New York Crime Kings Box Set: Books 1-4 (14 page)

Pain

Emily

Jesus!

I gasp and flinch away from the warm fingers suddenly caressing the back of my hand. I snap my head to the side and my pulse beats too fast under my skin as I make eye contact with
him
.

Jai Stone
.

His eyebrows are drawn, his lips pressed into a firm line. It’s a look of concern and compassion—a look I’ve come to expect from him. I shouldn’t be so surprised he’s here by my side at the first sign of trouble. Jai always manages to find me when I need it, and I hate the fact that the distress plainly visible on my face, is the very reason why he finds me.

I’m not weak
.

I straighten my shoulders to appear unbothered, despite the terror that clings to me. He should stay away from me. Didn’t he see the way Skull looked at me? He has me in his grasp, and that’s not a good thing for Jai. Especially when he wants Skull’s head and I’m the only other person down here privy to that information. Not to mention the fact I have an extremely low pain threshold. If Skull demands information while gripping the hilt of a knife, I might not be able to keep my mouth shut.

Despite our feud, I swallow hard and unclench my hand, exposing my palm. Two men are about to die and I need comfort. I need to be comforted by the only person who
can
comfort me. Warm tingles exude from his fingertips and dance across my palm. I marvel at the softness of his touch. How is such a thing possible with hands as rough and as calloused as his? I’ve seen what they’re capable of. The very fingers that offer me gentle comfort now, were clenched and dripping in someone else’s blood not so long ago. What else can his body mask so effortlessly I wonder? Deep down, is he a killer or a man who will do anything to save his brother? When it comes down to it, are the two that different? I can’t answer that. I don’t have anyone in my life I’d kill for.

My insides tighten with tension as Skull’s men carry the broken bodies from the cage and over to the railing. I study the thug’s faces, my heart threatening to beat holes in my chest. What is going through their heads at this moment? Do they feel any discomfort at all? Taking a life can’t be easy and I wonder if they think about it later on. Or are they dead inside? Maybe it comes easy to them—like doing the dishes or taking out the trash. I don’t know how they do it. I’ve had no part in it and yet I feel guilty, and I suppose in a way, I’m just as responsible for their murder as Skull is.

One of the goons, the one with the bald head and loose jeans, lifts the ‘winner’ over his head and holds him there for everyone to see. I look away from his twisted body. I’m on edge. My heart shudders and shakes like a million tiny birds are trapped inside, their thrumming wings unstoppable. Heat, a nervous heat, blooms in my armpits and down my spine. It takes everything in me not to cry. I want to cry, but I’m afraid of being weak and down here you can’t be weak. I want to be strong—like Jai. Maybe what bothers me most about what he did, is that he did it, seemingly without thought. He did what he had to do. There was no worry, no confusion. He pulled his emotions out of it and secured a position in round two. No one had to save him and no one helped him. He did it all on his own. Jai is strong and brave—and as much as it kills me to say it—I envy him. And I hate it.

Curious, I make the mistake of looking back to the thugs at the edge of the bottomless tunnel just as the second body goes over the railing. His lifeless body rises up through the air in slow motion before it plummets like a comet and falls out of sight. My stomach churns. My pulse slows to a laborious, sad beat, and it echoes in the silence of the room as quiet tears spill over the rims of my eyes.

“It’s over,” Jai murmurs in my ear and I close my eyes.

He moves behind me, caressing both of my arms with his rough hands. As the crowd dissipates, I let Jai comfort me for a little while longer. When I’m numb, I’m not mad at him. I’m not anything.

When everyone is almost gone, sickness oozes over me like slime and I fight the urge to power chuck everywhere. I help
save
lives. I don’t stand by and watch them end.

“It’s far from over,” I tell him, opening my eyes.

It’s not over until the last fight has been fought—until Skull has crowned his new minion. I’ll never kill for him. Skull can extort information from me, he can tease me, torment me, torture me, but he’ll never use me to take a life. I won’t have that on my conscience. Some of these other fighters choose to take lives...they choose to fight in the name of Skull. Jai included. Every day I ask myself why Joel’s life is worth more than anyone else’s. Why is he worth saving and risking your life for, but no one else here is? My anger comes back then, rushing through me like nothing else. It consumes me.

Burns me.

Fuels me.

I pull myself from Jai’s hands and storm away. I want nothing more than to leave my conscience and my virtues at the door, and to fight through this, doing whatever is requested of me. But I can’t. That’s not me. Don’t get me wrong. I am a fighter, make no mistake about that. I’m just not the kind of fighter they are. My battles are emotional, not physical. Most days, I fight for the lives of others so they can spend more time with their loved ones. That’s how I live my life. I can’t change now. I won’t.

