Her Brawlers: A high school bully romance (Bad Boys of Jameson High Book 2)

by Taylor Blaine

  “Tiny, you said you knew information about my mom?” Time to just dive in. I needed to know what he knew. I had to know just what she had to do with anything.

  Plus, there was no way to warn Stryker. Not there in that room while sitting so close to Tiny. I’d warned Gunner, but not about the deadline. Something was going to happen and I had no idea what.

  Tiny didn’t answer right away, as if he had to think about just what he would share. After a minute, he shook his head. “I don’t think I have as much information as you’re hoping for.”

  “What does that mean?” I picked up my fork like I planned on taking a bite. Tiny’s gaze dropped to my hand, watching as I fiddled with the fork. He raised his gaze, studying me even more closely.

  “It means, I don’t think I know what you’re hoping I know. All I found out was that the Ivanovs know about your mom. That’s it. I was going to tell Stryker to find Vlasi and ask him since I can’t. I’m sorry to get your hopes up. I wish I knew more.”

  But how did he know I was searching for my mom as it was? There was something so off about the way he knew things, but had no real reason to know them.

  I nodded as if accepting his answer. I scooted back from the table, unable to pretend anymore, upset about talking about my mom and having my hopes destroyed when I thought I’d get some kind of closure on what had happened. My wariness was strong due to the fact that I’d just barely survived a week where I was poisoned by men who were not miles away, but where one in particular sat at the head of the table.

  “Excuse me, I really don’t feel well. Do you mind if I return to the room?” I needed out of there. I needed to breathe for a moment without everyone around.

  Tiny stood, too. He wiped his hands on his napkin and nodded. “Let me walk you.” I didn’t need to be walked there, but I was too tired of holding everything in to argue.

  He fell into step beside me, glancing at me every couple feet as we walked down the hall. “If you need anything, Stryker is down the hall on the other end of the house. It’s not a huge home, though, so it’s not like it’s that far.” He laughed at something he’d said. I couldn’t pinpoint what was funny.

  “Thank you.” I pushed the door open and turned back to smile at him.

  Something in his expression left my nerve endings feeling like they’d been dipped in muddy marsh water. He leaned on the door, folding his arms as if he were settling in to watch me undress or something. “Do you know who held you?” The question couldn’t be blunter or bolder.

  I continued walking into the room, setting on the bed as I looked up at him. I shook my head, sighing. “I didn’t see two of them. One of them I used to go to school with. I think there were other people there but I honestly don’t know.”

  Seemingly satisfied with my answer and the way I acted, Tiny pushed from the door and turned to go, but turned back, snapping his fingers. “I have some extra phone chargers. Did you want me to take yours and plug it in? I have a bank of different brand plugins in the kitchen.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder, his eyes wide.

  I reached down, patting my pockets, then glanced at him with regret. “I must have left mine in the truck. I don’t have a lot of people to message.” I still hadn’t reached out to Sara since getting away from Blaze. I had to do that. I just didn’t want to get her mixed up in whatever I was dealing with.

  Plus, she had her own issues with her uncle. I needed to call her and get caught up.

  “Okay, that solves that. Sleep good.” He pulled the door shut.

  I stared at the flat, dully brown surface of the door, my eyes on the handle. Then, as if he knew I watched, Tiny must have turned a key in the other side because I watched the lock on the handle turn from facing vertically to lying horizontally.

  I gasped softly, shaking my head as I realized there was no getting out.

  No. That couldn’t be the case. I’d had to accept that with Blaze and Dominick because I was drugged and tied. But I hadn’t eaten anything at Tiny’s. I wasn’t going to stay there without a gun pressed against my temple. I was getting out.

  Pulling my phone from my pocket, I texted Stryker.

  He tried taking my phone. We have to get out of here.

  I hit send and gripped my phone like it was a lifeline. It was set to vibrate, not sound. I could put it in my pocket and still be aware of any incoming messages.

