9. Bay
NINE
bay
When I tell you that these rich kids know how to get down, they’re all fucked up.
I behaved myself and wore ripped black jeans and a white halter top that acts a bit like a crop top. My long black hair cascades down my shoulders as Levi walks in with me, his bulky exterior already keeping most guys at a staring distance but not daring to get any closer than that.
I’m not going to sell anything with him hovering over me.
“How about we split up?” I offer, locating a few frat-looking guys who appear as though all they do is pop shit to forget their privileged lives.
“How about we don’t,” Levi retorts over the loud hip-hop music and causes me to glance over at him. We actually match tonight, which is kinda weird. Except he has this black hat that he’s wearing backward and a white tee that actually covers his belly button. “Let it soak in for a minute that you’re with me before I let you loose into this pack of wild hyenas.”
Geezus Christ.
“Chill, Hulk,” Nessa coos, stepping out in front of him so that the guys at this party can check out her ass in her black leggings. “Bay and I can handle ourselves with these dudes who just learned how to wipe their own asses.”
Levi’s green gaze flickers down to her. “How about you just stand here and be quiet until I decide how I want to do this.”
Nessa is undeterred by my bestie’s unamused shift in energy since we rolled up here with a bunch of Beamers and Benzs that filled the driveway. It was his idea to come here and sell some product, so I’m not sure why he’s so on edge right now.
“Listen,” she proposes, working the room to her advantage, and Levi doesn’t even know it. I’ve been hanging out with Nessa since we were seventeen. She can clutch attention like a fly to shit by just angling her best assets and having the dudes come to her.
She’s a pro while not looking like one, and the girl can handle her own.
“We can scream if it makes you feel any better.” Levi only blinks at Nessa. “How do you think we survive without you hovering ?”
“By not showing off your ass within thirty seconds of arriving at a place that’s eighty percent all men.”
Okay, maybe he did notice what she was doing before.
Nessa smiles brightly at him, pulling at her blonde hair and bringing it around to one shoulder. “If you’re going to play boyfriend, then play it right.” She steals a quick glance at me, alluding that she’ll handle Levi while I try to make a sale. “Men are going to want to approach me more if they know you’re here with me.”
I begin to step further into the party before Levi’s fingers wrap tightly around my bicep and keep me locked in place.
“I know what you two are doing,” he accuses through his teeth, and I don’t even need to look over at him. I can feel the heat of his gaze against the back of my head. “This little double team act isn’t going to get me to take the chance of the two of you getting pulled into a room?—”
“Didn’t you bring us here to pimp us out?” Nessa solicits, and that was a bad choice of words.
Levi is going to lose his shit in approximately two seconds unless I do something about it.
“I’m not going to go far,” I proclaim, turning around so that he can see me. Those green irises latch on to me, and I know he worries about me more than he should.
And he talks about fucking up the vibe, goodness.
“We meet back here in twenty-five minutes,” he commands through the tightness of his stubbled jaw. “You’re not back, I’m tearing this whole place apart.”
I nod. “Okay.”
“And what about me?” Nessa asks before I’m turning around and getting away from my best friend before he changes his damn mind.
I got about thirty pills on me, which if he’d give me more time, I might be able to sell them all within an hour so we can leave. This isn’t my scene, but I understand why Levi picked it.
Striding deeper inside this mansion of a house, the walls are brown shades of brick and industrial lighting. To my far left appears to be the kitchen and to my right a full scale of rooms that I’m definitely not going to go anywhere near.
Until I see a group of girls stumbling inside one of them. It’s not a bedroom, per se, but what looks to be an entertainment area.
Taking a chance, I stride closer and find the same thick hardwoods and a plethora of beer kegs, a makeshift dance floor with a disco ball over it, and a bunch of arcade games.
And I’m not even three steps into the place when a hand lands on my ass and I’m spinning around to see what the fuck?
That was about five minutes ago, and after a throng of cuss words thrown back and forth at the asshole who decided he could just grab me without any consequences.
I’m circling a wild gazelle, whose bulging green eyes are narrowed in on me, because I just delivered him a right hook that sent him stumbling back into a group of males. They haven’t stopped laughing at him for getting hit by a girl.
