“We should have waited until you were a hundred percent.” Keira hissed when Kona rubbed the lotion too deeply onto her back. “Shit. Sorry, Wildcat.”

He kissed her just above the freshly inked tattoo and Keira felt the soft bristle of his stubble against her skin. “It’s okay, and I’m fine.” She looked over her shoulder and stole a quick kiss. “You worry too much.”

She tried to smooth away that wrinkle between his eyebrows, but it got deeper when Keira closed her eyes, gearing up for another bout of nausea. “See? That’s what I’m talking about,” Kona said. “You’re getting sick again.” He turned her shoulders and pulled her sweater up her back. “You need to rest.”

“I am not relapsing.” But even as she argued, Keira felt her stomach twist, felt the burn of upset rumble. “Ugh.”

“Uh huh.” Kona reached for the trash can and set it next to the bed. “Didn’t you say those girls on the second floor had to miss finals because they got sick?”

Her boyfriend was insufferable sometimes, and Keira could see the worry on his face, that quick lick of tension that told her no amount of lotion rubbing or stolen kisses would have him naked in front of her. Of course, they were at her mother’s lake house, and though Christmas was over and her mother and stepdad were still screaming at each other, Kona wouldn’t buy Keira’s promise that they wouldn’t know Keira was naked with her boyfriend in her bedroom.

Still, she had to try. “Let me see how yours is healing.” Keira fought Kona’s hands, batting away her fingers, and she smiled, victorious, when she got his buttons open.

The tattoo was beautiful, simple and elegant, but still very beautiful. Large looping letters that connected and formed Ku`u Lei, my beloved, right over Kona’s heart. The skin was still flaking, still healing, but the black ink had stayed and Keira placed a small kiss over the word, smiling against Kona’s chest when she felt his fingers shifting through her hair.

Kona had taken Keira to Michael’s tattoo shop, first thing Christmas Eve morning, with his fingers tapping against the steering wheel and a suspicious, wide smile making his face look ridiculous.

“Why am I up at 10:00 a.m. on a Wednesday morning?” When he’d only shrugged, grin splitting wider, she pinched his thigh.

“Ow, you little brat.”

“What are you up to?”

Kona had been up to her Christmas present. He’d stood in front of Michael’s workspace, hands slapping together as Leann’s boyfriend finished up the line drawing, but he wouldn’t let Keira see, wouldn’t let her anywhere near them for the half hour it took Michael to ink those letters into his skin. Finally, the work all done, and Kona’s smile had reached Joker levels, he nodded her over as Michael shot the soapy mixture of liquid onto Kona’s left pec. Ku`u Lei arched onto his skin and as Keira squinted to look at it, he grabbed her hand.

“It means ‘my beloved.’ That’s you, Wildcat.” Then Keira’s smile matched her boyfriend’s and Michael rolled his eyes, mumbling something about stupid tattoos as he walked away from them. He’d picked it because of the book, she was sure, because it was Morrison’s work that brought them to where they’d been that day. That book had been the catalyst, the true meaning behind what Keira wanted, what she thought Kona could never give her.

Ten minutes after Michael babbled on about cleaning and care, Keira had set her mind, and she didn’t listen to Kona’s protest when she told her cousin’s boyfriend what she wanted.

“A hibiscus on the center of your back?” Keira didn’t let Michael’s frown detract her. She ignored his attempts at changing his mind.

“Keira, you don’t have to.” Kona had frowned, but she saw the humor in his eyes; the pleased way he stared at her.

She wanted the flower, something that reminded her of Kona’s home, of the ridiculous petals he tore apart and scattered on her bed, wanted it right on the center of her back because that’s where Kona best liked to kiss her. The flower was beautiful—five orange and red petals highlighted in yellow, and deep green leaves all set in front of beautiful black and hooked swirls of filigree. Keira knew her mother would hate it. She thought it was perfect. 

Kona’s fingers tightened in her hair when Keira’s mouth lowered over his nipple, and she knew he wanted her to stop. She knew he didn’t want to boost the already high tension in that house. It was an understatement to say her mother had not been pleased when Kona stopped by unexpectedly, and she grew overly rude when Keira led Kona to her bedroom, telling Keira she wouldn’t let her “Carry on like a slut” in her house. It was Steven, though, that had stunned them all with his small rebuke against his wife’s cruelty.

“The girl is almost nineteen, Cora. There isn’t much you can keep her from doing now. Stop being so rigid.” Her stepfather’s words had been slurred, a bit clipped, and that had set off World War Three. Her mother’s shrieking reply to her husband began, and Steven seemed eager to lob the cruel, drunken comebacks at her. Keira could still hear the shouts growing louder downstairs.

She pulled back, jumping from her bed when she heard her mother pounding up the stairs. “Keira?” Three quick knocks on the door, which Keira had locked, and then the door rattled. “Keira, answer me.”