  I needed that extra hand for getting out.

  I looked around the room. There had to be something I could use to get out.

  Unstacking the bins, I started going through them. Each one had been mislabeled and I wasn’t sure if it was a part of his paranoia or a huge accident. One marked kitchen had nothing but comforters inside of different reds, pinks, and yellows. The next one I opened, marked garage, held a large number of shower curtains inside, stacked to about halfway and then nothing else. Who needed that many brand new shower curtains?

  As I unstacked each oddly filled bin, I revealed more and more of the boarded window. That had to be my way out. I just knew it. But how was I going to get the boards off?

  The fifth bin I moved was labeled books, but when I set it on the stack next to me, an odd clanking inside told me it hadn’t been packed with just books. I popped the top off, scrunching my nose at the sight of greasy, rusty tools. A hammer lay at an angle to the side and I reached in, hefting it into my hands.

  What could I do with the hammer? I turned from the bins and studied the window. I’d been too focused on looking at the wood outside the glass to look at the actual window.

  It was divided in two with half sliding over the other. There was no screen and the lock hadn’t been engaged. The only thing keeping me in were the boards.

  What would it take to get the boards off? I slid open the glass, grateful for the small breeze that worked itself through the slats in the boards. There were about six boards in all.

  How were they held in place? I held the hammer between my forefinger and my middle finger and rested my hands on my hips as I studied my prison.

  I wasn’t drugged. I could do this. Plus, I had a hammer, if I needed a weapon.

  My phone still hadn’t buzzed with an answer from Stryker. I was on my own.

  What if the boards weren’t fastened very well? I wanted to avoid hitting the wood as much as possible in case the pounding brought Tiny to the room. He believed I was securely stuck in there. The last thing I wanted was for him to find out otherwise until I was already gone.

  Setting the hammer on the windowsill, I reached up with both hands and pushed on the top board. Nothing happened, but a bit of creaking. I glanced quickly over my shoulder, my arms still in place as I listened for any footsteps or anyone opening the door to indicate they’d heard.

  No one came.

  I looked back to the boards, pressing on the second one. Still nothing. The third one was just as resistant, but the fourth one loosened on one end, swinging down to expose the yard from a triangular hole that was no more than four inches high on the longest side.

  I got one! I couldn’t contain my excitement. Raising my fists in the air, I grinned at the sky, careful to keep my exuberance silent. After feeling so powerless with Blaze, the feeling of capability gave me a euphoria I didn’t want to lose.

  Bending down to peek through the window, I welcomed the cold fall breeze on my cheeks. From my position, I could make out the rear panel of the SUV we’d driven up in. Most of my view was made up of the driveway that looped around the rise.

  A driveway that was slowly filling up with four sheriff vehicles. They didn’t have their lights on or their sirens. Even their headlights had been cut as they climbed the drive. We wouldn’t be able to get away in the SUV. I had no idea what we were going to do.

  I fell to my rear, removing myself from view. I couldn’t go out the window. Not now. The cops would see and grab me. I was wanted for murder, no matter what the Russians had covered up.

  I scooted around to park my butt underneath the window, pulling my kne
es up to my chest. I inhaled deep, trying to keep my anger and frustration at bay. I wouldn’t be able to think, if I didn’t get a hold of myself.

  The hammer wasn’t going to do me any good. The window wasn’t an option.

  Elbows braced on my knees, I rested my head in my hands, staring at the jeans on my thighs. If the window was out, I had to find another way.

  I couldn’t sit there in self-pity. I had to get out. No one was coming for me. I had to rely on myself. I could do that. I dropped my legs and rolled to all four, keeping my head out of the revealing hole in the boards.

  The tools in the box had been numerous. I grabbed the bin and moved to sit my back against the door. I studied the pieces of the panel that kept me in there.

