Chapter 7 Violet #2
“Nice to meet you, too, Violet.” He runs his thumb along the back of my hand. “You from The Drift?”
“Mm-hmm.” I let his hand go and lace my fingers in front of me. “Lexie and I are neighbors.”
“And best friends,” Lexie interjects, tossing her arm around my shoulders.
His eyes drag down my body, and the look makes me feel…I don’t know. Exposed, maybe?
“Guess that means we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.” he murmurs.
“Guess so.”
“You work at The Body Shop, too?” he prods, mentioning the strip club where Lexie works.
I shake my head. “I work at The Bean Scene by campus.”
“Shame.” He tsks. “Would’ve loved to see you on stage.”
My nose wrinkles, but I quickly replace it with an awkward smile.
What in the world am I supposed to say to that?
Like…really? To be clear, there’s nothing wrong with working at a strip club, but hearing your best friend’s older brother mention how he’d like to watch you dance half-naked on stage isn’t exactly the best pick-up line I’ve ever heard, and it’s not like I can knee him in the balls and walk away, promising to keep a wide berth from now on. So where does that leave me?
Maybe it’s nerves or something due to the pending fight, but Ethan’s kind of an ass. Okay, he’s totally an ass. Or maybe I’m biased because every man I’ve ever met is an ass so because he has an extra appendage between his legs, it automatically earns him the label. Ass.
I stare at the side of his face, well aware that if I'm caught, he’ll probably offer to let me blow him, which will wind up with my knee to his balls, which is the last thing either of us needs.
Hell, he might even throw me out of this little…
event. Not that he technically has the power to do something like that.
Not that I know of, anyway. And not that I care, either.
Not really. When you’re used to being on everyone’s shit list despite your best efforts, the sting seems to shrink with every situation, though I would feel bad if he forced Lexie to go home, too.
I turn back to the fight and fold my arms.
“You think he’ll still show?” one of Ethan’s friends asks.
“Jag Off?” Ethan grins, his arrogance so potent I swear I can taste it. “Yeah. He’ll show.”
“Jag Off?” I murmur to Lexie. I keep my voice low so as not to rock the boat or draw more attention to myself than necessary. It’s not that I don’t belong here, but…okay. Yeah. I totally don’t belong here.
Lexie’s stare stays pinned on the fight in front of us, but she tilts her head closer to me. “Hmm?”
“Is that what he calls Jagger? Jag Off?”
She smirks. “Apparently. It’s fitting, don’t you think?”
After my singular experience with the asshole? Yeah. Very.
Ethan bounces on the balls of his feet, like he’s already prepping for his time to shine in the ring.
Part of me wants to ask if it’s the norm.
If the bouncing is what every fighter does.
It’s not like I have a lot of experience here.
I’m not usually a brutal person or anything, but when karma refuses to be on your side for the majority of your life, seeing it dished out to someone else—someone who wholly deserves it—I guess I’m intrigued. So sue me.
“Are you nervous?” I ask Lexie. I keep my voice down so our conversation stays between us. “You know, about your brother fighting or whatever?”
She glances at her big brother, then shakes her head. “Not in the slightest.”
“But you haven’t seen Jag Off fight,” I remind her.
“I don’t need to. My brother’s been brawling for as long as I can remember. Besides, it’s Jag Off,” she says with a quiet laugh. “The guy was born with a silver spoon in his mouth. Being raised on the streets is…different. You know that.”
She’s right. I do.
As the air shifts around us, Lexie’s brother and friends grow more and more tense until I swear I can taste it.
I search the warehouse for the reason behind the sudden shift and find the culprit.
Dark skin. Dark hair cropped close to his head.
Dark eyes. Roman Stone. He’s from The Drift.
Lives a few streets away from me, though he’s rarely ever there.
I doubt he knows that particular tidbit.
That we’re almost neighbors. I don’t mind.
The less I stand out, the better. Add in the few years separating our ages, and I’d be surprised if he recognized me at all.
The man’s a Harden brother through and through, even if his area code tells a different story.
With a strange indifference, Roman approaches and raises his head in greeting. “Think they already went over everything when you signed up, but do you have any other questions?”
Ethan swings his arms open and closed, bouncing up and down like he’s already in the ring. “He really think he’s gonna win?” he goads. “Your buddy?”
Roman’s gaze flicks over Lexie’s brother as if only now seeing him. “Go to the corner. You’re up. And, uh, good luck.”
