“They better be quick. I have enough mouths to feed,” he grumbles.
Weston turns to me. “Come on. Text your ride,” he says sadly.
“Okay.”
I text Shep and start to place my things in my backpack, but not without watching Weston and his mom. They’re afraid. I mean, really scared.
“Honey, why don’t I feed you. Weston can eat after his friend is gone,” Mrs. Ash says.
“Bitch, why the fuck is she here? I told you that boy thinks he’s better than us because he goes to that fancy school. Now he’s bringing those uppity fucks into my home,” his dad snarls.
Yup, I don’t like this guy. Someone needs to teach him some manners. I ball my fists at my sides.
Weston has started to sweat. He wipes his hands on his pants. Suddenly, I take notice of details like Grandpa Joe teaches us to do. It’s hot. Yet Weston has on a long sleeve shirt and his mom tugged on a sweater as soon as I came inside.
I swear she had a bruise on her arm. This dude hits them. I know he does.
“Jimmy, the girl is only here so they can finish a project for school. Leave the boy be. Don’t embarrass him in front of company,” Weston’s mom says soothingly.
It seems to work. He grunts, tossing me a dismissive look before turning to head in the dining area. Weston turns to pull me into his arms immediately.
“I’m so sorry. I should have gotten you out of here sooner. I lost track of time,” he whispers.
“It’s okay,” I whisper back.
“Come on, we can wait outside.”
I nod and we go to stand up. That’s when chaos breaks loose. Mrs. Ash screams as Mr. Ash slams her head down on the table.
“You don’t have any respect for me and that’s why that boy has no respect. Bringing that little tramp into my home,” he hisses as he hovers over her face.
“Mom,” Weston cries out as he rushes over to his parents.
Before he can do anything to help his mother, his dad has him by the throat, slamming him down on the table. Mash potatoes and gravy fly everywhere. Weston grabs for his father’s arm, but he has Weston pinned down good.
“You see this. He thinks he’s the man of the house or some shit. You keep coming at me, boy. I’m going to show you what it’s like to be a real man.”
“Get off my mom,” Weston yells.
He does release Mrs. Ash, but only to punch Weston in the face. I’ve had enough. I’m Jordan Black, I might be many things, but a coward isn’t one of them.
Weston
I turn my head to tell Jordan to run, but she already is. Only it’s not from my dad but straight for him. She’s so small, I can’t believe my eyes as I watch what she does next. She leaps into the air, wraps her legs around Dad’s neck and with the momentum of her run and jump, she flings him against the wall.
Dad falls to the floor, but she’s not done. She grabs him by the hair and slams his face into the old credenza.
“You like beating on the defenseless. Try me,” she growls.
She slams his face into the credenza again. I sit up gasping and rubbing at my neck, completely in awe. However, Jordan isn’t done.
“You little bitch,” Dad says as blood flies from his mouth.
“You’re going to watch that filthy mouth. Is that where your son gets it from?” Her voice is so small yet menacing.
She releases his hair and throws a combo punch that knocks Dad on his ass. I don’t know if I want to dance or hug the shit out Jordan. Instead, I race to grab her arm and rush for her backpack.
“Go, get away from here,” Mom cries out. “Hurry, Weston.”
“Mom, you have to come with us,” I say.
“No, you get out of here. I’ll be fine. Don’t you argue with me. This was the plan.”
I nod, knowing this is what we talked about happening someday. I’ll come back for her when can. I promise I will.
Grabbing my backpack with the money I’ve been saving, I hold Jordan’s hand as she grabs her bag. We rush out the door just as her ride pulls up. I jump in after Jordan, hoping I can bum a ride to the bus station or something.
“Shep, get me to my dad and uncles,” she says angrily.
“What’s going?”
“Get me to Black and Lock,” Jordan demands.
Shep groans and starts to mutter to himself, but he pulls off. I tug Jordan’s trembling body against mine and hug her tight. Inhaling her strawberry scent, I allow it to calm me.
She turns her face up. “Hey, I’m sorry. I just couldn’t stand there and not do anything,” she whispers.
I brush my lips against hers, still not able to believe that I got to kiss her. When I look into her eyes, I try to memorize every single feature of her face. I want to remember the girl that kicked that bastard’s ass.
When we pull into the underground garage of the building, it’s like all of Jordan’s cousins are there as well as a bunch of adults. They have the backs of their cars open and two grills are being manned. It’s like a tailgate party.
“Don’t worry. My uncle is the fixer around here. He’ll make sure you’re safe. Your dad won’t ever hurt you or your mom again,” she says and rushes out of the car.
I follow after her and she grabs my hand, tugging me with her. We move for the group of guys talking and laughing together. They’re all huge. I swallow and squeeze Jordan’s hand.
“Uncle John, I need your help,” Jordan says.
All heads turn in our direction. They don’t look at all surprised to see us. Jordan releases my hand to run forward to wrap her arms around the tallest guy in the group.
“Daddy, I’m sorry. He made me so mad. He was hurting Weston and his mom.”
“Aw man, baby, come get your little Samurai before someone tries to sue my ass again,” her dad groans.
“He won’t be suing anyone. Not after I handed him his whole life,” Jordan replies.
“I swear to God, you’re just like your mother. Please tell me you didn’t cut anyone up? Carmen, Carmen, are you letting her take blades to school?” Jordan’s dad bellows.
“No, Dad,” Jordan pulls away and places her hands on her hips as she frowns.
“Ry, give me a break. I lock all of their swords away. They know not to take them out of the house,” I turn to see the pretty lady that must be Jordan’s mom.
“I didn’t need any blades. Uncle Noah tell him. I don’t need my swords.” Jordan turns to the big scary looking guy.
“Did you do me proud?” Her uncle Noah asks.
She gives him a nod. He winks, holding his hand up for a high five. Watching Jordan’s small hand slap his reminds me of how small she is and all she did to my dad.
Suddenly, a tall guy dressed in all black with black hair and gray eyes steps from the center of the other seven guys. He looks younger than them all. Closer to my age.
“Hey kid, catch,” he says to me and tosses an ice pack.
“Sammy,” Jordan sings and runs to hug him around the waist. “What are you doing here?”
“I came for him,” he nods at me. “Get your stuff, kid. I’m taking you home.”
“He can’t go back home,” Jordan says in a panic.