Shallow Page 12

  I’ve named him Kong. No particular reason, other than the fact that I don’t know his name and the fucker looks big enough to crawl up the side of the Empire State Building.

  “You’ve got a smartass mouth on you, dontcha, baby? Maybe me and my boy here should shove something in it to shut it up.” He grabs his balls and tosses a smirk over his shoulder to his friend.

  Maybe I need to reevaluate my tactics. Backing up a few steps, I press my hands out in front of me. “Look, guys, I don’t want any trouble.”

  Before I can back up any more, Kong and his sidekick box me in, sending my blood pressure through the roof.

  “That’s some sweet ice you got around your neck.” Kong trails his eyes down to my chest, eyeing the diamond pendant I never take off. Kirkland gave it to me for my birthday three months before she died, and I’ll risk anything to keep it.

  “My friend gave this to me.”

  “Now you’re gonna give it to me,” he snarls.

  “Go fuck yourself.”

  My head swings over my shoulder as Kong backhands me hard across the face. “Mo, show this little bitch what we do when we’re disrespected.”

  I’m paralyzed, my earlier bravado gone as the metallic taste of blood fills my mouth. The feel of it trickling down my throat sickens me, and for a moment I forget where I am.

  But they don’t.

  Before I can react, Mo is behind me, pulling my arms so close together I see stars. Once Kong is satisfied I’m immobile, he steps forward and wraps his stubby fingers around my necklace.

  “You’re lucky you have this and that bag on your shoulder to pay me. Otherwise, Mo and me would take it out of your ass.” With a hard jerk, he rips the chain off my neck and shoves it in his pocket.

  Watching my only memory of Kirkland disappear, I struggle against my confinement. “Give that back, asshole!”

  “Shut the fuck up, or I’ll change my mind.” Turning his head, he spits on the grass beside me and nods to Mo. “Take the bag.”

  “What you want me to do with her?”

  Kong laughs as he lights a cigarette and walks past us. “Like I give a fuck.”

  I’m not sure what happens in the next few seconds. All I know is my purse is ripped off my arm so hard that the strap snaps in two. Afterward, a heavy foot kicks the back of my knee, sending me sprawling face first onto the pavement below.

  After my chin bounces off the rock, I lay there completely stunned. There’s a moment where I’m not sure if I’ve just had all the wind knocked out of me, or if I’ve crushed every rib in my chest.

  Breathe. Okay, brain, work with me here.

  Finally managing to pick my head up, I tilt my chin to the side and, verifying that Mo and Kong are nowhere to be found, slowly crawl to my feet. Picking imbedded gravel out of my knees, I tuck away the emotion threatening to bubble to the surface.

  I refuse to cry. Not here.

  Smoothing my hair with one hand, I swipe my lip with the other and smear blood all over the back of my hand. Great. I dart out my tongue and run it over my lip, tasting the familiar metallic tang.

  And it just keeps getting better.

  My first instinct is to call Malcolm to come pick my ass up, but I can’t because the Brothers Klepto stole my purse. The purse which has my phone in it.

  Damn it.

  Busted, broke, and now bleeding, I start walking toward what I can only pray is the way to the center, hoping like hell that in my current condition, I’ve become something I haven’t been in seven years.

  Unrecognizable.

  Sixteen

  Shiloh

  “What the hell happened to you?” Tiny blurts out as I limp through the door of the community center. “You get in a fight with a Rottweiler or somethin’?”

  I laugh, but the sound comes out more like a grunt. “Close. Except these dogs were about six-one with matching bandanas and I’m pretty sure they wanted to sniff more than my asshole.” Collapsing into a shitty metal chair, I let out a relieved groan that borders on obscene.

  My eyes flutter closed, and I can only hope that when I open them, all five bewildered stares are gone, leaving me to wallow in what I believe to be well-deserved self-pity. Ten blocks. Ten stupid blocks with a couple of simple turns is all it should’ve taken me to hobble my violated ass to the community center. But no, that would be too simple.

  All flustered, I somehow managed to make four rights and a half-dozen lefts, getting myself lost. Sixteen blocks and two hours later, here I am, strolling into work late as hell and looking like Rocky after fighting Apollo for fifteen rounds.

