In the warehouse, I saw bleachers taking up two of the walls, but no one was using them at the moment. People were all standing around the metal octagon in the middle of the huge room, and I realized most of them were exchanging money—betting on the outcome of the fight about to take place.
“Lyla!”
I felt more than heard her sigh as she turned her head and looked straight at some guy with dreadlocks. He was lean, dressed in a white wife-beater and tattered jeans. Ink took up most of his left arm but was, oddly, not part of a sleeve.
Lyla paused, letting the guy come to us.
“What is it, Downtown?” she asked, a bite to her tone.
“Judge said to let you know he is looking for you. He’s not happy with you.” He sneered at her, and she lifted a brow, her entire expression blank as she stared him down. Only a handful of seconds later, he swallowed hard and
backed up a step. “So yeah, I’m just letting you know he’s looking for you.”
“Noted.” Without giving him a second look, she turned her back to him and walked away, taking me with her.
“I think I love you,” I told her with a laugh as we continued through the room. “Like, seriously, you’re a badass, and I had no clue.”
“I’m not a badass,” she denied with a roll of her eyes.
Momma was the most intimidating woman I’d ever met, but Lyla was inching her way closer to the top of that list.
“Who is this Judge guy Downtown said was looking for you?” I asked to change the subject.
She sighed heavily again. “My brother. I’ll introduce you to him later if he doesn’t piss me off between now and then.”
“And Judge is a cage name?” She nodded. “What’s his real name?”
“I would tell you, but then he’d make me kill you,” she said matter-of-factly, and honestly, I didn’t know if she was kidding or not.
Still, I laughed, not intimidated by her in the least. “Right. Judge it is, then.”
A grin teased at her full, pouty lips. Shaking her head, she stopped us right in front of a bar. Five bartenders worked behind it, exchanging cash for beers, bottled water, and glasses of wine, champagne, and an amber-colored liquor I assumed was whiskey of some kind. My family didn’t drink much, mostly out of respect for Uncle Drake, who, I’d been told, had had a bit of a problem with the bottle back before he’d married the love of his life.
Lyla stepped straight up to the bar. “Two vodka cranberries,” she told the guy and tossed him a twenty.
Without his even checking our IDs, the drinks were set in front of her, and she picked them up, offering me one. My roomie was older than me, but I knew she wasn’t twenty-one yet. This guy didn’t seem to care one way or the other, though.
I took a sip, telling myself I would make it last for a while. I’d had a beer or two at parties I’d secretly gone to with Jordan in the past, but back then, dancing was everything, and I’d been scared to mess it up in any way if I got drunk.
Drink in hand, Lyla seemed to know where to go next, so I tagged along and people-watched.
“Lyla!”
I felt her tense, but she didn’t even pause as a growly voice behind us called her name. I linked my fingers through hers, silently telling her I was there if she needed me, and we kept walking.
“Ly-la!” that same voice yelled behind us. “I’m sorry, okay?”
She lifted her free hand, flipping the guy off as she put more distance between him and us.
Curious as to what the guy looked like, I glanced over my shoulder and nearly stumbled over my feet when I recognized him. Dressed in faded jeans and vintage rock T-shirt, his dark-blond hair bordering on shaggy, with a nose that must have been broken at least once in his life but only added to the appeal of his incredibly handsome face, he was enough to make any female trip over herself. But then recognition hit me, and I pictured my last student of the day walking away, her little hand waving as she walked beside her father.
“What’s wrong with you?” Lyla asked when I stopped walking, taking in the man who was plowing over people who weren’t quick enough to get out of his way.
“I know him,” I told her, and she followed my gaze.
Her gaze locked on the human tank quickly eating up the distance between us, and she shook her head. “No, you don’t. No one knows Howler. He makes sure of that.” She lifted her drink and drained the contents in a single swallow.
“No, I mean, I met him earlier.” As he neared, I smiled in greeting. “Josie’s dad, right?”