Chapter Ten
I spent the rest of the day holed up in the girl's bathroom.
Not because I was fearful of Rafe and Diego descending to finish me off in the halls between classes, but because I knew Mr. Jacobs would be on the hunt. One look at the state of me was all he'd need to confirm my involvement. The only doubt I could see him experiencing was over whether I'd wreaked all of that havoc alone, or with help.
The bathroom was dank and reeked of stale sweat and weed. I wouldn't be surprised if there was enough second hand smoke lingering in the joint to give me a slight buzz. Graffiti covered every flat surface – the mirrors and sinks, toilet stalls and doors; even the linoleum floor was intemperately decorated.
Tags ranged in color and intent, some displaying heartfelt messages like I'm going to fuck Jose over winter break while others weren't so feel good, such as Julie Kingston = new species of whale. Wobble, baby, wobble. Something scribbled in black ink beside the mirror drew me closer. I realized I was staring at an old list of names under the header TOP TEN GUYS I'D DO. Number one on the list was Justice Montoya. Kalen was on there too, at number five.
I snorted in derision. Justice hadn't even attended Lincoln, and the last time he'd been enrolled in any high school was when he was fifteen. Somehow him making the cut didn't surprise me in the least. I wondered if he knew he was the object of many girls' fantasies.
"Not that his ego needs the extra stroke," I muttered under my breath, and started the arduous process of cleaning myself up.
My tattered shirt was a lost cause; less white, more muddy brown and bloody red. I stripped it off and used it to mop up the blood smeared across my face. The stinging cut above my left brow was still leaking, fine ribbons of crimson threatening to run into my eye.
Please don't need stitches, I chanted over and over in my head.
I wet a corner and jammed it up against the cut, hissing as the sting intensified. My head was positively pounding, the ache so fierce it was making me squint. My free hand roamed gingerly over my scalp. I was amazed I had any hair left. Cruz had been going at it like an aggressive housewife would attack her weed infested garden.
The fingers of my right hand were swollen and uncooperative, and my ribs were so tender breathing was something I was actually conscious of. A split lip and a bruised cheekbone completed my inventory of visible injuries. There wasn't much I could do about the bruise or my lip, but I was hoping if I parted my hair a certain way and left it down, it would at least cover the horrible gash.
By the time I stopped the persistent dribble of blood from my brow the final bell was ringing. I cleaned my dirty arms as best I could, tossed the shirt into the overflowing trashcan, and made a face at my wet, grungy jeans and v-neck tank top. I couldn't wait to peel them off and throw them out as well.
With my hair partially covering my left brow, I dashed from the bathroom and made a beeline for the exit, not stopping until I was out of the building, past security, and on the footpath where I coincidentally collided with Mycha. He was peering into the throngs of students, and it became obvious he was searching for me when I elbowed him in the ribs and he nearly fell over in shock.
"You are going to be the death of me, I swear to God," he fumed, his entire face drawn into a severe scowl.
I'd never seen him quite this angry. Not even when Scout broke his Rubik's cube by throwing it out the bedroom window in a tantrum when they were younger.
"Nice to see you too, little brother," I said absently.
I had more important things on my mind, like figuring out where the TLF were and which direction they'd be coming from. Call me highly suspicious, but I didn't think Diego and Rafe would sit back and bide their time after the girls' epic failure. No, I was anticipating retaliation sometime in, oh, possibly the next five minutes.
In my current state I'd be less than useless. My only real option was to wait for Rafe to come and finish me off. Maybe I could taunt him while he did it just to get under his skin. God knew I wouldn't go down without some kind of fight.
Mycha grabbed my arm and shook me, quickly letting go when I cut him a nasty look. I was tired of being manhandled. Plus the intense shaking awoke the pain in my side and doubled the ache in my head.
"Are you even listening to me?"
"No." I was too busy scouting the area for signs of danger. I urged him forward, weaving around groups of dawdling kids and the odd idiot standing stationary on the pavement. "Can't we talk at home?"
Up ahead a courtyard was packed full of teenage boys jostling each other for possession of the basketball courts. A row of girls were leaning against the brick wall of a dilapidated building, popping gum and spreading school gossip. Apartment complexes in various states of disrepair littered the street, along with a chain of small businesses we'd need to pass on our way home.