  Yes, I saw Rocky II. I’m not just a pretty face.

  “Wait, were they wearing white bandanas wrapped around their heads?”

  My eyes pop open to see Frankie standing right in front of me, his arms crossed over his chest. He looks pissed. Actually, he looks more than pissed. He looks ready to shank somebody.

  Shank is a great word. I learned it while doing time. Okay, so I was only in jail over the weekend, but trust me, I’ve seen some shit.

  “Yeah, why? Is that significant?”

  Frankie scrubs his hands up and down his face then clenches them on top of his head. “They’re the Scorpions, Shiloh. White bandanas tied around the head means they’ve pledged.”

  “Pledged what?” I’m not playing dumb here. I’m really that clueless.

  “Damn, woman! What the hell does it matter?” he asks, unclenching his hands. “Loyalty? Their lives? To spray bullets at anyone who gets in their way?” He stops and narrows a suspicious gaze at me. “Where the fuck were you that you even ran up on one in the first place?”

  The thought crosses my mind to let it all out. Exorcise my demons and admit to my newfound phobia of enclosed spaces and constant flashbacks of Kirkland. Instead, I do what comes natural—lie. “Alvarez Street, I think. My driver couldn’t keep it between the yellow lines, so I bailed. It’s not unheard of to actually walk places, you know.”

  Sorry for bus rolling you, Malcolm.

  Frankie’s mouth hangs open. “Holy shit, you walked down Alvarez Street alone? What the hell were you thinkin’?”

  “I was thinking how nice it was to feel normal for once.” Crossing my arms over my chest, I grunt as a sharp pain reminds me of my newly formed bruises.

  “So, I take it they’re the ones who did that to your face?”

  All I can do is nod. Apparently, my silence sets off a chain reaction in the boys, starting with Tiny and running down the line as Romeo and some skinny new kid crack their knuckles.

  “Did they…” Tiny’s booming voice trails off as he pounds his fist into his other palm.

  “No!” I yell, waving a frantic hand in the air. “Hell no. They stole my shit, knocked me around a little, and took off.”

  The murderous look on Tiny’s pudgy face slowly fades and he nods. “Well, that explains why you didn’t call the boss for a ride to work.”

  What? Has he taken one too many kicks to the head in the ring?

  “Are you kidding me? I would’ve hitchhiked before I’d have called him. And no one tells him about this, do you understand?” I look each one of them in the eye until they nod in agreement. Eventually, everyone agrees to my threats.

  Everyone but Frankie.

  “Frankie?” I ask, arching an eyebrow.

  He’s quiet for a few moments before letting out a heavy sigh. “Fine. But if you’re gonna do stupid shit like what you did today, you need to learn how to defend yourself.”

  “What are you going to do?” I say with a loud snort. “Teach me to fight?”

  “Yep.” A one-word answer is all I get as he lifts the top rope of the ring and climbs inside.

  “I’m kidding, Frankie.”

  “I’m not. Take off those things on your feet and get your ass in here.”

  I can think of a million and one reasons why this is a bad idea—getting punched in the face topping the list.

  “No way. This is ridiculous.”

>   “Oh, because you’re a girl, is that it? Are you too weak and helpless to throw a punch, Snowflake? Wouldn’t want to break a nail, huh?”

  I don’t know if he’s being serious or trying to rile me up enough to kick his ass. It doesn’t matter anyway because his taunts flip my bitch switch, and I’m up and out of my chair, ready to prove a point.

  Pausing by the ring, I rip off the ankle strap on my wedge heels and belly roll under the bottom rope. Crawling to my feet, I stand right in front of Frankie with what I perceive to be a menacing glare.

  Not so much to Frankie.

  A grin breaks out across his face, and he laughs so hard he doubles over. “Girl, I don’t know if you meant to look hard, but you look constipated as fuck.”

  “Shut up and do this, or I’m leaving.”

  “Okay,” he says, tempering down his grin. “First thing you need to learn is what to do if someone comes at you from the front.”

  “Easy, knee him in the nuts.”

