Losing Nuka (Litmus Book 1) (10 page)

“Come on, Nuke, let’s go,” Brett says.

“That was a quick visit,” I say as we walk outside and back to the car.

“Sorry, but Paddy—” He stops short when another car pulls up to the curb outside the house. “Speak of the devil.”

“Uncle Brett,” Paddy yells as he gets out of the car and runs over to us. Paddy looks a hell of a lot like his uncle, and his dark hair is cropped short, styled into a faux Mohawk.

“Hey, squirt,” Brett replies, but his tone is pretty flat. “We’ll catch up another time. I’ve got things to do, okay?”

“Okay,” Paddy says with a sad smile. “She told you, didn’t she?”

“Even if she didn’t, I would’ve figured it out with the company you’re keeping,” Brett says, nodding in the direction of the car.

The driver gets out and starts making his way over to us. He’s tall and broad but nowhere near as big as Brett. His brooding stare makes me think he’s trying to act tougher than what he is. Not surprising if he’s coming to confront Brett.

“Get inside, Paddy,” Brett orders. Paddy starts running with no question. “Get in the car, Nuke.”

“What’s—”

“Now’s not the time to act like Sasha. Get. In. The. Car.”

I do as he says but don’t shut the door the whole way so I can listen in. I can’t help myself.

“Been a long time, Brett,” a deep voice says.

“It has, Shane.” I see them shake hands out of the corner of my eye.

“You know, Paddy’s come in quite handy.”

“So what’s it going to take to get him out of this?”

Shane laughs. “Of course. Mister ‘I’m too good for you’ thinks he can buy his way out. Paddy isn’t for sale. He belongs to us.”

“I never said I was too good, just that I wanted more than this life. Isn’t that what you want? You have a daughter now, don’t you? Don’t you want a better life for her?”

“You know I do. But not all of us are given that chance. Not all of us have the opportunity to go to uni, let alone be hired by someone like Dalton. Your nephew came to me. Maybe you should be looking after your own, instead of someone else.”

“Don’t push me, Shane,” Brett says. He’s trying to hide his anger, but it’s clear in his voice. “How much?”

I’m a little shocked at the figure Shane gives. It would be a considerable chunk of my trust fund, it would be peanuts to Jonas and Cade, but to someone who lives out here? I don’t see how Paddy could make Shane that much money in his lifetime.

“Give me a month. If you cut Paddy loose for the entire month while you wait, I’ll add five percent. And he’s done. He doesn’t work for you anymore. Got it?”

“Got it, boss. Consider his employment terminated effective immediately. Of course, if you’re late with payment, I may have to reinstate him. Work him double as hard to make up for a lost month of his earnings.”

“I’ll have the money,” Brett says, shaking Shane’s hand.

“Pleasure doing business with you again, Brett.”

I can’t believe he just agreed to that.

Brett climbs in the driver’s seat and slams his door shut. Gripping the steering wheel, his knuckles are white. He looks straight ahead, trying to gain control over his erratic breathing.

“Is everything okay?”

“Peachy,” comes a flat retort.

“How are you going to get that much—”

“Close your door. We’re leaving.”

I shut my door and Brett immediately pulls out of the driveway and onto the street. His driving is all over the place. Just like his moods. I don’t know which Brett I’m going to be dealing with next. The sweet, caring, responsible guy who looks after his nanna and nephew? Or the moody, quick to react, violent street fighter.

Brett sighs as he calms down and glances at me. “Don’t worry about the money. I’ll ask Cade and Jonas for an advance to cover it all, but I have some of it in savings.”

“I understand why you fight now. You’re an amazing person to be sacrificing your life for your family.”

He scoffs. “I’m not sacrificing anything. It’s true what Shane said. I’m lucky Cade and Jonas hired me. I’m one of the fortunate ones who got out. Not everyone’s so lucky. And if I can’t get Paddy out, then I’ve failed. Before my sister died, I swore I’d protect him from the kind of life she had. But being away, living with Cade, protecting Sasha and now you … Shane’s right. I haven’t been looking after my own.”

“He’s not right. You’re doing your very best to provide for your family. I don’t know what happened to your sister, but the fact you’ve taken on more responsibility than what’s yours goes to show how great a guy you really are.” I put my hand on his arm to try to soothe him.

