Uppercut Princess (The Heights Crew #1)(3)

“Fucking shit,” Brawler mumbles behind me, his fingers tightening around my upper arm.

I blink, staring down at an unmoving Cherry. She’s not dead. I don’t think, anyway. If she was, it wouldn’t matter to me. I have one job here at Rawley Heights, and she was in my way.

He doesn’t even spare her a glance before stepping over her feet to make his way toward me.

Well, happy fucking day to me. The game is on.





1





Two days earlier…





Thinking about vengeance is one thing. Training for vengeance is another. Actually being here at Rawley Heights? Holy. Fucking. Shit. These kids aren’t imposters. They aren’t fake or pretending to be badass. They’re seriously tough. The rough and tumble type of delinquents moms from the suburbs warn their privileged womb warriors to stay away from.

Me? I’m walking straight into the hornet’s nest.

I approach the metal detectors. A kid in front of me slips a knife into his shoe to hide it. Just about everyone around us notices, but the guards don’t. Or, they look the other way. I haven’t identified him as a member of the Heights Crew yet, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t. Their reach is far, open-ended, and scary as fuck.

The guard waves me forward, and my stomach clenches. Maybe I should’ve thought harder about bringing a blade with me and hiding it somewhere. The dude in front of me is already walking around the detectors with a nod at the guard. Instead of freaking out, I toss my bag on the table, so they can go through the contents while I walk through the detectors. I swear to God the guard who checks my bag licks his lips and fondles the tampon I have in there. Fucking creep. He gives me a toothy grin, and I practically yank my bag out of his hands and walk away.

My tiny outburst is nothing like the shit the other students are giving the uniformed showpieces. You only have to watch the nightly news to know the guards aren’t stopping a lot of the shit happening here. In fact, a few lines over from me, a girl is bitching a guard out because he found a baggie of weed in the front pocket of her book bag. It’s not that he found it, it’s that he’s threatened to flush it. He’s about to stand from his stool when she tears the baggie from his grip and runs through the parking lot until she’s out of view.

No one gives the scene a second glance.

It’s a huge difference for me. Though, I’d die before I show it. My aunt and uncle brought me up in the life of private schools and dinner parties, but I never fit in with their world. I knew what I was getting myself into when I decided to enroll here. I’d do all this and more just as long as I get to do what I came here to do. And trust me, I’ll be doing shit a hell of a lot worse than pulling my bag away from a potential child molester before the year’s out.

While I walk down the graffitied hallway, angry looks follow me everywhere. Trust me, I’ve changed schools before, I know what the normal looks should be. They should be curious. Sizing up, even. Not these. These are straight up nasty from the beginning. Like, how dare I set foot on their turf kind of bullshit.

In Rawley Heights, you’re an enemy before you’re proven worthy. I have a plan to get on their good side, but I have to let this charade play out for what it is.

“Eat a bag of shit and die,” one of the mouthier bitches says, knocking her shoulder into mine as she passes.

I look away, bringing my bag closer. On the outside, it looks like I’m scared to death. Tactically, I’m just making sure no one uses my own bag as a weapon against me. I don’t have time for that shit. It’s barely eight in the morning, and I’m fucking tired. And cranky.

Fuuuuuck. I forgot to eat breakfast. No fucking wonder I’m jittery. Note to self for tomorrow: Breakfast really is the meal of champions.

Another girl walks past me and clips my shoulder with hers. I stumble forward to keep my feet underneath me, but I don’t make eye contact. That would just be asking for trouble.

Behind me, a male voice cuts through the air like he’s the emcee at a party. “New pussy!”

Students around me chitter like it’s the funniest thing they’ve heard all day. I mean, it may be. Did I mention it’s only fucking eight o’clock in the morning?

The crowd parts, and a guy at the very end of the hall leans back against his locker, one leg quirked with his foot planted on the metal behind him. He’s staring down the hallway like he owns the place before zeroing in on me: New Pussy, apparently.

Holy hot shit. Hopefully I’m as good of an actress as I think I am, otherwise, he’ll see the spark of acknowledgment in my eyes. Private school assholes never did it for me. Guys like this though? Damn. Yes. Just fucking yes.

I reach up to pull my hair around my ears. A gesture I hope looks hesitant. I know who the guy is. I’ve done my research. I just didn’t expect to have this much of a visceral reaction to him.

He quirks an eyebrow, and I wet my lips. He’s tan with dark hair shaved at the sides. The top is longer and slicked back. He has bottomless pits for eyes that should make me think he’s definitely an enemy, but it doesn’t. It makes me wonder how deep his pit actually is. I’d be willing to bet it’s not as deep as mine, but we all have secrets, don’t we? We all have things we’d rather not remember. Memories we hold tight to but wish they would blow away like smoke on the wind.