Uppercut Princess (The Heights Crew #1)(10)

No.

“Your neck’s all red,” a gruff voice remarks.

The tenor makes my joints lock up. “I’m hot,” I lie. It spews from my mouth on its own accord. I sigh, wanting to take it back. Right now, I’m supposed to be scared Kyla. I should’ve told Brawler the second day at Rawley Heights doesn’t sound appealing to me, but instead, my real personality came out.

He casts me a sideways glance but looks straight ahead again. With the look on his face, I would think he’d be going back to ignoring me, but that’s not the case at all. Brawler’s like a silent killer. Unless he’s in full-on fight mode, of course. When he’s out of the ring, he’s more like me. He’s aware of his situation. He doesn’t boast or talk just to hear the shit that comes out of his mouth. People know he’s a threat because of his past actions, not because of the threats that pour out of his mouth over every little thing. It’s people like Brawler you need to watch out for.

Brawler walks just behind me until we get to the metal detectors in front of the school. There’s a back up this morning, and I realize I’ve gotten here a little later than I wanted. I might not have enough time to switch my lock out before first period.

When it’s my turn, I drop my bag on the table. It thunks, and the security guard raises his eyebrows at me. “What the fuck are you packing?”

I don’t answer, preferring to let him look through my bag himself.

He smirks as he pulls out the head of the bolt cutters. He shakes his head while turning his gaze to me. “No weapons in school.”

“It’s not a weapon. It’s to cut off the broken lock on my locker.”

He makes a humorless noise in the back of his throat, clearly telling me he doesn’t believe a word I’m saying. Without uttering another word, he pulls the bolt cutters out and starts to chuck them in the trashcan next to him.

I stare him down. There’s no way I thought they’d give me trouble for these. It’s not like I’m packing a knife or a crude shiv. “Look,” I say. “It’s not a weapon.”

“Sorry, Princess.” The guard winks at me.

My hands turn to fists. I glare at him as he moves the bolt cutters over the trash. He looks to Brawler with a smirk, like he should get extra points for this, but instead, his lips thin. My body tenses as the large expanse of Brawler’s chest crowds me. “Those are fine,” he says.

The guard looks from the bolt cutters to Brawler again. “You trust this chick with these? I heard she gave Nevaeh a hard time.”

“Nevaeh shouldn’t start fights if she’s worried about someone stopping them.”

The guard shrugs like he could give a fuck and places the cutters back in my bag slowly, deliberately, like he’s doing what Brawler told him to do, but he’s not very happy about it. When he’s done, I snatch my bag out of his hands and walk away. My skin’s flushed. My mind is whirring. Why would Brawler follow me to school and then vouch for me over the bolt cutters? He has no idea what I’m going to do with these, and now that I think about it, hitting Nevaeh upside the head with these is a really good fucking idea. It would teach her not to attack from behind.

Footsteps thud behind me. They stay there until I get to my locker and stop when I stop. I spin on my heel, facing Brawler. I’m about to open my mouth to tell him to back off, but he’s already ripped and roaring to go, effectively shutting me up. “The Heights isn’t like wherever you came from.”

“Shit, really?” I feign surprise. “My bad.”

When I cross my arms, his jaw ticks. He reaches out, snatching my bag off my shoulder and unzips the main pocket. He pulls out the cutters, makes quick work of the broken lock on my locker, and turns to leave before the broken lock can even hit the floor.

“Hey, those are mine,” I shout after him.

I don’t expect a response, and I don’t get one either. A girl walking by kicks my book bag down the hall. She crows in laughter when I hurry to retrieve it, grabbing it just as the bell rings.

“Shit,” I grumble, hurrying back to my locker and fishing through my bag to put the new lock on it.

I just slide it through the hole when a voice behind me says, “Second day, Princess.” I look over my shoulder to find the asshole who coined the nickname for me. I still owe him a nut shot for that and for manhandling me. Oscar’s next to him though, his dark eyes boring holes into me. His friend asks him, “You still stand by your assessment, Drego?”

I watch Oscar carefully as he answers. He’s the loud one. He’s the one who talks fear into people. I’m not saying he can’t back it up because I’m sure he can, but it’s harder to understand who he is because talking is a front. It’s our show to the world.

It’s even harder to make him out because he was forced to join the Heights Crew so he wouldn’t keep getting his ass kicked. Despite that, he seems to have taken the role seriously.

Before he can answer, a girl wraps her arms around him, draping herself over him like she’s his blanket. “Hey, Baby,” she coos.

I turn. There’s no reason for me to watch this show. Plus, I’m finding it difficult to hide how interested I am in them. They can’t know how badly I need them to accept me because they’ll turn on me in an instant. What I’ve experienced so far will be nothing. It’ll be a cake walk compared to what they’ll have in store for me.