A quick glance over her shoulder to make sure Kona’s shirt was fastened and Keira opened the door an inch. “What, Mother?”

The woman moved her head around Keira’s arm, eyes squinting before she caught Kona standing in front of the French doors, hands in his pockets. “How long is he staying?” Then, before Keira could answer, she spoke again, voice louder. “This is highly inappropriate. You know that Mark wanted to see you. You know that his parents are having a party tonight and…”

“Mother, just stop.” She leaned against the door staring down into her mother’s red-rimmed eyes, shook her head at the way the woman’s pupils dilated. “Mark and I went out on one date. He’s my friend, and he’s moved on to, um, other things. He and I aren’t happening, so put it out of your mind.”

“I will not have you and that…that boy up here doing God knows what. Not in my house, Keira.”

“Will you kindly shut the hell up, Cora?” Steven’s voice carried from downstairs, and Keira looked down at her feet, trying not to laugh, and her mother’s eyes grew cold, straightening her shoulders at her husband’s loud shout.

“You know what?” She told her mother, standing up straight. “Why don’t you worry about your own crumbling relationship and leave mine alone?” The telltale scowl crossed her mother’s face, that heavy anger she always wore anytime Keira defied her, and Keira sighed, tired of the scare tactic. She saw the quick circle of her fist, knowing the woman itched to smack her, but Kona behind her in her room was like an electric current, shooting nerve, searing strength into her. She wouldn’t let her mother do that again, especially not in front of her boyfriend. “What? You wanna slap me around some more? Go ahead. Try it.”

Her mother’s shoulders grew tighter, straighter when Kona came to stand behind her, when the huge linebacker opened the door wider and pushed Keira behind him. “I don’t think she wants to do that, Wildcat. Do you, Mrs. Michaels?”

Keira’s mother hated Kona. Keira could see it. It was in the bend of her mouth, the way the woman stepped back. She didn’t quite cower, didn’t show her fear, but Keira knew what that frown meant; she knew that the pinched nose and curling lip meant that Kona’s presence in her home was distinctly distasteful, offensive, as though he was defiling her order, the pristine and sterile faux happiness her mother tried to present to the world. Kona was behind closed doors, and he’d seen what their lives were really like. That expression on her mother’s face showed anger, true, but real fear of what others would think—what they would say— if Kona spilled their secrets.

But the woman didn’t respond, didn’t try to threaten either of them. The crash of glass and Steven’s drunken cursing sounded from below, and she jumped, turned quickly to move down the stairs.

A quick shut and turn of the lock and Keira leaned against the door, dipping her head against Kona’s chest when he stood in front of her.

“How have you lived with that crazy bitch for so long?”

“You’d be surprised what you get used to.”

He tried to pull away; a soft kiss on the top of her head, and Kona inched back, likely wanted to get Keira back in bed to rest. But she hung onto him, fingers curled into his shirt, and she inhaled, rubbing her face against that hard, comforting chest. She wanted that distinct smell his skin always gave off to filter into her nose. He was warm; he was always warm, and it was that warmth and the heady smell of his body, of his cologne that Keira captured against her nose and held in her chest.

They had learned each other so well. It had only been months, but Keira knew only Kona could give her what she needed. It was his taste, his comfort, that she needed right then; only Kona could drive out the sounds of her mother screaming at her husband. Only Kona could fill her up, make the world fall away with his mouth and touch and addictive body.

She only needed to give him a look. Something brief, something real, and Kona’s defenses crumbled. He would never deny her. He would never turn his back on her when she ached for him. That night was no different. One brief smile and the pull of her fingers on his face, bringing him to her mouth, and Kona reacted, gave Keira his mouth, his tongue.

“Can’t get enough?” he said, breaking away from her teeth on his bottom lip.

“Of you? Never.”

Kona returned his attention to her mouth, tongue slipping in like it was welcomed. There was no preamble to those touches, no awkward movement that told Keira he held any hesitance. That died the moment she touched him. They moved together like choreography, each touch, each graze of fingers, giving off the grace of instinct, of desperate need that was natural, innate.

Kona’s hips against hers, his large, strong fingers digging into her backside and Keira smiled, feeling the outline of his erection, thinking she could almost taste how hungry he was for her. “You’re getting sick again, Wildcat. Maybe we shouldn’t do this.”

Keira was lightheaded, and she thought he was right. She thought maybe that flu was reemerging. But with Kona’s body so close to her, with his scent and touch so deeply sown in her senses, she couldn’t let him walk away. She couldn’t ignore what her body wanted from him. “We’ll be quick and then I promise I’ll go right back to bed.” She tugged him down again, rubbing against him, loving the way his eyes rolled up, how that low groan in his throat made her clit tingle. “Stop talking.”

He picked her up then, pulling her legs around his waist and Keira smiled, that same pleased, eager smile she reserved only for Kona when he let her have her way. His chest rumbled with laughter, and those large, dark eyes looked up to the ceiling, a long exhale working out of his mouth. “Spoiled brat.”