***

I inhale deeply, letting the heavy, moldy air burn my lungs as I hold it in. I stare at the decaying wall in front of me, trying desperately to calm the painful pulse in my chest and where my head meets my neck. If my death doesn’t involve a fighter crushing me to a pulp I’m sure it’ll involve a brain aneurysm. Is it possible for your skull to compress and crush your brain? I feel like I should know this.

This place gives me a headache. I can’t handle it. The suspense, the drama, the games. How can people live like this? I take back every negative thing I’ve ever said about my previous life. I love it and I miss it.

It was so simple.

I got up, I went to the hospital, I came home and I slept. Rinse and repeat. I often begged for excitement or a change. Too many times I imagined a blackout at the hospital or a mugging on the train. I wanted something—anything—to happen to distract me from my everyday life.

Anything but this.

This is not what I had in mind at all. I close my eyes, exhale, and reopen them. I will make it through this. Somehow.

“Emily, I—” Jai stops as I turn to look at him.

I’m sure my eyes are red and puffy, my skin as white as snow, but I don’t care. It’s not like anyone else down here looks great either. Already the tunnels are taking their toll—on all of us. People are getting sick and others are going crazy. At this rate, Skull will have his winner by the end of next week.

I wait for him to continue, wondering what he possibly has to say that hasn’t already been said. His blue eyes, dark in this light, soften as he unfolds his large arms.

“You can’t hate me forever. Whether you like it or not, we’re in this together.”

Ah. This conversation again.
I sniffle and shift my weight onto my right leg. “Together implies we are a team. You act on your own. That’s not teamwork.”

“What did you expect me to do? You were all over the place before the fight. I took charge because I knew that you, in your fragile state, wouldn’t have been able to handle it.”

“You don’t know me.” I snap. “I’ve been through more shit in my life than a trust fund baby like you. So your brother chose to join a criminal empire. Big fucking deal. Let him be. It’s obviously what he wants.”

A loud growl tears from Jai and I jump as he lashes out and punches the concrete wall. I clamp my mouth shut as my heart pounds like a million stampeding wildebeests. Broken pieces of skin stick out from his knuckles and blood begins to trickle over the busted flesh. The sight of it turns my stomach.

“My life is so fucking awesome because I have money, right? My biggest issue is a spoiled brother who chose to join a gang for attention, right?”

I wrap my arms around my waist. “I—”

“Wrong. Little Miss Orphan thinks she’s been through a lot? You don’t fucking know pain. You don’t know what I’ve had to suffer through.” He pauses to stare at me. Our gaze never separates, not until he exhales and cradles his bleeding hand. “I can be your best friend or your worst enemy, Kitten. I can help you get out, or I can leave you to rot. Either way, I’m getting what I came for.”

With his clean hand, he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a roll of cash. It’s the money from my win. For days we’ve been tossing it back and forth, neither of us wanting to claim it. Jai tosses the roll at me and I clumsily manage to free my hands and catch it before the paper hits the damp ground. I look at him.

“Make a choice,” he says, before turning and leaving.

I stare down at the money. I’ve detached myself from it. In my hands, it feels alien and wrong, but I guess Jai is no longer giving me a choice. What kind of pain has he possibly endured? I want to know.

Sighing, I pull a hundred dollar bill from the roll before bending low and stuffing the rest of it underneath my pillow. I sloppily fold the money and slip it under the waistband of my jean shorts. I’m heading to the bar.

God knows I need a drink.

Gifts

Jai

I stuff a handful of cash into my back pocket and pull a clean t-shirt over my head, inhaling the fresh cotton. I’m quickly running out of clean clothes. I push my arms through the holes and pull it down over my stomach. At some point I need to gather my laundry and wash it in the bathing area. I’m tired of everything smelling like blood, rust and mold. It already hangs thick in the air. I don’t need to wear it too.

Behind me, shoes scuff against concrete and I glance over my shoulder, hoping to see Emily. Instead, an intoxicated Raf stumbles by. I take in his swollen eyes and clammy skin before looking away. I don’t blame him for indulging in the drink. One of the fighters who went over the railing was his friend and roommate. It’s a bad situation no matter how you look at it, but at least it will encourage him to fight harder. If he doesn’t, if he fights like his friend, he’s as good as dead.

Speaking of roommate, where the fuck is Kitten? She’s been gone for a while now and I’m willing to bet my next winnings she’s out doing something stupid.

