Fighting: Fighting for Forever Part 9

"Still a cartoon," he mumbles.

"Animated movie." He wouldn't understand what something like Disney means to a young Russian orphan, how Svetlana and I dreamed of becoming the princesses we'd seen in those movies, swept off our feet and rescued by a handsome prince. What a joke.

He studies the cover with confusion etched on his face and tucks it back into its spot. "Strangest stripper I've ever known."

I hold up a finger. "Exotic dancer."

He scrunches up his face adorably. "There a difference?"

"I think so, and if I'm the strangest one you've known, can I a.s.sume you've known a few?"

"No." He moves toward me and drops down on the couch, not putting too much distance between us but enough that we're not touching. He nods to the photo in my hand. "What's that?"

A sudden unease washes over me. Is this a mistake? Too late now. What am I going to do? Shove the d.a.m.n thing down my shirt and run away?

I thrust the photo in front of him before I can change my mind. He takes it, tilts it toward the light, and studies it before turning to me. "Are these kids from the Youth Center?"

I lean over, hit for a second by the scent of his cologne and warmth of his leg now against mine. "No, um"-I point to the scrawny girl in the middle, eighteen years old, flat-chested and k.n.o.bby-kneed with long mousy-blond hair-"that's me."

He jerks his eyes to mine, his crystal-blue gaze roaming my face, and then back to the photo. "Wow."

Heat floods my cheeks. "Funny, right?"

"No, you're cute." He checks me out again and then goes back to the picture. "Mickey Mouse shirt. I see the Disney obsession started young."

"Sad thing is I'm eighteen in that photo."

He chuckles, and the sound soothes my racing heart.

"Was this taken at camp or something?" His fingertip glides along the photo. "Who're all these kids?"

I worry my bottom lip with my teeth. "Oh, um . . . those are my brothers and sisters."

Another jerk and his eyes are huge, framed in dark eyelashes that curl up at the ends, and twinkling with interest. "No kidding. That explains why you're so good with the kids."

"You're not so bad either, ya know."

Is he blushing? "So who's who?"

I lean closer and point out individual faces. "That's Isaac, Leah, Zander, Zoe, Aaron, Josiah . . ." I move through them all until I end on the last. "And um . . . that is, or was, my older sister Lana."

"Was . . ." There's sadness, a longing in his voice as if he feels her loss too just from that one word.

"Yeah, she died shortly after this picture was taken." I study the photo with him, and he tilts it more toward the light.

It was just weeks before her twenty-second birthday. She'd followed in the path my parents laid out for us, drawn to ministry and selflessly serving others. I can't remember a time where she was even in trouble, whether it be school or at home. She was the perfect daughter.

Unlike me.

"I'm sorry to hear that." He clears his throat. "So most of them are adopted." He runs a finger over the faces that represent almost every color, race, and nationality.

"Not most of us, all of us."

He grunts in recognition. "You and your sister look like you could be related."

"We are . . . were, I mean." I lick my lips nervously and clear my throat. "We were both adopted from an orphanage in Rostov-on-Don." He peeks up at me in a funny way that makes me smile. "Russia. My parents adopted all of us from different countries, ya know, before Brad and Angelina made it cool."

He nods and goes back to studying the photo. "What was that like?"

"I don't remember much from living there. I was too young. Lana was seven, and she remembered it being bad."

He hands me back the picture but doesn't meet my eyes. "That had to be hard."

"Not for me. I always had Lana. She protected me from it all, more like a parent to me than a sibling." I run my sweaty palms down my bare legs.

"I know the feeling." His eyebrows drop low as he studies the carpet, and something tells me his thoughts aren't on my sister or me.

"Yeah?" I'm grateful we've managed to skate over the details of her death and focus on him. It's a morbid story that has the capability of ruining even the darkest moment.

"Drake's always been a little s.h.i.t. I swear the guy would've been arrested a dozen times if it weren't for me." He runs a hand through his hair, the blond waves sliding through his fingers like silk.

I grip his thigh and squeeze, and his eyes dart to where I've made contact as if my hand conducts electricity. "You're a good brother. If he's anything like me, he appreciates it."

"I put my a.s.s on the line for him more times than I can count." Slowly, he moves his focus from my hand, up my arm, his gaze like a caress as it settles on my lips. His earlier, easy expression is now shrouded in worry. "Trix, I-" He blinks and leans away. "s.h.i.t, hold on." He pulls his phone from his pocket. I breathe through the heat of the moment as the device vibrates in his hand. Whatever he sees on the caller ID has him hitting a b.u.t.ton to silence it and shoving it back in his pocket.

"New phone?"

He turns toward me, his expression still etched with concern, which he quickly wipes clean. "It is." We lock eyes as silent seconds tick between us. "My last one was shattered by a magnificent creature exiting a bathroom."

I fight the urge to grin huge and goofily. "I'm sorry to hear that."

He cups my jaw and drops a slow lingering kiss against my lips. "I'm not." His eyes slam closed, and it isn't until seconds later I register the vibration coming from his pocket. "s.h.i.t."

"What is it?"

He pulls away and scrubs a hand through his s.h.a.ggy blond hair with a groan. "I gotta go."

"Oh, uh . . . okay."

He blows out a long breath, either out of relief or frustration, I can't tell, then tilts his head to peer up at me from beneath this lashes. "Go out with me."

"Right now? But you said-"

"No, let me take you out. A date."

"A date?" My voice is high with excitement. I've never been on a date. "Like a real date?"

A crooked grin tilts his lips. "No, the fake kind."