And then Kona wiped the smile from Keira’s face. Fingers beneath the waistband of her jeans, dipping under her thong so he could touch, capture the smile with his thumb on her clit and his hot, moist mouth on her neck. “Baby, you’re so wet for me.”

They ignored the roar from below, the loud, angry screech of her mother’s high voice and the crash of a glass, perhaps a bottle, slamming against the wall. “I hear where you get your lungs from.” Keira felt too much sensation to comment on his small dig. All that white noise of the room, of the row below them disappeared, shifted from Keira’s mind as Kona’s thumb worked fast, as he slipped two fingers inside her.

“I can’t. Do it, Kona. Please. I need you inside me.”

“Let me get a condom.”

Keira could hear the wind down, the slow finish of her mother and stepfather’s bellowing fight, and she knew there wasn’t time. She wanted to feel Kona. She wanted to feel all of him, and that touch, that release, could not be delayed. “No time, she’ll be back up here in a minute.” She leaned up, twisted her hips so that his fingers went deeper into her and Kona hissed, eyes closing as she squeezed her muscles against his fingers. “Just…just pull out.”

He didn’t need convincing. Kona reached down, picked up a towel from the floor, set it on the table next to the door and pulled Keira’s jeans and thong off her. Then, he slipped inside her. Each thrust he made into her, every snap of him driving into her welcoming body, had Keira’s shoulders bumping against the door and she loved the sound. It was like a melody, their quick movements, the slap of their flesh meeting, and Keira wanted more, always more.

“You always feel so good, baby.” His voice was calm, but on the end of his words Kona released a long breath. “So tight and warm. I could eat you alive.”

Keira felt full, sated in the heavy pant of Kona’s breath, in the groans of pleasures that passed over his mouth as he sank in deeper. He planted kisses on her neck, over her face, and Keira felt worshipped, wanted, cherished. With every pull against her body, every slick swipe of his thumb on her clit, Keira’s heart pounded and she clamped around Kona inside her, loving the shudder of his shoulders and his grip on her hair.

“Wildcat, you’re so fucking wet tonight. I…I’ll never get tired of how good you feel.” He growled once, liking how she let him lead, how Keira let Kona cherish her body, how she relaxed against him so he could drive deep into her.

Just his praise, those softly grunted words, had Keira arching, had Kona’s hips working faster and quicker; she let go and came around him, the orgasm extending, lingering because Kona knew how to touch her, knew what she needed.

She felt so swollen, so full, and missed the warmth of his body when Kona jerked out of her and spilled himself moments later onto the towel.

She barely registered Kona moving around the room, tossing the dirty towel into the hamper, tucking himself back into his jeans. Then Kona pulled on her clothes, kissing up her legs, onto her thighs as he shimmed her jeans back over her body. Each kiss was a tribute, and Keira slipped her fingers into his hair, over his shoulders as he stood up.

“I love you,” she said, feeling drunk, so high on her man.

His smile was slight, certain and Kona kissed her nose, took her face between his hands. “I love you too, Wildcat.” The easy grin fell when Keira tried to stand, when that dizzy wobble in her head had her feeling fuzzy. Kona grunted, eyes narrowed and stern. “I told you, you’re relapsing.”

“Totally worth it.”

“You need some more meds.” He led her to her bed, pulling back the duvet. “Call tomorrow and get an appointment. I’ll take you in.” She opened her mouth, meant to argue with him, but Kona’s kiss erased whatever protest she might have from her mind. She loved his tongue, how wide it was, how forcefully he moved it into her mouth; it was a drugging distraction that Kona often used. His cell rang and Kona sat up, took that glorious taste from her mouth when he answered the call.

“Yeah? What?” He glanced at Keira, and she hated that frown, hated how he turned away from her and rubbed his fingers in his eyes. “Tonight? I’m not in the city right now.” A quick squint at Keira’s clock, and Kona’s shoulders lowered. “Give me an hour. I told you I’m not in the city right now, shit. Fine.”

Keira sat up, ignored Kona’s low grunt as she left the bed to join him in front of the French doors. “That was Ricky, wasn’t it?”

“Nani,” he said, kissing her forehead once, “I told you, one last job.”

“Right now? Kona, it’s almost midnight.”

Keira didn’t like this; she didn’t like Kona’s stupid belief that he owed Ricky anything. Ricky, who he’d told her trapped him into selling steroids. Ricky, who Kona said needed him for muscle.

“He moved up the drop-off date because someone was trying to gank his shipment.” He moved around the room, grabbing his wallet and keys from her bedside table, and Keira watched him, a small buzz of worry twisting her stomach.

“And you’re going into the middle of that?” She pulled on his arm, twisting him around to face her. “Are you crazy?” He had to know something was off. He had to know he was walking into something that had Keira’s hand shaking and bile inching up her throat.  

