“Shut it, Baker,” I growl, stepping off the slick pier and onto rust-stained concrete.
He laughs, loud and careless. “What’s gotten you so sour, huh?” He closes the gap in a few long strides and matches his walk to mine. “Went by your place. It looked like you hadn’t slept in it. Don’t tell me you tried for some pussy last night and it finally didn’t stick.”
“If that were the case, I’d be back there now,” I say.
“Ah, right. Forgot you don’t do the whores after. It’s either an organic bitch or your hand.”
Rhea’s words ring in my head.
I don’t see why I wouldn’t be with Fisher, too.
She knows nothing about this world.
“Why were you looking for me?” I ask.
“Fisher told me to fetch ya.” He takes a slow drag and blows the smoke in my face. “Seemed urgent.”
Ah, fuck. News travels fast enough; I’d hoped they’d wait until the sun properly woke up, but Fisher must already know. Or at least know enough.
“Where is he?”
Baker jerks his chin toward the warehouse—the same one my grandmother always tried to keep me away from.Not a place where a piece of paper can survive, Talon, she’d say, swatting my shoulder with a dish towel as if that alone could change the tracks of my life. And in life you need a lot of papers. Back then it meant homework. School books. Permission slips. But she was talking about all the rest of it too. Money, ownership, legitimacy, a name that could buy you passage instead of suspicion.
She wasn’t wrong.
In here, anything softer than steel just soaks up the damp and rots.
Too bad there’s no other way for me anymore.
Fisher is waiting near one of the old forklifts, sleeves rolled to the elbow, ledger balanced in his hand like it’s more sacred than any of us. There’s a gun tucked behind his belt, half-swallowed by the plump swell of his stomach. Out of all the men here, his hands are always the cleanest. At least, literally.
I sweep the room. Most of the boys are already gathered—shoulders stiff, jaws tight, some of them wearing the kind of under-eye bruising that comes from a night spent waiting for fallout. A few flick quick eyes toward me, then drop them again.
“Hey,” I say.
Fisher looks up from his ledger and meets my gaze flatly.
“Where have you been? Baker said you weren’t home last night.”
“Out,” I answer, clipped. “You need me for something, or you just here to check my bedtime?”
A small shift moves through the room. He’s not used to me talking back, and neither are the guys. I don’t mean to pick a fight with him, but I already know where this is going, and I don’t feel like choking down the preamble he usually uses to put people back in their place.
“You started a fight with Rey’s men last evening.” He slaps the ledger shut.
I don’t bother denying it. Seems like everyone knows. Even Baker. He’s been asking questions just to toy with me.
“They came at me first,” I say. “Purposefully. They started shit at the border.”
Fisher’s eyes narrow. He doesn’t answer.
“You know they’ve been doing it lately.” Still nothing.
I lick my lips and glance around. These are boys I’ve known my whole damn life, but they won’t believe a word unless I bleed in front of them.
“Fine.”
I unzip my jacket. The wet fabric clings to my shirt, the bandage underneath seeping dark through the cotton. I peel it back just enough.
