, pressing my hand to my chest. “Do I look like a damn charity?”

  “No,” he agreed simply. “But if anyone could scare the kid fucking straight, it’ll be you assholes.”

  I huffed out a surprised laugh. “You want him scared straight? Take him down to the Hilton Hotel and throw him off the tenth floor. Stick his dick in a bear trap. The last time I checked, the club wasn’t a five-step program for being a stand-up citizen.”

  “What about the other guys you work with? Some of them are young… just kids,” he challenged, still refusing to let it go. Not many people knew my business, but it didn’t surprise me Samuels had been snooping around. I had a couple of young guys coming to the gym, teens who were already a part of the scene, who had already started careers in Muay Tai and kickboxing but were looking for someone who wasn’t going to bullshit them and kiss their ass to make money.

  That was me.

  You weren’t good enough, then I wasn’t going to sugarcoat that shit.

  Glaring at Austin, I pursed my lips. The smug bastard had his chin raised like he was ready to fight to get this little shithead the help he needed.

  “They’re different,” I argued through gritted teeth.

  “Why?”

  “Because they want to fucking be something,” I growled before pointing sharply at the still snarling brat. “He just wants to be a shitbag to people because he’s hoping they won't realize he’s a scared little kid shitting his pants. Probably fucking literally.”

  “Fuck you!” Shitbag cursed, his body jerking toward me before Smith could grab him and pull him back. “If I had these cuffs off…”

  I waited a beat for the rest of that pathetic threat, wondering if he might actually follow through with something. He didn’t, so I rolled my eyes.

  “All right then… let’s take the cuffs off,” I announced loudly as I moved toward him, rolling my shoulders and cracking my knuckles.

  Shitbag froze, the color visibly draining from his face.

  Smith stopp
ed moving too, her eyes widening and flicking nervously toward Austin.

  The grin spread across the bastard’s face was smug as he walked over, pulling his keys from his belt and unlocking the kid’s cuffs.

  The nervous look on the little brat’s face was almost comical. I wondered for a second whether he’d run.

  “You think you’re a big man? I got a rule here…” The closer I got, the more he inched away until Austin had to press a hand against his back, stopping his desperate attempt to escape. “If you wanna talk like a man, swear like a man, you better be prepared to fucking fight like one.”

  Shitbag’s hands were clenched into fists like he was ready to take a swing at any moment, but fear had him paralyzed. I pulled up a couple of feet from his face. His body language strangely changed, and he seemed to curl in on himself, one arm looking like it was moving to protect his torso, the other to protect his head. It was a beaten body’s natural reaction to protect its most valuable and vulnerable parts. That told me more than I needed to know, and suddenly his bad fucking attitude made more sense.

  “Your pops not around?”

  He shook his head sharply.

  “Mom got a boyfriend?”

  Another no.

  “How long’s your brother been in jail?” I asked, finally taking a step back and giving him a little space to breathe.

  The kid froze, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. “‘Bout six months,” he rasped quietly under his breath.

  Ding, ding, ding.

  We had a winner.

  “Before he got locked up, he spent most days beating the shit out of you, huh?”

  He pursed his lips, his hair falling across his face as he glared at me from beneath his brow. He wasn’t going to answer that, he’d been taught not to. Obviously, he’d had it beaten into him to keep his mouth shut when it came to the abuse he was taking at home.

  Unfortunately for me, there was one thing that made me more furious than punk-ass kids with no respect.

  And that thing is the fuckers who beat them.

  The people who made them that way.

  Because now he wasn’t just a little shithead in need of an attitude adjustment.

  He was more familiar.

  He was me.

  Goddammit!

  “Monday, Wednesday, Friday,” I growled, turning to Austin with a narrowed gaze. “Four till eight in the evening. One fucking month. Starting tomorrow.” I tried not to be distracted by the way the kid’s eyes lit up in surprise. The look of a young boy who’d never had a fucking chance taken on him before.

  I turned on my heel, stomping toward my ride, knowing it might be the one thing that could cool the fire swirling in my gut right now.

  “Thanks, Myth!”

  I raised my middle finger over my shoulder. “Next time you show up unannounced, I’m shooting first, asshole.”

  LAKEN

  Three months and nine days.

  Give or take an hour or two.

  That’s how long I’d been here, in this same room, staring at the same walls and eating this pile of tasteless mush they try to pass off as dinner. I swear whoever the chef was, only knew how to use three ingredients in their food.

  Potatoes, pasta, and salt.

  So much freaking salt.

  Maybe a block of butter if you were lucky because you know, if the salt didn’t kill you, your cholesterol would.

  I screwed up my nose, pushing the food tray to the side. I’d already let it go cold by staring at it for the last hour trying to work up the courage to put it in my mouth. I’d learned plenty of times by now it wasn’t worth the pain you were going to go through when your stomach attempted to process it in a few hours.

  I’d continue to starve myself until the morning. At least then I could fill up on toast and coffee to get me through the rest of the day. Maybe shove an extra couple of pieces of bread into the waistband of my pants.

  I sighed heavily.

  Holy crap! Someone let me the hell out of here.

