Page 90 of Beautiful Soldier

Oscar follows us out, locking his door behind us as we head down to the waiting black car. Instead of sitting in the back with those guys, I slide into the front seat. Johnny gives a short growl behind me, but Magnum’s lips tip up at the corners. Magnum’s driving us in one of the regular cars today, so we don’t have to talk through the small window the divider usually leaves when it’s not up.

I click my seatbelt in place and then turn around in my seat, catching Oscar’s eye while I do. He’s also grinning, which makes me think everyone’s content to gang up on Johnny. I mean, a little. And I wouldn’t call it ganging up on, maybe just showing him how I want it to be, so he can get an idea of what he’s in for if he chooses this.

“Well?” I ask.

Johnny runs his hands through his dark hair. “He was pleased with the pictures,” he says, jaw ticking. It sounds as if there’s a whole other story to that, but I don’t need details. Johnny’s face still looks terrible this morning even though he should be able to see out of his eye better.

Fucking bastard.

“Jiko gloated, so he did his part perfectly. Dad’s looking forward to your fight tomorrow.”

I roll my eyes. “I’m sure he is. Looking forward to money is more like it.”

“It makes the most business sense,” Johnny says, nodding, easily slipping into the gang business persona.

I stare at him blankly.

“What did he say about the body?” Oscar asks.

“He asked me if I’d figured out who did it yet.”

I turn back around in the seat, facing the windshield again. Magnum reaches over to thread his fingers through mine. I’ve had about enough of Big Daddy K. We’re talking about one of his guys’ lives, and he isn’t taking it seriously.

My phone vibrates, and I take it out.Here, Brawler texts.

Since no one has figured out what to say back to Johnny after that remark, I tell everyone Brawler’s already at the gym. I’ll have to have a private talk with him today. I need him to actually fight me. It has to be believable. This route might put me in harm’s way, but I’m already on K’s shitlist. Brawler isn’t.

I’ll have to physically and mentally prepare myself to get beat up. It’s not like this won’t hurt, I just understand it has to be done.

Oscar reaches out to place his hand on my shoulder. “You okay?”

I place my hand over top of his, playing over his fingers. “I’m good.”

He gives me a squeeze and then removes his hand, sitting back in the seat once more. It doesn’t take long to get to the gym from Oscar’s apartment. Magnum does his usual watching the area thing as we walk in, and then he heads through with his bug detector as Finn and Jax come to greet us.

The mood is pretty somber in the gym already. Brawler’s off hitting the punching bag in the corner. It swings on its swivel hooks, the chains clanging as he puts all his energy into hitting the bag. It’s taking a beating, too.

My eyes bulge out of my head. I’m going to be staring that down tomorrow. He’s going to hurt me. It’s not that I can’t inflict damage either, but his fists are like cement blocks. He’s one of the most skilled fighters I’ve ever met, and that’s not to mention the fact that I care about him. I don’t want him to hurt me, and I don’t want to hurt him, but I have to separate the two. At least tomorrow, I do.

“This is a terrible fucking idea,” Jax says, eyeing the big man taking out all his rage on the poor leather-wrapped punching bag.

I try to shake myself out of the fear swallowing me. I can’t let Brawler feel worse than he already does. He’d rather rip out his right arm than fight me, but we’re left with no choice.

I yearn for a day with choices. Opportunities. Moving around at my own discretion. It’s why I’m here after all. Freedom. I just had to give some up for a little while to gain a lot.

I yell at myself internally to get over myself. I’ve been in fights before and this will be no different. I have to treat it like any other.

Brawler moves around the bag. He sees me out of the corner of his eye and stops, lowering his guard. His chest rises and lowers. The ink creeping up his neck stands out like a Picasso on a muted background. I drop my water bottle and towel and move toward him. He waits for me where he is, the bag swinging to my right.

“Kyla...” His voice is a desperate plea, as if I have the power to stop this. As if I have the power to tell him this doesn’t need to happen. None of us have the power right now. We’re all just puppets on a string until we can take it back.

“Let’s give them a moment,” Mag says in the background.

My eyes fill with salty tears.

“That’s it. I’m not doing it,” he says, moving forward to cup my face.

“You have to,” I say, checking the tears as best I can.

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