Breaking Her Bad by Michelle Mankin

 

 

 

 

 

Kyle

I moaned. Everything hurt, but a new sharp burst of pain alerted me to the fact that my location had changed.

Inside the glow cast by a streetlight, I lay nearly motionless on the sidewalk where Strader’s enforcers had dumped me. The tires on their unmarked van squealed as they peeled away. I heard the pop of gunfire, shouting, and sirens in the distance. Familiar sounds.

I was back in Southside.

Cool but rank garbage-tainted air settled over me, or maybe that ripe smell was me.

After cracking my tibia with a baseball bat, Strader’s enforcers had taken me from Claire’s driveway to a windowless room and worked me over with their fists. Silently, I’d endured it. I’d been beat up before.

Not being a pussy or a snitch, I didn’t answer any of their questions. I protected Claire and her parents the best I could. I hadn’t sold out my master, Martin Skellin, either, though he didn’t deserve my loyalty. He should have never ordered me to deal drugs in a territory that belonged to his rival.

“Who is it?” a voice said.

A shadow fell over me, blocking the light.

No, that wasn’t right. The light had gone out hours or a day earlier when I left Claire.

I wasn’t aware of the time frame. Pain and despair made everything run together. At least for a little while, I’d experienced something spectacular.

But she was never mine to keep. Leaving was my only choice. The right choice.

“It’s Kyle Murphy,” Arturo said. I was nearly delirious with pain, but I recognized the voice of my boss’s henchman. “Fuck, you look bad.”

No doubt, I did.

My clothes were torn. My bottom lip was split open, blood oozing from a cut on my chin. My breaths were shallow, each inhalation burning like fire due to my broken ribs. My skin was stretched tight across swollen tissue. I could barely see out of my eyes. My head throbbed. I had bruises everywhere. But the pain that crashed over me in a wave of agony so strong I almost passed out again came from my broken leg.

“Not as bad as you.” I spat out the words, squinting at his shadow.

“Gone missing twenty-four hours,” Arturo muttered, “but still a comedian and an asshole.”

“What do you want me to do with his motorbike?” someone else asked, but I didn’t recognize his voice. He was nothing more than a nebulous shadow beyond the light.

“Leave it.” Arturo snorted. “Trash picks up tomorrow. That hunk of metal is a total loss. Not sure about this piece of shit, but help me get him inside. Boss will want to talk to him.”

A wave of pain swept through me as Arturo put his hands under my arms and lifted me. I bit back a scream as his companion grabbed my booted feet.

“You fucked up, Murphy.”

I had, for sure. But by leaving Claire, I was fucked in a worse way than Skellin’s bodyguard or anyone else could ever know.

• • •

Disoriented, I regained consciousness again. This time I heard a monitor beeping and smelled antiseptic.

Opening my eyes, I saw metal bars on either side of me and realized I was in a hospital bed. I also noticed that someone’s hand rested on top of mine, which was odd.

“About time you woke up,” Martin Skellin said.

As the hand left mine, I turned my head toward him, slowly processing his words and his presence here. My brain felt like it was buried beneath a mountain of anesthetic. However, relief washed through me that I could see better. Inhaling still hurt like fuck, but air came into my lungs easier now that I knew my vision wasn’t permanently messed up.

“Where am I?” I mumbled. My lips felt numb, my tongue overly large for my mouth, which was as dry as sand.

“Surgicenter. A private one.” Sitting in a chair beside my bed, he cleared his throat and adopted a more matter-of-fact tone. “Doctors repaired your broken tibia. They put a pin in to stabilize it. A few of your ribs are busted. Nothing to be done for those. It’s going to take you a long time to heal—six weeks just to rehab your leg so you can walk without crutches. You’re going to be out of commission for a while.”

“Okay.” I attempted a swallow as I let that sink in.

“Not okay, Kyle. Fuck.” Abruptly, he stood and strode to the lone window. Through the slats in the metal blinds, I saw that the sun was rising.

How many days had I lost? How was Claire doing? What was she doing? Was she thinking about me as much as I was thinking about her?

“Told you to get your sorry ass back to Southside,” Martin said gruffly, hijacking my Claire-centered thoughts. By the window, his wide shoulders were a stiff frame for his fancy navy suit. “Why didn’t you do as you were told?”

