Page 1 of Bad Boy
CHAPTERONE
REMI
Red and blue flashing lights illuminate the dark alleyway I’m currently sprinting down. Discarded glass bottles and cardboard boxes line the piss-stained concrete, and even in my haste, I wrinkle my nose at the offensive stench. I reach a dead end, throw my hands up, and slam into the chain link fence blocking my way to the other side of the alley and sidewalk beyond.
Shit.
Bouncing on my toes, I glance behind me, ensuring I haven’t been found yet. I focus my attention back on the hurdle in front of me. My eyes scan the height, calculating the distance to gauge whether I can make it up and over before the spotlights alert every cop out here to my presence.
Someone snitched tonight, and everyone fled the abandoned automotive warehouse where my boy Hydro was hosting this week’s fight night. I had just whooped Derek’s ass—laid him flat on the floor, out fucking cold—when the first bullhorn demanded that we exit the premises with our hands up. Yeah fucking right, assholes. This is Detroit; we run. It’s not like they can catch fifty kids, anyway. I’ll take my chances running the streets over surrendering to these fuckers any day.
I can’t change directions now, so I back up several paces and give a running leap at the flimsy metal fence. I land, clinging on like a fucking koala, the chain links rattling loudly as I quickly scale the remaining six feet. I swing my leg over very,verycarefully; the pointy tops of the fence arewaytoo fucking close to my junk right now. I’m still in my tight black jeans, black combat boots, and no shirt—my go-to fight gear. Sweat runs down my face and chest in rivulets, even though it’s a cool sixty-five degrees in mid-September.
The police still haven’t spotted me, but the flashing lights and wailing sirens give me anxiety, so I frantically descend the other side of the fence to my freedom. I jump down the last couple of feet and land with a splat, right into a dirty puddle on the broken concrete below. I spin on my heel and take off, dodging the overflowing city dumpsters, like this is a fucking obstacle course and not just a normal Friday night for me in the slums of Detroit.
Just as I think I’m home free, I’m completely blindsided and tackled to the ground. My already bruised cheek grinds against the rough cement, and I grit my teeth as my arms are yanked behind me and handcuffed forcefully. My jaw aches with the force of keeping my mouth shut and my protests internalized while I’m roughly manhandled and read my rights simultaneously. Although they completely go in one ear and out the other.
Son of a bitch.
Mom’s gonna be so pissed at me.
Again.
* * *
My earbuds are in, my eyes are closed, and I’m ignoring any conversation Mom tries to strike up with me. I’m not even upset we’re moving to North Carolina—back home was a shithole, and I won’t miss anyone except maybe Hydro. And that’s mainly because he had the best weed in Michigan.
I’m hoping they grow some good bud here in the mountains, and I’m also hoping this isn’t some backward ass town with fuck all to do. Mom didn’t tell me much; she’s still pretty mad. Okay, scratch that. She’s fucking livid.
Getting arrested last month spiraled into a mess of unintended consequences, including getting expelled and Mom losing her job. Franklin Park Public High, the actual shittiest place on earth, kicked me out for supposedly aiding and abetting these fight nights and using school grounds to promote violence and anarchy. A fucking joke if you ask me. I fight. For money. That’s it. I’m not the ringleader ofshit. But what can I do? One look at my juvie record, and I wouldn’t believe me either.
Mom says she spent half her savings on my lawyer, which is why I’m not in jail right now. Also because I was still seventeen when I got arrested last month. I turned eighteen a couple of weeks later. Happy fucking birthday to me. My gift was being on house arrest with a mom who currently hates my guts.
I’m lucky Terry is the best lawyer in Metro Detroit. And I’m lucky Mom had enough in her bank account to pay for him. I owe her five thousand dollars and intend to pay every fucking penny back, even if it takes a few well-planned risks to get there. I’ll do it for her. She’s had a shitty life, to be honest, and half of it is probably my fault.
Pregnant at sixteen, she was kicked out by her parents and left town to live with my father, who was two years older than her and had friends with a cheap place to rent all the way up in Detroit.
They took a risk and built the best life they could out there, but the asshole turned into a drunk and left a few months ago—for his twenty-year-old mistress. This is nothing new. He’s done this my whole life, and I hate that Mom put up with it for so long.
I have no idea where he is, and I don’t give a single fuck, either. I’ll beat the shit out of him if I ever see him again, so it’s for the best. I don’t think I have another “get out of jail free” card.
Mom had to take so much time off from the cafe, dealing with my lawyer and the court, that they let her go. She could have easily found another restaurant or diner to waitress at, and I could have gotten my GED. But I think she’s just tired. I don’t blame her. I’m tired, too. And I’ve only been doing this for eighteen years.
The lease on our crappy one-bedroom apartment ended, and apparently, Mom finally made the call she’s been avoiding since she left at sixteen. This leads us to where we are now—on the road to her hometown.
Hunter Springs, North Carolina.
I have no fucking clue what to expect. Mom’s been pretty tight-lipped about everything, including her relationship with her dad. And I haven’t asked about her mother—I know when to shut my mouth. Sometimes.
“Remi, did you hear me?” Mom’s annoyed tone pulls me from my thoughts. I open my eyes, focusing back on the green pastures speeding by my passenger window.
Cows. Cows. And more fucking cows.
I tap my earbud, pausing my newest moody mix, and turn to face her. “Sorry, Ma. What?”
“You need to go to the high school first thing tomorrow morning. They’ll help you register, and a student guide will show you around.” She impatiently drums her short pink nails on the steering wheel, even though we still have a good five hours left on this ten-hour journey. Her shiny dark hair is pulled back into two French braids, making her look even younger than her already youthful thirty-four years. I’ve had people ask my entire life if she’s my big sister or babysitter. It’s fucking annoying.
I bite the inside of my cheek to stop the unnecessary comments from bursting out of me. I don’t need a fuckingguide. What is this? The Oregon Trail? I can read a map just fine. “Okay, but I don’t need to waste anyone’s time showing me around. I can handle a campus map on my own.”