  There’s a collective sound of air sucking through teeth and Frankie winces. “True, but in most cases, the dude will anticipate that and be on you before you have a chance.” Pressing against me, he grabs both of my wrists and jerks hard. “What are you gonna do?”

  Without hesitating, I swing his left hand wide while ducking underneath, and spinning both of us around until he’s forced to let go. I’ll admit I’m a little smug, going so far as to do a little victory bounce and jab the air like a real boxer.

  “That’s all you got?” I tease. “I thought you had skills?”

  I can tell Frankie is less than enthused with my display of confidence. “That was an easy one. They get harder.”

  “Ohhhh, I’m scared,” I taunt, wiggling my fingers by my cheeks.

  In a blur of shiny scalp and tattoos, Frankie’s behind me, hooking both of my arms at the base of my spine with his muscular forearm while jerking a handful of my hair back with the other. This time, I don’t react. The move is too familiar and too recent to form a coherent thought.

  “What about now?” he sneers beside my ear. “Still scared?”

  “What the fuck is this?”

  Frankie immediately releases his hold and steps backward. “It’s not what it looks like, boss!”

  I quickly turn around to see Cary standing three feet away from the ring, his fully inked arms crossed tightly over his chest. God, his arms are the kind that girls dream about. Artfully tattooed from his fingertips to his neck. Masterfully sculpted, possessing strength that could lift a woman up and kiss her senseless or hold her down and fuck her into a coma.

  But it isn’t his body that claims most of my attention. There’s a hardness in his eyes. A stare so vicious I don’t know whether to run for my life or fall to my knees and beg for it.

  “Really?” he hisses. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re about two seconds away from shoving your dick in her ass.”

  Frankie’s eyes darken. “Knock it off, Cary, you’re overreactin’. We were just—”

  “I was talking to her.”

  “Man, shut up,” Tiny pipes up from the floor just to the right of the ring. “Just take a look at her face. You think she busted up her own chin?”

  I can see the moment his words register in Cary’s head. His stoned expression evaporates, leaving only confusion. “What happened, Shy?”

  “It was nothing. I fell.”

  “Jesus,” Frankie groans, climbing out of the ring in a huff. “Fell, my ass. Genius here decided to walk from Alvarez Street and got jumped by some Scorpions.”

  Cary swivels his head around, bearing his teeth. “You did what?”

  “I did not get jumped,” I argue, throwing Frankie an eat-shit glare. “They robbed me and I took a header to the street. That’s all.”

  “That’s all? Shiloh, of all the stupid, irresponsible, selfish shit…” Stopping himself mid-sentence, he grabs handfuls of his inky black hair and tugs wildly as he paces. “They could’ve killed you.”

  It strikes me as odd he even gives a shit. His behavior is erratic at best, putting thoughts in my head that have no business being there. Thoughts I don’t deserve to consider as a possible reality.

  Does he still care?

  Before I can ask, Cary straightens his spine, the blank look from earlier settling across his gorgeous face. “Fine. Shit happens. So, I’ll repeat myself. What the fuck is all this about?” He gestures to the ring I’m still standing in like some ridiculous statue.

  “Just thought I’d teach her some moves, boss,” Frankie says, grabbing a small white hand towel. “You know, if some dick ever tries to come at her again.”

  Nobody moves or speaks as Cary presses his lips together until I’m positive his lip ring is going to draw blood. I’m about to climb out of the ring when he swings a pointed finger down the line of boys then indicates toward the door.

  “Everybody out.”

  Nobody moves and Cary’s face takes on a shade of red I’ve only seen one other time in my life. It’s because of that shade of red that I keep my mouth shut.

  “I said go home or I swear to God, I’ll have every one of you banned for life.”

  One by one, the boys file out of the center, some muttering to themselves, but most of them completely silent. Frankie is the last one to leave, stopping right beside Cary on his way out for some unspoken alpha cock show before turning away and closing the door behind him.

  The moment we’re alone, I stare down at him, wondering what he thinks he’s doing. Bossing me around like I’m his pet is getting on my nerves, although, if I’m being honest, dressed in a black t-shirt, black jeans, and black boots, he looks intimidating as hell.

