“You text Cunningham?” he asks Easton.
“Yeah, from the car. Dodson’s here.”
Reed’s eyes light up. “Nice. He’s got a wicked left.”
“It’s a beauty,” Easton agrees. “And he doesn’t telegraph it at all. It just comes out of nowhere. You took it like a champ the last time you fought him.”
“It hurt like a mother,” Reed admits, but he grins when he says it.
I roll my eyes. The two of them are practically skipping with delight over this Dodson guy and his manly fighting skills.
We pass rows and rows of shipping containers as we walk through the deserted yard. I hear faint shouts in the distance, the noise getting louder and louder the closer we get to the action. The guys who come to these fights don’t even try to hide their presence. I have no clue how they can get away with such an illegal activity on what’s obviously private property.
I voice the question to Reed, who shrugs and says, “We pay off the dockmaster.”
Of course they do. Since I moved in with the Royals, I’m learning that anything goes as long as you offer the right price.
When we reach the crowd of shirtless, rowdy boys, Reed and Easton don’t waste time stripping off their own T-shirts. As usual, my breath hitches at the sight of Reed’s bare chest. He’s got muscles in places that I didn’t even know had muscles.
“East!” someone shouts, and a sweaty guy with a shaved head comes up to us. “You buying in?”
“Damn right.” Easton hands over a stack of crisp hundred dollar bills.
It’s a big enough stack that I turn to Reed and whisper in his ear, “How much do these things cost?”
“Five large to fight, plus all the side bets that go on.”
Jeez. I can’t believe anyone would spend that much money just to beat someone up. But maybe it’s a guy thing, because every single male face I see is lit up with a feral sort of excitement.
Still, that doesn’t stop Reed from murmuring, “Stay with one of us at all times, you got me?”
He doesn’t kid around. For the next hour, I’ve got a Royal glued to my side. Easton fights two different times, winning once and losing once. Reed wins his one brawl, but not before his huge opponent—the one and only Dodson—splits Reed’s lip with an uppercut that makes me gasp. But my boy just grins as he rejoins my side, completely unfazed by the blood dripping down his chin.
“You’re an animal,” I say accusingly.
“You love it,” he answers, and then he kisses me—with tongue—and it’s such a deep, drugging kiss that I don’t even care that I can taste his blood in my mouth.
“Ready to go?” Easton waves around a stack of cash that’s twice the size of the one we showed up with. “Not sure I want to push our luck any more.”
Reed’s eyebrows shoot up. “You’re quitting while you’re ahead? Is that…” He mock gasps. “…impulse control?”
Easton shrugs.
“Aw, look at that, Ella, baby bro is growing up.”
I laugh as Easton flips up his middle finger. “Come on,” I tell the guys. “Let’s go home. I’m getting kinda tired.”
They put their shirts back on, slap hands with a few of their friends, and then the three of us head back in the direction we came from, with Easton trailing behind me and Reed. As we walk, Reed brings his lips close to my ear. “You’re not really tired, are you? ‘Cause I had plans for you when we get home.”
I tilt my head up to smile at him. “What kind of plans?”
“Dirty ones.”
“I heard that,” Easton gripes from behind us.
Another laugh pops out of my mouth. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s rude to eavesdro—”
Before I can finish, a hoodie-wearing figure darts out from between two shipping containers.
Reed’s head whirls to the side. “What the—”
He doesn’t get to finish, either.
Everything happens so fast I barely have time to register what’s going on. The hoodie guy hisses out some words I can’t make out. There’s a wink of silver and a blur of motion. One second Reed is standing beside me—the next, he’s down on the cold ground and all I see is blood.
My entire body seizes up. My lungs burn for air. I hear someone screaming and I think it might be me, and suddenly I’m being yanked to the side as footsteps pound the pavement.
Easton. He’s tearing after the guy in the hoodie. And Reed…Reed’s lying on the ground, clutching his right side with both hands.
“Oh my God!” I scream, hurling myself at him.
His hands are red and sticky and I feel like throwing up when I realize there’s blooding oozing out between his fingers. I shove his hands away and instinctively apply pressure on his side. My voice sounds weak and hoarse as I shout out for help. I hear more footsteps. More shouts. More commotion. But my entire world revolves around Reed right now.
His face is almost completely white, and his eyelids flutter rapidly.
“Reed,” I choke out. “Don’t close your eyes, baby.” I don’t know why I order that, but the terrified, panicky part of me says that if he closes his eyes, they might not open again. I yell another command over my shoulder, “Someone call an ambulance, dammit!”
Someone careens to a stop beside us. It’s Easton, and he drops to his knees and quickly places both his hands over mine. “Reed,” he says grimly, “you okay, bro?”
“What the hell do you think?” Reed mumbles. His voice is wheezy enough to triple my panic. “Just got stabbed.”
“Ambulance is on the way,” a male voice announces.
I turn to find the shaved-head guy looming over us. Dodson’s eyes are lined with worry.
I refocus on Reed and feel sick again. He got stabbed. Who the hell would do this to him?
“Bastard got away,” Easton is saying. “Got over the fence before I could stop ’im.”
“No matter,” Reed wheezes again. “Y-you heard what he said, right?”
Easton nods.
“What did he say?” I demand, all the while trying not to vomit from the sight of Reed’s blood pooling on the pavement.
Easton lifts his gaze from his brother and locks it with mine. “He said Daniel Delacorte says hello.”