I slowed down as I scanned Piston Mechanics on the corner, an establishment often frequented by the TLF who'd staked a claim on it a few years ago. Why anyone would want to take ownership of a tiny piece of a shitty block was beyond me, but then Diego had never struck me as a bright spark. He was all about instant gratification, not strategic maneuvering.
"Ioney, you're bleeding." Mycha stepped in my path.
"Huh?" I touched my brow, my fingers coming away stained with red.
Shit. I was beginning to think a stitch or two were inevitable.
"Come on." I latched onto his forearm with the intention of skirting the auto shop as circumspectly as possible.
Maybe my stubbornness was rubbing off on him because Mycha dug his heels in and wrenched himself free of my hold. "I'm not going anywhere until you tell me what the fuck is going on," he snarled, folding his arms over his chest in defiance.
I was momentarily dumbstruck by his staunch pose; he reminded me so much of Kalen that it hurt to look at him. In a few years, once he'd finished growing, I imagined he'd be his older brother's spitting image.
"First I hear rumors that the TLF are gunning for you. Then I find out three of them met with an accident that required medical attention. I saw Cruz limping around between sixth and seventh period, muttering something about planning your murder. Oh, and the true highlight of my day was your English teacher hauling me out of class because he was trying to locate you."
Mycha thrust something at me. It was my schoolbag. "He thought you might want it back, even after I told him it wasn't like you carried books in it."
I took it from him and slung it over my shoulder. "Mycha, if you ever swear at me like that again I'm really going to give you what for." After a good night's sleep and some recovery time, I mentally added. "I said we'll talk when we get home, so the faster you move, the faster you'll get some answers."
"Why are you bleeding, Ioney?" he asked, ignoring me altogether. "And why does your face look like someone used it as their personal punch bag?"
Annoyance rode me hard. It was one thing for him to express concern, quite another for him to condescend me like he was.
"Why do you think? Obviously they cornered me and by some fluke, I managed to kick some serious ass. And now I'm going to pay," I croaked, blanching as something caught my eye over his shoulder.
The garage was suddenly teeming with activity. Diego, Rafe, and nine other Spanish boys who looked like they'd been pumping iron and steroids since they were in diapers were crowded around Cruz, watching as she gesticulated wildly and made some disturbing slashing motions with both hands. If tattling wasn't bad enough, she then turned and pointed right at me. Eleven pairs of eyes, full of menace and intent to harm swiveled my way. It was all I could do to keep from waving sarcastically. Some people giggled when they were nervous. I displayed suicidal tendencies, what could I say?
"What?" Mycha started to pivot, but I grabbed him by the shoulders.
Oozing sincerity, I said, "Stuff me in a cardboard box and burn me. Don't waste money on a coffin when its destiny begins and ends in a furnace. Then, call social services and rat Teresa out. Tell them what a neglectful, raging alcoholic she is. They may split you up, but at least you'll all live to see twenty one."
Something we Mercers were finding it hard to accomplish – hitting adulthood.
Unaware of the way a pack of TLF were salivating after me, Mycha gave me a flat stare. "That's not funny."
"No, it's not," I agreed, tension lining my shoulders and tightening my arms and legs. I took a deep calming breath – and felt even less calm.
"What the hell are you – Oh. My. God." Mycha turned and caught sight of the death squad. "Een, why are they looking at you like they're the lions and you're the piece of meat the butcher has left out for them?"
"Because I accidentally broke Mariella's leg?" I ventured, though accidentally was stretching it a little. Okay, maybe a lot.
I met Rafe's furious gaze and his mouth formed two words I couldn't make out from this distance. Left to my overactive imagination I decided "Die bitch!" or "Dead meat" were the two strongest contenders; definitely something along those lines.
And being the idiot who had to show everyone I did not fold at the first sign of danger, I responded in kind. Just with less words and more action.
Sneering as best I could with a fat lip, I raised my arm and flipped him off.
Mycha yelped and snatched my hand out of the air. Rafe's eyes widened in disbelief; clearly he wasn't expecting that. Then he and Diego laughed while their friends cracked their knuckles and rolled their thick necks on their shoulders. As a unit they started towards me, eleven Spanish boys all hyped up on the fact they were about to seriously maim a girl.
Very classy.
