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“I lost my shit, I wasn’t thinking.” I pull the hair back out of my face, forgetting that I’m covered in blood.
“I can see that, Troj.” Jessie looks all out of ideas himself as he lights himself up a cigarette.
“He had photos of Shaniya.” My best friend has an old lady, he’ll understand how fucking worrying that is. “They know she means something to me, Jess.”
Jessie strokes his hand over his mouth in frustration.
“Nothing’s gonna happen to your girl,” he assures me.
“Prez can send this sorry piece of shit back to Cooper, show him no one’s being bought around here. This just proves he’s chicken shit.” Jessie pulls out his cell and calls up Prez to explain, while I hold my head in my hands.
“We’ll have to shift him on to the track, Storm’s meeting us with a cage. We don’t want the girls seeing this shit.” Jessie comes back toward me, pushing his phone back inside his cut.
“What if I can’t beat him?” I ask out loud the question that I’ve been blocking from my mind, my voice sounding so weak I barely recognize it. “She’ll have nothing, and this Charter will be ruined.”
“Don’t talk shit, course you’re gonna win the fuckin’ fight. I’ve watched you beat men twice your size. You’re the best there is.”
“What if he’s better?” I croak.
“Then we fucking kill every mother fucker who’s involved themself with Ivan-fuckin’-Cooper, and take back what's ours.” His jaw tenses tight and I see the fire behind his eyes flare. My best friend may look pretty on the outside, but he’s got a black fuckin’ soul.
“Prez mad?” I ask, knowing this could cause a whole heap of shit he doesn’t need.
“He’s mad that this mother fucker was running loose on our compound, he’s got a daughter and a grandbaby to protect,” Jessie points out, crouching down and pulling half the dead weight onto his shoulder, while I pick up the rest. “You did the right thing,” he adds.
“And Troj…” Jess glares at me.
“Yep?”
“I never wanna hear you speakin’ that weak assed shit ‘bout you losin’ to me again, ya hear?” he warns.
“Gotcha, VP,” I nod back at him, before we drag the dead fucker toward the track.
It’s hard to be strong for someone else when you’re petrified yourself, but that's what I’m trying to do as I sit playing with Troj’s hair. I redo the same braid I always make when he’s sitting still for long enough, trying to think about all the things we’ll do together when all this is over, rather than worrying about him getting hurt.
Troj has already told Prez he’s taking a vacation after the fight, and he’s promised to take me on a road trip along the coast.
“You want something to eat?” Troj looks up from where he’s resting his head on my lap.
“I should be taking care of you, you’re the one who’s fighting tomorrow,” I point out.
“You being here’s enough.”
“So, what do you usually do before a fight?” I ask, threading my lucky bead through the thread before tying it off.
“I let all the things that I try to forget about resurface, and I work myself up over all the things about my past that I can’t change,” he admits openly. I can’t help wishing I knew what those things are.
“Do you wanna talk about it?” I ask, hoping he might enlighten me.
“Sometime, maybe, not today.” He shifts his body up into a sitting position and smiles sadly.
“What made you change your mind about me coming to the fight tomorrow?” I’m curious as to why I’m allowed to go, when the other girls have been told that they’re not, under any circumstances, leaving the clubhouse.
“I can’t very well tell you you're not allowed on your own territory, can I?” He launches onto me, pinning my arms above my head. “Doesn’t mean I’m happy about it though,” he adds, nipping at the skin on my neck.
“Well I’m grateful.” I smile before I kiss him on that delicious mouth of his.
“Will you keep this in?” I loosen my hand from his grip so I can run my fingers through the braid I made in his hair.