“I dunno.” I would have shrugged to sell the lie, but I couldn’t. Just talking hurt.

“I think you do know.” He turned around, his gaze as dark and hard as coal, although it had almost seemed soft a moment before. “Where were you when Strader’s guys grabbed you?”

This was tricky. If I outright lied, I might get caught. One of Strader’s dogs had seen me at the burger place. Two others had grabbed me at Claire’s. That was a lot of witnesses. I couldn’t afford more fallout.

“No place really,” I lied. “I just pulled my bike over to the side of the road to take a breather. They saw me and jumped me.”

Martin’s eyes narrowed. As he studied me, I counted three nervous thumps of my heart.

“You fucked up,” he finally said, shaking his head with disapproval.

“Yeah.” I took full blame, even though we both knew my beating was his fault. I wasn’t the only one who had overreached.

“How are you planning to pay for this?” he asked, gesturing to the medical equipment that surrounded me. “After-hours, no questions-asked surgery cost me a whack. Furthermore, you can’t deal in your condition. That’s going to cost me additional currency.”

“How much additional?” I asked.

“Twenty-five large.”

“I don’t have that kind of money saved.”

He frowned. “I know you don’t.”

I knew he knew. Everything I did he knew.

Having me deal in Strader’s territory was an ill-advised move, but Martin wasn’t stupid. He didn’t build his empire as fast as he did by being dumb. He kept a close eye on me and all his reps. He expected us to skim a little product to make a profit, but he monitored it. He certainly didn’t allow us to skim anything significant.

“Selling your condo should cover it,” he said, his expression grim.

My eyes rounded. “But my uncle—”

“You’re almost legal age, and Bob’s your relative. He’s your problem, not mine. You should have considered the consequences before you pulled over.” He stepped closer, his black gaze piercing. “Right?”

The vibe he threw off was intense, and I wondered how much truth he knew.

“Yeah, you’re right.” I clenched my hands into fists.

My light bronze skin was dark in contrast to the pristine white sheet. Dark and light, like me and Claire together. I shouldn’t have gone with her. I’d worried there would be consequences, but I just hadn’t envisioned how severe.

“You can recuperate at the condo until it’s sold.” His brows drew together, lending more darkness into his already bottomless eyes. “Then you’re staying in the apartment in Southside. You and Bob can share the master bedroom. You’ll pay rent out of your cut.”

“Okay.” I knew he expected my agreement.

“Not okay. This whole deal sucks. I already lost my . . .” He cleared his throat and continued in an easier tone. “I mean, I don’t want anything like this to happen again. I’m getting tired of coming to your rescue, boy.”

“Right.” I got what he didn’t say. This cost me additional. Nothing was free, and I already owed him for fishing me out of the lake all those years ago.

His expression sharpened. “Next time, I might decide you’re not worth the bother.”

“I hear you.” I lifted my chin.

“You’re stubborn and proud just like your mother.” He shook his head, unleashing a waterfall of darkness. “But unlike Miranda, you need to heed me. I tell you to do something, you do it, Kyle Murphy. Exactly like I tell you to. Don’t disobey me again.”

“Gotcha.” I didn’t back down, though the corner he’d backed me into was smaller than before. “I told you I heard you.”

“I hope for your sake you learned your lesson and don’t turn out to be a total fuckup like your father.” Martin’s hands opened and closed at his sides. He looked like he might want to just strangle me and be done with it, but after a couple of nods, he turned and exited the room.

I exhaled, relieved he was gone. But in a way, I kind of wished he would have stayed.

Martin Skellin was like a dam . . . around him, I had to hold it together. With him gone, the memories rushed in, a deluge of wildflower-scented images that flooded me with longing.

I’d wanted a taste of something good, and I’d had that taste. It had been beyond what I could have imagined, and I paid for it dearly. Claire had paid too. Guiltily, I remembered her tears, the desperation of her last embrace, the pain of our parting.

But she would continue with her life. For her sake, I wanted her to move on without the taint of what came with mine.

Giving her up, though, made me feel hopeless and desperate, much like when I was trapped in the backseat of my parents’ car after the accident. Gasping for air, sinking into the dark, watery depths of the lake, drowning again.