Guilt turns my stomach at the thought of her and the way she looked. It’s been years since I’ve lost my cool like that. Normally, I can channel it and use it in my fights, but earlier, I had no control over my anger. I hate that about her. No one has made me as mad as she did for a very long time. What is it about her that I find so damn irritating, yet so endearing in the same instance? Maybe it’s me. I’ve always had an affinity for lost creatures—animals, insects, humans—I’m lured to the ones that don’t have anywhere to go. Emily is lost. She doesn’t see it, but her old life is a weight strapped to her petite ankles. If we aren’t killed down here and we make it out in one piece, I’d like to help her find her true calling. I think I’m destined to fight for the rest of my life since it’s all I’ve done for so long, but Kitten can do anything… and I want to help her. It’s the least I can do after everything we’ve been through.

I look down at my battered hand. Dry blood coats the cuts and grazes, broken skin juts out of place, and the bruising around my knuckles is starting to show. I clench my fist and my jaw clamps shut at the same time my skin stretches and my bones complain. If I have to fight in the next few days, my right hand will be out of order, and it won’t matter how good I am. A weakness is a weakness, and any fighter knows exactly how to exploit it.

“What’s your pain?” she asks, a strange slur attaching itself to the end of her sentence.

There she is
. Slowly, I turn around. Kitten sways and blinks for a second too long. She’s drunk as fuck—a very dangerous state to be in, between the bar and our room. How she made it back unscathed is a feat all on its own. Hair that was neatly tied back is now disheveled like she’s spent the last two hours nervously running her fingers through it.

I frown. “What?”

“What—” she hiccups and closes her eyes. “—is your pain?”

Her lids are heavy, pulled down by the effects of the alcohol she’s obviously guzzled. Eventually, she manages to haul her eyes open.

I lift my sore hand. “A few busted knuckles. It looks worse than it feels.”

Her head lolls back, impatiently. “That’s not what I meant.”

“I know.”

She wants me to tell her about my life—about the pain I was referring to—but now isn’t the time. Besides, I don’t particularly like rehashing my past to others. Only my family knows the heartache I’ve had to face…because it affected us all.

Realizing I won’t tell her, Emily sighs and turns toward her bed. “I consumed a boatload of booze just to gather the confidence to ask you that question, asshole. The least you can do is answer it.”

And maybe I will answer it…one day. Stuck in her ponytail, I spot a large piece of cobweb—spiderless, lucky for her.

“Why?” I ask, stepping closer.

Emily freezes, her body as stiff as stone, as I reach out and pull the cobweb free. Her brows, no longer perfectly tweezed, draw together and her lips part, expelling her hot, quick breath. I let go of the soft, broken cobweb she doesn’t see and it floats to the floor.

“Because you scare me.”

She angles her body so she’s facing me front on. Her shoulders are tense and her nerves are frazzled. I know because they’re crackling between us like lightning. Subtly, barely three inches from mine, her chest begins to heave as breathing becomes difficult.

I angle my head. “I scare you?”

She nods, swaying slightly. “Not all the time…sometimes.”

I swallow hard, taking down words like ‘
don’t be scared
’ and ‘
you have nothing to be afraid of
…because she should be scared, and she does have something to be afraid of. I’d never cause her any physical harm, but emotionally…emotionally I’ve already betrayed her. I’m not like Emily, the New York City nurse, carer of the sick and wounded. I’ve done terrible things to get where I am. I’ve taken a life—
four
lives—and I did it without remorse. If she knew…she wouldn’t be here with me now; and I need her.

I need her, and not just for my plan to ruin Skull, either.

I need her selfishly.

I need the sense of normalcy she brings to my life. She stops me from going crazy. She keeps me out of my own head. That’s the thing about revenge. It’s not a temporary state of mind. It’s a sickness, a disease that consumes you inch by inch until nothing else matters. My hate for Skull runs a hell of a lot deeper than my brother working for him. Skull is the reason I lost my parents and my sister. Joel working with Skull is the cherry on top of the fucked-up sundae that Skull has served me. I won’t sit idly by and do nothing.
Not this time
.

I need her to give me a sense of normalcy—to stop me from going crazy, to keep me out of my own head.

“Good.” I state, taking a slight step away from her trembling lips. “I should scare you.”

I turn from her and take a step toward the door. I’m stopped when her small hand wraps around my wrist. It feels nice—
better
than nice. I love the way she feels. I love how soft her skin is even though she’s been underground for weeks.

“You also make me feel safe.”

I look at her, conscious of her soft fingers that glide up my arm and rest at the elbow. I study her sheepish expression, and it isn’t until the naked fire in her irises raises to a blaze that I see what she truly wants. A little bit of booze is all it takes to turn her disgust and hatred for me into desire? Then what? She goes back to being pissed off in the morning? I’d rather her stay pissed so I don’t have to deal with the whiplash.

“I thought you hated me,” I state, inching closer.

I tower over her and she cranes her neck to meet my eyes. She’s pretty from every angle. I wonder if she knows.