I released a tired sigh and watched their progress. This was it.
Run. Take Mycha and run for it.
But I couldn't. Not only was I too proud, if I ran today they'd find me later. And who was to say they wouldn't come looking for me at home. I'd be damned if I put my brothers and sisters in harm's way.
Mycha's mouth was going a mile a minute. "You are the biggest moron on the face of the Earth. Why? Why would you do something like that? Don't you think we're in enough trouble as it is? Why do you always have to prove you're the biggest badass out there? Now we're going to die – you because your stupidity overrides any sort of self-preservation the rest of us normal people possess, and me because I'm dumb enough to be standing next to you when you flip off the TLF! How hard did you get hit in the head? Hard enough to lose your God damn mind, that's how hard."
And therein was the biggest difference between me and Mycha. While he would search high and low for a diplomatic solution, I didn't bother wasting my time. Gangsters and diplomacy were like fire and ice; incompatible. They were out for blood, plain and simple. The only thing left to wonder was how much of theirs I'd take with me.
"Just go home," I told Mycha when he paused for breath, and gave him a firm push in the opposite direction of impending doom.
I had thirty seconds, a minute tops before they were upon me and shit went south. Ever impatient to get it over with, I decided what the hell, I'd meet them halfway. Or, well, that was the plan. Right up until someone grabbed me around the neck and drew me to a jarring halt. I hissed as my battered body came to life with a roaring pain and, thinking it was Mycha, refrained from flipping him over my shoulder to land in a heap at my feet.
Turned out I should have flipped the bastard. Mycha was on my right, undecided on whether he should intervene and thump some stranger for laying his hands on me. Luckily, I recognized this stranger and experienced a flutter of relief even as I let out a vicious curse and struggled for freedom.
Raymond maintained his headlock, eyeing me like I was one fry short of a happy meal. "Muñequita, please tell me you weren't about to do something stupid."
His mess of brown hair had fallen into his eyes and his mouth was set in a grim frown.
"Only as stupid as what you're doing right now," I ground out through clenched teeth. "You have one second to let go of me."
That piqued his curiosity. "Or what?"
"Or we're going to see what Ray looks like without his two front teeth." An idle threat, but one I enjoyed issuing nevertheless.
"Muñequita preciosa." He released me, moving to stand in my way instead. "We both know you're full of shit."
"Move," I snapped, trying to evade him.
Sighing, he dogged my steps, a bored expression fixed in place. "You're not going anywhere, especially not that way." He pointed over his shoulder, where Diego and Rafe were closing the distance.
When I feinted left, swerved right, and stomped on his foot to distract him, he let out a foul curse, muttering, "Guera loca," as I slipped by.
My success was short lived. Diego, Rafe, and their crew had stopped dead in their tracks. I cocked my head to the side in wonderment. What was the hold up? Confusion seemed to be a running theme. Diego and Rafe aside, everyone else was scratching their heads in bewilderment.
Diego whispered something in Rafe's ear. Rafe's expression morphed from indecisive to indignant in a heartbeat. He responded harshly, pointing at me in aggravation. The tattoos on his right arm rippled with the movement, his biceps straining and flexing under his dark caramel skin.
"Siempre tienen que ser las chicas lindas las locas. Next time he tells me there's a nena chula involved, I'm going to tell him que bese mi trasero," Ray muttered as he caught me, his hand circling my upper arm in an iron grip.
Positioning me slightly behind him, he pushed up the sleeves of his black hoodie. Oblivious to their change in attitude and the tiny fact I didn't want, nor need his help in ending my life, he called, "In case you pendejos ain't figured it out yet, she's still got ties. She's still one of ours." He flashed his CBK tat in case they missed his point.
He was wasting his energy.
Everybody's hang-up became blatantly obvious when the bane of my existence pulled level with me, his expression one of disapproval. Justice acknowledged Ray with a little more warmth, giving him a slight nod. Ray looked pretty pleased with himself until Justice spoke.
"Boy, you tell me to kiss your ass at any point in your life and I promise you, you won't have one left for anybody to kiss," he said, and Ray cringed.