“Keira, this is the last time. I told you that.” Keira’s go-to reaction was always anger, especially when she was scared, and right then, fright and worry overtook her, had her frowning at Kona, had her pulling away from him when he touched her. She saw the frustration on his face, that slow pull of his features that told her he wavered about what he should do. “Please don’t get mad at me.” Again, he pulled on her arms, hugging her to his chest and some of her worry eased. “Come on, get in bed and sleep. You need to rest up.” She was tired, still a bit woozy from the returning flu and the quickie against the door, and she let Kona put her to bed, let him lean over her with his large arms around her waist and those tempting lips against her mouth. “I’ll call you in the morning, okay?”

She pushed him back. “Kona, no…”

“What the hell do you want from me?” She knew Kona wasn’t angry at her. He’d been on edge since he stopped taking steroids. It was a struggle, an effort he’d told Keira that he fought every day. He’d replace that poison with her, wanting her, needing her like a drug. This anger wasn’t about her, not really. She could always tell the difference between his tempers. It was the situation, her argument that he ignore Ricky’s direction and some mild fear that he was in danger. Still, Kona being Kona meant that he lashed out, just like Keira, at whomever was closet. “I’m trying to cut this shit loose but I have to do this. One last time, I promise you.”

 “Not by yourself.” Keira kicked off the covers, tugged Kona’s hand away from the French door handle when he tried to open it. “Call Luka. Please, Kona, don’t do this by yourself.”

“I’ll be fine,” he said, pulling his hand off the handle when she tried to stop him. “Me on North Rampart is nothing, and any assholes that are there will think I’m the monster hiding in the shadows.”

That twist in her stomach grew heavie,r and when Keira hesitated, frown deepening, Kona picked her up, kissing her as he walked her back to her bed.

“Go to sleep, Wildcat, and I’ll call you in the morning.” She couldn’t let him go, couldn’t make her arms untangle from their spot around his neck. Keira wanted him to know her fear, to take it seriously. That unnamed sensation of dread crawled into her chest, made breathing difficult, and her fear must have been etched across her face. Kona’s small temper faded, and he took her face in his large hand. “You worry too much, baby.” One small kiss that lingered and Keira felt the small whip of electricity move between them. Kona reared back, smiling. “I love you.”

He was off the bed and out on her balcony before Keira could reply. That burning dread in her gut only simmered more, and Keira watched Kona leave around the side of her house, hurrying across her back lawn. She couldn’t let him do this on his own. She couldn’t be the only sensible voice telling him he was in danger.

Shaking her head, fighting back that lightheaded sensation, Keira dug in her bag, fishing for her phone. She thumbed through the contacts, skipping past Leann’s name until she got to the number she wanted and quickly punched the call button. Two rings, three and then her mother pounded on the door.

Keira unlocked the door, and her mother didn’t wait for an invitation.

I don’t have time for this, she thought, holding up her hand when her mother opened her mouth to speak.

The caller answered, a quick “Hey you,” but then her mother jerked her phone out of Keira’s hand and ended the call. “You will not ignore me, you little shit, and Keira, that is the last time…”

“Mother, will you please shut up?”

She reached for the phone, sidestepping when her mother swatted at her and Keira could feel the anger billowing between them. The woman had chosen the wrong damn time to pick a fight with her, and Keira’s temper rose past the feeling of worry and fear that Kona’s departure had caused.

“Don’t you talk to me like that. I know what you were doing, Keira Nicole, I heard you and…”

When her phone rang, Keira darted forward, catching the bottom half of her mother’s palm on her chin. Keira leaned back, stretching her neck to look up at the ceiling, praying that the fury in her chest wouldn’t have her doing something stupid. But as she looked back at her mother, the Nokia in her fist ringing like a siren, Keira decided, just then, that she didn’t care about the woman’s anger or the drunken rage that had her sneering at Keira like she hated her.

The feeling was mutual.

Taking a breath, her mother tossed the phone on Keira’s bed and curled her arms over her chest. “You and I are going to have that conversation now.”

“No. We’re really not.” The woman tried stopping Keira when she darted toward her bed. She slapped the back of Keira’s head, punched her shoulders, but the girl was too focused on stopping Kona from doing something epically stupid. She had the Nokia in her hand when her mother yanked on her hair, tugging her backward and that pinching ache on her roots had her yelling, jerking back to send and elbow right in the center of her mother’s chest.

The woman staggered, then fell on her ass and Keira didn’t take time to enjoy the rounded eyes or the way her mother’s mouth dropped open in shock. It was a memory she’d store for another moment, when she had time to cradle that happy sight. “You ever hit me again, and I swear on Daddy’s grave I will knock you into next week. Better still, I’ll take all those pictures Leann’s taken of me for years, sporting your handiwork, straight to the cops, Mother. You think your friends would be interested in those? Now back off and leave me alone.”

