“My bad,” Tyler says slowly, clearly confused. “Don’t call her a gift. Don’t call her any sort of nickname. Got it. Anything else?”
Cross just grunts.
I roll my eyes, but then an idea strikes. I head toward the raised platform where his trainer is still shaking off Cross’s cheap shot. I glance over my shoulder to where my stepbrother stands, shirtless and with the paper I wrote for him clutched in his tight grip.
This will show him. I carefully unzip my jacket, aware that Cross’s attention tracks my every move, and toss it toward him. I duck under the ropes and face the trainer.
My smile is shy.Coy. “Can I train with you?”
[ 21 ]
CROSS
Oh.Hell. No.
I feel like I’m on fucking drugs. I start forward, and Tyler grabs my arm. He yanks me back, giving me a look like I’m the crazy one.
Yeah, I’m unhinged. No one’s surprised.
The one thing I promised never to do, though, was hurt my best friend. As much as he’s a pain in the ass, I’d never risk injuring him based on some hot-headed moment. But that isreallyput to the test the moment he holds me back from jumping up there.
“Look,” Tyler says in my ear. “We have an audience.”
He tips his head toward Stanley’s office, and my heart stops. He’s at the top of the staircase, looking down on us–not surprising, that’s a common occurrence–but someone is with him.
One of the Webber brothers.
I haven’t told Tyler the truth—should’ve, but didn’t. It was easier to lie and say that I was asking him to babysit Scarlett all day because I was worried about her horseshit ex coming back. I should probably tell him the whole truth–about throwing a fight,notthrowing another fight, the secret twenty grand going into the pocket of a rapist, and my fifty-thousand-dollar bill.
And how the Webber brothers are threatening to collect by any means necessary if I don’t cough up some coin.
That just seems like a headache in the making, though, and I’m over it.
That, and my mother keeps calling me. She’s kind of superstitious, and I think she’s picking up some vibes that I’m in trouble. I’m not superstitious–more like alittlestitious, if we’re honest–but I take her concerns seriously. When she tells me to smudge my room with sage, I do it. I don’t want beef with bad spirits.
Anyway.
Tyler releases my arm, and I face him. “Get her.”
His eyebrows rise. “Excuse me?”
“Get her and get the fuck out of here.” I’m speaking through a clenched jaw. My instincts say, rush up there, punch the dude in the face, and throw her over my shoulder like a caveman. But for the first time, I don’t trust myself to act.
Tyler makes a show of sighing, and we both look to the ring. I wouldn’t call Jim atrainer. He’s more of a workout partner that makes sure my form stays solid. But right now, he’s showing Scarlett how to throw a punch and holding up the blocker on his hand for her to hit.
I watch her wimpy hit, and Jim smiles encouragingly.
That wouldn’t stop a toddler.
I elbow Tyler, and he finally goes into action. He hops up and ducks under the ropes, approaching them. He waves off Jim and approaches Scarlett. I shove my free hand in my pocket to hide my balled fist. I turn away. I don’t need to see her look at me and glare some more.
Iknow.
I feel the heat of it on my back, but I move away. I go to the locker room at the back of the building and tuck the printed assignment into my backpack. The door opens behind me. I finish closing my bag and turn around, only to come face to face with Webber.
Alex or Jason…I’ve got a fifty-fifty shot.
He raises an eyebrow. Today, this one is in a black button-down shirt, black slacks, black loafers. A gold chain peeks out from under his shirt collar. If he’s not in the fucking mob, he’s doing a hell of a job cosplaying.
