Breaking Her Bad by Michelle Mankin

 

 

 

 

 

Kyle

“Hold up,” Tommy called, and I stopped, watching him release two chicks before he dove into the flow in the crowded corridor. It was always crowded and loud during the short ten-minute break between classes.

I lifted my chin when he reached me. “Hey. You work fast,” I said, nodding at the redhead and the brunette who kept glancing at him.

Tommy and I were a two-man island in the middle of the congested hallway, students streaming by on either side of us. He raised his voice to be heard above the rushing of the masses.

“Fast is the only way to go,” he said with a smirk. “Where you headed?”

“Got shit to straighten out.” My body tense, I kept it vague. I couldn’t have Claire, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t going to do everything in my power to help her. I just had to keep the reasons I did it secret.

Tommy’s gaze dipped to my clenched hands. “Shit that might require kicking someone’s ass?” Raising his gaze, he looked eager.

“Yeah.” I nodded. “If necessary.”

“Sounds like fun.” He tilted his head. “Can I come with?”

“Hell no.” I worked alone. Plus, Tommy seemed like a nice guy. I didn’t want to draw him into my mess.

“Not a potential random ass-kicking you’re anticipating, is it?” One of his black brows inched up.

Impatiently, I tapped my foot. “No.”

The tardy bell was about to ring, but I wasn’t going to my next class. I had a meeting with Jorge. Hopefully, the notorious leader of La Rasa Prima was in a reasonable mood.

“I’m betting where you’re headed has something to do with the blonde who got in the fight with the Latina earlier.”

New tension shot through me. Was I that obvious? “What do you know about it?”

“Nothing, man. Not really. You knew the blonde’s name, and she seemed to recognize you. Just guessing she’s important to you.”

“Fuck.” I unclenched one hand and ran it through my hair. I’d have to try harder to keep my feelings about Claire under wraps.

“Chill, man.” Tommy placed his hand on my shoulder. “I don’t think anyone else noticed.”

Not so sure, I gave him a skeptical look.

“I’m observant,” he said. “It pays to be when you’re a half-white boy in an environment where most everyone else is a hundred percent something else and fucking judgmental about you not being exactly like them.”

“That makes sense, I guess.”

“It does. And it sucks, not gonna lie. But I prefer to look on the bright side of things.” Tommy shrugged and gestured to himself, his dark brown eyes sparkling with sudden humor. “My parentage gave me this. Good looks that chicks can’t help but dig, and six feet four inches of intimidating muscle that tells anyone who even thinks about hassling me that I can hold my own.”

“With Jorge,” I muttered grimly, “muscle isn’t the issue.

“Ah, so you’re going to see the top La Rasa guy.”

Fucking hell.I pressed my lips together. I shouldn’t have admitted that out loud.

Studying me, Tommy nodded as if I’d confirmed something. “Thought you might be setting out to get that bracelet back for that poor girl. But you shouldn’t do it alone, not when your adversary’s probably packing heat.” His eyes narrowed. “And Jorge’s not the only one. Everyone in his family carries, right?”

“Shhh.” I glanced around, relieved to see the hallway was practically deserted. “But yeah, most do.” Though not usually at school.

“You’re crazy.” He grinned at me like my being crazy made us brothers.

I narrowed my gaze. “How do you know so much about Jorge and La Rasa?”

“My old man is from Southside. He’s filled me in on the major players and factions, their histories, that kinda shit. Plus, like I told you, I pay attention when most don’t.” The sparkle in his eyes fading, he gave me a censuring look. “You need backup to meet with a guy like Jorge, even if it’s just for show.”

I probably did, especially if things went south, but I didn’t give a shit what happened to me. However this unfolded, I was determined that it ended with me getting Claire’s bracelet back.

“What’s the blonde to you?” Tommy asked, watching me closely.

Everything I want, but nothing I can have.

“It’s not about Claire,” I lied. “It’s just about the bracelet.” The bracelet that I knew meant something to her.

“Bullshit. Lie to me if you wanna, but you don’t need to. I ain’t gonna blab.” His eyes narrowed. “I am gonna tell you straight up, you better work on your game face before we go in.”

I gave him a cool glance. “There’s no we in this scenario.”

“There is now.” His gaze glinted determinately. “I’m not gonna stay back and do nothing.”

“Why the hell not?” I asked. After all, that was what most people did.

“Because I like you, and I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

Whacked as that explanation was, it made sense to me, especially post-Claire.

“I like you too,” I said, turning to go. Taking two strides and realizing he wasn’t beside me, I stopped and glanced back. “Aren’t you coming?”

“Hell yeah.” Tommy’s lips slowly spread into a wide grin.

A grin so contagious, it took effort to suppress one of my own. It seemed I had a wingman after all.

• • •

“Kyle Murphy,” Jorge Rodriguez said, lifting his chin. A good sign, or maybe I just I chose to take it that way.

“El jefe.” I lifted my chin in return as the metal door to the stairwell clicked closed behind me.