Keira ignored the low sob her mother released and the rattle of her door as the woman slammed it shut. She hit the call button once more and stared out onto the lake as the moonlight shimmered across the still water. Her prayers were silent, pleading as the call kept ringing. Finally, that deep voice answered, and Keira exhaled.

“Hey. It’s me. I really need your help. Can you meet me outside your house in an hour?” 

The hotel smelled like bleach. It was a filthy by-the-hour place a few blocks from N. Rampart Street, fringing the outskirts of Treme. Kona stood outside, leaning against the dirty brick wall waiting for Ricky’s delivery, trying to look small, hiding in the dark shadows of the alleyway that backed up onto a row of rusted dumpsters. The stench was unbelievable—raw, moldy food and the foul odor of piss, but what was worse to him was the mess he saw—a stray needle or two on the pavement and floods of black trash bags tipping the tops of the trash bins. All around him was graffiti, some beautiful, haunting skulls and crossbones, most tags of gang names that marked the territory.

Ricky was inside that small hotel room that Kona had only stepped in and then quickly abandoned a half hour before. It smelled like burnt hair and submission, but that didn’t seem to bother Ricky. He was only there to catch a nut before his shipment arrived. Kona heard the man moaning, finishing up with a hooker from one of the mob strip joints somewhere in the Quarter. Kona could hear them inside, Ricky calling the girl a dirty slut, the smack of his hand on the girl’s ass, and her high-pitched squeal each time he smacked her.  Heroin, Kona figured. What else would make a girl that tinyand that pretty sweat herself raw every night on a pole or give herself over to a pox-marked, rail-thin asshole like Ricky?

Kona didn’t want to be there. He wanted his Wildcat, wanted this favor he owed Ricky to be over. He really wanted to drown out that slap on skin and the squeak of the rusted springs on the bed inside that room.

Kona pushed off from the wall, managing a slight nod to Ricky’s two boys who passed a cigarette between each other as they watched the street. They were both smaller than Kona, at least by five inches, and each wore faded jeans and threadbare, dark coats.

Marco was the shorter of the two, a Spanish kid from the Irish Channel with one of his front teeth missing. The other was Lil Eddie, boxier than Marco, with pale skin and dark eyes. Kona didn’t know much about him except that he was new to Ricky’s crew and had hands like a girl. It had freaked Kona out a little the first time he shook Eddie’s hand—how smooth his palm was, how soft, as though he’d never lifted a finger to work hard his entire life. Kona didn’t trust either of them, but Eddie especially had the hairs on the back of Kona’s neck standing on end.

Marco’s sharp whistle brought Kona’s attention back to the street and to the yellow ’68 Mustang that pulled up along the sidewalk in front of the hotel. He and Lil Eddie kept watch, standing on either side of the car and Kona gnawed on his cheek, eyes squinted at Keith, Ricky’s boy as he slid out of the car.

“Kona. What’s up, man?” Keith was mixed, lightskinned with bright green eyes, pupils always dilated. Ricky trusted him, told Kona that Keith would be too scared of him to shortchange his shipment, but Kona knew better. He’d seen this asshole placing bets against CPU throughout the season. He’d seen him lurking around the locker room and team house when Ricky wasn’t around. This guy had his sights on replacing Kona as Ricky’s supplier to the team. Kona didn’t care about being traded, he just didn’t want his teammates messed up with Ricky’s shit.

Kona shook his hand as Keith approached but didn’t smile at the guy and stepped back, leveling two quick pounds on the door to get Ricky’s attention.

“He in there?” Keith asked, narrowing his eyes at Kona.

A quick jerk of Kona’s chin and Keith stepped forward, but he slipped in front of the door, blocking Keith from entering. “He’s busy.”

Kona crossed his arms, depending on his size and bulk to intimidate Keith. It usually worked; most people took one look at him and walked the other way, but Keith had been around Kona often enough, had likely seen enough shit in the hustle that Kona didn’t seem like much of a threat.

“I gotcha, man.” The fluorescent light above the door cast a small glint off of Keith’s too white teeth when he smiled at Kona. Eyes over Kona’s shoulder, Keith’s features relaxed as Ricky opened the door and walked out of the room. “I’m early, dude. I get a bonus?” That bonus Keith wanted stumbled away from Ricky, pulling down her short skirt and tucking a small baggy into her bra. The girl walked with her head down and her arms around her middle, as though she thought not looking at anyone would make her seem less obvious, would somehow hide the shit she’d just let Ricky do to her.

“Fuck you, man. That ain’t your bonus.” He slapped Keith on the back of the head. “Stop running your mouth and get my shit.”

Something in the air, maybe the cool looks Lil Eddie and Keith passed to each other as they popped the trunk, had Kona’s gut twisting. He stepped forward, away from Ricky and watched the two men pull duffle bag after duffle bag out of the car.

“Why am I here, man?” Kona asked Ricky when he came to his side.

