Page 2 of Rough Rider (Bad Boy High)
“The buses stink. And there’s always some deranged old man who wants to shove his dick in your face.”
“You must have a fuckable face, Bam. What can I say?”
“Dude. I’m not riding the bus.”
“Great. Pay for the taxi. I’ll see you there. Don’t start without me.” I hop on and swipe my Metro card.
Bam clambers on board behind me, muttering under his breath about how I’m tighter with money than a virgin’s cunt. Probably true, but it’s not like I want to be an enforcer for the rest of my life. Beating up people and taking their money isn’t real satisfying work. At least it’s not something I see myself doing in ten years. Maybe five. I can still see myself doing this in five. Actually, I could see myself still doing this in ten, and that’s what makes me take the bus because I have to change my future somehow.
Bam spends money like it’s tap water: free and always available. He spends it on crazy stuff, too, like shoes that cost a grand and a leather jacket that ran him five cool ones. It’s a fine jacket, don’t get me wrong, but nothing on this earth is worth five thousand. But knocking the shit out of people is fun for Bam, and he plans to do it for as long as he can. We had a run-in with the Pipefitters, a gang that runs the territory between Sixth Street to the south, Fifteenth to the north, and Templeton to the west. The east is a warzone between them and Smoke Crew. Both groups are always vying for power. One of our addicts ran away from us into that no-man’s-land, and we had to fish him out from under the nose of a couple of Pipefitter enforcers who werebeating the daylights out of a stray Smoke Crew member who had the unfortunate luck of being caught by himself.
The Pipefitters were older, their skin like leather. One guy’s face was scarred so heavily on the right that it was kind of a miracle he could see. He was just laying into the Smoke Crew member, who was half his age and jacked. Like body builder physique. Bam watched this play out with such intense fascination that our addict nearly got away. Later, he told me that he thought being an enforcer was a young man’s game and that he’d thought he probably wouldn’t see thirty due to getting shot or stabbed, but seeing the Pipefitters, he had a new vision of life.
I didn’t think that was the lesson to take away from that encounter, but I kept my mouth shut. Who am I to tell Bam anything? We’re both in this mess because we’ve got no money and no prospects. If Bam wants to get all scarred and fight until he’s eighty, that's his choice.
The overhead speaker announcing that Central is the next stop pulls me out of my thoughts. I hit the stop button, and the bus comes to a halt. The big lumbering vehicle sighs as the doors open, and Bam and I hit the sidewalk.
“You want to hold and I’ll hit this time?” Bam asks.
“Nah. I’ll do the hitting today.” I rub the wounds on my knuckles. “I’ve already got a good start on some calluses. No point in letting it go to waste.”
We head off toward the school. Andy’s doing detention today, and from the intel the runner gave to Clark, our mark will be alone. Easy pickings. We’ll be in and out in less than five. I won’t even touch Andy’s face since it’s his first infraction. There are tons of other pain points. The stomach is a good one because those bruised ribs remind the addict of our visit every time they take a breath for a good couple of weeks.
Whistling, I climb the stairs of the old, run-down school with the graffitied walls with Bam behind me, trailing his fingers against the painted concrete. We pass a few kids who don’t recognize us but whose instincts are sharp enough to have them huddling against the opposite wall. They sense that we’re dangerous.
Bam winks at one of them, and they nearly piss their pants running away. I snort in amusement. The detention room is marked with a white piece of paper and the lettersDETENTIONwritten in all caps in black magic marker. “Guess this is our place.”
I shove the door open and stop short. Bam collides into my back.
“Oh shit,” he breathes.
Oh shit is right. Andy Nunn’s a fucking girl.
Chapter Two
ANDY
It doesn't count as stealing. I remind myself of this while searching through Ms. Connor's desk drawer. When she saw it was only me in detention, she didn't bother to stick around more than ten minutes. She trusted that I wouldn't do what I am now doing, but I don't have much of a choice.
"Score!" I whisper to myself when I find a small tube of super glue. I sit on the edge of her desk, lifting my left foot so that I can glue the sole of my shoe back on. I almost face-planted in the hallway, tripping over it this afternoon. That should have been the icing on the shit cake after I'd gotten detention for once again being late.
Not that I had much control over it. If I did, I would never be late. It’s not in my character. Hell, I hate breaking rules altogether, but life has a way of forcing you to do things you never thought you would before. Things that you swore you wouldn't, but each day I toe closer to the line I drew in the sand for myself. I'm one trip from face-planting right over that line no matter how hard I try to stay behind it.
I squeeze a bunch of the glue on there, hoping it holds. I have a six-hour shift tonight at the diner, and I need that money, not only for shoes but for a million other things. I hate workingthere. Not because I think I’m above it or anything, but I work the night shift, which brings in a much rougher crowd during those hours. The money can be hit or miss, but I know I’ll at least get one good meal out of it too. That sounds like more than a lot of people I know.
I test my shoes, but the very top is still coming off, so I add a little more glue, almost dropping it when the door to the classroom swings open. To my surprise, a giant man is stepping through. Holy crap, he’s ginormous. Not in a bad way either.
My eyes lock with his, and I swallow. Who the hell is he? No way he goes here. He can’t be a student, nor could he be a teacher. He’s too rough around the edges. There’s a dark and dangerous aura around him.
“You Andy?” His deep voice causes my skin to break out in goosebumps. I don’t answer right away because I’m unable to form words at the moment. How the heck does this guy know my name? And why the hell is he here looking for me? So many thoughts and questions race through my mind.
“Who’s asking?” I question, my brain finally remembering how to form words.
“Shit, Niki, it’s a fucking girl?” Another man shuffles into the room, almost as big as the first. This one is less rough around the edges but prettied up in designer shoes and clothes. He's definitely not using super glue on them.
The bigger of the two shifts, I think about to push the other one back out the door, but he sidesteps, entering the classroom more. The giant gives a slight shake of his head before shutting the door and blocking off the only exit.
A few things start to click into place. I should have known this was coming. I want to take a step back, but I'm already up against the desk. I drop my foot down so I'm at least on both feet.