We were different, Jorge and me. His head was shaved. He was a known killer with two tattooed black tears under one of his golden-brown eyes. Just asking for this meeting, I risked being number three, but we were associates. We’d crossed paths. La Rasa had agreements in place with my boss. I’d never dealt on La Rasa turf, and his brothers never dealt on mine.

Reminding myself of those things, I tried to keep my thoughts positive and pretended I wasn’t intimidated.

Being on the south side of the school, inside a deserted stairwell with the leader of La Rasa while his number two and three blocked the exits, wasn’t the safest situation. Dressed like Jorge in jeans and white wifebeater tees, his guys had rolled navy bandanas around their foreheads. One brother stood by the staircase, the other by the door. I gave Tommy a quick glance that I hoped conveyed my gratitude that he was beside me.

“You may come closer.” Jorge beckoned. He had a platinum band on his left hand and a rosary around his neck, which gave me hope.

With a significant other and religion in his life, he had shit that mattered to him. He wasn’t all stone-cold killer. Maybe he would listen to me.

“Right, thanks.” I took a couple of slow careful steps, and Tommy moved with me.

Jorge was two inches shorter than me. I could see over him. But he and I both knew that despite the height difference, he held the advantage.

“Who is this with you?” Jorge pointed at my companion.

“Tommy Evans.” I hesitated only briefly before adding, “He’s a friend.”

“Ah, friends are good to have. I miss mi amigo Adrian.” Jorge kissed the tips of his fingers and lifted them to the ceiling before saying, “Descanse en paz. Por siempre jamás.” Rest in peace. Forever and always.

His pinched expression revealing his pain, Jorge tapped the left side of his muscular chest with a closed fist. His best friend, Adrian, had died taking a bullet meant for Jorge. It had happened years ago, but the story was well known, a Southside legend.

Jorge dropped his arm to his side and refocused on me. “Why did you ask to meet?”

Knowing Jorge was a busy man, I got right to the point. “Belinda has something of mine.”

“Es eso así?” Is that so? His gaze narrowed, and he crossed his tatted muscular arms over his chest. “Then why are you speaking to me and not her, ese?”

“Because Belinda is under your protection, and I don’t want to be disrespectful. I just want what’s mine returned.”

“Qué es?” What is it?

“A bracelet. A gold one with a sparrow charm.”

His gaze sharpened. “Ah.”

I think he already knew what I wanted. He was a savvy leader, the type that as soon as I’d requested a meeting, he probably started asking around so he would know what was going on.

“That bracelet belonged to a new white girl,” he said. “Lindy doesn’t like her.”

“Belinda doesn’t like any white girls.”

I knew why, but some didn’t. Her brother’s girlfriend was a blonde, a white girl who had ratted him out to the police. In his cell, he’d been killed by a rival before his case went to trial.

Jorge stroked the black soul patch on his chin. “This is true.”

“I’m not here looking to cause trouble. I just want the bracelet. It was given to me, and I want it returned.”

My heart raced as he stared at me and frowned. I didn’t like my odds. I probably wouldn’t get what I wanted. But I maintained eye contact and made sure my breaths were steady.

His thick black brows rose to a skeptical height. “If it’s truly yours, then that would be your right.”

I cranked up my chin. “It’s mine.”

“How did it come to be yours?” he asked, his suspicion obvious.

“Claire, the white girl, gave it to me.” My plan was to stick as close to the truth as possible without revealing my feelings.

“Sí, but why did she give it to you?”

As Jorge posed the pointed question, I noted the guy by the door taking a step toward me. Tommy also moved closer. Gotta admit—as a wingman, my new friend didn’t suck.

Quickly, I thought it through. If I lied and said the bracelet was in exchange for drugs, a plausible excuse, Claire might trip me up. It wouldn’t take more than a few questions for Jorge or someone else to discover that she didn’t do drugs.

“For services rendered,” I said, then embellished. “Apparently, she liked my dick a whole lot.”

“Órale!” Jorge’s lips slowly curved. “This I can understand. I have a similar effect on the ladies myself.” He cupped his junk and laughed.

“Okay.” I let out a held breath. “So, can I have it back?”

“No.” He gave me a long, considering look. “But you can fight for the right to have it returned. Since La Rasa Prima Latinas don’t fight anyone outside la familia, you can fight mi numero dos if you’re certain such a small item means that much to you.”

I wasn’t going to fall into that trap. “It doesn’t really mean anything, but it’s gold, and it’s mine. I want it back.”

“Sí, I can see that you do.” Jorge nodded. “Fight then. First lunch period. Behind the cafeteria. On the La Rasa side.”

“All right.” I jerked up my chin. “I’ll be there, but no knives or firearms.”

“Sí.” He nodded his agreement. “I accept those terms, but no others.”

“Gracias, el jefe.”

“Suerte!” Good luck. He lifted his first finger, which meant first among the races. The La Rasa Prima sign.

I was going to need every bit of good luck I could get. Neto, Jorge’s second-in-command, was a badass.