Uppercut Princess (The Heights Crew #1)(23)
“Maybe we could train together sometime?” I offer as he gathers himself.
“That’s up to Rocket.”
My hands clench to fists. The fuck it is up to Rocket. “I don’t want to give up training,” I say. I figure he trusted me with a truth, I might as well give him one back. “Sometimes it’s the only thing that keeps me sane.”
“I guess you better be a good little showpiece then,” Brawler snaps. He smacks the locker room door, and it opens for him, banging against the opposite wall. “Follow me.”
I run my hands through my hair, tuck my chin, and do just what he’s ordered. I don’t want to give up training and fighting but depending on how close I get to Big Daddy K, I could end this sooner rather than later. Giving up fights, and the connection I feel with Brawler, seems trivial compared to that. Sure, I’ll have to move out of the country and live in hiding for the rest of my life after I’ve killed him, but I’m willing to do all that for the pleasure of knowing I got my retribution.
Brawler doesn’t bother looking behind him to make sure I’m following. He thinks his warnings gave the desired effect of scaring me into submission. At least, that’s what I believe until we get to a set of stairs I hadn’t noticed in the preparation of the fight. As soon as he steps onto the first step, he turns. When he spots me, he looks pissed all over again. He shakes his head. He wanted me to leave. He was giving me a chance. It’s too bad I can’t take it. Moving forward, he takes the steps three at a time while I jog behind him to keep up.
Over the railing, another fight is raging below us. Two guys are going at it. Their chests drizzled with bright red blood that leaks from both their noses. The higher we go, the better view I get. Glancing up, a loft looms above it. I hadn’t spied this earlier either. I blame it on the butterflies from the fight and the pressure of needing to be noticed. The place is huge, almost like a penthouse or the fancy boxes owners of sports teams use so they don’t have to sit with the general public. It denotes exclusivity. Money. Privilege. I’m surprised this goes over in the Heights. They hate everything this loft stands for, except for the Heights Crew.
When we reach the top of the stairs, Brawler hangs a left and knocks on the door. Below, the frenzy of the crowd heightens. Shouting, panting, and a general hum of conversation buzzes through the air like frenzied electrical current. Once we walk into this other room, though, all of that fades away. As does the real world. I’ve now stepped foot into the nicest place I’ve seen since coming to the Heights. The place is decked out in leather couches and crystal decanters. Along the side of windows facing the warehouse, barstools sit nestled next to a long bar. The perfect spot to view the fights below. The back of the loft, however, looks more like a party room. Scantily dressed girls bring out glasses of liquor on circular trays.
Before I can move in farther, a figure steps in front of me. He does it so quickly I almost bounce off his chest, but I catch myself at the last minute. My gaze roams over his tight black shirt. It drags upward over a copper-colored beard before hitting a scowl that makes me step back even farther. “Who’s this?”
“Mag, this is—”
“There she is,” a voice speaks up from beyond this Mag’s impressive shoulders.
The tenor is sweet, yet confident. When Mag, who must be some form of security detail, moves out of the way, I stare right into Johnny Rocket’s pale blue eyes. No matter how much I don’t want to think so, he’s attractive. His dark hair and dark features give him a bad boy persona, which calls to me. I understand there are fucked up parts of me. I give attitude and dwell in the dark side of my mind. Honestly, I would run right over a pretty boy with a heart of gold. Johnny Rocket definitely isn’t that.
He comes right up to me to grab my hand like he did before. He brings it to his lips, grazing them over my knuckles. “You fought like a champion.”
“Thank you,” I tell him. As soon as he lets my hand go, I drop it to my side, heart racing. I can acknowledge how good looking he is, but I would never be able to get over who his father is. With that thought, I refrain from looking for the man who brought me to the Heights.
Big Daddy K. He’s like lore. A fantasy. A mystery. Everyone knows of him, but he stays in the background, living in the shadows like a puppet master. I often thought I could pass him on the streets—the man who murdered my parents—and never know. Goosebumps sprout over my arm.
With the way Rocket keeps staring at me, I have to look away. He’s a wolf, and I’m what he wants to sink his teeth into. When I glance to the side, Mag is there with his tight black shirt. He narrows his eyes at me. I’m no stranger to the suspicious crowd. Trust me. For someone who’s always looked for the guy who ruined her life in everything, I know what it’s like to be suspicious of the world, but Mag takes it to a whole other level. His eyes are like stone, his gaze dropping boulders on me that weigh a ton.
I’m not sure there’s a comfortable spot for me here. Nowhere to look. Nowhere to feel safe. But I knew that when I made my decision to get my revenge.
Rocket tucks my arm in the crook of his, taking me to the other side of the room. He smells like whatever cologne he spritzed over himself before he came here. It’s not an altogether bad smell. In fact, it smells a thousand times better than the BO mixed with skunk fragrance that filters the air below.