  Squeezing my eyes shut tightly, I fell back against the bed, the rock-hard mattress almost knocking the wind out of me. Every damn thing about this place drove me crazy. The smell, the noise, the plastic wristband permanently attached to my arm so tightly it almost cut off the blood supply.

  And yet, after years of being threatened, tortured and abused, a part of me had to be thankful I’d gotten to a point where the only person who was trying to end my life was me.

  Yeah, that was the kind of sick place my mind was at.

  A little bit of dark humor that I was almost sure would get me another month in this place at least if I ever said those words out loud.

  I was stronger now than I was those few months ago.

  It took this fucking place to remind me there were people out there who died that same day when my life was turned on its head, and I was a selfish fucking bitch for trying to give back a second chance they never had.

  And I promised myself after it happened, I wouldn’t go back to being that selfish, self-centered brat I once was. The one who was so set on self-destruction she didn’t give a shit about taking everyone else with her down that bumpy road.

  So here I was on chance number three.

  Trying to fight through the pain of being in a life I hated so fucking much but still determined to somehow create a new one.

  Maybe not a perfect one.

  But an average one would do.

  As I managed to settle, my breathing slowing as sleep crept in, the door to my room creaked. The sound drove me crazy, but it was also a comforting alert to the presence of a person—a visitor.

  It was the one thing I didn’t get many of.

  I cracked one of my eyes open, taking a peek at my unwelcome intruder.

  “Get up, Laken,” Julie urged, her voice so sickeningly sweet it often made me cringe. It was so soft and smooth and deceptively warm. Something I’m sure she’d spent a lot of her free time practicing trying to get it just right. “We need to have a chat.”

  I scoffed, knowing there was no way she was here with good news given the time of night and the fact I had actually attended a group session today. “Let’s not and say we did.”

  Julie chuckled softly, but even I could tell it was forced. It was the one she used specifically when there were other people around who could possibly judge her actions or her shitty attitude. She hated this horrid fucking place as strongly as I did. Unfortunately, it seemed like neither of us had a choice in the matter, so we simply had to find a way to co-exist.

  Which usually meant her leaving me alone, and me not telling her to fuck off on a daily basis.

  “You have visitors.”

  Shaking my head, I sat up on the bed and swung my legs over the side. “For one, I never have visitors…” I rubbed at my eyes with the back of my hand and looked over at my alarm clock. The hairs on my neck stood on end. “And two, it’s nine o’clock.”

  There was nothing I liked about this situation, and I could feel my fingers curling into fists. It was a natural reaction when I felt like I was being forced into a corner, which basically explained the entire three months I’d been in this shithole.

  I sure as hell wasn’t there by choice.

  I woke up one day and that was it. They refused to let me leave. I was locked up and told when to eat, sleep, and pee, and they took any fucking thing which could remotely be dangerous, including my pillowcases and toothbrush. It was like being trapped in a little room of my own hell, forced to entertain my own fucked-up thoughts for half the day, and share them with a group of strangers for the other.

  I understood they thought they were doing the right thing—adamant a couple of months of medication and positive affirmations were going to fix over twenty years of carnage inside my brain.

  Maybe that worked for some.

  Maybe there were people who simply wanted someone to care.

  But I wasn’t one of those people.

  I didn’t want them to care.

  I had
far too much to hide.

  Julie eased the door open a little wider, stepping all the way inside. It was somewhat normal for her to invade my space randomly. Usually because as the coordinator of the ward, she was in charge of waggling her finger at me when I got too defensive, or when I broke doors or windows trying to get the fuck out, but this time, she wasn’t walking in alone.

  Someone else followed her.

  Not just one someone, but two someones.

  And they were huge.

  One of them had dark, almost black hair. It was pushed back from his face, and he was completely clean-shaven, not even a blink of stubble. The other was the complete opposite, his hair a little lighter, his face harboring a full beard.

  I folded my arms across my chest trying to hide the way I was breathing, giving away a clear indication I was nervous. “What’s going on?” I demanded, my eyes flicking to Julie who seemed as in awe of the two men as I was.

  She cleared her throat, ignoring my demand for answers and holding out her arm, indicating for them to sit on the sofa that backed the wall opposite my bed. “Please, take a seat. I will give you a few minutes.” Julie seemed to shrink away as they moved forward, filling the tiny space.

  They were both wearing plain T-shirts, white, with dirty marks smeared across them, matching the rips and stains on their denim jeans. They hadn’t dressed up to see me. The dude with the beard had tattoos crawling up his arms, each randomly placed. In my head, they didn’t make much sense, but I was pretty sure he didn’t give a shit.

  My stomach was already swirling, my brain even more so as the panic began to set in.

  He had found me.

  I pushed myself further back on the bed, thanking God my back was to a wall.

  If I had to fight my way out, I would.

  I’d give it everything I had.

  But as the two hulking bodies filled the space in front of me, I was coming to the realization I would never win.

  Julie finally stepped out of the room, the door clicking closed behind her.

  The two men did not take a seat.

  It was probably a good thing because I was pretty sure they wouldn’t fit on my tiny sofa anyway.