He started it.
I was trying to mind my own business, which resulted in my elbow meeting his face when he wouldn’t stop trying to corner me into a circle of his friends, and here we are.
I gave him an out, blamed it on not wanting to get blood on my white tee, and he acted like I called him a fucking moron before spitting at his feet.
Then he swung at me.
That’s the main problem I seem to have with guys out here. When you literally hit their ego, they rage out.
However, most of the time, that blinds them to being able to focus and gives me the upper hand to get a few good shots before I run.
I’m not that stupid to know that one proper right hand from a dude might land me on my ass or knocked out.
But this fucking bitch.
He’s already scooped up an empty beer bottle and threw it at me, cutting my forearm to protect my face. Then he took some guy’s pool stick—still haven’t seen the pool table yet—and began beating me with it as if I was his wife.
That’s what set me off.
I’ve been beaten enough in my time by the man who had a repeated streak of apologizing, then treating me like shit two minutes later. I wasn’t going to accept it from this prick who couldn’t take no for an answer.
The dude I’m fighting thrusts a right hand at me, and I block it with my throbbing forearm, blood trickling down my skin.
My arm throbs in protest against the bone-on-bone collision, and I grunt, pissed that he hurt me and irritated because of everything I already said.
“Tap out, bitch,” he growls loudly at me, needing everyone to hear it, apparently. “You don’t want this.”
I lift a brow, because he’s about my size, maybe an inch or two taller, but has me in capacity at the whole mouth situation.
I’ve never heard a guy talk so much shit while fighting, and now I wish to break his jaw so he shuts up.
“Beat his ass, little girl,” someone shouts behind me, just as my opponent rushes me.
I barely get out of his way when his long arm wraps tightly around my waist and pulls me to him. My elbow cracks into the side of his head as I stomp down with my heeled boot onto the soft toe of his shoe.
He seethes through his clenched teeth, and I’m able to shove him off, thrusting a fist into his temple before my knee comes up next, the familiar sound of my breaking his nose imminent.
“You fucking whore!” he shouts, reaching out to grab my hair, but I quickly swat his hand away.
He’s pissed.
I’d be too.
And perhaps I wouldn’t have broken any body parts if he would’ve stopped running his disrespectful mouth.
A piece of glinting metal catches my eye, and that’s when I see the switchblade gripped tightly in his palm. His breathing is rocked, his chest heaving in pure rage as he stalks forward.
Should’ve just stuck at Levi’s side. My twenty-five minutes should be up and he’ll look for me.
A wall of black steps out in front of me, followed by a loud howl of agony and I instantly check my gut for a stabbed wound.
Damn, did he stick me because I don’t feel anything?
Blinking to gain my bearings, I connect with black eyes that are currently boring all kinds of hostility down at me.
I falter back a step, memories of being in another perilous situation with him taking hold of me.
The barrel of a gun to my temple.
The way he firmly grabbed my jaw and squeezed in warning to stop testing him.
Pretty Boy’s right-hand man.
My lips part in surprise as my brain calculates what the hell is actually going on. I don’t get any further than that, when I watch his scrutiny become suddenly seized up by something behind me. He sharply jerks his head and warm fingers wrap gingerly around my bicep.
I flinch at the contact and heave away from my captor’s arm, but to no avail. My body faithfully reminds me then that I’m hurt and will have to answer to this later from Levi.
I need a fucking jacket or a sweatshirt or he’s never going to take me anywhere else.
From the edges of my vision, the crowd parts like the Red Sea as I’m guided toward the back of the house and inside a kitchen. Stainless steel appliances, stations, and white tiled floors. It’s the biggest one I’ve ever seen while the waitstaff is bustling around with trays filled with food and appetizers for the ongoing party.
“Get me a bottled water,” the man in front of me orders loudly, receiving the full sole focus of the room. “And you sit your sexy ass here.”
He slaps the ledge of the salad station with his palm, and I catch disorderly sandy blond hair, along with a sturdy, young body.
