I Hate You...I Think (22 page)

             
Oliver grabbed my hands taking the spoon away from me. Kimmy had taken my place at the stove flipping the eggs and bacon.

             
“We going to the warehouse today?” Jet asked going back to readying his newspaper.

             
“Yeah,” Oliver told him putting the wooden spoon in a cabinet over the fridge.

             
“I’ll get that back,” I told him. H gave me a mischievous smirk. Huffing, I turned away to help Kimmy finish breakfast.

             
Once we all ate we headed down to the dock area. Oliver pulled up to the front of the building instead of the alleyway. Alex who was in Jet's car pulled up next to us. Jet grabbed my hand pulling me out of the back seat where I was laying cross Tyler and Logan's laps.

             
Two large garage doors stood open. All sort of commotion coming from inside. The first thing I noticed when stepping into the warehouse was how big it was. I remembered it from the party but looking at it now it seemed twice as big. In front of the open doors sat several cars being worked on. Guys halfway under them yelling out orders to bring random tools. On the opposite wall was a fighting arena and punching bags.

             
Pool tables and foosball littered the middle, along the wall, near the hallway leading to the offices, held a giant flat screen TV and surround sound speakers. Several leather couches sprawled around it seated quite a few boys playing world of war craft.

             
Oliver coming to my side slung his arm over my shoulders and pulled me forward. Some of the men stopped what they were doing to greet Oliver.

             
"Hey Oliver," one guy nodded, motioning for him to come over. Sticking his hand out to Oliver, I made a face. He was covered in grease a red rag in his left hand.

             
"Scotty," Oliver greeted clasping the guys hand. Scotty grinned as Oliver now looked at him dirty hand.

             
"Sorry about that." Scotty tossed Oliver his rag, and then nodded his head toward a blood red sports car.

             
"Beauty ain't she," Scotty drawled, pulling a round can out of his pocket and placing a huge wad of snuff in his mouth. I grimaced and turned away to watch Oliver, who was running his hand over the car. His eyes glossed over as he took in every detail. It was like watching a kid in a candy store.

             
"Nice," he muttered.

             
"Have yet to take it for a spin. You want to?" Scotty asked spitting in a bottle.

             
Oliver's head snapped up eagerly then he looked over at me.

             
"Later," he replied straightening up.

             
Scotty shrugged and nodded. Oliver nodded to Scotty who turned at shuffled over to another car. Taking my waist again Oliver turned me toward the offices. The other's had scattered in the meantime. Logan and Jake were at the TV jumping into the game. Alex and Kimmy were now playing foosball, and Jet was in the ring challenging people to a fight while Tyler looked on.

             
We headed up to the very same office we had used during the party a few weeks ago. My cheeks burned at the thought of what almost took place that night. Ushering me in Oliver shut the door behind him.

It took my eyes a moment to adjust to the sudden darkness. The walls were black as well as the soft, thick carpeted floor. Black couches and tables with small lamps took up the space on one side of the room. On the other side heavy curtains hung behind a large important looking desk. Oliver moved to the curtains pulling them open letting in light through a pair of sliding glass doors that looked over the warehouse and a small balcony.

              "What exactly do you do in here?" I asked perching at the end of the desk as Oliver took the cushy chair.

             
"Count money mostly. The guys come up to check out the upcoming tournaments," he said pointing to the wall across from the door covered in posters and pictures.

             
"If there is going to be a street fight, race or anything they post it on the wall to let everyone know."

             
He pulled open a draw looking through it for something.

             
"I don't really do much here but it looks nice if I have...visitors," he smirked. He gave up his search and leaned back in his chair placing his hands behind his head.

             
"Rival gangs come through looking to talk about territory, brawls, that kind of stuff. I have had police come through."

             
I looked shocked a moment. "Why?"

             
"Well, that's obvious," he chuckled. "They want to know what we are doing here. What kind of business we are running."

             
"And, what do you tell them?" I questioning raising an eyebrow.

             
"We restore cars, do exotic details," he shrugged.

             
"And the fighting ring? And all this." I pointed to the wall with poster's and photos.

             
"Those are removed before they get up here, and as for the ring. Jet and Tyler teach self-defense. They both went to school just to get certificates for that. I paid for permits and whatever just to make it look legal," he waved his hand unimportantly. "Mostly I look badass in this chair. That's why I keep the office. I look important," he smirked looking self-important and cocky.

             
I rolled my eyes, slipping of the desk and moved to the wall. There were pictures of guys bloodied but a victorious look on their faces. Hand drawn poster's advertising fights and races, some more worn than others. Some pictures were just head shots of men and a piece of paper taped under it with numbers, I assumed wins and loses.

             
Oliver came up behind me wrapping his arms around me and pointed to a picture farther up on the wall. On my tiptoes I looked at it using Oliver for balance. There was a young boy with shoulder length tousled hair, standing next to a gruff worn out man. Behind them an old rusty beat up corvette. The man's eyes were sunk into his thin skeleton like face. He had a beer gut but mostly he looked sickly and skeleton like.

