Chapter 28 Scarlett
SCARLETT
“What the hell are you doing here?” Tyler’s gaze dances all around, worry etched in the line between his eyebrows.
I flutter my eyelashes at him, confusion, worry and anger hitting me all at once. I jerk my attention to the hand on my arm, the pressure of my handler’s grip tightening to the brink of pain.
“Fight’s over,” I stress. “Let go of me.”
I’m shaking, my legs like Jell-O, even with Tyler standing beside me. He doesn’t stand a chance against whomever this man is.
“So much for collateral,” he hisses under his breath. “He blew the fucking fight.”
Cross won the fight. How the hell did he blow it?
Someone grabs the man’s attention over the buzzing crowd, a much different vibe from the last fight I found myself at, and he curses.
My lip is raw from my nervous chewing, and I can’t stop staring in the direction that Cross exited through, right before Nicholas was carried out, still unconscious.
Did he know he was fighting Nick again?
Is that why he didn’t tell me anything?
Tyler’s arm begins to slide against my lower back, and we make eye contact. He inches his head, as if to say let’s make a run for it, but to my relief, my arm is dropped, and only a tiny bite of pain is left behind from the man’s grimy fingers.
“This is a fucking mess,” he mutters before disappearing in the thick of screaming fans, eager for the next fight.
Tyler grabs a hold of my wrist and quashes the space between us. “Let’s go.”
I’m pressed against his back as he weaves us in and out of the crowd toward a dingy door and an even dingier hallway. Must and mildew trail us as our shoes stomp against the damp floor, and then he pushes through a door to reveal a sight that makes my heart stop.
Cross.
Before my brain can catch up with my feet, I rush across the room and squeeze between a red-faced, angry man and the guy who apparently means more to me than I’m willing to admit.
“You’re hurt,” I whisper.
My eyes water, panic working through my head as I take in every last wound and swelling knot.
Cross’s gaze bounces between my eyes, his own worry cutting through. “Did they touch you?”
“Jesus Christ, Cross!” the man snaps. “That should be the least of your concerns!”
“Fuck you, Stanley.” Cross grips my arms and looks me over before flicking his attention to Tyler. “Did they?
“He had a hold of her arm, but other than that…”
Cross shifts back to me. “What arm?”
“I’m fine!” I shout. “You’re the one who is hurt!”
Cross, unwilling to bend, pushes my sleeve up past my elbow on my left arm, inspecting it closely. Once he’s satisfied with it, he does the same to my right. I hold my breath and watch the color drain from his face. He exhales deeply, his temples flexing with the grinding of his jaw.
“I want to see them. Right. Fucking. Now.” He glares at Stanley. “Bringing her here and then this?”
I glance at my arm. Tiny bruises are left behind from the man’s grip, but I have to agree with Stanley on this one. The marks on my arm are nothing compared to the condition Cross is in.
“Just…” Stanley runs a hand through his hair while briefly looking at me. “For fuck’s sake. You guys go home while I try to smooth things over. I can fix this.”
“Fix what?” I stare at Stanley with a furrowed brow. “What is going on?”
“I kind of would like to know the same,” Tyler says.
Stanley looks to me and Tyler then to Cross.
It’s evident that there is something going on here that neither Tyler nor I am privy to.
“Go!” Stanley urges. “I already know they’re angry, and if they get a hold of you…” He shakes his head, and a wave of nausea hits me.
“If they get a hold of me?” Cross roars, face hot with anger. “They don’t want me to get a hold of them!”
Tyler steps forward. “Dude, that’s the adrenaline talking. You’re swelling like you’ve been stung by a thousand bees. Stanley is right. We need to go.”
Stanley interjects again. “You need to fucking go. Now!”
What the hell is going on?
First, I’m hijacked from the library by some disgusting wannabe gangster with a fake gold chain, brought to a rundown building with half-dressed women and rowdy men, put in the vicinity of Nicholas again, and now this?
Cross’s hand falls into mine, our fingers interlocking immediately, seizing my thoughts.
“Fine,” he growls, wincing as the word leaves him. His hand instinctively flies up to his bruised ribs, and strangely enough, it’s like I’m the one in pain.
Our steps are quick over the damp concrete, Cross’s sharp breaths cutting through the stomping. Tyler pushes on a cracked door, the cool night air swallowing us whole as we step into the packed makeshift parking lot.
“Fuck,” Cross swears as he wraps his free hand around his bare torso. His ribs, sunken with short gasps, are honed to the point that I can see every last muscle flexing with pain. “Tyler, come help me.”
His best friend obliges. Tyler’s arm wraps around Cross’s lower back, and Cross uses him like a crutch. I tug on my hand, but it goes absolutely nowhere because Cross’s fingers clamp tightly against mine, like he refuses to let me go.
“As soon as we’re in the car,” Tyler groans, holding most of Cross’s weight, “you’re fucking explaining yourself.”
A curt nod is the only response Cross gives.
Silence fills the kitchen.
Tyler pinches the bridge of his nose, his head hung low as he digests the truth from Cross.
I’m a silent participant, too swept up in my own thoughts to utter a single noise.
I press the cool rag against Cross’s knuckles, bruised and red from hitting Nicholas.
“I can’t believe you agreed to throw the fight in the first place,” Tyler says, breaking the stark quiet. “And then to let him get in your head, so you knocked him out? Then to do it all over again tonight? This doesn’t sound like you at all.”
Cross inhales, his abs tightening.
I stop pressing the towel onto his knuckles, my fingers pausing from the weight of Tyler’s words.
“It’s because of me,” I whisper. “Isn’t it?”
“What?” Tyler asks.
“No,” Cross rushes out. “It’s because of him. Not you.”
“But–”
He grips my chin with tender force and angles my face toward his. “No.”
I sink my teeth into my bottom lip to hide my emotions, and thankfully, Tyler interrupts the moment by putting two and two together.
“Clearly Nicholas did something to Scarlett," he mumbles, talking to himself more than us. “And I don’t even want to know what, because then it’ll give me a reason to justify your behavior, and fuck…” Tyler paces behind me, Cross following his quick steps with his eyes.
“Someone has to think rationally in this situation.”
“Stanley will take care of it.” Cross throws his head back.
His shoulders tense as I dab alcohol onto one of the scrapes against his stomach. He hisses under his breath, and I wince. I know it has to sting.
Tyler stops walking. His fast steps halt. “And if he doesn’t?”
Cross slowly levels his chin and stares over my head at his best friend.
Heavy silence cuts through our quiet kitchen again, each of us tense with the unknown.
After a few long seconds, Tyler curses from behind me before swiping the keys off the table.
“I’m going to the gas station to get you bags of ice.”
Cross slowly sits up a little taller and shouts after Tyler. “You know the house code?”
“I’ve got it,” he says over his shoulder. “Scarlett, don’t let him go upstairs without me. He’s too fucked up to climb the steps.”
“Okay,” I say quietly before going back and tending to Cross’s injuries.