This bitch mentioned my mom.
A raging storm kicks up in my brain. A swirling mess of devastating wind and waves roar between my thick skull and ears until he steps back and yells, “Fight!”
My plans have left the building.
I rush her. Her eyes flare with anticipation, but she isn’t that good of a fighter. I’m fast and skilled. I slip under her lame ass attempt at punching me, pop back up, and give a good right hook to her fucking ribs.
The crowd gasps. The moment lingers in the air, suspended. Sure, Cherry’s not their number one fighter. Everyone knows that. I was a gimme to her. Someone she could steamroll through to climb ahead in the rankings. Well, good fucking luck after this, you dirty fucking hoe bag bitch.
I grit my teeth, punching the same spot two more times until she cries out. Her sharp squeal brings me back to reality. I step back. Trying to dampen my initial reaction, my mouth falls open in abject horror. I really do have to stick to the plan. I drop my hands to my waist, making my eyes round.
“You cunt,” she seethes.
She lunges for me, and I let her. She gets in two good punches to the side of my face before I veer around her, bringing my forearms up to block. To my right, Brawler eyes me. Maybe he saw my initial attack for what it was. A deliberate, skilled offense.
Cherry’s fingertips dig into my shoulders before pulling me down, landing a solid knee to my gut. Mouth next to my ear, she says, “You piece of fucking trash. Bitches like you don’t make it in the Heights.”
I look over her arm, scanning the crowd again until I see him. There. Exactly who I needed to make sure was watching as I do this.
Now that I have his attention, I push past her hold, slip under her arm, and lock my arm around her outside forearm. I hold her in place, battering the side of her head with hard-hitting blows. Every time she tries to squirm out of it, I move with her, keeping out of her reach while she’s well within mine.
She’s not so talkative anymore. Now that she’s getting her head beat in.
I trip her and throw her to the ground. She lands on her back and stares up at me, round eyes meeting mine. Her skimpy bra has inched lower, showing the top half of her areola, but she’s not giving a shit about that right now. She runs her hands over her face, wincing when it meets the cut I’ve given her over her eye.
My stare moves up, catching on the most important person in the room. He glares at me with dark eyes, and I shed my oversized shirt, wiping my face with it before throwing it on the ground while he eyes me.
The crowd nearly trips over itself before the comments start flying and the decibels double from the roaring and clapping. They didn’t expect this from me. Not the fight, and not my body. My sports bra and low-slung joggers show off my toned physique, which I’ve kept under wraps from the thugs at school. I needed to play this my way.
I like being the underdog as long as I come out on top, and I will come out on top.
Cherry tries to scramble to her feet. Real fear dancing in her eyes.
I kick her, and she sprawls out again. When I move in, she tries to kick me in the face, but I throw her feet to the side and pounce on her, elbowing her in the forehead. In this moment, I don’t even care that Brawler’s in the room or Cherry or any of the other fuckers I have to go to school with every day. This is about me. This is about my plan. About my vengeance.
Next thing I know, I’m being pulled off her. The tangy, copper taste of blood coats my mouth. I reach up with my fingers to touch my lips and realize it’s not mine. It’s Cherry’s. I spit the shit out and look up to lock gazes with him.
“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.