  It had hinges but I didn’t know what would work on those. I looked at the handle. It was locked. Too bad I didn’t know how to pick a lock. We’d never locked the doors in our house when I was growing up. I’d once seen Sara push something into the hole of a lock on the handle of a bathroom, but this handle didn’t have a hole. It actually had a key hole.

  A key I didn’t have.

  A large screw held the handle in place under the doorknob, its brass head matched the rest of the handle. I narrowed my eyes. What if I could pull the handle off? I had no idea if that was even possible, but it had to be worth a shot.

  Reaching inside the bin, I dug around for a screwdriver, coming up with four options. Holding up the first one, I moved to put the tip in but the design of the tip was like a cross while the design on the screw was a straight line.

  The cross one was out. I looked at the other three, all of which were flat. It was just a matter of picking one and unscrewing the screw.

  Grabbing the short stubby driver, I inserted the head into the screw and twisted. And turned. And pushed.

  Finally, a slight give told me I’d done something. I pulled back, but nothing much had happened.

  The helplessness of the previous week seemed to compound but this time I was fully aware of my predicament. With Dominick and Blaze I’d been so out of it that I wasn’t quite sure I was in danger even though I knew I was – which is both hard to explain and hard to return to. I’d heard about post-traumatic stress disorder, but I’d always assumed it was reserved for military and others who faced deadly jobs on a daily basis.

  As the walls seemed to press in on me and my breath grew shallower and shallower, I had no doubt I was experiencing some form of the disorder as a consequence of my experience I hadn’t even had time to recover from.

  I felt like I’d gone from one prison to another. At least with Blaze, there had been little left to the imagination on what was coming. With Tiny, I wasn’t sure what his goals were or what he wanted. I had the possibility of escape which left me hopeful and I knew hope was more damaging when it was destroyed. I had to get myself together. Was I using everything at my disposal? I hadn’t told Stryker I was locked in the room. Maybe that would get his attention.

  Pausing, I pulled out my phone and texted Stryker again.

  Cops are outside. I can’t get out. He locked me in. Can you help?

  If he got the message, maybe he’d come. Or maybe he was in his own situation he couldn’t get out of. It was really just one more way I could get out of there. But I had to assume Stryker couldn’t get to me for whatever reason and I had to get myself out.

  I shuddered, shoving my phone back in my pocket. I couldn’t picture the type of circumstances that would keep Stryker imprisoned.

  Taking another breath, I moved onto my knees, and reset the screwdriver, this time using two hands and twisting from my shoulders.

  The screw gave way, tinkling down to the ground where my knees were. Offsetting a half inch, the handle slipped in the hole and the lock no longer engaged. I pulled the door open, only the slightest scrape of metal on metal giving away my movements.

  I paused with the door halfway open in case someone stood in the hallway waiting for me.

  What kind of an escape would it be, if I only got as far as the door?

  Chapter 22

  Gray

  Rather than Tiny waiting there to stop me, nothing greeted my escape. At least in front of the room.

  The hallway from one end of the house to the other was straight. I could see down the length of it, past the well-lit living room and kitchen to the darker hallway beyond. Did that mean Stryker and the guys were in the central part of the house or did it mean that I had to somehow get past the light to get out of there. If there were cops in the back, they would most likely be in the front.

  Had Tiny turned us in? I wanted to scream and cry and pummel something all at the same time.

  Slinking into the dark corner of the hall beside the room I’d escaped from, I leaned my head back against the wall and took a minute. I didn’t have a plan. I had no idea what to do or where to go.

  It wasn’t in me to accept weakness and I’d been forced to face my shortcomings head on over the last few weeks, more and more until I was starting to feel like I was nothing but failures.

  My phone buzzed in my back pocket and I snatched it out in case the sound carried to the front rooms. A text from Stryker – finally.

  We’re down in our rooms of his house. There are cops on this side and what looks like black SUVs. We’ll come for you when we get a chance. Sit tight.

  Come for me? Sit tight? Was he drunk or something? I didn’t need anyone to come for me. I set my jaw to the side, more offended by his suggestion that I was a damsel in distress than anything else.