Dressed in a black shin length coat, dark jeans, and black Nike high tops, he appeared less lethal-gang-member-with-a-rep-for-brutality and more respectable-upstanding-citizen. Bottom line: whoever said a gangster couldn't have decent taste in clothes had never met Justice Montoya. His inky black hair was pushed back from his smooth, angular face, the brown of his eyes so dark the color could be mistaken for black if you weren't close enough to distinguish it.
Naturally, I was ready to lay my heartfelt greeting on him.
"What, did you put a tracking device in me?" I snarked, a stubborn tilt to my chin. "Or has your pet been giving you the play-by-play?"
Justice quirked an eyebrow. "Always nice to see you too, Mercer."
"Bite me, Montoya."
A look crossed his face but was gone before I could place it. "Don't tempt me, sweetheart." He turned on my brother with a nod. "Mycha."
Mycha responded in kind, clearly baffled by the turn of events. He glanced at me and I shrugged. I had no more of an idea than he did. Justice appearing up out of the blue hadn't entered any of my scenarios of how this afternoon would pan out.
"Eleven against five, not bad," another voice piped up, and I turned to find Salvatore Black hovering behind me.
Even in height with Ray at about five nine, he exuded a lazy confidence as he flicked his light brown gaze over the enemy. His lack of concern would have been alarming had I not known what he was capable of. Hands in his jeans pockets and striking a relaxed pose, he looked like he was waiting in line at a movie theater, not about to engage in a street brawl. At twenty three, and with several years under his belt as a CBK member, Sal had bored indifference down to an art.
"Eleven against two," Justice said, amending Sal's calculation of the odds. He passed me a glare, daring me to argue. "Possibly three, if Raymond feels he's up for it."
While Ray rushed to confirm his participation, Sal sighed. "Of course. What was I thinking including the girl we both know will only spectate if we break her legs, and her brother who, if he's anything like Kalen, could probably hold his own just fine."
I turned on Justice with a hostile glare. "I'm sorry, but can we just back up a bit to where I didn't ask for your help. So don't think you can just waltz on over here and tell me what to do."
A delighted grin lit Sal's face. "I forget how feisty she is."
Heaving a tired sigh, Justice leveled Sal with an annoyed glower. "Sal, you're not helping." Then to me, he added, "If I shove you, what do you think the likelihood of you staying vertical would be?"
"A one," Sal said before I could even open my mouth.
"One," Ray agreed after a quick appraisal.
"Probably zero," Mycha muttered, shaking his head at me.
"Why don't you test that theory and find out," I challenged, bristling in indignation. I'd stay standing even if it meant using the brick wall on my left as a leaning post.
Justice's arm snapped out without missing a beat, and I braced myself for the hard impact. To my surprise, he didn't shove me. Rather he jerked me to him in a tight hold, his hand cradling the back of my head. I was about to ask what the hell he thought he was doing when he twisted and I caught sight of something sharp and pointy aimed right for my throat.
Working through the relentless ache in my head, my mind belatedly informed me I'd just come this close to having my throat cut. And didn't that realization get the old heart pumping. Justice deflected the blade at a cost. The wickedly sharp edge caught the back of his hand, slicing as easily as it would through butter.
"Son of a bitch." His tone was annoyed; he didn't appear to have any other reaction to being cut open.
Around us chaos erupted as the TLF attempted to use their sheer force in numbers to their advantage. Ray jumped into the fray with such reckless abandon I couldn't help but gape. Sal looked like he wanted to do the same, but instead took up a defensive position in a recessed doorway where Mycha was huddled.
Knives were aplenty as four TLF converged on Sal, three surrounded Ray, and the final four, of which included Rafe, circled me and Justice. How I'd failed to notice their approach was beyond me. I'd turned my back for a second, possibly two, and then bam – absolute bedlam.
My stomach somersaulted as I made a few mental tallies. Four against two, check. Three knives versus one knife, double check. One idiot who was in way over her head, present and accounted for.
It was on the tip of my tongue to ask Justice what his game plan was when a guy wearing an emerald bandana lunged, knife at the ready. Justice ducked out of range, yanking me with him. Keeping his left hand – the one that was bleeding – latched around my biceps, Justice rearranged his grip on his knife. The blade ran the length of his forearm, the handle held loosely but surely.
