Page 89 of The Deceptions
But there was a time in my life when I had no choice but to find alternative ways to make money.
And then, I met Malic.
Meeting him in the alleyway between buildings as I beat my fist against the wall to feel the ache of my desperation was fate.
“You should come with me,” he says, tilting his head as I shake out my hand, ignoring the blood pouring from my knuckles.
“I don’t even know who the fuck you are.” My face twists into a disgusted expression when he steps closer, towering over me.
“You may not know who I am now, but I know who you are. My boss wants a word. Seems you need a job, and well, he can facilitate.” He grins wide at his words.
I didn’t want to follow him out of the alleyway into a waiting Cadillac idling on the road. I didn’t want to shake his boss’ hand.
But I did.
Because the offer was too good not to consider.
“Run jobs for me, kid. Watch over Malic. I’ll pay you well. You two will be my seconds-in-command.”
He must have seen the desperation in my eyes as I thought it over. It was either this or dance on stage to make some quick bucks.
So, I chose the gang life, giving myself over to the boss and helping Malic with whatever he needed.
The sun shines through the small windows on the double doors, leading out onto the quad, when Oliver catches my eye and pulls me from the sour memories infesting my mind.
His eyes catch mine when he puts his phone away, and something shudders through him as he pushes his glasses up his nose.
“Oliver, right?” I ask, eyeing him up and down with interest.
Every year, new scholarship students arrive with dreams in their eyes, eager to learn. And the majority of them drop out, leaving with haunted shadows dancing in their gazes.
This place is a fucking haunted. If I could escape, I would. But Malic and my mom need me here.
“Yeah. I’m Olivi-er,” he stumbles over his name, turning red and rigid the moment it leaves his tongue.
Weird.
The hair on my neck stands on end. I offer him a tight smile, doing another once-over.
Oliver stands slightly shorter than me and is lanky as hell. Probably doesn’t have an ounce of muscle under his loose t-shirt. I can’t imagine this pipsqueak climbing into the ring to fight anyone. Or God, Brutus. That big bastard destroys people like Oliver with one punch. Maybe I should warn him not to come near the Coliseum unless he wants his ass kicked by the two idiots standing outside. If someone wants to call you out for a fight, they can do it on the SlamApp. Or they can wait until the night of the fight, and if you happen to show up, you have no choice but to jump into the ring and take them on. There are social consequences if you turn them down--banned from parties, a pariah on campus, and isolation.
It’s brutal as fuck.
There’s something hiding behind his misty green eyes when he holds my gaze and lifts his chin, displaying the softness of his face and straight nose. His supple lips pinch together.
Maybe it’s a tougher front he puts on being a smaller guy than Mack. Or maybe he’s been through some shit. Judging by the scars lining his face and neck, Oliver has been to Hell and back.
I gently rub the burn scar on my right forearm. The pain of the cigarette burning through my flesh is fresh in my mind, despite the years between the incident and now. It was right after Mack left me to fend for myself, and Mom’s new boyfriend got his hands on me. Half of me is thankful my brother got his dream at the mansion with the mob. But my other half? It resents the shit out of that asshole for turning his back on me. And thanks to Greenwood being close-knit, I’ve had to see his face walking the streets and running jobs.
It's fucking torture.
“You were brave as shit standing up to Mack like that.” I gesture out the window, drawing Oliver’s eyes to Mack and Brutus lying in wait. “But now, they want to beat your ass.”
Oliver’s jaw clenches when he peers out the window.
“He can try,” he grits out, shaking his head.
“Brave or fucking stupid,” I laugh, nodding toward the hall. “If you want to avoid the idiot, there’s another door this way.”