“Yeah, from the car. Dodson’s here.”
Reed’s eyes light up. “Nice. He’s got a wicked left.”
“It’s a beauty,” Easton agrees. “And he doesn’t telegraph it at all. It just comes out of nowhere. You took it like a champ the last time you fought him.”
“It hurt like a mother,” Reed admits, but he grins when he says it.
I roll my eyes. The two of them are practically skipping with delight over this Dodson guy and his manly fighting skills.
We pass rows and rows of shipping containers as we walk through the deserted yard. I hear faint shouts in the distance, the noise getting louder and louder the closer we get to the action. The guys who come to these fights don’t even try to hide their presence. I have no clue how they can get away with such an illegal activity on what’s obviously private property.
I voice the question to Reed, who shrugs and says, “We pay off the dockmaster.”
Of course they do. Since I moved in with the Royals, I’m learning that anything goes as long as you offer the right price.
When we reach the crowd of shirtless, rowdy boys, Reed and Easton don’t waste time stripping off their own T-shirts. As usual, my breath hitches at the sight of Reed’s bare chest. He’s got muscles in places that I didn’t even know had muscles.
“East!” someone shouts, and a sweaty guy with a shaved head comes up to us. “You buying in?”
“Damn right.” Easton hands over a stack of crisp hundred dollar bills.
It’s a big enough stack that I turn to Reed and whisper in his ear, “How much do these things cost?”
“Five large to fight, plus all the side bets that go on.”
Jeez. I can’t believe anyone would spend that much money just to beat someone up. But maybe it’s a guy thing, because every single male face I see is lit up with a feral sort of excitement.
Still, that doesn’t stop Reed from murmuring, “Stay with one of us at all times, you got me?”
He doesn’t kid around. For the next hour, I’ve got a Royal glued to my side. Easton fights two different times, winning once and losing once. Reed wins his one brawl, but not before his huge opponent—the one and only Dodson—splits Reed’s lip with an uppercut that makes me gasp. But my boy just grins as he rejoins my side, completely unfazed by the blood dripping down his chin.
“You’re an animal,” I say accusingly.
“You love it,” he answers, and then he kisses me—with tongue—and it’s such a deep, drugging kiss that I don’t even care that I can taste his blood in my mouth.
“Ready to go?” Easton waves around a stack of cash that’s twice the size of the one we showed up with. “Not sure I want to push our luck any more.”
Reed’s eyebrows shoot up. “You’re quitting while you’re ahead? Is that…” He mock gasps. “…impulse control?”
Easton shrugs.
“Aw, look at that, Ella, baby bro is growing up.”
I laugh as Easton flips up his middle finger. “Come on,” I tell the guys. “Let’s go home. I’m getting kinda tired.”
They put their shirts back on, slap hands with a few of their friends, and then the three of us head back in the direction we came from, with Easton trailing behind me and Reed. As we walk, Reed brings his lips close to my ear. “You’re not really tired, are you? ‘Cause I had plans for you when we get home.”
I tilt my head up to smile at him. “What kind of plans?”
“Dirty ones.”
“I heard that,” Easton gripes from behind us.
Another laugh pops out of my mouth. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s rude to eavesdro—”
Before I can finish, a hoodie-wearing figure darts out from between two shipping containers.
Reed’s head whirls to the side. “What the—”
He doesn’t get to finish, either.
Everything happens so fast I barely have time to register what’s going on. The hoodie guy hisses out some words I can’t make out. There’s a wink of silver and a blur of motion. One second Reed is standing beside me—the next, he’s down on the cold ground and all I see is blood.
My entire body seizes up. My lungs burn for air. I hear someone screaming and I think it might be me, and suddenly I’m being yanked to the side as footsteps pound the pavement.
Easton. He’s tearing after the guy in the hoodie. And Reed…Reed’s lying on the ground, clutching his right side with both hands.
“Oh my God!” I scream, hurling myself at him.
His hands are red and sticky and I feel like throwing up when I realize there’s blooding oozing out between his fingers. I shove his hands away and instinctively apply pressure on his side. My voice sounds weak and hoarse as I shout out for help. I hear more footsteps. More shouts. More commotion. But my entire world revolves around Reed right now.
His face is almost completely white, and his eyelids flutter rapidly.
“Reed,” I choke out. “Don’t close your eyes, baby.” I don’t know why I order that, but the terrified, panicky part of me says that if he closes his eyes, they might not open again. I yell another command over my shoulder, “Someone call an ambulance, dammit!”
Someone careens to a stop beside us. It’s Easton, and he drops to his knees and quickly places both his hands over mine. “Reed,” he says grimly, “you okay, bro?”
“What the hell do you think?” Reed mumbles. His voice is wheezy enough to triple my panic. “Just got stabbed.”
“Ambulance is on the way,” a male voice announces.
I turn to find the shaved-head guy looming over us. Dodson’s eyes are lined with worry.
I refocus on Reed and feel sick again. He got stabbed. Who the hell would do this to him?
“Bastard got away,” Easton is saying. “Got over the fence before I could stop ’im.”
“No matter,” Reed wheezes again. “Y-you heard what he said, right?”
Easton nods.
“What did he say?” I demand, all the while trying not to vomit from the sight of Reed’s blood pooling on the pavement.
Easton lifts his gaze from his brother and locks it with mine. “He said Daniel Delacorte says hello.”
