Page 22 of Depraved

He looked me in the eye without blinking. “I’m not stupid, Granite. I can see the connection.”

“What connection?” I hissed through my teeth, not liking where this conversation was heading.

Dutch kept my gaze. “She reminds you of someone…doesn’t she?”

“Do not.” I clenched my jaw and held up a finger. “Do not fucking go there, my friend.”

“I loved her too. But I don’t go around avoiding shit because of it.”

To walk away was the best option at that point. I’d hate for my anger to get the better of me. The topic of conversation was something that would make me do shit I’d regret, like planting my fist in Dutch’s face. So I walked.

“Yo, dude,” he called out. “Stop. I’m sorry, man.”

I stilled, wiping the towel down the side of my face.

“We’re all on edge. I just want to make sure you’re okay, and that your head is in the game.”

I snorted with sarcasm before turning to face him again. “My head is always in the game. You don’t have to question that.”

“I’m not. I’m just looking out for a friend.” Dutch looked over my shoulder toward the main entrance. “Ah, fuck.”

“What?” I glanced in the same direction.

“It’s that boy I told you about last week.”

“The one you suspect is getting his ass kicked back at home?”

“Yup. Look at his face.”

The scrawny teenager was wearing a black hoody, trying to hide the bruise on his cheek but doing a piss poor job at it. “What’s his name?”

“Trent.”

I placed my towel over my shoulder and called out, “Yo, Trent.”

The boy looked at me.

“Get your ass over here.”

Trent looked around him, behind him, then back at me as if he wasn’t sure I was talking to him.

“Yeah, you. Get over here.”

Trent slowly moved toward us, and it was painfully obvious the boy was scared as hell. But the closer he came, the clearer we saw the blue and black bruise that stretched all the way from his eye to the bottom of his nose.

“How’d you get that?” I pointed to his face.

“I…um⁠—”

“Spit it out,” I warned.

“Please,” he started, “I don’t want trouble. I’m just here to learn how to fight.”

I crossed my arms. “You got someone you need to defend yourself against?”

The boy glanced around the gym, and Dutch stepped forward. “Take off the goddamn hoody, would you?”

Trent cautiously slipped the hoody from his head, and when I saw the blue bruises around his throat, clearly from someone’s hand, my rage started to simmer. There was a lot of nasty shit I could tolerate, but child abuse wasn’t on the list. In my opinion, if you could beat up a kid, you could burn in your own personal corner in hell.