He
and the boy looked a lot alike and it took a moment to realize it was a younger version of Oliver staring back at me with miserable, pained eyes. A large dark bruise along his cheek marred his sweet childish face. He looked to be nine or so. Looking back at the man next to him again I knew he had to be his father. Scowling at the camera with all he was worth. Disgust stirred inside me looking at the man.

             
"Yeah, that was an unhappy time for me," Oliver muttered rubbing the back of his head.

             
"Why do you keep it then?" I asked shocked.

             
"Because, every time I fight, I think of him," he replied softly, his eyes hard and unfocused as he stared at nothing in particular. "I think of all the times he beat me and made my life hell. I use it to push me. I refuse to be that weak ever again."

             
"I guess that's why I'm so good," he muttered looking down at me. "When I fight I don't think about what will happen to me, I think of what I'll do to the other guy. All I have is anger and regret and sometimes I get carried away..."

             
His perfect face was troubled and his eyes held so much pain as he watched my face gauging my expression. Placing my hands on his waist I leaned into him. He ran his hands through my hair.

             
"My dad passed when I was eight," I started not looking up at him. My eyes focused on his chest.

             
"My mom was an alcoholic even before that but it got worse when he...left." I finally looked up meeting his eyes. He was staring at me intensely.

             
"I know how it feels," I added softly. "I know what it's like to not have anyone. To not trust anybody and feel so much anger and hurt."

             
We were silent a moment then he moved his hand to the back of my head pulling me into his chest, his heart was beating rapidly.

             
The door burst open.

             
"Hey Lovebirds," Jake announced coming in and plopping down on a couch. I groaned into Oliver's chest. I was enjoying our alone time.

             
"Don't give me that," Jake threw a pillow at me. "You two are always kissing and touching...it makes me want to throw up." he faked gagging noises.

             
"What do you want?" Oliver laughed holding me back from smothering Jake with the pillow.

             
"Eien is downstairs. He wants to talk to you," Jake replied, sticking his tongue at me.

             
"Alone," Jake added. Oliver sighed, and looked down at me.

             
"Mind going with Jake for a bit?"

             
I grinned, eyeing Jake I nodded, "Sure."

             
Jake gulfed.

             
"Don't kill him. I kind of need him around," he smirked as Jake started inching out the door very slowly, thinking he was unnoticed.

             
"Be careful," I warned Oliver glaring at Jake, who grinned innocently. Oliver gave me a questioning look.

             
"I don't trust Eien as far as I can throw him."

             
Oliver grinned wryly. "If he tries anything, I'll let you hurt him," he promised.

             
"Good," I smiled kissing him on the cheek and bolting after Jake who had finally slipped out the door. As soon as I stepped out the office door I hit the ground. Jake stood there grinning from ear to ear; looking pleased he had tripped me.

             
"Jake!" I yelled shoving off the floor. He booked it down the hall. I reached the stairs in time to see him jumping down them two at a time. He smacked into the wall opposite the staircase, which slowed him down a moment. My hand almost closed around his shirt sleeve but he jumped forward and started running again.

             
At the end of the hall, he shoved Eien out of the way and entered the main part of the warehouse. My converse skidded against the concrete as I followed.

             
"Get him, Ever!" Kimmy cried.

             
Jake grabbed a chair knocking it over in my path. I jumped it easy. He made the mistake of turning to look back and I took him down. Landing on his back with my knees first, he hit the pavement face down.

             
"Gahhh!" He gasp, the wind knocked out of him.

             
"Pinch him behind the neck, Ever. That'll get him," Jet encouraged. I did clamping down hard. He cringed.

             
"Say you’re sorry," I smirked.

             
"Never!" Jake said wiggling to get out from under me. However, I quickly tightened my hold on his flesh and dug my knees into his back harder.

             
"GAA!" he yelled.

             
"Say it," I chuckled. The room was full of laughter now. Jake cursed and I twisted the flesh on his neck, it turned red.

             
"OWW! OKAY! I'M SORRY!" He screeched.

             
"You’re sorry what?" I asked pretending I couldn't hear him.

             
"I'm sorry for tripping you and throwing a pillow! Jeez, psychopath!"

             
Smiling, I released his neck and pressed my knees in his back as I got up. He grunted rolling over as I walked away. His face was bright red.

             
"Jet, you ass," Jake scowled rubbing his neck.

             
I made my way to Alex and Kimmy.

             
"Your vicious," Alex chuckled.

             
"Eh," I shrugged a smile growing on my face. Kimmy high-fives me.

             
"This means war!" Jake declared.

             
I turned to face him; raising an eyebrow I placed my hands on my hips. He grimaced and backed away.

             
"You’re just as scary as Oliver," He grumbled.

             
"I don't think that's a war you want any part of. You want her to get the wooden spoon again?" Logan called from the couch, a bag of chips in his hands. Jake winced remembering this morning and rubbed the back of his head. I turned back to Kimmy as Jake shuffled away.

             
"I thought you were with lover boy?" Kimmy smiled nudging me in the side.