“To keep assholes like those three in line.” Ricky stretched, shoulders relaxed, movements slow and a stupid, eager grin bending his mouth. Kona knew he watched him, knew he was sizing him up, taking in the way Kona moved his eyes up and down the street. Something was off, he felt it in bones, but Ricky seemed too sated, too calm to catch that air of caution moving in the frigid January wind. A quick tap on Kona’s shoulder and Ricky’s smile moved off his face and worry lines on the guy’s forehead deepened. “Why you so jumpy?”

“I’m not.” Kona rubbed his neck, pulling out the tension that bunched between his muscles. “Just ready for this shit to be over.”

A homeless guy pushing a covered shopping cart weaved the buggy down the street, head down as he sang something Kona thought might have been “Amazing Grace.” He and Ricky both watched the man in his dingy gray slacks and broken soled shoes as his voice carried around the quiet street. Three blocks away from them, the Quarter was still reeling from New Year’s, still lively and active with the thrill that 1998 promised. Fleeting, Kona thought about Keira, about how he could get her out of her mother’s house, away from Mandeville and the threat that always lingered in that place. He could get a job, maybe work nights, so they could land an apartment. It would be tough. They’d struggle, but at least Keira would be out of that bitch’s house.

He shifted his eyes at Ricky, shaking his head at him when Marco tossed a duffle bag to Keith, who almost dropped it. Kona pushed back the thought of working with Ricky again. He wouldn’t have Keira around that shit. It was too dangerous.

“I love this fucking city,” Ricky said, spreading his arms wide. “Service-based economy, just ripe with crackheads and greedy bar owners. It’s a damn gold mine if you’ve got the right product.” Ricky’s smile dropped from his face when Kona only stared back at him. He took to sizing Kona up again, watching the dispassionate way the linebacker blinked at him. “You’re a dumbass, Kona.”

He’d heard it before, as a kid, when he struggled to read aloud in class, but Kona wasn’t a kid anymore. He didn’t want anyone calling him dumb, especially not some stupid thug who hadn’t managed to make it out of eighth grade. Ricky didn’t flinch when Kona turned toward him, didn’t do much else but move his hand to the gun in his waistband.

“You wanna say that again?”

Ricky shrugged, waving off Kona’s anger, and he pushed his hand into his front pocket. “You’re sitting on a goldmine. You can make a lot of bank on that campus. All those rich bitches do what you tell them, follow your lead.” It was the same line of bullshit Ricky always preached to Kona. He didn’t need to hear it. He turned back around, facing the Mustang again, but Ricky kept his gaze on Kona, his bid of convincing not quite done. “That’s why I picked you, man. Dudes wanna be you, chicks wanna do you, because you got that thing. You’re a shepherd, not a sheep. I need shepherds, Kona, especially ones that scare the shit out of folk who think they can take what’s mine.” Ricky touched Kona’s shoulder, and he glared at the asshole’s thin fingers. But Ricky didn’t jerk away from him; he only shrugged as though Kona’s reaction was expected. “You don’t have to do it for long, man. You got, what, two more years? That’s plenty of time to set up some nice change for you and your girl.” A quick snap of his eyes back at Ricky, and the guy laughed. “Fuck man, you need to ease up. I’m just sayin’.” He whistled, a long, squeak of a sound that rang in Kona’s ears. “I ain’t never seen a dude so sprung over his chick.”

“I’m not interested in this shit anymore, Ricky. I told you that. So why don’t you leave me out of your big picture, you feel me?” Kona was done with Ricky’s bullshit. He was done with the mumbles Keith and Eddie made to one another. He’d count the shipment and leave all this mess behind, but before he left Ricky standing by himself, he faced him again, pointed his finger in the guy’s chest. “Don’t you worry about how sprung I am over my girl. Don’t even put her in your head.”

Kona recognized the disappointment, the anger. He’d seen Ricky give that same look to Micah Burns when the idiot lifted two vials from him last spring. Stupid jackass spent four weeks in the hospital. But Ricky didn’t lash out, barely reacted with more than a frown at Kona’s anger. “Fine. Just trying to hook you up. You know, thug life…thug wife. Quit mean-mugging me and go count the damn shipment.”

And Kona did, sifted through each black bag with Keith and Eddie on one side of the car and Marco and Ricky on the other. He counted each pack, four vials in each satchel, twenty satchels in each bag. Until he came to the last duffle bag. It was five light. He closed his eyes, knowing this would cause a shit; knowing that Ricky would make sure he was in the thick of it.

“It’s under,” he told Ricky, still kneeling on the ground. When the guy walked next to him, Kona narrowed his eyes, squinting up at Eddie and Keith and caught the way Eddie slipped his hand under his coat. Ricky’s anger was quick, and he pulled out his gun, sticking his hand in the duffle bag right at Kona’s side. “Watch Keith and Eddie. They’ve been sketchy as fuck all night,” Kona told him, and Ricky nodded, sucking on his teeth. Then, before Kona could blink, Ricky darted up, pointed his gun right at Keith.

