Plastic cups, cans, and bottles rain down on us from the crowd, some still filled with beer. I think they’re pissed at the guys for breaking up the fight before someone was knocked out, until I see the other two guys trying to lift Stacy from the pitwithout the crowd getting their hands on her. She’s still flailing and shrieking, spitting and clawing at the guys trying to subdue her and get her to safety. She clearly doesn’t understand what’s going on, because as soon as they drag her up, she tears herself free from their grasp. In a single second, the surging crowd absorbs her like a hungry maw, and the last thing I see is her being dragged under a mass of bodies, fists and feet flying.
“Is—is she going to be okay?” I ask, stumbling along next to the guy who has his arm around me. It takes me a second to register that I know him, even if he doesn’t know me behind the mask. He’s one of Angel’s cousins, the one who was in my grade when I went to school here, though he’s so big and tough looking now, it’s hard to imagine we’re the same age.
“I’m more worried about you,” Maverick says. “How bad did she get you?”
When he lifts me toward the crowd, I reach up without fear. The crowd knows me here, even if they don’t know my face. They know I live for this like they do, that I want to give them what they want. They know I don’t fight dirty, especially don’t bring weapons into our shared space. This place is as sacred to me as it is to them, and I would never disrespect it that way.
Dynamo and Maverick’s brother Mad Dog reach down to pull me up, and that’s when I hesitate, grabbing my side when I feel a fresh wave of hot blood gush from the cut as Maverick lifts me. My vision swims, but the next second, I’m wobbling on my feet on the concrete floor of the warehouse.
“Stay with me, Red,” Dynamo says. “Can’t lose my best fighter here, can we?”
“I’m fine,” I insist, pressing a hand to my side and trying to get my breath. “It’s just a scratch.”
Mad Dog barks orders, and even those hopped up on adrenaline step back or offer a word of sympathy orencouragement when we pass, slapping my back and shoulders until Mad Dog turns his murderous scowl on them.
“Don’t fucking touch her,” he thunders, and they all step back out of deference to him.
Maverick puts a protective arm around me, and between him and Dynamo, I’m sheltered from the crowd and ushered out a side door into the cold.
“Where are we going?” I ask, realizing a second too late that the door closed behind us, and I’m alone with a group of guys I barely know and that I definitely couldn’t fight right now if the need arose. Considering what they do, it’s not unreasonable to think I’m in danger, but I’m calm instead of scared. Maybe it’s the blood loss, or maybe it’s the fact that I’ve known Dynamo for years, even if it’s in a surface way. These guys may work outside the law, but so do I.
“We’re going to get you patched up,” Maverick says. “Don’t worry, we won’t take you to the hospital unless it’s absolutely necessary.”
“You’re in good hands,” Dynamo assures me as he helps me into a gleaming black El Camino. “I’ll catch up.”
I realize a second too late that he’s not getting in with us. Mad Dog slides into the passenger seat, and Maverick is already in the driver’s seat, firing up the engine and revving it a few times. That’s when I start to get nervous. They may not know who I am with the mask on, but they could easily pull it off. What would they do when they saw the girl who sent their cousin away, the one whose windows they shattered with bricks?
nine
The Merciful
A minute later, we pull up at a tattoo shop, and Maverick turns off the car. “They’re meeting us here,” he says.
“Who?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady. I picture his whole gang, the Skull and Crossbones, waiting like the angry mob in the Slaughterpen was waiting to tear Stacy to pieces for stabbing me. But the brothers climb out without answering, though Mad Dog leans down to grip my hand and pull me out. He tries to pick me up, but I quickly step back, holding up a hand to stop him.
“I’m fine.”
“Suit yourself,” he growls and turns to lope to the front door. I follow, hand clamped to my side to stop the blood. I can feel it leaking down my hip, my leg, plastering my tights to my skin.
Inside, someone has laid a cloth over one of the tattoo tables, and when he turns, my head swims at the terribly, sickeningly familiar face of Angel’s father. Beside him, one of the younger North girls sits on a stool, watching us from behind a pair of round spectacles. Though I’m not sure I’ve ever met her, I register her resemblance to Angel even with her hair in a surgical cap, gloves on her hands, and a tray of instruments beside her.
I turn to the two men behind me. “Maybe I should go to the hospital after all. Or just get a bandage. It’s probably nothing series. Just a flesh wound.”
Maverick takes my elbow on my good side and steers me to the table. “This is the fighter who got stabbed.”
“You don’t say,” Mr. North says, snapping on a pair of surgical gloves.
“Smartass,” Maverick says with a chuckle before turning to me. “They’re going to get you fixed up, just like I promised Dynamo. He’d kill me if I lost him his favorite fighter.”
“Don’t worry,” says the girl, who can’t be more than fourteen or fifteen. She offers me a reassuring smile. “I’m Hemingway, by the way. Mav’s sister. This is our uncle Lennox. And I’ve done this lots of times. If it’s beyond my capabilities, we’ll send you to Dr. Swift. He’s discreet.”
“He plays both sides,” her uncle growls. He sits poised on another stool like he’s about to pounce, a long needle in his hand that makes me cringe. He stares at me from behind his glasses, his eyes as golden as a panther’s.
A little chill of fear runs through me, and I’m sure he knows who I am suddenly, that Dynamo revealed my identity to them.
“I think I’m good,” I say, but when I try to turn, both the North brothers are right behind me.
“Don’t tell me you’re scared of needles,” Maverick says. “A badass like you? Imagine what that information could do to your rep. Couldn’t be true.”