When Bandana swooped in to slash again, Justice dodged neatly, stepped into the gap opened up for him by such a clumsy attempt, and kicked him in the knee. Bandana collapsed with a strangled cry, weapon abandoned as he clutched at a leg that was bent the wrong way. Without pausing Justice elbowed him in the temple, rendering the man unconscious before he hit the pavement.
In the next instant Justice jerked me into his chest; someone sprung from behind, and if I hadn't been moved I'd be digging a switchblade out of my shoulder. Every move Justice made was quick, calculated, and efficient as he kept a firm hold on me and engaged the three remaining TLF.
I was forced to duck and weave with him; he refused to relax his grip on me, let alone release me altogether. One second I'd be watching a knife arc toward my face, the next I'd be two feet away breathing in Justice's masculine scent, my face buried against his shoulder as he maneuvered himself between me and harm to block an attack and reciprocate in kind.
"Two hands are better than one," I ended up saying, my heart threatening to beat its way out of my chest when Rafe's swing was so close it nicked Justice's neck.
He barely had time to toss me a malevolent glare. "Not happening, so do me a favor and quit your whining."
I started to spit out some acerbic retort, then thought better of it as Justice pulled me towards a knife wielding idiot rather than away. Wearing a beat up leather jacket, he appeared taken aback by our sudden rush until Justice shoved me at the last second. The serrated blade sailed through the air instead of impaling me, and I blinked stupidly at the intended near miss.
Limited to one hand, Justice got creative and head-butted the guy. Blood gushed as the guy's nose broke with a crunch, and he staggered backward, giving us an opening. It took me a moment to notice that during the brawl Justice had been edging us closer to where Mycha and Sal were. His intentions became clear when he practically threw me towards my brother.
Sal barely prevented me from kissing the pavement with an arm under my chest, an amazing feat considering all of his focus had been on a particularly stubborn member of the TLF. I gained my feet and scrambled out of his way, not wanting to hinder him like I'd been doing Justice.
"Stay there, both of you," Justice ordered. The guy he'd head-butted was on the ground behind him, cradling an arm that had been broken at the elbow. I had to hand it to Justice; he was an expert at inflicting severe pain using minimal effort.
My addled, fatigued brain picked up on Justice's command far too late; by the time I thought to protest he was already halfway towards Ray, having spied him struggling to hold his own as the TLF endeavored to bring him to the ground.
"Watch him," Sal said to me, jerking his chin in Mycha's direction. He was wedged into the corner of the recessed doorway, watching everything unfold with a look of utter disbelief. "It's safe to say he is nothing like your brother, which, given Kalen's tendency to fight like he had nothing to lose, isn't such a bad thing."
Bringing his knee up into the TLF member's head, Sal threw the guy's limp body onto the ground and ran after Justice. Their priority was Ray, and with good reason. The TLF had noticed he was the weakest link, and his initial party of three had multiplied. Sal and Justice had each dispatched two opponents respectively. The seven remaining quickly converged on Ray.
"Stay here my ass." I looked around for something to use as a weapon.
A small pile of broken bricks rested at Mycha's feet, each hunk roughly the size of my fist. I palmed one, testing its heft. Now this was something I could work with. Collecting an armful, I stumbled onto the street maintaining a safe distance. I might like disobeying Justice, but I wasn't stupid; if anyone got their hands on me, I'd be a goner.
Justice and Sal had their backs to me, sizing up the four TLF who were left standing, and Ray was straddling another on the ground, punching him repeatedly. With the TLF preoccupied, I knew I'd never get another opportunity like this.
Taking aim at the man on Justice's left who was trying to flank him, I released a steadying breath, shifted my stance, and threw it as hard as I could. I hit Diego in the stomach instead. He was two people over, and so caught off guard he staggered into Rafe.
"I'll take that," I said with a shrug, pretending it had been my goal all along.
Palming a second brick, I tossed it without preamble; I'd been spotted, and Rafe broke from formation to head my way. I was aiming for the same annoying twit on Justice's left. Not only did I miss again, but this time I didn't even hit the enemy.
The brick clipped Justice on the shoulder. I abandoned any further attempts – the next one was likely to concuss him – and offered a sheepish shrug when he whipped his head around to glare at me.
"What part of stay put do you not understand?"
"You know, I don't appreciate that tone," I snapped irritably. "I'm doing you a favor." Well, beaning him with bricks aside, I was.
