Chapter 30 Cross
CROSS
“Hey.” I kiss Scarlett’s cheek. “Wake up.”
She groans and rolls into me, tucking her face in the crook of my neck.
I suppress my chuckle and run my finger down her jaw. “I’ve got to go run an errand. Tyler is coming over to, uh…hang out while I’m gone.”
“Babysitting duty?” she murmurs.
I smile. “Yeah. Sorry.”
“Be careful.”
“Of course.” I extract myself from her embrace and slip out of bed. I go to my room and get dressed then meet Tyler at the front door.
He eyes me, taking stock of my injuries. My face is bruised and swollen, and every muscle screamed when I slid out of bed. I’m sure I look like shit, but I open the door wider and let him into the foyer.
“Don’t,” I warn.
“Who, me?” Tyler raises his hands. “The day after you get the snot kicked out of you–again–I would never tell you what a fucking dumbass you are.”
I sigh. “Yeah. Thanks.”
“I’d never say that you’re the biggest moron I’ve ever met. And no wonder you’ve been getting beat up more than usual lately. You’ve been warring with yourself over whether or not to lose these fights.” He sets his phone down on the table and crosses his arms. “You lunatic.”
“Jeez, thanks.” I roll my eyes. “It was supposed to be easy. But then my opponent started talking about Scarlett. He–” I shake my head in disgust. “He’s going to get what’s coming to him after the hell he put her through.”
My friend pinches the bridge of his nose. “So noble of you.”
“Shut up.”
“Oh, I’m Cross Lopez. I got twenty thousand dollars to lose, and I couldn’t do it because the guy wasn’t holier-than-thou.”
“Seriously, fuck off.”
“You could’ve lost then beaten the shit out of him another day,” Tyler reasons. “You could’ve followed him home and cut off his dick. Instead–”
“I know.” I grab my keys. “Which is why I’m going to go plead with Stanley. I think he can help…”
I’m pretty sure he can’t help. I caught a glimpse of one of the Webber brothers right before he stormed away, and it promised retribution.
Which is why I need to move fast, and Tyler is going to watch Scarlett.
Thank God for the alarm system her dad had installed. That should give us some warning if anyone targets the house. But even at the gym, the school’s main address is listed for my mail and shit. Tyler is my emergency contact. There’s no connection here…
Minus that time we spotted one of the Webbers in a truck out front.
My apprehension rises. “When she wakes up, you should take her to her dad’s place.”
“Cross–”
“Just til this blows over, you know?” I shrug. “I don’t know what they’re gonna do. Because my tab ran up a little more than the twenty grand they originally gave me.”
I glance over my shoulder. I didn’t mention that to Scarlett, and I’d rather not have her hear it by eavesdropping.
“Excuse me?”
“Scar thinks it’s just the twenty grand. I gave it to”—I make a face—“the prick when he tried to insinuate that he missed her or whatever. But then the Webber brothers basically said I had run up a tab, and I owed more like fifty.”
“Fifty thousand dollars,” Tyler repeats slowly. “Fuck me sideways.”
“You’re not my type.”
He groans. “Now’s not the time for jokes.”
“Jokes are the only thing holding me together.” My mirth drops, leaving me cold. “How the fuck am I going to get out of this in one piece? Stanley had suggested fighting–earning back money.”
“They never should’ve bet on you to lose.” He gestures. “Get out of here.”
I point to the security system panel on the wall. “Set that right after I leave.”
The whole way to the gym, my stomach is a mess of nerves. I try listening to music then go without. I can’t decide which is worse: the upbeat tunes grating on me or the silence drilling holes in my ears.
The gym parking lot is relatively full. Most of the guys with memberships come before work–or, in my case, school. It isn’t out of the norm to find me and Tyler meeting here at dawn, either. It feels, for a split second, like this is just a regular day.
But then I park, and my stomach flops, reminding me that nope, this is going to be painful.
I pocket my keys and phone and enter the gym. Some guys cast looks my way, and a few congratulate me on the recent win. Not many know about it, and I give the ones that acknowledge it tight smiles.
My gaze goes up to the second-floor office. Stanley’s massive frame is silhouetted through the windows, and I have to think he’s spotted me.
When I make it upstairs–slowly, every muscle protesting–the door is already open.
“Come in, Cross,” his voice booms out from within.
I enter, glancing around to make sure we’re alone.
He sits behind his desk, glasses perched on his nose, typing on a laptop he makes look tiny. He plucks at the keys with his index fingers, and it isn’t until the door has shut and I’m seated in front of him for a solid thirty seconds that he finally pauses and looks up.
“So.”
I spread my palms out on my thighs. “I need your help.”
