Page 45 of Precious Legacy
“You’re not a kid anymore, Lani,” my brother states, his tone filled with barely contained anger. “I don’t know what your problem is, but you need to get a handle on your anger.”
“Fuck,” I chuckle. “You’re really roasting me tonight.”
Varo snaps his head to meet my gaze. For an intense second, his scowl is like shards of glass cutting into me. But then his lips kick up into a smirk and he lunges forward to wrap one arm around my shoulder. “You fucking need it, Lani! You’ve been a pain in my ass for the last five years. What’s got you so fucking pissed all the time?”
“The world,” I joke, though it’s partly true. The unfairness of the life I’ve been brought into makes it hard for me to be content. The fact my trauma from five years ago still haunts me adds to my rage. My family means everything to me, but so does justice. My moral compass is so fucking skewed right now that it’s causing me to blow up all the time.
Most of all, it’s fear that enrages me. Fear that I’ll lose the people I love. Fear that I’ll disappoint my family further, or worse, fail at the one dream I’ve had since I was eighteen.
“The world is a shitty place, Lani. We all know that. But it doesn’t dictate everything.”
Easy for you to say.
I glance over my shoulder to find Roman watching from the couches behind us.
“He’s back for good, Lani,” Varo assures with a nudge of his elbow. “Whether he’s admitted it or not, he’s back for you, too.”
“It’s cute you think I care,” I retort.
My brother rolls his eyes. “You keep telling yourself that, Lani,” he laughs before leaning down. “Maybe you’ll believe it!”
We fall into a contented silence as the room roars to life once again. Two new fighters enter the ring, fists punching the air and their heads darting side to side like they’re fighting ghosts. We watch them take up their own corners as they’re announced, the place going crazy.
They must be well known, because panties are being thrown over the ropes, the screams of girls piercing my eardrums. Then the bell rings out to begin the fight, and we all watch intensely as fists begin to fly, precise and violent. Blood sprays, but the fighters continue with the same energy they entered with.
For the remainder of the rounds, I stand on the mezzanine with my brother. By the time the bell rings out to signal the end of the fight, though, Varo has disappeared with Roman and Haldon. I don’t see them on our level, but Haven is on the couches, talking to the blonde that was previously situated in her brother’s lap for the majority of the night.
I head over and drop into the seat beside her, snatching her drink out of her hand and taking a heavy sip of her vodka-cranberry before handing it back to her.
“Where did they go?” I ask.
She finishes her drink off and places it on the table in front of her. “Said they had to meet with some fighters,” she shrugs.
“Want another drink?” I nod to her empty cup.
“Please!”
Pushing up off the couch, I take the steps down to the ground level, spotting the bar not far from where I am. By the looks of things, Roman set up bars on either side of the warehouse—which logistically, is great thinking.
I head over to the one closest and join the queue. I’m sure there are quicker ways for me to get a drink since it didn’t take long before, but I just stand between the hoards of drunk guys and giggling girls, waiting my turn.
It doesn’t take long for the line to move, then it’s my turn. I order our drinks and the bartender quickly delivers. In less than two minutes, I’m heading back into the crowd, navigating my way to the VIP area.
Suddenly, a hard body slams into me, throwing me backwards and drenching me in a sticky mixture of liquor and soda.
“Shit! I’m so sorry!” A guy startles, reaching forward for my arm.
“It’s fine,” I huff, though it’s anything but fine. I can feel the liquid running down my legs and feet, and my arms are just as soaked. In fact, I think the entire contents of our drinks have covered me in an alcoholic layer.
“Hey! Don’t I know you?”
“Huh?” I glance up to get a good look at the guy who’s just ruined my drink and dress, and I immediately wish I hadn’t. I wish I had just continued walking, because now that I’m looking at him, I can’t even feel my feet. My blood runs cold, even under the heat of the stuffy room, and my spine feels like it’s trying to sliver out of my body.
Dark, menacing eyes greet me from beneath a baseball cap, only they look softer than I remember them. Soft, but mean. His identity is unmistakable, even if he’s trying to conceal it. I guess that’s what happens when you become famous. Everyonerecognizes you and there’s no escaping it. The same way I can’t escape him. I’ve seen his face everywhere—on billboards, TV interviews, and in my nightmares.
“You alright?” he frowns, but I can’t seem to get my words together. I can’t seem to breathe at all. It’s like my lungs are frozen, oxygen turning to liquid and drowning me in my own fear. My heart races, beating so loud I can hear it over the crowd, over the music, over the voice in my head that’s telling me to run.
But I’ve never been good with self-preservation, so I just stand there, gaping like an idiot while my past catches up to me.