“You got my shit, man?” He took a step, Marco moving out of his way.

Kona backed up, grabbed Marco by the collar to pull him to his side when Eddie pointed his gun at Ricky.

“Motherfucker…”

“I didn’t take shit, Ricky. You know that.” The gun shook in Eddie’s hand, and his voice was pitched and shaking. “I’m your boy. You just need to chill, man. Be cool. You know me, man.”

“All I know is, you got your gun pointed at my chest. Where’s my shit, Ed? What you do with it?”

At Eddie’s side, Keith held up his hands, but Kona watched his face, saw how his cheek twitched, how he tried to hold back a smile. Then, his eyes moved, stared right at Kona. “Ricky, man, you know Eddie wouldn’t do that. You know I wouldn’t. Hale here is the only one trying to punk out. Look how jumpy he’s been all night.”

Kona stepped up, shoulders squared, and Ricky inched back, gaze moving between Kona and the gun pointed right at him. “Fuck you, Keith,” Kona told the punk. “I want out but I’m not trying to gank anything. Don’t be a dumbass. You been sniffing around campus for months, selling to other teams, you think I don’t see you? You think I don’t know what you’re doing?”

Ricky would believe him; at least, that’s what Kona told himself. Keith was a slimy shit, he’d heard Ricky complaining about the guy more than once, but when Keith smiled, nodded toward Kona, Ricky backed up further and moved the gun at Kona’s head.

“You trying to play me, man? You been jumpy for months, ever since you got with that bitch.”

Kona had to clench his fists together, had to pull back his angerand fear so that no one got itchy fingers. “No, man. I don’t have anything of yours. I don’t give a shit what you sell or how much you make doing it.” He took a step, cautiously, narrowing his eyes at Ricky’s finger curled around the trigger. “I just want out. I promise, I just want to get out of this shit.”

“And sell your own product, that right, Hale?” Keith’s voice, his pinched eyes, only doused rage and ire onto the inferno building in Kona’s mind.

“Shut the fuck up, asshole. You don’t know me. You don’t know shit.”

“Yeah, but I do.” Ricky lowered his gun, only a fraction and behind him Keith and Eddie relaxed. Kona saw it, the quick whip of Ricky’s eyes, how he moved the corner of his mouth to the side, a small grin that told Kona that shit was about to go bad very quickly. “I know exactly who you are, Kona.” And then Ricky twisted around, squeezed off two shots right at Keith and Eddie. Both men fell to the ground, cold, lifeless.

“Son of a bitch,” Marco said, behind them. “Ricky, man…”

“Shut up. Be cool,” Ricky told the kid and Kona stood frozen, eyes blurring as he stared down at the bodies. He wanted to be sick. He wanted to run and when he heard the whine of brakes behind him, when he turned and saw Keira trailing behind Luka in the middle of the street, Kona wanted take back the past hour. He wanted to be in her room, inside her, ignoring the world. He wondered if a twenty-year-old athlete could have a heart attack just from sheer terror.

“Kona, man,” Ricky said, checking the magazine in his gun. “This is a fucking problem.”

 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Kona hadn’t let Keira move more than five feet from her car. He stalked toward her, angry face pinched up like a cork, and for once, Keira was truly afraid of her boyfriend. There was rage and fear in his eyes, and she could see, just from the way he moved toward her, that his fingers shook and his limbs swung with a shudder. Keira held up her hands, trying to get him to calm, and Luka stepped in front of her, pushing back on his twin’s chest. “You stupid son of a bitch, you brought her here?” He had his hands around Luka’s collar, jerked him once before Keira could reach them.

“Kona, no. Stop, please!” Keira stumbled when Kona held out his arm against her hands.

“We were worried, brah. We knew this would go bad.” Luka pushed again and moved his chin, looking past the Mustang blocking the alleyway. “It went as bad as it could go, Kona.” Luka straightened, brushed his brother off of him. “Did you do this?” Another nod and Kona stared at the limp forms lying on the ground.

“Kona, we don’t have time for the family drama bullshit.” He waved his hand, silencing the tall guy Keira recognized as Ricky.

Her stare locked onto the dead men’s, to the guy pulling on a body, dragging blood in a trail toward the dumpster. At her side Kona and Luka kept arguing, but Keira walked forward, stomach rumbling as she watched Ricky wipe his gun against the sleeve of his coat. He caught her stare, squinted hard as Keira’s steps came closer. There was so much blood. So much blood everywhere.

“Don’t look, Keira,” Kona told her, pulling on her shoulder. He shook her, jerking her around and gripped her face in her hands. “Why are you here? Why the hell are you here?”
Her gaze went to the side, back to the blood and Kona pulled her chin. “I…I had a bad feeling.” She swallowed against the knot in her throat and grabbed his fingers. “Baby, did you do this?”