“I think you need a lot more than that, son.” He closes the laptop with a snick. “I tried to help you, and you threw dirt in my face. How do you think that makes me look?”
I frown. “Bad, I’m guessing.”
“Correct. I have a working relationship with the Webbers that I work hard to maintain. Having someone I recommended to them go rogue—not once but twice?” He slaps his desk. “I’m of a mind to throw you out and be done with you.”
Fuck. “I was hoping we could come to some sort of agreement. Maybe if they just knew the circumstances, they’d understand–”
“Ain’t no understanding.” Anger flashes across his expression. “But fine. Explain it to me.”
“The guy I was fighting…” I swallow and drop my gaze. “He raped my stepsister, sir. And he took the opportunity before the first fight to throw that in my face.”
“And you couldn’t control yourself,” he finishes.
My mouth gapes. Tyler had said the same thing.
Is this really so fucking hard to understand?
My mother married a guy who beat the shit out of her.
I’m glad I didn’t get stuck with his last name–Martin–or anything else to do with him.
But it did instill in me a need to protect my mother from anything else that could hurt her. As soon as I was big enough…
And I have protected her.
It was instinct to not let the guy who hurt Scarlett get away with anything, especially with her watching.
“Consequences, Cross,” Stanley says slowly.
“Why did they need me to lose so badly?” I force myself to meet his gaze. “Why couldn’t I have won a fight?”
“Because you’re the favorite. Anywhere you go. You have a reputation for winning–and clearly, it’s well deserved. But you weren’t supposed to win, and that’s why you’re in this mess.”
“Please, Stanley, tell me how to get out of it.”
He sighs and settles his weight back in his chair.
He folds his hands across his belly and seems to contemplate me.
“I’ll make some calls and see what I can do.
But the Webbers are loose cannons. I have no leash when it comes to them.
We’re acquaintances in this business and nothing more, understand? ”
I rise. What I understand is that even a promise of a phone call is throwing me a bone. And at this rate, I’ll take any scrap.
“Yes, sir. Thank you.”
On my way to the car, my phone goes off like a siren. I pull it out and scan the screen, and my heart fucking stops.
Security System Activated.
I jerk like I’ve been electrocuted and burst into a run.
I get into my car and fumble the keys to start it, barely checking my mirrors and if the way is clear.
I peel out onto the street and press the pedal to the floor.
It’s quiet at this time of morning–no super-early commuters in Shadow Valley–which makes speeding home easy.
Halfway home, my phone chirps.
Security System Deactivated.
Okay. Maybe it was a false alarm. Maybe Tyler took Scarlett out, like I suggested, and they forgot to turn off the system.
My skin crawls. I’m pretty sure I’m just lying to myself at this point.
I slam the car into park in front of the house and rush to the front door.
My stomach immediately turns.
The door is ajar, but it looks like it was kicked in, not opened normally. The frame is splintered, the deadbolt still sticking out from the door in the locked position. Pieces of wood litter the floor.
I check the street behind me, but it’s empty and quiet. I toe the door open, wishing for a weapon. Oh, wait. I quickly double back to my car and find the crowbar in my trunk then return to the house. I step in quietly.
I’ve never cleared a house before. I channel all those cop shows I used to watch in high school and hoist the crowbar over my shoulder. I’m ready to whack someone at a moment’s notice.
My imagination runs away with me, picturing a man with a gun poised to burst around the corner at any moment.
But the house is silent.
I make it to the kitchen and go still. It looks like something happened in here–the items previously stacked on the counter are scattered across the floor, shattered glass. And then I spot the legs.
“Fuck.” I rush forward and round the island, nearly falling onto Tyler.
He’s flat out, and blood pools around his head in a little halo.
“No, no, no.” I drop to my knees and press my fingers to his neck. His pulse is there. Solid. A little slow, perhaps. But he’s alive. “Okay. Wake up, Tyler.”
I shake his shoulder, and nothing happens.
Where is Scarlett?
I rise and continue my search, making sure the downstairs is totally empty before I rush upstairs.
Her door is wide open, and there’s blood on the frame. It’s a little lower than hip height, but it looks like a decent spray of droplets.
“Scarlett?” I call.
I go into her room. Her blankets are on the floor along with everything that had been on her nightstand: lamp, glass of water–it soaks the rug–along with her glasses and her phone.
She wouldn’t leave without her phone…and she really wouldn’t leave her glasses behind.
A chill sweeps up my spine.
They came and took her. I know it. I just can’t prove it.
My phone goes off. I look down at the incoming text with no small amount of apprehension, expecting it to be a threat from the Webber brothers.
It’s arguably worse than that.
Scarlett’s Dad: Cross–call me ASAP. Where is my daughter?