“I’m not the one who’s gonna need it.”
Roman’s mouth twitches before his attention falls on me and Lexie, and for the first time in, I don’t know, five minutes?
I really wish I could read minds. Wish I could know what he’s thinking.
If he knows what happened between me and his friends or how my presence is far from the norm. Does he recognize me from last night?
Probably.
The Harden brothers are full of secrets.
With everyone except Roman. They adopted The Drift riff-raff and never looked back.
No one knows why. Part of me wonders if the Harden brothers know themselves, or if it was a natural, er, unnatural, decision full of impulsivity, just like the rest of their decisions, or so it seems. Part of me wonders why Roman adopted them back.
Why did he turn his back on his neighbors and family and friends for…
the Harden brothers? They’re a bunch of spoiled brats who have no idea what it’s like to go without food or what it’s like to be scared to walk home alone or down the wrong path once the sun goes down.
Then again, maybe it’s a me and Lexie thing, and less of a Roman thing.
He probably gets around just fine, thanks to his muscles and the way he carries himself.
Like he could beat the crap out of anyone he wants despite his lack of time in the ring on fight night.
“Stay here,” Ethan warns. He gives his sister a pointed look. It chills me to the bone.
“Good luck,” Lexie returns.
Not bothering to acknowledge her, he turns to me. “Gonna wish me luck, Violet?”
I tack on my same fake-ass smile. “Good luck, Ethan.”
With a wink, Ethan stalks off with his posse in tow toward the spot Roman ordered. Blood splashes onto the mat as one of the fighters falls to his knees, spitting crimson.
How did Roman know the current fight would be ending soon and Ethan would have his moment to shine?
I guess when it isn’t your first rodeo, it’s easy to know when someone’s close to tapping out.
My focus shifts from the imminent loser to the probable victor.
He winds up again, nailing the guy on the mat and knocking him out cold.
Shit.
“Talk about lights out,” Lexie mutters. “You think Ethan will do the same to Jag Off?”
Maybe. Hopefully? No, that feels wrong. But also, Jag Off did steal five thousand dollars from me, so…
“Where is he, anyway?” Lexie rises onto her tiptoes and searches the warehouse before pulling back slightly and letting her heels hit the ground. It’s like she’s seen a ghost or something.
“You good?” I ask.
“Yeah.” Her brows pull, but she doesn’t say anything else. And her silence? It’s freaking screaming.
I nudge her shoulder. “You sure?”
“There’s three brothers, right?”
Three brothers? What does that have to do with anything? “Are you talking about the Harden brothers?”
“Yeah.”
Curious where she’s going with this, I nod. “Yes, there’s three of them. Why?”
She looks at the ground, but raises her hand, lifting her fingers in a one, two, and three. “The cocky one, the quiet one, and the asshole.”
“Technically, I kind of thought they were all assholes, but—”
“You know what I mean,” she pushes.
“Okay? Yeah? So?”
“So…” She faces me fully and drops her hand to her side. “I think I found the quiet one.” Her gaze cuts to her left.
Following it, I spot Hawke in the shadows like some creepy stalker.
Or Batman. Depends on how you look at it.
And speaking of looking…the man’s watching my best friend so intently, I feel like I’m interrupting something.
What the hell? So this is why Lexie got all quiet.
Seems she has an admirer. Or a stalker. Or both?
Honestly, I don’t know, but neither would really surprise me, and neither would be Lexie’s first rodeo, either.
The girl works at a strip club, for Pete’s sake.
Of course she’s used to dealing with a few less than savory gentlemen, but Hawke is hands down the finest. “Do you know him?” I whisper, as if the guy has superhearing and knows we’re talking about him despite the distance separating us.
“Nope.”
“Ever see him at The Body Shop?” I prod. “Maybe he recognizes you?”
She rolls her eyes and bites the inside of her cheek, hiding her smirk. “Trust me, I’d remember a face like his.”
We all would. His hair is a little lighter than Jagger’s.
A little longer, too. Messier, maybe. If I close my eyes, I can still see his piercing green eyes from the first time we met, though they’re shadowed in this moment.
Yup. The man is gorgeous. A little terrifying, but gorgeous nonetheless.
I turn back to my best friend. “Was he watching you when you saw him, or did he catch you watching him on accident and now he’s staring because he saw you with me, and after my knee’s run-in with his older brother’s crotch, he kind of figured it might be wise to keep an eye on things? ”