My heart skipped a beat when he said my name. His Irish accent elongated the “a” so it sounded like “ah.”
“My dad signed me up for jazz class when I was five, and I’ve danced ever since.” I loved dancing, and I think some of that was because it was all I had left of him. He used to come watch all my recitals. I’d heard him and my mom argue about him spending money on classes for me, but no matter what, he made sure I had my dance classes. Then when I was ten, he was diagnosed with cancer, and within months he was gone.
He paused a minute as if contemplating his words before he said, “Are you any good?”
I laughed. “Not really.” At least that was what my mom said. She hated me dancing, and I didn’t get why. But I’d never give it up because dancing lived inside me. I wasn’t currently able to pay for any classes, but I still practiced every chance I got.
My dad used to say I was his little fiery sprite. I wasn’t very fiery, but I had red hair. I missed my dad every single day. I think my mom did too in her own way, and that was why she started on those pills the doctor gave her after he died. She was so different, sad all the time and well, not very nice.
“Then why bother?”
I huffed. “Wow, your jerk meter is getting higher every time you open your mouth.”
There was the slightest twitch at the corner of his mouth. Or maybe I imagined it because I wished he were mildly amused.
I continued, “You’ve obviously mastered the art of being a dick. Maybe you should learn something new like being nice.”
“No, I’d suck at it.” I tried to stop the smile from emerging but failed and found myself laughing. “Easier to keep doing what you’re good at.”
“Like fighting?”
He shrugged.
“Maybe you’d be good at doing something else with your hands other than throwing punches.”
“Mmm,” he drawled, and this time I was sure I saw his lips twitch. “Please, educate me, Savvy. What do you advise I do with these hands?”
I stiffened, and at the same time, my belly flipped. It was like all that anger and scariness melted away with a simple lifting of the corners of his mouth and a bright spark in the depths of his green eyes.
I licked my lips then swallowed. “That’s not what I meant.” I may be young and a virgin, but it was pretty clear from his tone what he was making a reference to.
I should’ve kept my mouth shut and kept walking.
“I know. I’m attempting to keep up with your low opinion of me. Tell me, what do you have in mind for my hands?” he asked.
I tried to ignore that sexy undertone, but it was hard with that Irish lilt he had. “Well, you play the drums, right?” He nodded. “When you’re angry, you could hit them instead of people. Or maybe take up boxing or something.” Or maybe get some help. Like my mom needed, but refused to do.
He remained quiet. Expression void. Yep, void. He wasn’t angry, amused, just… nothing.
“Never mind,” I muttered under my breath and went to leave when he snagged my arm and stopped me. My breath hitched, and everything in my body went on high speed.
My heart pounded so hard that the sound echoed in my head.
“No fuckin’ clue, orchid,” he said.
Whoa. What? I didn’t care what he said. It was what he called me. I stared at him like he’d grown wings, horns, and a dragon tail. Orchid? Why did he call me orchid?
Killian Kane had a nickname for me?
And it was a nice nickname. Not like Ryan from English class who called me “sniper dream.” I wasn’t sure if that was because I was slightly overweight or I had red hair.
He released my arm. “You need a ride. We’re at the river.” Then he said in a firm tone, “There is no job for you, Savvy. I’ve told Sculpt the same thing.”
The school doors burst open and a bunch of guys barreled out, excitedly talking about the upcoming fight.
Craig, a beefy guy, jumped on another guy’s back and they nearly tumbled down the stairs. I heard him say to Killian, “How did you get out of detention so fast?”
I didn’t hear a response because I quickly turned and walked away as fast as my trembling legs could carry me while trying to appear as if I wasn’t running away.
“What the fuck is she doing here? I told you I didn’t want her here.”
This was Killian, and he was not cool with me taking the job Sculpt offered. I wasn’t exactly cool with taking the job Sculpt offered either because of where it was, but the money was too good to pass up. And the fact was I wanted to prove to Killian and myself that I wouldn’t run away crying.
“She wanted the job and we needed someone,” Sculpt said. “I told her it’s only this once.”
He had. Actually, he’d said no at first, but then I begged because it was a hundred bucks an hour and I could use it for dance classes.
Besides, no one my age would refuse that.
The hitch was that the job was at an underground fight. An illegal, underground fight that changed locations every week, so the police didn’t catch on to its location.
I’d never done anything illegal, and my rationale was I wasn’t doing anything illegal by going. It wasn’t like I was fighting or anything.
According to Sculpt, all I had to do was look after a few minor injuries after the fight, and since I had my first aid certificate and volunteered at the hospital as well as with the school nurse, I was more than capable.
I asked him if I had to actually watch the fight and he’d shrugged and told me he didn’t give a shit what I did as long as I was there and could do the job.
The thought of watching the fight made my stomach curdle. Thankfully when I told Mars about the job, she totally freaked and insisted on coming with me.
Sculpt told me the location, time, and then a warning if I called the police about any of this, he’d deal with me.