Page 79 of A Little Broken

“Neither do we.” Hawke shrugs. “But it’s an opportunity?—”

“I don’t give a shit about the opportunity, either,” I return.

“Come on, man,” Roman says. “We need you.”

“Bullshit,” I start.

“Do it for Rafe.”

Feeling sucker punched, I jerk back and replay his comment, but a buzzing hits my ears, convincing me I misheard him. “What did you say?”

“I said, do it for Rafe,” Roman repeats. Cooly. Calmly. Like he didn’t just throw my best friend’s name in my face. “We both know my brother would’ve done anything for you.”

“Except stop pushing drugs despite me telling him it was gonna bite him in the ass,” I spit. “And would you look at that.” My upper lip curls. “It did.”

Unaffected, Roman argues, “Without him, you would’ve never picked up the guitar again. You wouldn’t be where you are today. You wouldn’t have this life. You wouldn’t have anything without him.”

My lungs stall as I stare back at him, and I swear it’s like looking into his brother’s eyes.

In a fucked up way, he’s right. Without Rafe’s arrest, I would’ve continued spiraling. Would’ve continued fighting and fucking and doing drugs until it killed me or put me behind bars. Seeing your best friend hauled away in handcuffs will do it to a guy. Shake you straight. But it doesn’t take the guilt away. The reminder that maybe if I’d pushed Rafe harder, if I hadn't dropped it, he would’ve chosen a different path. He would still be free. And I’ll carry the guilt of it for the rest of my life.

“Fuck you, Roman,” I murmur. But there isn’t any malice in it. How can there be? He’s as much of a victim of his older brother’s decisions as I am. Nah. My words are laced with defeat, and Roman knows it as well as I do.

Something flickers in his cool, dark gaze, but it disappears in an instant. “Someone pulled out,” he explains. “Someone pulled out, and it would save us a big headache if you stepped in. One night. That’s all.”

“And if it blows up in your face?” I challenge. “It’s not like I’m gonna be recognized or some shit, right?”

Leaning closer to Hawke, Ford mutters, “I think he’s missing the point.”

“Me, too,” Hawke replies.

Meanwhile Jagger’s eyes stay trained on me, but he doesn’t say a word, and it’s starting to piss me off.

“Who wouldn’t want to see a rockstar brawl underground?” Roman explains. “The crowd. The opponents. The people throwing down bets. It’ll be one of the biggest fights to date.”

“Until your little fighting ring is exposed for the world to see,” I argue.

Silence echoes throughout the room as each of the boys exchange guarded looks. Everyone except Jagger. Because this is a two-edged sword, and despite their arrogance, there’s a reason they keep everything on the down-low. They don’t exactly want the spotlight on them, either. Not if they can help it.

“We can handle it,” Ford announces.

“Of course you can,” I mutter. “You don’t think there’s an issue connecting me to what you guys have going on underneath the table? You said so yourself, everyone’s going to recognize me?—”

“And we said we’d handle it,” Ford repeats.

I shake my head. “If I agree to this, it’ll piss your dad and uncle off even more.”

“Let us take care of Daddy Dearest and Uncle Judge,” Hawke growls.

“Okay, so you’ve considered every angle,” I assume. “And you’ll take care of it.” I nod slowly. “Sounds like you’ve thought of everything.”

“You’re making this bigger than it needs to be,” Ford returns. “Half the fun of fight night—actually, every event we put on—is the fact that no one talks about it. Hell, no one even knows when it’s happening or where it’ll be until a few hours beforehand. There are no cameras. No evidence. No trace of anything. You might be a rockstar, Paxton Six, but we’re fuckin’ royalty around here. And if we want, you’ll be nothing but a ghost doing your best friend’s little brother a favor.”

My fists tighten at my sides, and I fight the urge to smack the asshole upside the head. This is what Judge is worriedabout. This is why he’s here. They’re cocky motherfuckers who feel untouchable. And maybe they are…for now. But it’s bound to catch up to them, and when it does? Who knows what could happen.

“Let me get this straight,” I grit out. “You’renotblackmailing me or trying to guilt trip me or?—”

“Rafe’s mistakes are his own,” Jagger announces. “And that’s final. You owe us nothing, and we all know you can walk out that door of your own free will. This is nothing but a proposition.”

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