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I run over to him. “Davis, what the hell happened?”
The other guys crowd around us.
Davis shifts, his lip quivering. My gaze drops to his feet. His white socks are dirty and streaked with mud.
“Where are your shoes?”
My blood starts to boil. A spark of rage zaps my insides.
I ask him again.
He clenches his fists tight as if he’s trying to keep from crying in front of the other boys.
“J-jordans,” he whispers. “My aunt bought me a secondhand pair for my birthday. Mom told me not to wear them to school but… I did. And when I was walking here, some guys j-jumped me. They had a knife. I c-couldn’t stop them.”
I slap my hand against the wall. “Who took them?”
“Quinn,” Massimo says. “Don’t.”
I put my hands on Davis’s shoulders, seething when I ask again. “Tell me now. Who and where?”
“It was a group of guys. They were hanging out in the park near the school. They were about my age.”
“Those fucking bastards.” I run over to the office and grab my keys.
A few of the boys helped Davis to the bleachers in the few seconds I was gone. He’s drinking a bottle of water, his bruised face hanging with shame and sadness. Ire floods my veins. He feels like he should have been able to defend himself but failed.
The key ring digs into my palm, I squeeze it so tight.
I know that look too well. I lived with that same shame when I was younger… until I turned the tables on the fuckheads who thought they could get over on me. They iced me out because of who I was and where I came from, so I had to show them just how big of a mistake that was.
“Q, where the hell do you think you’re going? We just talked about this.” Massimo steps in front of me, blocking my path out the door. “Patty will kick your ass if he knows you’re going head-to-head with another street gang.”
“Mas, these bastards are gonna keep coming at us. If nobody stops them, they’ll take over everything. And then all the work we’ve done for the community is for nothing.”
“It’s not nothing.” He waves a hand behind him. “Look at what we built here. These kids need us. They need each other. Don’t put everything at risk. Don’t do that to the kids.”
“I’m doing itbecauseof the kids, because they shouldn’t have to feel afraid walking around in a damn pair of sneakers, the one nice thing they have in the world that makes them feel good about themselves.” My face heats with the same kind of hot lava anger that bubbles in my blood. “These guys come in and destroy neighborhoods. This is my home. And fuck them if they think they’re gonna blow it up.”
Massimo grabs my t-shirt but I wrench myself out of his grip and stalk out of the gym. My tomato-red Dodge Challenger sits pretty obnoxiously in front of the YMCA with a ticket tucked under the windshield wiper because it’s not an official spot. But I’d rather pay the ticket than park a million miles away from the place.
I grab the ticket and jump into the black leather driver’s seat. The car was custom-built by one of our Red Ladro connections down in Miami. Alek Severinov, the senior member of Red Ladro, hooked me up, and the second it was delivered here to the city, I was head over heels for my girl.
She’s not high-maintenance; she doesn’t bitch when I come home late, and she doesn’t get jealous. She just lets me ride her, as fast and as hard as I want.
The perfect woman, if you ask me.
I shift, hit the gas, and peel away from the curb. Merging into midtown traffic at this hour of the afternoon is always tricky, but I drive like a fucking cabbie so most people stay out of my way. The school isn’t too far away, so at least Davis didn’t have a long shoeless walk to the Y.
Wrapping my fingers tight around the steering wheel, my eyes dart left and right. The scumbags might still be hanging around the park, or they could have ducked into any number of places around the area. There are always gangs trying to dip their toes into our territory, but they never stick around long.
This group won’t be the exception if I have anything to say about it.
I slow in front of a red light on Ninth Avenue and 28thStreet. Another look around makes my throat tighten.
Two guys on my left. One has a beefy arm with a large black scorpion crawling up the side. The letters C.D.S. appear underneath it.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
