Chapter thirteen
Nadia
It’s already been a week since I’ve been back. What better way to commemorate that than with a race? JC and I are sitting in the trunk of his Escalade, shooting the shit. He’s on his second beer while I’ve been nursing the one in my hands.
“So, who am I racing tonight?”
“You know I can’t tell you that just yet.” He licks his lips, grinning.
“But I will tell you that both you and Dion are facing someone from the reigning gang. The Phantoms should be just as good as their king.”
“Poetic justice,” I smirk.
“Exactly.” He touches his beer to mine.
Across the way, I catch sight of Skylar and Roxy dancing, their hands on each other’s hips as Hatchie drools.
Shane sees and whacks him on the back of his head.
Roxy throws her head back laughing, but she turns away, pulling Riven’s beer from his hands, sitting herself on his lap, and taking a drink.
She whispers in his ear, fingers playing on the back of his neck, all over that fresh cut of his.
I can practically feel my blood boiling.
“You good?” JC shakes me out of my stupor.
“What’s the deal over there?” I jut my chin in the direction of the Phantoms.
“When did freshies get access to the inner circle that quick?”
“I really ain’t got a clue. All I know is, you were gone, Riven went off the rails, and then he wasn’t.” He sighs.
“It was a dark time, Slade. He was starting shit with everybody. Blood literally painted the streets. He was killing people on neutral territory, and the only reason Hattori Sr. didn’t go for his head was that they were scared.
I still don’t know why Pop didn’t do anything to this day.
” He finishes his beer, shaking his head.
Pop didn’t touch him because of me. Because he knew he would lose me if he did.
That much I’m certain of. Naoya Hattori, or Hattori Sr. as the streets called him, left Riven alone.
It perplexed me, considering he was cunning and sly as a fox.
He was an intimidating man who wasn’t born into this lifestyle like Pop and Cordelia. He was made into it.
His father was an affiliate of the Yakuza, who had pissed off the mob.
They, in turn, sent one of their foot soldiers to take care of him.
At the time, those foot soldiers were the Kingsmen.
The Phantoms were doing the dirty work for the Bratva, and the LBC had their hands clean of organized crime.
Or, as clean as gangsters’ hands could be.
We are big and have a nasty enough reputation that we don't need help from mobsters.
Anyways, Naoya’s father was murdered in his own home, in front of him when he was just 12 years old.
Or so the legend goes. He came all the way to Stonebridge, or more accurately, hunted his father’s murderer and exacted his revenge.
Killed the man responsible, as well as his entire bloodline.
A bloodline that just so happened to control the Kingsmen.
The Kingsmen were in disarray, and Naoya, having nothing to go back to in Japan, committed the ultimate act of revenge.
He took the crown from his enemies. Gang leader at the ripe age of 12.
And when someone dared disrespect him by calling him junior?
Slit their throat. Hence, the street name Hattori Sr.
How far had Riven gone just to get a man like that to shut his mouth?
My eyes skittered to Roxy, frayed edges of her cutoff denim shorts twisted between Riven’s fingers.
Or, more accurately, who did Riven get his hands on?
“Still haven’t explained the freshies though.” I subtly push JC to gimme more intel, the pieces slowly forming in my head.
“Hatchet is the only one I can understand. Shane and Skylar were on a weapons run for the Bratva down in Miami.” I stiffen at the mention of Miami. Gosh, they were so close, yet so far.
“They got busted by the feds, running across state lines and shit. Car died somewhere in Georgia. Hatchet found them and was helping them fix their shit when the cops pulled up. He took a bullet for
Shane that day. They brought him back here, Riven offered him a home, and so he stayed.” JC shrugs.
“You know how it is.”
He says it lightheartedly, but I get the message.
I, too, was once an outsider who immediately carved my way into the inner circle.
I wasn’t born in Stonebridge, I didn’t know which side of the playground to stay away from as a kid, and I had a life outside of here.
But I was quickly accepted by the LBC til I eventually made a name and reputation for myself.
If anyone could understand Hatchie’s story, it’s me.
“And Roxy?” He whistles.
“Now there’s a girl I don’t get. I seem to know everything about that girl cept’ where the hell she came from.” He rubs his jaw.
“Just like you, cept’ I don’t know jackshit. I only know what you want me to know. You’re an enigma.” He bumps my shoulder.
“Ha ha.” I deadpan.
“Not much to say about her. She’s 25, half Japanese, half white. She eats ramen for every other meal. She’s an artist or some shit. Doesn’t take anything harder than weed.” He looks at her.
“She’s all up on Devereaux, but I could’ve sworn she told me I’d never have a ride cause she was only into girls. Maybe she’s bi, I don’t know.” Someone comes up to him and whispers something in his ear.
“Gotchu. Listen, I gotta bounce. Races are starting, so get ready. Good luck, Slade.” And he walks away. I walk off too, back towards the LBC side, cataloging everything I’ve gathered.
Roxy is what Isla would call “sun-kissed”.
She’s not overly pale like Abby, but not as tan as Isla herself.
She’s in the middle. Her hair falls just below her shoulder with blunt bangs.
It’s not perfectly straight, but it’s not choppy.
And it’s a bubblegum pink color. It looks professionally done, hinting that she had money before she arrived in Stonebridge.
Isla has to box-dye her hair that stunning purple shade, but after seeing it firsthand, I can tell the difference between hair that’s seen at a salon and hair that's seen at a bathroom sink.
She’s not from Stonebridge; I would’ve known her.
There has to be a connection between her and the Hattori’s.
Not to say there aren’t other Japanese or Asian people here, because there are.
But my intuition tells me I’m right, and my intuition never fails me.
Plus, there’s the way Dion greeted her and the way Riven got protective.
Pushing my hunch aside for now, I meet Deck, Abby, and even Isla where they’re crowding my car, far enough from the track to not catch attention.
“How you doing, mama?” I put my arm on Isla’s shoulder.
“Don’t tell Deck, but my feet are completely swollen.” She sighs.
“If you’re in pain-”
“There’s no way I’m missing any of your races, Nadia. So, don’t even try.” She ends my argument then and there.
“You got it.” I laugh, squeezing her and letting go.
“How are you holding up?” She meets my eye.
“Being back, seeing everyone, seeing… him.” She gestures across the way, honey colored eyes rolling in disgust.
“He’s a fool. If I was into girls or I had a dick and you were my ex, there’s no way I could ever get over you. I mean… you’re a fucking bombshell, Nadia. Like, a tatted-up, leather-wearing, car-racing siren. What the fuck is he thinking?”
“I appreciate your anger on my behalf, Isla, but it’s not necessary. We’re done. I left, remember?”
“Just because you left doesn’t mean you’re done, Nadia.” She licks her lip anxiously.
“There were divorce papers.” I cross my arms.
“Still.”
“He’s got a new girl.”
“Still.”
“I’m trying to take away his title.”
“Still.” She grins at my exasperated look.
“There isn’t any closure.” She pauses.
“And I’d bet you my current pregnancy craving that you’re still carrying your rings.” She rubs her stomach, probably thinking of the milkshake and jalapeno burger she’s been making Deck get from the diner on Main Street at least twice a week.
“Whatever.” I open the driver's side door.
“I didn’t hear a denial.” She retorts.
“Get off my car. I have a race to win.” Her cackle is drowned out by the sound of my engine coming to life, all ten cylinders.
This should be fun.