He closes his eyes for a brief moment before focussing them back on the road. They’re glassing over with tears.

“Great guys still do bad things to get what they want, Nuka. I want you to remember that. Take Shane for instance. We were best friends growing up. Now he’s willing to screw over anyone and everyone, just to survive. He was pissed at me for being accepted to uni. He hated that I refused to join his crew. My sister was part of them, and she didn’t make it out alive. I’m not going to let that happen to her kid. And I will do
anything
to make sure nothing ever happens to him. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

I nod and take my hand back. We sit in silence all the way home, giving me plenty of time to think.

I was given everything growing up, and it wasn’t until today that I realised how lucky I’ve been. The people out in the Estates have next to nothing, and they’re doing anything and everything they can to survive. Brett is putting his whole life on hold, just so he can support his family and keep a roof over their head, and thirteen-year-old Paddy feels like he needs to do the same.

There are hundreds, probably even thousands, of families just like Brett’s who don’t have the means or the opportunity to fix their situation.

I skated through my childhood and school, completely oblivious to what it’s like for others like me. Growing up with Lia, I heard many stories of discrimination and how hard it was for us, but I guess I always thought they were exaggerated—borderline propaganda even. Turning a blind eye to something you never see is easy, but to continue to live with tunnel vision when your blinders have been taken off is next to impossible.

By the time we reach the mansion, I’ve made a decision.

If I can make a difference in this world, I’m going to do everything I can to make that happen. I have an idea, but I just have to get Cade and Jonas to agree to it.

“Brett?” I stop him as he goes to climb out of the car.

“Yeah?”

“Will you teach me how to fight?”

-9-

THE DEAKIN FUND

I swallow the lump forming in my throat. “I want to run something by you … if that’s okay?”

Jonas, Cade, and Sasha lift their heads from their dinner plates to glare at me. When none of them responds, I take that as my opening.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about Litmus, and what you want of me.”

“You don’t have to do it, sweetheart,” Cade says. “Jonas and I talked it over, and we understand where you’re coming from. You can work the bar like Sasha if you really want.”

I shake my head. “It’s not that. I actually am interested.”

“You are?” Jonas asks.

“Well … I have a few conditions.”

A knowing smile crosses Jonas’s face. “Another Taser.”

“No. I’m not being greedy, but I do want more money.”

Jonas scoffs.

“If you agree to keep on housing me and feeding me, I only want a ten-percent cut.”

Jonas’s brow furrows. “That’s
less
money.”

“On top of,” I continue, “the twenty percent you usually give. But I want that money to go into a trust. I want to set up a charitable donation fund to contribute to the Institute’s Estate programme.”

“What’s brought this on?” Cade asks.

“Brett,” I answer simply.

“Ooh, someone’s got it baaaaad,” Sasha teases.

I give her my best “shut up” look, but she just laughs at me.

“You can donate half of your twenty percent,” Jonas states.

“Don’t be so hasty, Jonas. Think about this for a minute,” Cade says. “It would be great publicity for us, having a contender donate her entire wage to charity. We can give her ten percent as sort of an unofficial allowance. Under the table, so no one else would know.”

“Well, there’s more,” I say. “Because of who my dad was, and of who my adoptive mother is, I don’t want to be associated with them and their campaigns. If it was to get out that it was me who organised it … well … I just don’t want to be compared to them. I was hoping to set the fund up as part of the Deakin team. I don’t want the recognition, I just want to help.”

“Looks like the apple doesn’t fall far from the adopted tree,” Sasha says.

Both Cade and I glare at her. As much as I don’t want to be compared to Lia, I think deep down I know this has stemmed from her influence—I just don’t want to admit that aloud.

“It would do wonders for our image, Jonas,” Cade says after she finishes giving Sasha a harsh stare down.

Jonas looks pensive for a moment before meeting my eyes. “And you’ll be the face of our brand? You’ll go into the arena?”

“If I’m completely honest, the idea of going in the arena scares the hell out of me. But Brett’s offered to train me. I know self-defence, but I never learnt to be the aggressive one, so I don’t know how to attack—not at a competitive level anyway. It might be some time before I’m ready to fight in the arena, but if you agree to give me the thirty percent I’m asking for, I’ll try my hardest to get there as soon as I can.”