I rock into his shoulder hoping to hide my blush. "Ha, ha."

"When do you have a night off?"

"After tonight? Not until Tuesday."

"I'll pick you up Tuesday." He grabs my hand and kisses my knuckles. "Seven o'clock."

Warmth bursts in my chest. "Okay."

He leans forward and leaves one last kiss on my lips, no tongue, but deeper than friendly. "See you then." He stands and moves to the front door, turning before he pa.s.ses through it. "Lock up when I leave."

"Yeah, I will." G.o.d, I sound so breathless.

"Later, Trix." He winks and he's gone.

What are we doing? Kissing without s.e.x, sharing about our families, a date?

If I didn't know better, I'd think this was the beginning of a relationship. I nibble a fingernail and feel the pound of my pulse in my neck.

Holy s.h.i.t! I'm in unknown territory.

Mason After waiting to make sure Trix locked the door behind me, I jump into my truck and hit call back on my phone. He answers on the first ring. "Birdman, what's up?"

"Drake took off. Took Jessica with him."

f.u.c.k. "What do you mean took off?"

The sound of a long exhale is followed by a short cough. "Went into hiding 'til all this cl.u.s.terf.u.c.k blows over."

"That's probably best. He make sure to get a hold of the s.h.i.t so I can deliver it?"

And as soon as I do, I'm washing my hands of this, and Drake can face the consequences of his decisions for once in his f.u.c.king life.

The heavy press of guilt weighs down on my shoulders when I think of what Trix said earlier: the way she spoke about her sister, the longing and pain that hung on every word. I never want to imagine that kind of hurt. I'll never be able to just sit by and allow my little brother to get taken out if there's something I can do to stop it.

"He did. You'll have what you need."

"After this is over, if you guys have more than s.h.i.t for brains, you'll all get the f.u.c.k out of this before it's too late."

"Mason," he whispers, and I can hear the shuffling through the phone like he's searching for a quiet place to talk. "Things aren't like they used to be, man. Back then it was parties and chicks, f.u.c.kin' hanging with our bros and dipping into some minor s.h.i.t. S'not like that anymore and I'm f.u.c.kin' freakin' out over here."

"Why're you guys still involved? You've gotta break ties with-"

"I wish it were that easy, man." I hear his deep inhale and almost have to laugh at the irony of him smoking weed while neck deep in a no-win situation with their drug-dealing hero.

"It is that easy. Get a job, stop going to the parties, and pull yourself out."

Birdman clears his throat. "They don't just let you leave. You have to pay to get out. Blood for blood."

"What the f.u.c.k does that mean?"

"Forget it. I gotta go."

"Bird-"

The line goes dead.

f.u.c.k! I grip my phone in my hand tightly then toss it in the pa.s.senger seat of my truck to avoid crushing it.

Blood for blood. So they get jumped out? Take an a.s.s-kicking in order to walk away. Seems worth it to me. Taking the beating and walking away with the rest of your life free and clear sounds like a pretty good f.u.c.king deal.

Nine.

Trix "As soon as they take a break!" I'm leaning into Angel, yelling to be heard over Ataxia as they dominate the room at The Blackout. "You take the back. I'll hit the front!"

"Yeah, okay!" She nods, and the nod turns into bobs of her head as she sings along to the music.

I put in four hours at the Youth Center this morning. I wasn't surprised that Mason didn't show up. He'd explained that all the fighters rotate shifts, and the guy who showed up was just as good at drawing the attention of my dance girls. I was happy to see the new guy take to Denny, and I wondered if Mason had anything to do with that. I wouldn't be surprised if he had.

After that, I worked my shift at Zeus's, and it was busy as always. On Sundays, it would seem some go to church, as I did every Sunday growing up, and some go to strip clubs. Worshiping the flesh over the spirit, turning Sunday into Sinday.

My chest aches as I consider what I do. It never used to ache. Back before Hatch took off and I was closer to my end game, I would've done anything back then. Information is a powerful thing, especially when it brings vindication.

Every day that Hatch is gone, I feel further and further away from finding Lana's killer. I start to forget why I'm here, why I take off my clothes for strangers, slip into backrooms and perform things I'm even ashamed to admit to myself. And the more I forget, the more it aches. Like my soul is pushing me to quit. To move on and start living my life. Not the life of a girl on a mission. Not the life of a girl who has been playing a role for so long she's completely forgotten who she is.

The music rings throughout the room and the crowd cheers. Rex announces that he'll be back, and I push back from the bar with the stack of Zeus's promo cards in hand.

"Let's go." I motion to Angel, who has her stack in hand as well. "I'll meet you in the middle." I move on heeled feet, making sure to take short steps due to my very short and very tight skirt.

I've had a drink, but not enough to be tipsy. Technically, we're on the job, making a commission off every card that comes back to Zeus's. I spot a group of guys up front and approach, smiling big and batting my eyelashes. They each take a card and promise to come in the following night. Score!

Table by table I hit up the crowd, both men and women. When I meet back up with Angel, I have only half the cards I started with, and it looks like she had similar luck.

"You want to stay for the last set?" We drove from work together, and my car is back at Zeus's. As much as I'd like to call it a night, I'm at her mercy.

"Yeah, if that's okay with you."

Ugh. "Sure."

"Let's go backstage and leave some cards." She moves to the side of the stage and I follow. "Hey, Brick." She greets the bouncer that got his nickname from the fact that he looks like a brick with a head. "We've got business backstage."

His eyes move up and down our bodies, and we wait until he's finished visually stripping us. "I bet you do."