Johnny places his arm around me, squeezing my shoulder and rubbing his hand up and down my forearm in an attempt to comfort me.
“What’s going on?” K snaps, eyeing the two of us with his anger-spitting gaze.
“Kyla doesn’t feel well.” Johnny goes to stand.
K slams his fist on the table and shouts, “Sit!”
For his part, Johnny hovers over his seat, flashing a look at his father. He doesn’t give in, but I don’t mistake the conflict in his gaze.
K pulls his suit coat together as if he’s pulling himself together from his little outburst. “We need to finish this.”
“At least let Kyla leave,” Johnny says.
K flicks his sinister gaze to me. “I have something to discuss with Kyla afterward. Surely, she can make it to the end of the meeting.”
I might not make it to the end of the meeting to kill his ass. I’m sure Magnum has his pistol in his waistband right now. I could slip out of this chair, grab it, aim, and shoot. I’d smile in the bloodshed. I’d revel in his shocked expression.
If Brawler goes through with this, Big Daddy K will have his hooks in everyone I care for.
I tuck my arm around my middle, clenching myself. As much as I want to tell K to fuck off, I give him a smile instead. “I should be fine. Thank you.”
I use my other hand to tug Johnny back down in his seat. He’s furious. His body is almost pulled as taut as mine, but we’ve already gathered the attention of the whole room, and I can’t have this looking suspicious.
“I don’t think I ate this morning, is all. It’ll pass,” I clarify, giving everyone in the room a small smile. Better they think I’m a sick wimp than an enemy contemplating the murder of their leader.
I think back to this morning where Johnny woke me with another round of intense sex, and then my fake grin turns into a real one as I return my stare to K. I fucked your son, even though you explicitly told us not to. I rode his dick until he came inside me. He can have this one, and I can have my silent one, too.
Big Daddy K does not own us.
“Well, we can’t have that for our prizefighter, can we?” He turns toward Trey. “Can you get Maureen to bring our princess some snacks? Fruit, perhaps?”
I lock my jaw down. That’s it. No one else is allowed to call me princess but Oscar.
Speaking of, I glance over to find him watching me. His eyes latch on as if he’s trying to convey some sort of message, but my head’s too fucked to figure out what it is right now. I’m already trying to calm myself down, and I haven’t jumped up and killed the asshole yet, so his secret message is lost on me.
While Trey strolls into the back where the servants must hang out, Big Daddy K continues. His tone is far sharper than it was the first time around. I can imagine he’s bitching up a storm about feminine shit in his head. He probably never had to feed a dude at this table before just because he wasn’t feeling well. Yeah, the situation doesn’t look good for me, but the other avenue was getting out of this chair and telling them all to fuck off.
Now, that would’ve been far worse.
“You may remember that Manning Timms served the Crew until he lost his life in a retaliation by...” Big Daddy K waves his hands like he can’t be bothered to remember who killed Brawler’s brother, and I know Brawler must be standing there wanting to put his enormous paws around his neck and squeeze until the life runs out of him. Fucking asshole. “Brawler, why don’t you tell the group why you want to join the Crew?”
Brawler finally looks around, but his stare never lands on me. His gaze lingers over everyone in the room except me even though he must feel the hot pokers I’m burning into his huge, chiseled body. “The fight organizer position has served me well, and I believe I’ve brought a great deal to the Crew just as the Crew has done for me.” His voice is sure, almost practiced. The only tell that he’s lying through his teeth is the way his jaw ticks, and the fact that he won’t fucking look at me. “I believe I can serve the Crew better if I were a full-fledged member. It’s time to stop sitting on the sidelines and join things head on. I know my brother loved the camaraderie and the brotherhood, and I’m looking forward to experiencing that as well. The only family I have left is my mother, so I can commit to complete dedication to The Heights Crew.”
The acid in my stomach sluices around, tossing like a ship in a storm. I don’t care why he thinks he’s doing this, I’m just going to kill him. That’s that. I’m going to murder his ass before he even has the chance to join the Crew, which is going to end up killing him anyway. Out of everyone I’ve met here, Brawler does not belong.
Fuck. His fighting career. What’s going to happen with that? He’s giving up so much. This is going to be Oscar all over again. Dreams ripped out from under him because the priority isn’t about him anymore, it’s all the Crew.
The backs of my eyes physically hurt and burn with the fight to wrangle in the tears that threaten. I never wanted this for him. I’m sure he has some very thought out reason why this is a good move, but it’s not. Nothing he will say will make me change my mind.
“Well, you certainly look the part,” one of the businessmen boasts.
The table laughs, and it’s sickening. If they only know the reasoning behind his neck tattoos. The story that made me fall for him even more.
“If the table agrees, we’ll fast track him. He’s already been helping the Crew out, and he’s almost graduated anyway. We won’t stick him in the group of this year’s recruits. Show of hands?” Big Daddy K lifts an eyebrow.
Around the room, hands lift in the air like they’re giving the boy scout salute. I glare at Oscar when his hand rises. Next to me, Johnny’s opposite hand rises as well, and I almost crack a tooth.
K glances around the room but stops on me. I’m still sitting with my hands tucked under my thighs, so I don’t accidentally jump out of the chair and throttle anyone. “Kyla?”
“Yes?”
“If you’re at the table, you vote.”
Dread twists my insides. “Oh, I didn’t—”
He sighs angrily. “You’re practically my son’s wife and you’re sitting at the table. Vote, dammit. Yes or no?”
I dig my nails into the chair underneath me. Everyone else in the room has voted yes. If I don’t, they’re going to ask questions, and I can’t give them the true explanation. But voting yes is going to kill me. It won’t matter in the scheme of things because everyone else has voted yes. My vote technically doesn’t count, but my hand weighs a thousand pounds as I lift it into the air slowly.
My heart cracks open inside my chest. I can tell myself my vote didn’t count all I want, but it feels as if I just sent someone I cared about to his death.
I’ll never forgive myself for this. Never.
K’s head bobs. “Excellent. We’ll discuss your initiation tasks and get back to you, Brawler. If you complete those, you’ll be sworn in, but not before.” He gestures toward the end of the table where Oscar is sitting. “Why don’t you take a seat? The next business item deals with the fight ring, so it will be good to hear your opinion.”
Brawler walks around the table, head held high. He’s not wearing his usual clothes. He’s dressed in a polo shirt and khakis, and it’s difficult not to notice how damn good looking he is in them. The sleeves of the dark green polo hug his biceps, showing off how muscular he is. He looks like he’s come dressed for a job interview, which is exactly what this was, I guess. A job interview he never needed to have.