I do what he says, too tired to argue, when he rounds some of the staff and disappears for a second. Meanwhile, my head feels as though it’s been split in two.
How many minutes has it been?
I need to get back to Levi ASAP, and I’ve sold zero pills.
A movement to my right procures my attention and, when I expect one of the waitstaff, it’s the dude who pulled me in here, wearing an easy smile.
His nose is pierced on his left side, just like mine, except he has a hooped earring and wears a mellowed-out, surfer-boy vibe without great effort. His jawline is chiseled, translucent hazel irises gleaming down at me—the exact opposite of Pretty Boy’s sidekick—and he’s glorious.
Absolutely fucking gorgeous.
A bag of frozen peas is offered up from his outstretched hand, and I gratefully take it, my jaw throbbing for relief of any kind.
“So, you’re the girl who just beat the shit out of Judge Mather’s son.”
The what now?
I watch him give me a generous once-over, and I can’t help but do the same.
His gray slacks and white dress shirt give me a pretty good idea that he’s in shape. There’s a skull tattoo on his left forearm that stops at his wrist and appears to ride all the way up, disappearing behind the fabric of his rolled-up sleeves. The other is completely bare of any black ink.
I don’t say anything as he still holds that relaxed smile that gets me to surprisingly loosen up a bit.
“I’m Reeve.” He doesn’t do what everyone else has been doing to me all night and extends a hand. Instead, he shoves his into the pockets of his slacks as I place the frozen vegetables on the corner of my mouth. “And you’re fucking stunning.”
On any other day, I’d offer him a compliment back, because it’s not every day that I get to look at someone who catches my attention, and not in the I’m going to lay this dude out kind of way.
No, everything about this guy doesn’t scream menacing, drama, or an inkling of creepy.
He’s…alluring as all hell.
“I guess you’d have to say that since you’ve seen my right hook,” I reply, placing the bag of frozen whatever back on the corner of my mouth and trying my best to ignore his hazel eyes accessing me. “And take a good look, because this is the last time?—”
“It definitely won’t be the last time,” he assures me, still taking inventory of me. “Obviously, I’m hanging out at the wrong places if this is the first time I’m seeing you.”
“I highly doubt you hang out in South Shore. You look a little too?—”
“Baby, please don’t tell me rich, entitled, or out of your league, because, trust me, I’m not what I appear like.”
I stretch my aching jaw against the coldness of the peas. “And what’s that exactly?”
“Nothing like this ritzy establishment.” He spins his index finger around the room. “I might come from old money, but I’m not so far inside my world that I don’t see out of it. I prefer being with normal characters with middle-class jobs and responsibilities that don’t include checking the stock market every day.”
“Still not within your realm of people,” I retort softly with a shrug. “Sorry.”
I remove the bag to the other side of my nose, when Reeve’s brows clash together “Ouch.”
I smirk. “Ever been hit, Reevie?”
“Reevie?” he repeats slowly, but it only expands his grin and makes his whole face light up with amusement. “Yeah…plenty of times.”
The corners of my lips rise. “Argument about who has the best trust fund?”
He slowly shakes his head, gaze glued to my battle wound. “Nah…over fucking someone’s girl.”
My brows immediately soar toward the ceiling, and he chuckles. I can’t say I hate the sound of it. It doesn’t reflect forced or faked, but that he maybe is some wealthy dude who isn’t blinded by money and the politics of it all.
“Never said I wasn’t an asshole,” he vouches, then glances over the kitchen. “Can I get some water, please?”
Please?
I can’t help but gape at him when he returns those hazel eyes back to me.
“So, where can I see you fight?”
“Off Marine Boulevard,” another male voice answers for him, causing me to slice my focus to the entrance of the kitchen to find Torin’s buddy from earlier standing there, still appearing both aggravated and pissed.
And ominous.
He’s dressed in black jeans and a tee, with a glass of dark liquid in his palm. He lifts an impatient brow then, when he catches me staring.
“For you wanting to stay away so much,” he asserts, jaw locking as he brings his drink to his lips, “you sure did make sure to hang around. And now…you’re fucked.”