Her eyes narrow, her shoulders square. “I don’t hate you. I hate what you did, there’s a difference.”

“I saved your ass.”

She clenches her jaw and swallows hard. “You could have asked me if my ass needed saving in the first place.”

That’s a no brainer.
“It did.”

“Not your call to make.”

Not my call?
“Like hell it isn’t.”

What goes through her head, I’ll never know.

“It’s not, Jai. I’m big enough to make my own decisions. I don’t need you.”

I absorb my flinch on the inside, not allowing it to cross my features. She doesn’t need me? I know she doesn’t mean it in the way my emotions seem to be processing it, but nonetheless, it kind of stings. Frustration nags at my chest and rage tightens my muscles.

Rejection.
That’s what I’m feeling. After everything we’ve been through, after everything we’ve done, she doesn’t need me? I take in her clothes—clothes I put on her back—and that’s not all I’ve done. I put money in her pocket. I saved her fucking life.
Twice
. And she has the balls to say she doesn’t need me?

“You ungrateful little—” I grip her face and crush my mouth to hers, pouring all of my frustration into it—into
her
.

She kisses me back too. Her mouth, hot and wet, greedily devours mine. I push against her. She pushes back. Emily pulls at my shirt and claws my skin.
Like fuck she doesn’t need me
. I sink my teeth into her bottom lip and bite down until she hisses. With a slap on my shoulder, she pulls her lip free.

“Ow, you bit me!”

I smirk sardonically. “Don’t pretend you didn’t like it and bullshit you don’t need me, Kitten.”

She glares, folding her arms over her chest. “You think you’re so clever, don’t you, Stone?”

Narrowing her eyes, she leans in, her stance challenging.
The kitten has lion sized balls. Who knew?

“Don’t you wanna drug me first?” She says in a low, threatening tone, taking a shot at my integrity. I’ve never drugged a woman for sex in my life and I’m not about to start with her.

I laugh once.
The fucking nerve
. “Ah, the bitterness of rejection. It’s not a good look for you. Didn’t need to drug you the first time, Kitten. I doubt I’ll need to do it the next time either.”

Emily scoffs. “What makes you think I’d ever—”

I descend on her, claiming her lips with my own once again. She stumbles backwards and I follow, neither of us stable until the wall catches her and she grunts into my mouth. I want to pull away and mock her. I want to chastise her for being full of shit, but then we’d start arguing again and she’d stop talking to me. I can’t handle that hell. I like hearing her voice. Underground feels colder, lonelier, without her friendship—
Jesus Christ
. Listen to me. Can I sound any more ridiculous? If I keep this up, we’ll be braiding each other’s hair and chatting about our crushes by the end of the week.

I pull away and her eyelids flutter open. Her anger is gone and now I think about it, so is mine. We shouldn’t be fighting each other. Not when we’re already in the middle of a war.

“Can I tell you something?” I ask.

Her head falls back to rest against the wall and she blinks tiredly up at me. “Mmm?”

“You taste and smell like a Russian cab.”

When it sinks in, a large, goofy smile cracks her lips and teases my own. “A Russian cab, huh?”

I nod. “How much did you drink?”

“I went there with a hundred dollars and I came back with…” I step back so she can fumble through the pockets of her jean shorts. A small eternity passes before she pauses and glances up at me. “Nothing. I spent all of it.”

My eyes widen. “
All
of it? You drank a hundred dollars worth of shitty Vodka? Where are you storing it all and how are you still alive?”

Yawning, she slides out from between me and the wall. “I can hold my alcohol very well, thank you very much.”

“I believe you.”

With heavy shoulders and a sway in her steps, she drops onto her bed. The mesh creaks and complains, but never rips.

“This doesn’t solve anything, Jai. I may be drunk and a little turned on, but I’m still mad at you,” she mutters, pulling her knees into her chest and shutting her eyes.

“I know.” I sigh, raking my fingers through my hair.

She’s so still, so peaceful, I don’t even know if she can hear me.

“I know you are.”

***

“Stone?” Marcus whispers through the darkness.

Finally. Pushing off the wall, I step out of the shadows and into the murky, orange light.

“You get what I wanted?”

Marcus glances over his shoulder and runs his free hand through his brown hair. Apart from Emily, Marcus is the only other person I trust down here. Why? Because the money I give him pays for his daughter’s cancer treatment. Without me, she’d be struggling to breathe.

He tugs nervously at the collar of his tattered blue shirt and blows air out of his cheeks. I don’t think I’ve seen him so nervous. He’s been calm the last few times I’ve dealt with him, even when I had him retrieve the Tramadol for me.

“Barely,” he replies, pulling the handgun I requested out from underneath a brown rag. “What the fuck do you need a gun for?”