  Shaking his head, he effortlessly lifts the top rope and climbs inside. As soon as I see him reach over his shoulder and pull his t-shirt over his head, I lower my eyes. Even the strongest woman has limits, and his beautifully decorated chest and pierced nipples just might break mine.

  “If you’re going to learn to defend yourself, it should be from me.”

  I glance up, the protectiveness in his tone making me question his motives. “They were just trying to help. You weren’t here.”

  “And that’s my fault?”

  I’m too exhausted to deal with his mood swings, or even begin to try to decipher what the hell they mean. “Look, Cary, it’s been a long day, and I don’t think my body can handle any more. I’ve already got bruises on top of bruises.”

  Cursing low under his breath, he runs a hand through his hair and tugs at the strands. “Whatever. Just go clean up before your face gets even more…”

  “Fucked up?” I finish for him.

  “I was going to say infected.”

  I shrug, not buying his save, but appreciating the attempt nonetheless. “Same thing.”

  “Shy, that’s not what I meant.” Palming the back of his neck, he paces in front of me, the muscles in his back cording with every step.

  The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. “Fight me.”

  Pausing his maddening strides, he lifts his head and raises an eyebrow. “What?”

  “You think you can teach better than your protégées?” I challenge, pointing toward the door. “Then prove it, hot shot. You’ve wanted to get back at me for years now, so take your best swing.”

  “I don’t hit women, Shiloh.”

  I tilt my chin and step forward. “Are you chicken?”

  I have no clue what I’m saying. Words are tumbling out faster than I can reel them back in. Cary’s staring at me like I’ve lost my mind, and maybe I have. Only a complete moron would invite a skilled mixed martial arts fighter to kick her ass.

  “Shiloh, I’m not fighting you.” He chuckles, mocking me with a light tap on my cheek with his palm. “I can see your game coming a mile away.”

  Something in my head explodes. Like someone threw a baseball through a stained-glass window, causing a fall-out of multi-colored shards to cloud all rational thought. With lightning s
peed, I swoop around with my opposite arm and grab his wrist while landing a hard knee into his stomach. Just as he lets out a surprised groan, I twist his arm in a full three sixty and pin it to his lower back while delivering three blows with my elbow right between his shoulders. He falls to his knees as rainbow tinted dust finally settles in my mind.

  Bending over, I let my long hair fall like a curtain over him and whisper, “Didn’t see that coming, did ya?”

  Once he manages to move to a sitting position, he rolls his shoulders and winces. “What the hell was that?”

  The real answer? A combination of self-defense techniques with a little realistic fight training thrown in for flair. Courtesy of Lena and her need to protect herself from random fuckboys who took her “choke me, baby” suggestion a little too far.

  But that’s not what I say.

  “Krav Maga, sweetheart. You think men all over the world aren’t the same? The only reason those assholes got the jump on me today was because I was distracted. Otherwise they’d be picking their ball sacks out of tree limbs right now.”

  When he continues to stare at the floor of the ring, I plop down beside him and tuck my hands in my lap. “I’m sorry I hurt you. But in my defense, I didn’t know you’d go down like a drunk virgin on prom night.”

  Okay, so maybe apologies aren’t my forte.

  “I’m not hurt,” he grumbles. “But remind me never to underestimate you.” Reaching over his shoulder, he rubs the spot I pulverized. “Your elbows are bony as shit.”

  I just chuckle, neither of us saying another word. Finally, the silence becomes so deafening that Cary gives me a forced smile. “So, Krav Maga, huh? Where’d you learn that shit?”

  “You know, here and there. Mostly there. You’d be surprised what you pick up when you live out of a suitcase.”

  “What was it like traveling all over the world?”

  “Exhausting,” I answer honestly, wiping a line of sweat off my brow. “Lonely. There’s a lot of pressure to always be the best.”

  “There always was.” Deep-set lines sink into his tanned forehead.

  “Old habits die hard.”

  He inhales a few times, as if dancing around the elephant in the room. “Speaking of old habits, we haven’t talked about what happened the other day.”