He didn't get a chance to reply. Rafe dashed past, and Justice would have stopped him had he not been tackled by Diego. Justice cursed as his fingertips brushed Rafe's arm before he went down.
I cursed too, and turned tail to run. I didn't harbor any delusions of outrunning Rafe. Not in my current condition, anyway. But I did hope to keep him distracted until Justice or Sal could lend a hand. Throwing a furtive glance over my shoulder, I gasped at how quickly Rafe was gaining ground.
Maybe if I could just get back to that pile of bricks –
The world tilted violently as he catapulted on top of me, sending us both crashing onto the sidewalk in a tangle of limbs. As well as being winded, every ache and pain in my body erupted anew, and it was all I could do to keep from crying out. I kicked and punched blindly, hoping to land a hit somewhere vital. It was a pathetic, last ditch effort, and one that proved unnecessary.
As quickly as Rafe landed on me, he was gone. I was flat on my back, blinking up at the afternoon sky, desperately heaving in some oxygen. Confusion knit my brow together, at least until I jerked my head sideways to discover Justice standing over Rafe.
On his knees and with his arm bent behind him at a precarious angle, Rafe was yelling hoarsely in Spanish, head cranked around to level Justice with a venomous glare.
"All things you'll never be able to accomplish while you're on your knees in front of me," Justice said in response to whatever Rafe was harping on about.
He jerked his head in Sal's direction and, taking the unspoken directive Sal relieved Justice of his burden, keeping the same debilitating hold on Rafe. Undeterred by his predicament Rafe began howling obscenities at all of us in general, even as a few of his crew began to rouse themselves sluggishly.
"Shut him up," Justice said as he dropped to his knees beside me. "The last thing we need is the entire neighborhood descending on us to play witness. It's a miracle it hasn't happened already."
Sal's compliance was instant. One second Rafe was demonstrating his fluency in Spanish, the next he was emitting a barely audible, strangled noise of agony. Sal had forced Rafe face down on the pavement and was twisting his arm to the point of either breaking it or dislocating it, a knee wedged into his back for leverage.
"Are you alright?"
It took me a moment to realize Justice was now speaking to me and another to comprehend he wasn't waiting for an answer. His hands were already moving, skimming my upper body briskly and efficiently, seeking out potential injury.
"I'm fine." I batted his questing touch away from my ribs. Even the slightest pressure against them would give me away.
Offering me a peeved glare, Justice sat back on his haunches. Blood dripped from his left hand onto the sidewalk next to my head. It was far too much to have come from the cut on the back of it, and I frowned as the drops began to form a tiny puddle.
"How'd you do that?"
"Do what?" he asked absently, his attention on Diego, who was now on all fours and coughing. The troops were beginning to rally.
"Get to me so fast. When I was falling, Diego was on top of you."
"I'd like to know that as well," Sal said, staring at Justice pointedly. "Anyone would think you'd been electrocuted, the way your ass shot up off the ground. Did you even feel that pendejo's knife?" He gestured at Justice's upper arm.
Frowning, Justice touched his biceps and blinked at his red stained palm.
"Didn't think so," Sal muttered with a shake of his head.
Ignoring his friend, Justice regained his feet. I was thinking about doing the same when he grabbed me under the arms. As soon as I was vertical I wrenched myself free of his hold, clenching my teeth against a tidal wave of pain as my various injuries flared to life all over again.
Sleep. I needed about a week's worth of sleep, followed by enough food to feed a small army. Then I'd be just fine.
"You remember I keep telling you how little self-preservation you have?" I nearly jumped out of my skin at Mycha's shaky voice in my ear. Eyes wide and face leeched of color, he continued with, "I think we need to find you some, and fast."
"Kid's got a point," Justice said, much to my ire, and motioned Sal away from Rafe.
I was sure Rafe's plan involved regrouping and initiating round two, but he didn't get the chance. As soon as he was on his feet Justice threw him up against the brick wall. The impact knocked the air from his lungs, and the knife Justice slid under Rafe's throat may have deterred him from physical violence, but it did nothing to stop the string of violent curses erupting from his mouth.
"Cabrón! Chinga a tu madre!"
"My mama's long dead, and you'll soon join her if you don't shut your mouth and listen to me very carefully." Justice's expression had me flinching, though it wasn't directed my way.