  Didn’t he know anything about me yet?

  I tucked my phone back in my pocket and tucked my chin.. Pressing away from the wall, I squared up. All I had to do was get across the opening between the living room and the kitchen and into the other end. I could do it.

  If not, Stryker, Gunner, and Brock would think I needed help getting out. That was the last thing I needed, the Jameson boys thinking I was weak. I swallowed, careful to walk lightly down the hallway, keeping my footsteps close to the wall and away from the center walkway. To avoid creaking.

  I crept to the edge of the wall, peeking around the corner quickly before dodging back behind the protection of the cream and mauve wallpaper.

  What had I seen? I had to go over it in my head before I could deem it safe. Tiny had been standing at a tripod set up at the window where a blind had hidden the yard from view. A box of ammunition sat at his feet and he was setting the scope just so.

  I could do what I needed to do. He had his back to me, facing away as if the hallway didn’t matter, as if he didn’t have teenagers in his home. Teenagers that, for all intents and purposes, trusted him.

  Rubbing my eyes, I took another spare second to gather my courage. A man who messed with guns with cops collecting around his house didn’t have all of his marbles in a set. I opened my eyes and turned back to face the separating wall and I came up short.

  Tiny stood in front of me, his eyes wide, his pupils dilated as he stared at me.

  I didn’t move, holding his gaze with mine as he blinked rapidly and then stepped back. “Maria… I…” He’d said my mom’s name. He supposedly had information about her. Did he know her? Had he known Mom? Why did everyone get a piece of my mother but me?

  “We have to get out of here, Tiny. There are cops…” My whisper seemed to fall on deaf ears as he walked dazedly into the kitchen.

  He motioned toward me, pulling out a bottle of wine and two glasses. “Maybe you need a glass to calm your nerves.” He chuckled, pouring a conservative amount into one glass. He tilted the mouth of the bottle toward me before tilting it toward his mouth. Tiny swallowed, chugging the green glass bottle’s contents of red wine with a desperation I’d never seen before, even in my own father after the gambling tables.

  Turning wide, slightly crazed eyes my way, Tiny lowered his bottle and wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand. “You have no idea how much I needed that.” He studied me and then motioned my hand toward the hallway. “You b
etter warn them. Things are about to get ugly.”

  I moved slowly, almost stumbling in disbelief. I wanted to go back and claim the wineglass, guzzling it like Tiny had for a small level of comfort or calm that I didn’t feel. I started to run, my footsteps still light on the carpeted floor. I pushed into the only closed door in the hallway, the rest dark as night.

  Shutting the door behind me, I panted to catch my breath.

  Brock, Gunner, and Stryker turned from the window to stare at me. The window was boarded up in their room, too. They stared through slats in the wood, out into the yard.

  “What are you doing in here?” Gunner stared at me as if I’d just crawled out of one of the walls and still wore the plaster in my hair.

  “I told you to stay down there. I’m not sure what we’re dealing with yet.” Stryker’s confidence hadn’t waned with the situation. He glanced at me as if he were wary I still blamed him for something unknown.

  I lifted my chin, pinning him with my gaze. “You didn’t know Tiny was part of what happened to me? You had no idea?”

  Surprise and then confusion twisted Stryker’s features. “What? If I’d known he’d had any part of it, I would have been here torturing him for answers. I looked all week for you. I don’t think I slept more than an hour or two when I collapsed from exhaustion.”

  I glanced at Gunner and Brock for confirmation of his story, not that they would tell me the truth if it meant going against their blood, their cousin, their brother. I finally got that about them. They were all in for each other, no matter what the others decided, they had each other’s backs. Loyalty like that was hard to find and even harder to prove.

  Stryker claimed to have searched for me. I didn’t doubt that he did. “I don’t understand how you could trust him so much. I’m so confused. This doesn’t make sense. You know?”