This brings a smile to Jonas’s face. “I think you have a deal, little lady. Thirty percent. Ten to you, twenty to your Defective trust, and to start you off, we’ll only have you for introductory fights and Wild Card nights. We’ll ease you in slowly.”

“Wild Card?”

“We generally run them once a week. It’s where anyone on the night can volunteer to enter the arena,” Cade explains. “If they can beat the assigned fighter, the owners can go into a bidding war over the entrant and they can earn a spot in the competition. It hardly ever happens, they generally always lose. It’s usually people out for a fun night. Guys sign up their friend on his bachelor night, teenagers wanting to boast to their friends that they fought at Litmus, things like that. Anyone who’s serious about joining the competition come straight to the owners or are recruited. Starting you off on Wild Card nights is an easy way to train you without putting you in too much danger. Of course, we’ll have Brett training you on the side, too.”

“How long do I have to train?” I ask, nervous they’re not going to give me long to get ready.

“How about we see how you’re going in a month?” Jonas suggests.

“But if you need more time, we’ll give it to you,” Cade adds. “We don’t want you to feel pressured.”

“So you’re really going to do it?” Sasha asks, her eyes wide.

“Looks that way.”

“What’s your stage name going to be?” Sasha asks.

“Stage name?”

“Well, yeah, everyone has one. They all reflect their abilities. Taser can use his hands like a Taser gun. Brett … well, it’s not his ability, but he’s freakishly strong, so they call him Brawn.” The more Sasha talks, the more animated and excited she’s getting. “There’s also Inferno, he throws a wicked fireball. Psych literally psyches you out—he gets in your mind and makes you feel pain without physically hurting you. There’s Chi, she sucks in the energy all around her and uses it to create blasts, knocking her opponent out. And then there’s—”

“Sasha, stop overwhelming the poor girl,” Cade says. My face must look as distraught as I suddenly feel.

“All I’m saying is she needs the perfect name.”

“Well, we have a month to figure one out,” Cade says.

“Better go get some rest, Nuka,” Jonas says. “You start training tomorrow.”

***

“Here. Put this on your eye,” Brett says, handing me an icepack.

Touching it to my face, I gasp and wince in pain. “Didn’t your mother ever teach you not to hit girls?”

“You think the others in the arena are going to care you’re a girl? You’re going to have to get used to being hit. A lot of those other guys you’ll meet will do way worse than what I’ve done to you.”

Holding the icepack to my left eye, I look up at Brett towering over me and try to give him my best scowl face. He’s breathing heavy from our training session, sweat gleaming off his naked abs. I shake my head at my where my thoughts are headed.
Who cares about his stupid abs?

Each training session is more brutal than the last. Brett doesn’t only                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                     have me fighting him, but he’s making me do weights as well to build up my non-existent muscles. All I’ve been doing is breathing, eating, sleeping, and training.

Declan keeps calling on Brett’s line for me to catch up with him. I haven’t seen him since I first came here almost two weeks ago. This is the longest I’ve gone without seeing him, and I’m running out of excuses as to why I can’t. Turning up in bruises isn’t an option. He’ll assume all the wrong things, and I can’t tell him the truth.

But damn, I miss him.

The reality of what I’m doing comes crashing down on me. “At this rate, I don’t think I’ll ever be ready for the arena.”

“You will be. You just need to build up some tolerance.”

“To pain?”

“Exactly. How else do you think I survive in there? I don’t exactly have an ability that helps me in that department. I just endure it. You’re doing really great so far, you’re great at self-defence, and I can hardly get a shot in. But when I do, you go down like a ton of bricks. The other problem we’re facing is your offensive tactics are shocking, and you don’t have the endurance to wear your opponent out before striking. What exactly is your ability? I mean … I know you can heat things, and burn the crap out of me,” he smiles, “but how does it work?”

“I convert electromagnetic energy into microwaves and manipulate it into various effects like heat, light, and radiation.”

“In English, please.”