This was the Chicago Blood Kings enforcer that everyone spoke of in fearful or reverent tones; the one who didn't issue threats, only statements of truth. Eyes narrowed dangerously, upper lip curled back, and giving off a bloodthirsty vibe, Justice pressed the knife hard enough to draw blood.
Taking the hint, Rafe fell silent.
"Thought so." His gaze shifted to encompass Diego and the two TLF members who'd managed to gather themselves. The others were still out for the count.
"Diego, you or yours so much as twitch and we'll discover how long it takes Raphael to bleed out. Entiendes?"
Diego gave the barest of nods and passed a warning stare to his friends.
"Fabulous," Justice said, making it sound anything but. Then he got right down to business. "My new kid Ray tells me you've all got a hard on for Ioney Mercer. Now I was ready to tell him he must be mistaken, that none of you are stupid enough to even go there, but then I hear five of your hoodrats jumped her between classes today."
His knuckles whitened over his tightening grip on Rafe and the knife, almost like it was an effort to stop himself from burying the blade in Rafe's throat.
"Kalen Mercer may be dead but I'm still here, and as long as I'm around, any one of you so much as blinks at this girl or her family in a way I don't like, I will be back, and it won't be to chat about the fucking weather. I will come for you. Not just the one who touches a Mercer, but everyone he knows."
Justice looked Rafe dead in the eye, an evil smirk playing about his lips.
Leaning in so no more than two inches separated them, he murmured, "I'll break every bone in your body and I'll laugh while you writhe in pain. I'll make you watch as I do the same to every one of your homeboys and when I'm finally done with you, you'll never walk again."
The first signs of fear began to show as Rafe's body betrayed him, trembling in Justice's grip. Insane as he was, even he recognized that Justice meant every word he spoke.
"Consider this misadventure a warning." In one quick movement Justice had the knife tucked into the back of his jeans and released Rafe. Visibly cowed, he stumbled his way over to Diego, who was scowling.
"One day, Montoya. One day you'll slip and I'll be there to watch you fall," he said, jerking Rafe upright and shaking him roughly.
Positioning himself on my right, Justice laughed, the sound lacking any humor. "Maybe you should take that up with the last guy who said something along those lines."
With a hand placed at the nape of my neck, Justice steered me back towards the school until he guided me down a side street on our left. Trash lined the gutters, mostly discarded newspapers and food wrappings, along with a handful of cars that had seen better days. Justice's gleaming black Escalade was parked between an old rusted Chevy and a dented Buick.
"You know, you and I have very different definitions of 'we're just going to stop by the high school for a quick chat'. How about next time you say 'Bring your arsenal, just in case'," Sal commented, leaning against the side of the SUV.
Ray followed suit, breathing heavily, and a shell-shocked Mycha stopped in front of them, evidently still digesting everything he'd seen.
"I could have handled that myself," I groused, realizing with a start that I'd been letting him lead me around like a lost lamb, almost comforted by the touch of his warm fingers against my skin. I squirmed out of his reach and spun on him with an accusing stare.
"Yes, because your scrawny ass was doing a stellar job before I intervened," Justice said with a roll of his eyes. "In fact, if your goal was to get yourself killed, you were only a few minutes away from achieving it, so congratulations."
I bristled in indignation, anger simmering in my chest. There were a thousand responses tearing through my mind, each one more acerbic than the last, but I settled on, "I'm not scrawny. And anyway, size doesn't matter."
Justice invaded my personal space, stepping in and crowding me with his body. Those impossibly dark eyes narrowed as he looked down his nose at me in a way that made our height difference seem like it was in feet rather than inches. I felt like a pathetically weak child under the scrutiny of his fierce expression.
"Are you sure about that?"
I blinked, momentarily distracted by something running into my eye. Thinking it was sweat, I swiped my hand across my forehead, scowling when it came away tinged red. Damn it, I was bleeding again.
Apparently my hair was doing a fantastic job of concealing the cut above my brow because Justice frowned at my hand. Then without warning he grabbed me by the face. I yelped in surprise, but was unable to pull free as he swept the tangled mess back. His full lips thinned, fingers gently probing. When I began wriggling in earnest he backed me into his car, using his body to pin me.
