Page 91 of Sacrifice the Knight (Checkmate 6)

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Mac

2 weeks later

Iskip out the school’s front doors right as the bell chimes. Normally I wait for my friends so we can walk to the gym or the diner together, but I have shit to do today, problems to take care of, and a mom to make safe, so I sprint and pretend I don’t hear Benny’s high-pitched whistle at the south end of the grassy field, or the stupid giggles coming from the girls we spend a bunch of our time with – probablytoo muchtime – as they stand by their lockers.

I’m normally super pumped about catching up with my crew as we walk and joke, crossing town and making our way to wherever we’ve gotta be. More often than not, we’re all going to the same place anyway.

The Rollin On gym.

But today, I’ve gotta go someplace I can’t tell anyone about, and I’ve gotta pray my mom doesn’t ask the Rollers how my training went today. For the first time in my life, I’m voluntarily skipping the gym and running in the opposite direction with an aching leg and a heart that does this weird thrum.

The gym is for my career becoming a world champion fighter.

But there’s no point becoming a champ if shit is this close to home and happening right now.

It takes me twenty minutes at a brisk jog while my backpack smacks my ass to cross town, but it’s cool; it would take that long to get to the gym, too. I cross the train tracks that mark the outskirts of town, then move to the side of a dirt road so I don’t get my stupid ass hit by a speeding car. Maybe I should get myself a bike, because when a car zooms past me and nearly knocks me on my ass, I realize how much trouble I’m going to be in if I get hurt and my mom is called to the hospital…again.

She’ll be scared for me, of course, but it’s getting to the point where pissed will outweigh concern, and she might straight up push me in front of a car out of frustration.

My run slows to a tired jog as I approach my destination; my jog slows to a walk as my leg begins to give me trouble and I struggle to catch my breath, but I round the last bend at the twenty-five minute mark and smile at the shitty old place that looks an awful lot like a dusty farm for bankrupt farmers… until I walk toward the building that some might describe as state of the art.

Military, even.

Only by chance do I notice the cameras that activate as I pass, following me until I reach a certain checkpoint, and then another set power up and take over the surveillance of the teen kid set on taking a stand against bullies and narcissists.

“Hello?” The concrete-type building ahead of me has no welcome sign drawing me in. No neon signs that flash OPEN, or a weird six-foot-tall plastic ice cream statue with his tongue licking himself and his head looking like he jizzedupwards. There are no entry signs anywhere, or even cars parked in a lot to indicate it’s open.

I circle the bunker, narrow my eyes at what may be a garage door, then jump out of my skin with a girly squeal when I turn back and come eye to eye with a fuckin’ monster. “You lost, kid?”

Scar above his eyes, a single wrinkle etched into his thick-as-hell forehead, and a buzzcut that leaves his eyes completely uncovered so he can stare and set me on fire with his retina laser beams. “You scared the piss outta me, soldier. Like, I legit tinkled on my leg.”

“Don’t call me soldier, you little asshole. You don’t know shit about me. What are you doing here?”

I clear my throat because this dude seems scarier in the daylight than he ever did while he was in my apartment in the middle of the night. He was smiley as they replaced our door; he made a joke or two and tried to make my mom feel comfortable.

But now he’s like Bear Grylls in the wild, but only if Bear Grylls’ mom was Annie Wilkes, and his dad was Leatherface from the Texas Chainsaw Massacre.

On steroids.

“Ah… I’m here because I would like to buy your time and tutelage.”

“Tutelage?” Spence’s non-scarred brow lifts. “Is that a real word, or are you trying to disrespect me by making me feel uneducated?”

“It’s real.” My eyes continue to flicker to the handgun he has strapped to his tree-trunk legs. “I looked it up in computer lab today. Means I want you to teach me.”

“Teach you what?” He tilts his head to the side. “How to wipe your ass? Kid, you’re five, and your potty problems have nothing to do with me.”

“I’m fourteen.” I step forward with more bravery than brains. “And we both know you know that, since you ran me and my mom through all of your fancy computers the other week. You said we had around the clock access to you.”

“I saidshehas access. She’s pretty; her tits are amazing, and she blushes when a guy looks too long.”

“Motherfucker. That’s my mom!”

“You’re old enough to wipe your own ass, but not old enough to know your mom is hot? You’re not as grown as you think.” He turns away and waves me off. “Go home now, and don’t tell anybody you were here.”

“I’m old enough to like women,” I shout to his retreating form. “I like tits and stuff.”

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