“I thought you said you were smart?” I say, wincing in pain again. It feels like my cheek is on fire. Ignoring his smirk, I begin to explain. “I really am like a walking microwave. I can heat anything with any part of my body, even my mind. Although it takes a lot longer without touching something. The night you grabbed me and I burnt you, that was me focusing all of my energy on just my hands. I contemplated trying to burn you all over with my body, but the more surface I have to heat, the longer it takes.”

“But you don’t have to be touching your opponent?”

“No. But I don’t think you understand just how long we’re talking. I can cook eggs, and heat small things with relative ease, but people? We’re talking … I don’t know how long, I’ve never actually tried, but it’d be hours, I’m guessing. Not to mention deadly … probably.”

“Doesn’t mean we can’t try and find a way to use it to our advantage.” He holds out his hand to help me up. “Come on. Break’s over.”

“Ugh, really?” I say, pointing to my face.

“Push through it, Nuke. You’ve only got a few weeks before they test you in that arena. You need to be ready … or at least strong enough not to get killed.”

“No pressure,” I mumble.

I get to my feet just as Sasha bursts through the doors to our training room, which is Brett’s very own personal gym. Perks of the job, I suppose.

“The Girl on Fire!” Sasha screams.

Brett matches my disgusted face. “No,” we say in unison.

“Thought that was a long shot,” she replies, exiting the room with her head held low.

“They’re getting worse,” I say to Brett. “That one doesn’t even make sense. My ability has nothing to do with fire.”

So far, we have rejected Lava Girl, The Heat, Scorcher and Hot Stuff. That last one was Drake’s suggestion—not surprisingly.

“But you could set things on fire if you heated them enough, right?” Brett asks.

I shrug. “I can create sparks with metal and stuff. I once blew up a car battery … but that was with the help of someone who amplified my ability.”

Brett scratches his head. “What about Emme?”

“Emme?”

“For a name. Electromagnetic Microwaveable Energy. E-M-M-E.”

I shrug. “It’s not the worst. But it doesn’t really have much … pizazz. Brawn vs. Emme. Gee, I’d wonder who’d win that fight.”

“Well, definitely Brawn if you don’t stop stalling and actually do some training,” he says with a smile, dragging me onto the soft training mats.

“Why do I need a nickname anyway? Nuka matches my ability perfectly.”

“And if Litmus was to be discovered and the
new face
of Deakin was using her real name? It wouldn’t be hard to track you down. Especially with a name like Nuka.”

“Naw, is the
old
face of Deakin upset about being replaced?” I ask, picking up on his emphasis of “new face.”

“Pfft. Hardly. I’m only in it for the money, not the fame.” He takes a step closer to me, confiscating my icepack. “Besides, with a face like yours, they’re making the right choice. So long as we can keep said beautiful face intact.”

“You think I’m beautiful?”

He rolls his eyes. “You know you’re beautiful.”

A blush starts at the base of my neck, making its way up to my face, but before it has a chance to take over me, Brett’s swinging an open palm towards me.

We fight and train using many forms and techniques from different areas of martial arts, boxing, and self-defence. It’s exhausting.

I duck out of the way, his hand just missing my head. I lunge forwards, pushing him as hard as I can in his stomach. He stumbles back but is on me again within seconds.

My hands fly up in defence, blocking him.

“Hit me, Nuka,” he growls at me.

“I’m trying, you asshat.” I raise my fist only to have it caught by Brett in his hand.

“Not hard enough.”

I’m suddenly reminded of a time, only a few years ago, when I was training with my little brother, Will.

“Hit me, Nuka. Hit me. You can’t, can you? Nope, I’m too quick for you!” he teased, shuffling around and bouncing back and forth on the balls of his feet, as if he was doing some fight dance.

I wasn’t in the mood. The sun was hot on my back, my mouth was dry, and I felt like retching all over the green grass of our backyard. Having gone out the night before with friends from school, I was fighting a major hangover. I couldn’t tell Will that, though. I was only seventeen, and he’d rat me out to Mum and Dad.

“Just because you went through a sudden growth spurt and are now taller than me, that doesn’t mean I can’t kick your butt, little boy.”

“I’d like to see you try,” he taunted.

I wanted to wipe that look off the eleven-year-old’s face. His ego needed to be taken down a notch.

While he was showboating about, I was heating my right hand. By the time he stopped mucking around and started our sparring routine, it only took one hit. I punched him in the face, hard.