I shoved him, a futile action that did nothing but send a sharp protesting pain through my side.
"Such gratitude," he commented dryly.
"I think you're forgetting the part where I didn't ask for your help."
Tilting my head back so I was forced to make eye contact, Justice was irritated to the point a tic had started in his jaw.
"No, you didn't ask for my help. And we both know if it came down to it you'd bite your tongue off before you asked me for anything." He let go and snatched my hand from where it was jammed between our bodies.
"Your little finger's broken. So is the one next to it. Tape them. The others are just bruised. That cut on your head doesn't need stitches; it'll stop bleeding eventually and scab over."
"Why thank you doctor, for sharing your expertise."
"Dios mío, that mouth of yours is lethal," Sal cut in with a laugh. He shook his head. "I already feel sorry for your future husband. Poor bastard won't know what hit him."
"Where else are you hurt?" Justice asked, ignoring Sal altogether. He pulled back to scan every inch of skin he could see.
"Nowhere."
"Really? Then why are you favoring your right side?" He snagged the hem of my tank top and tugged it up.
A bruise the size of Texas bloomed over my hip and ribs, tapering off towards my armpit, and disappearing beneath the waist band of my jeans. Dark as it was, I didn't think it had finished surfacing yet.
"Would you like to see how far down it goes?" I asked, voice laden with sarcasm.
The sound of a phone ringing interrupted his reply, though if the nasty glare he shot me was anything to go by, it would have been scathing. Retrieving it from his front pocket, Justice checked the caller display and sighed in resignation. He replaced it without answering it.
"We missed it, didn't we?" Sal's question came across as rhetorical.
"I've got it covered," was all Justice said. Bringing his focus back to me, he continued with, "Since you're in one piece and it looks like it's going to stay that way, I'll leave you to it."
"You coming or staying?" Sal asked Ray, who'd remained oddly silent throughout the entire exchange.
"Are you serious?" Ray looked to Justice for confirmation, worship and the utmost respect clear in his gaze.
Justice shrugged. "So long as your mama knows you won't be home 'til about three in the morning, I don't mind you tagging along."
Bursting with excitement, he let loose a string of Spanish and dove for the back seat of the car. Chuckling, Sal hopped in at a much more sedate pace. Visibly preparing himself, Justice gave me a blank stare.
"Do you want a ride home?"
It was almost as if he was anticipating a hostile response.
"Are you fucking kidding me?" I folded my arms over my chest in defiance. "I would rather walk over hot coals than willingly get in a car with you."
"Of course you would. And I get the feeling it will be another waste of my time, but what the hell. Do you need more money?"
"He's the guy you borrowed money from?" Mycha asked, having finally found his voice. Most of the color had returned to his face, and he adopted a dubious frown.
"Yes, he is," I grudgingly admitted, then dug out the envelope I'd had the foresight of shoving into the waistband of my jeans at the small of my back. Had I left it in my bra, I probably would have lost it during the fight with Cruz. I thrust it against Justice's chest hard enough he grunted.
"I don't need this. Not from you."
He scowled. "Why not?"
"Because nothing is free, and I don't have the means to pay you back."
Taking the envelope, he passed it to Mycha. "Hold onto that until your sister needs it."
I hissed out a furious breath. "Mycha, you take that money and I'll knock you into the middle of next week."
Mycha gulped audibly and started to hand it back. A single look from Justice had him pocketing it instantly. He offered me a sheepish grin. "Sorry, Een, but he's capable of far worse than you are."
"I already owe you seven hundred dollars," I spat, mild panic starting to set in. Even that amount was something I would struggle to repay. There was no way I could afford to take any more, especially not from a man like Justice.
He was the enemy, for Christ's sake. Why was I having to remind myself of that lately?
Scrubbing a hand down his face, Justice heaved a weary sigh. "Not everything in the world is give and take, Mercer. Sometimes people do things simply to be nice."
"I know that, but I also know you don't do anything without an ulterior motive. So excuse me if I don't fall all over myself in gratitude of your kindness." I sneered the last word, and having said everything I ever wanted to say to him, grabbed Mycha by the upper arm.
"Een, are you crazy?" Mycha demanded. "He's trying to help us. And we need –"
"We're done here," I snapped at nobody in particular, and dragged Mycha down the sidewalk.