Chapter 11
CROSS
“Stop!”
My trainer pushes me and my fighting partner apart.
I pivot, and he follows me to the far corner of the ring.
I lean on the ropes and focus on my breathing, but it’s hard when I’m so irrationally angry.
My shoulders hunch. Recovery isn’t going as fast as I want, and I’m pissed that I put myself in the position to get hurt.
Still, a few bruised ribs is better than a concussion that will follow me around for the rest of my life. That’s what I keep telling myself, anyway.
“Lopez.” My trainer shakes my arm. “You hear the boss hollering for you?”
I straighten and pull out my mouthguard. “Missed it.”
I duck under the ropes and hop down off the platform. The fighters working the bags or with partners around the edges of the huge room ignore me. Their illusion that I was unstoppable has been shattered. My reputation has been stained.
Is that worth twenty thousand dollars?
My gut says no, but I haven’t put the money to use. Beyond Scarlett discovering it, I bought a safe and shoved the cigar box into it so no one else could stumble upon it…or worse, steal it.
“Come on, boy,” Stanley calls, poking his head out of his second-floor office.
I pick up the pace and jog up the stairs, my body only giving a mild twinge of pain. The bruises have faded to mottled green and yellow, but my shirt hides it.
The office door is open, and I enter to find the Webber brothers standing by the windows that overlook the fighters. I can’t remember who is who, their features a little too similar to easily differentiate.
“Cross,” one greets me. “Excellent work at the fight the other day. You really put on one hell of a performance.”
I incline my chin. “So this means you’ll get me in the cage with Fox?”
The other one winces. It’s the barest pinch of his lips and brows, but my fighting career–if we can call it that–is based on reading my opponent.
“One more,” the first says. “One more fight, and then…yes. You’ll get the chance against Wilmer Fox, as we promised.”
I tense. Can I really throw another fight?
“And if I say no?”
“Oh, oh–” Stanley throws his arm around my shoulders. “You’re not saying that, though, right? Cross?”
I clear my throat and keep the strong urge to flip them off and storm away under control. Somehow. Slowly, I shake my head.
The Webber brothers relax simultaneously. One comes forward and holds out a card. “Text this number tomorrow at eight o’clock. You’ll be given details on the fight.”
I pocket the card without looking at it. Stanley releases my shoulders and claps his hand on my back.
“Good boy,” he says in my ear. “Now, back to training. No excuses.”
“Yes, sir,” I mutter.
My skin crawls, but I hightail it out of there.
What’s the worst that could happen if I don’t throw this next fight? Give the twenty grand back? That’s easy–I haven’t spent any of it. With that knowledge, I swallow and keep my head high. I’m not as trapped as they’d have me believe.
I’m halfway down the stairs when I spot Tyler coming in. He holds the door for someone behind him, and my breath stalls in my chest.
What the fuck is Scarlett Wallace doing here?
Wind blasts through the door, nearly pushing her in, and sends her hair fluttering into her face. She brushes it back with both hands, one finger straying to push her glasses higher up her nose.
She spots me and immediately scowls.
Feeling is mutual, sweetheart.
She winds through the gym and meets me at the bottom of the staircase, her gaze fastened on me. Her eyes are wide, her coat tugged tightly around her. Whatever she was expecting, it wasn’t this.
And for that reason, I’m going to fucking murder Tyler.
My so-called best friend is right behind her, and he shrugs like he has no idea why she’s here.
“What is this place?”
I redirect my attention back to Scarlett, scowl fixed in place. “What does it look like? It’s a gym.”
She glances around. “There are people fighting–”
“Training,” Tyler interjects.
“Go away,” I snap at him.
I grab Scarlett’s arm and pull her away from him. Out of the corner of my eye, I spot Staney and the Webber brothers watching from the office windows above. Just what I need–more people to connect me to her and vice versa.
“What are you doing here?” I demand. My grip tightens on her arm. “You following me, Wallace?”
She scoffs. “Excuse me, mister high-and-mighty, I’m trying to hold up my end of your blackmail.”
I narrow my eyes.
She jerks free and opens her purse, pulling a small USB from within its depths. Why do women always have so many things in their purse? They’re literal black holes. I’ve seen my mother hide so much stuff in hers, and she slings it over her shoulder like it doesn’t weigh eight thousand pounds.
Okay, I’m getting off topic.
She shoves the USB into my bare chest and pauses, her fingertips on my skin.
I’m suddenly hot.
I catch the plastic gadget and her hand too. Her lips part, and her eyes dilate. She sucks in a breath then quickly yanks away. The USB stays in my hand, against my skin.
“Your end of the blackmail,” I repeat.
“The homework,” she bites out. The duh is silent.
And unappreciated.
“So sassy,” I murmur. “Might want to tone it down, Wallace. Your life as you know it hangs in the balance.”
Anger flashes across her face. Interestingly, she bites back her retort…almost like you can teach an old dog new tricks.
I grab her arm again and spin her toward the exit. I don’t trust her to go straight there–and in a timely manner–so I guide her out. I shoot Tyler a cutting glare on our way by, and I open the door for my stepsister.
It’s dark out.
“Stop manhandling me.” She tries to shake me loose.
“Don’t come back here.” I look down my nose at her. The USB is hot in my palm, and I itch to shove it back at her, even though I assume it’s my class assignment I told her to do.
The fact that she did it is a little shocking. I assumed more of a fight, resistance…but no. The blackmail must’ve been too good. Too mortifying. I could see when I revealed my knowledge that she was surprised but also scared.
Because of her dad? The man could be more strait-laced than I gave him credit for–and that will absolutely work in my favor.
Her gaze moves beyond me, back inside. “This place has something to do with how you got so injured, right? It wasn’t lacrosse. It was…”
I scoff. “You’re not as smart as you think you are, but I’m in a forgiving mood. So, no, this place didn’t have anything to do with my state.”
She eyes my healing bruises, which I didn’t care were on display until right this second. The image of her looming over the tub, her face distorted by my underwater view, flashes in my mind.
Fuck.
“I would’ve given it to you at home if you were ever there,” she grumbles under her breath.
I raise my eyebrow, but she turns around and power-walks down the sidewalk away from me before I can ask.
Instead, I go back inside and point at a waiting Tyler.
“You. Me. In the ring.”
He holds up his hands. “Dude, she said she had something important to give you–”
“Save it.” God, I’m so fucking mad at him. Punching him in the face will soothe some of that, and this will make it so I don’t break his nose.
Or do something irrational like chase after her.