Kings Against the World (Steel Kings MC #4)

Prologue - Zoe

PROLOGUE - ZOE

March 2005

“You can be anything you want to be. Never forget that.”

The half interested crowd of fourteen- and fifteen-year-olds disperses the second the Career Day presenter is done talking. I’m one of them, wandering off beside Gia and Aubrey. We had plans to ditch once Career Day kicked off so we could have double the time for lunch.

The school quad fills out with other freshmen and sophomores stopping by booths rep’ed by different schools and career fields. A line quickly forms at the booth for UC Berkley. A large group of guys gravitate toward some trade school for electricians and welders.

Aubrey drifts off in the direction of the display some registered nurses from Pomona General have set up.

I sigh when I catch Gia eyeing the cosmetology booth. “Not you too.”

“One quick brochure,” she says, shrugging. “Can’t hurt, right?”

“Except we made plans. Cut before Ms. Romero notices, remember? Best time is now when everybody’s moving around.”

“But maybe the presenter was right. The future is right around the corner, Zoe. I don’t want to end up working at McD’s forever like my brother Trey.”

“We’re fifteen. We have plenty of time.”

“It’ll just be a minute. Come with me.” Gia elbows me in the side before she’s off, cutting a direct path across the quad to cosmetology.

I let out an even longer, more irritated sigh and add a shake of my head to go with it.

Five minutes ago, nobody could wait for the Career Day presenter to shut up. Now the same students are busy mingling at all the booths.

Kissing ass ’cuz they probably think it’ll earn them some admission points or help getting a job.

Suddenly, I’m the only one who seems uninterested in anything Career Day related.

I fold my arms and trail behind Gia. She makes it to the cosmetology booth and it only takes a second before she’s laughing and chitchatting with the girls. They’re loading up some folder for her with lots of brochures, flyers, business cards, and other helpful info.

All junk she’ll probably stuff in her locker and then forget about by next week.

I’m the one with the best grades out of our small friend group, and I’ve got a C average.

Anything school-related tends to make Gia and Aubrey itch. It makes me frustrated considering I know if I actually tried, I’d do a lot better.

But I’d have to have a normal home life first. I’d have to have parents who wanted to provide a stable life and send me off to college. Mom and Dad would actually have to get their shit together… which is never happening.

They didn’t get their act together when they had me, their first born. They didn’t even bother when they had Zaniyah, my younger sister. It’s probably never going to happen.

One bitter thought about their fuck ups turns into two, then three, then too many to count.

I’m so lost in thought I don’t even notice I’ve stopped following Gia. I’ve wandered off to some other corner of the Career Day booths, where the military and Pomona PD take up real estate.

Definitely not becoming a cop anytime soon. I’d rather eat glass than join those corrupt pigs who do nothing but terrorize the community.

And the military is a hell no too—if I can barely take orders at school, I’m not down to have some drill sergeant screaming in my face.

“Lost?”

I don’t even hear the question at first. I’m so busy scoffing at the booths surrounding me that I don’t notice somebody from a different booth has asked me a question. My head turns in that direction to find a Black woman in a tailored navy-blue suit, white blouse, and box braids. She arches a brow at me, the corner of her mouth curled as if she’s tempted to smirk.

My gaze drops to the banner in front of the booth she’s standing behind.

Federal Bureau of Investigation

I laugh without even thinking if it’ll seem rude. Shaking my head, I take a step back. “Definitely lost if I’m at the FBI table. My bad.”

“Would you like a brochure?” the woman asks. “We’re currently recruiting for the academy. Minimum age is twenty-two, so you have a ways, but if you’re interested, we can take your name as a potential future candidate. Then you can send your submission package while you’re in univer?—”

“Right,” I laugh. “Sure. Sorry, but I’ll pass.”

I don’t even give the woman a real goodbye as I spin on my heel and walk off.

It’s another twenty damn minutes before I’m able to drag Gia and Aubrey away from the career booths. But by the time I do, it’s too late to ditch. The bell rings and the lunch period begins.

“Sorry, Zoe,” Aubrey says. “But I got some good info on Pomona’s General’s Intern-to-RN program. You should check it out.”

His suggestion goes ignored. Same for Gia when she tries to tell me all about how the cosmetologists encouraged her to apply to the school in the area.

“They said I could get my certification in a year!” Gia says, eyes round and excited. “Then maybe work at somebody else’s salon and get my own some day!”

Their plans, their optimism annoys me.

Mostly ’cuz I’m running on empty myself.

I have no hope. No bright thoughts about the future.

All I see when I look to tomorrow is more envelopes with ‘PAST DUE’ stamped across the back in red ink. The only thing I hear are the fists banging on our door demanding Dad show his face and address the thousands he owes loan sharks.

I think about how my credit’s already fucked up and I’m not even sixteen yet. Thanks to all the credit cards they’ve taken out in my name, I’m deep in debt.

I don’t stand a chance and everybody knows it.

Zaniyah might make it out of the shithole Mom and Dad have dug us into, but it’s too late for me…

Fifth period P.E. comes, and I groan when I find out we’ll be playing intergender volleyball. I should’ve skipped after all, even if it meant doing it without Gia and Aubrey.

Freshmen boys are disgusting pigs.

All high school guys are, but it’s like the freshmen think they’re extra big and bad ’cuz they’re high schoolers now.

They catcall. They crack gross jokes and laugh. They make obscene gestures about the girls with big chests.

I keep my arms folded over mine as I stride past a group of them on the blacktop. Gia’s with me and they sound like dogs practically panting at us.

“Remind me to wear my sweats next time,” she murmurs.

“This whole thing is dumb,” I snap. “Why do we even have to play with them anyway? Why do we have to play this stupid game at all? Who gives a shit about volleyball?”

She eyes me head to toe with eyebrows raised. “You’re full of sunshine and sparkles today. Who pissed in your cheerios this morning?”

I can’t bring myself to answer.

My bad mood continues through the volleyball game until we’re halfway done and the score’s close. Despite being moody and hating everything about high school at this point, it doesn’t mean I’m not competitive.

I’m naturally athletic. I once played basketball and ran track ’til I gave up on that too when it became too expensive and Dad used the money for gambling tournaments.

As the ball soars through the air toward my team, I leap to meet it with a hard swat of my palm. It bounces back over the wide net for the other team to counter.

Those on defense fail to act in time and the ball touches the asphalt.

“Yes!” I scream with a triumphant fist.

“Good one, Strauss!” calls the team captain.

“Yeah, good one!” adds Marcus, one of the boys on our team.

A hand suddenly slams into my butt so hard that I jump from the force of it. A loud chorus of laughter follows from all the boys and even some of the girls.

“My bad, my hand slipped,” guffaws Marcus.

Still in shock, I’m slow turning around.

Marcus wears a proud grin as everybody else continues laughing and Coach Smithers halfheartedly tells them to quiet down.

“What?” Marcus asks when he sees the look on my face. “What do you expect with that nice juicy booty in those shorts?”

He’s barely asked the question when I do what feels right.

I smash my curled fist into his face and drop him to the ground in a spurt of blood.

Everybody’s laughter turns into shocked gasps.

An achy pain throbs across my knuckles from throwing the punch—it’s not as clean and painless as the movies pretend it is—but I shake it out and then glare at everyone nearby. A few people take cautious steps back, suddenly not so amused.

“Strauss!” yells Coach Smithers, blowing his whistle. “Principal’s office. Now!”

“You may be aware, Ms. Strauss, that we have a zero tolerance policy on violence. Especially considering you’ve violated that policy before,” says Principal Moore in a listless tone. He slides a small pink slip across his large executive-sized desk. “Two days suspension.”

“And what about Marcus Ellerbee? He touched my butt!”

Principal Moore looks tempted to roll his eyes as he instead gives an exasperated sigh. He digs around in a drawer of his desk and pulls out a long form attached to a clipboard. “Fill this complaint form out and the school will open an investigation on your allegations.”

“Allegations? The entire class was there!”

“Ms. Strauss, sexual harassment accusations are very serious. It’s nothing to take lightly. Fill out the form and the school will do its due diligence to get to the bottom of what actually happened. But make no mistake—violence of any kind is never the answer. Your suspension stands.”

My hand’s shaking by the time he slides the pen toward me. I can’t sit still as I wrap my fingers around it and try to concentrate hard enough to fill out the damn form that I know won’t matter.

Principal Moore will probably toss it in some filing cabinet the moment I walk out of his office so it can collect dust.

Spots dance before my eyes as I scribble my name and other information on the form. I want to rip this stupid thing up and shove it in his face. I want to give him a taste of what I gave Marcus for disrespecting me.

The anger screams from the inside to be let out. My temper has me so tight and hot that I can’t even speak. If I tried, I’d probably wind up screaming.

As I jot down the last piece of info, Principal Moore dismisses me with the same aloof indifference he’s had all along. My chair scrapes across the floor as I scoot back and snatch at the pink suspension slip.

I crush it up into a ball and then fling it at the trashcan near his office door.

Just so he can see how little of a fuck I give that he’s suspended me.

But I’m so angry, my aim is off. The paper ball misses the basket and rolls to a stop in front of a pair of shiny loafers.

Someone else has approached the doorway of his office.

I look up to find the Black woman from the FBI booth already staring at me.

“Ah, Agent Braun,” says Principal Moore, his tone pepping up. He beckons for her to enter. “I’m so glad you were able to stop by before you and the others packed up. I would like to discuss a possible presentation for our graduating senior class. Oh… you can disregard Ms. Strauss here. She was on her way out.”

The woman named Agent Braun ignores him as she stoops low to scoop up the crumpled pink paper. “I believe you dropped this,” she says, holding out the wrinkly suspension slip. Her eyebrows have arched like earlier, clearly aware what the paper is. For some reason, she’s still wearing the same almost-smirk she’d had on earlier when I’d wandered by her booth. “Enjoy your two days off, Ms. Strauss.”

I snatch it out of the palm of her hand and then storm out, nearly checking her shoulder with mine.

It’s not until I’m in the empty hall where my locker’s located that I stop long enough to scream and kick my foot at one of the lockers. A loud clang of metal rings out as I do it again and then again, and then I realize I’m clutching more than the pink slip.

Clenched in my fist is a small white business card. She must’ve slipped it to me when she handed over the pink suspension slip. I unbend the card and straighten it enough to read what it says:

FBI Special Agent & Recruiter Tameka Braun

708-324-7713