Kona dropped his hands, as though he’d been stung and he took two steps away from her. “You think I could?”

“No,” she told him, grabbing his hand. Keira inhaled, shook her head. “No, I don’t.”

She saw something in his eyes then; the hard glare that broke apart his calm, that had that steady shudder in his fingers moving quicker, a tremble that shot up his arm and over his features.

Keira wanted to tell him she was sorry, that she should have listened, but her heart pounded too hard and that expression on Kona’s face—the one she knew was fury and fear—stunned her silent. This was the bad she’d known was coming the moment Kona left her room and it wasn’t done. If Keira knew anything, it was that the bad had not yet played itself out.

Kona’s stare only moved from Keira when Luka stood next to them, when his voice took on a desperate tone as Ricky walked away from the Mustang.

“Kona, let’s get out of here,” Luka said, pulling on his brother’s arms.

He was frightened, Keira knew that, but his pride, his forced bluster surfaced when Ricky met them in the middle of the street. “He’s not going anywhere. He owes me, and he’s paying me back. Take that little bitch and get the fuck out of here.”

Kona jerked around, pushed Ricky back so that the asshole stumbled back before he found his footing. “What did you say? What did you call her?”

“Back off, man.” Ricky’s voice was cool, calm, but Keira noticed the grip on his gun tighten. “I don’t have time for…” That approaching dread silenced them all. It coiled tight in Keira’s voice when every head turned toward the sound of sirens in the distance. Ricky’s reaction was quick—fierce—as he raised his gun at Kona. “You motherfucker. You fucking rat!”

“I didn’t do shit. I didn’t say shit to anybody.” Kona held up his hands, placating, sincere, but he side-stepped, stood right in front of Keira.

The sirens squealed louder, and Ricky seemed conflicted, mouth curled up and he rested his gun on his head as though he didn’t know what to believe or who to trust. “I shot my boy, when it was you who ratted me out!”

“It wasn’t me, asshole.” Keira could feel the anger radiating from Kona, she felt the hard tremble in his shoulders and she pulled on his hoodie, covering her face with that soft fabric.

Everything happened in a blur; it was a slip of time that Keira thought went quickly and that was slowed into seconds of action all at the same time. Ricky’s gun pointed back at Kona… the loud cursing morphing into shock with fluid quickness… the blast of the gun cracking against the screech of sirens and Keira screamed, the sound deafening and surreal to her own ears. Luka twisted forward just as Kona’s shout rang out as he turned to her.

And then she was falling, Kona on top of her, his wide, looming chest against her face, his arms curled around her head and then time sped up with the retreat of Ricky’s running feet and the high burn of the Mustang’s tires on the pavement.

The noise came back to her then, like the sharpness in sound given with the pop of eardrums, and Keira registered Kona bowing up from the street, pulling her to her feet, his hands skimming over her body, his arms pulling her to his chest.

“You’re okay, Wildcat. He didn’t get you. He didn’t get you.” Kona’s words came with a breath of relief, resignation that she wasn’t hurt, but Keira pushed him back, lifted his hoodie to make sure he wasn’t hurt.

“You either. Thank God, baby.”

“Lu, what about you?” Kona shifted, gaze rapid and around the street until he found his twin, lying on his back.

The bad kept coming.

“Luka!! No, no, fuck no!” Kona fell to his knees at his brother’s side, pulling on his coat to slide the large body in his lap. Blood pooled in the center of Luka’s stomach and his breath came out in ragged, heavy pants, clotted behind the gurgle in his lungs. But Kona didn’t notice that; he didn’t seem to see anything but his brother’s hand reaching for him and those black eyes moving over Kona’s face.  “Lu, come on man. We’ve got to go.”

“Kona?” Luka’s voice was weak and Keira heard the gurgle behind his words, how each syllable came out with effort. “It burns, brah. It burns so bad.”

The sirens grew louder, sharper and Keira came to Luka’s other side, tears falling from her eyes when Kona kissed his brother’s forehead, when he held his falling hand.

“We’ll get you help, kaikua’ana. I’ll get…help…” That gurgle in Luka’s throat stopped, went completely silent and then something happened to Kona. Luka barely managing to keep his eyes open and the linebacker groaned, cursed loud before he shook his head. “No, Luka. We have to get our rings first.” He shook his twin, chin working, trembling as Kona pulled Luka closer to his chest. “Lu, come on. Lu?” When Luka didn’t answer, and Kona’s face was completely wet, nose clogged, Kona groaned, mumbled something under his breath before he shook his head. “Fuck this. No! We’ve got to get you to a doctor. Come on, brah.” Kona struggled with Luka’s weight as he staggered to his feet, grunting through his teeth before he caught Keira’s eyes. “Baby please help me! Help me get him to the hospital.”

But she knew, even as she pulled Luka’s arm over her shoulder, even as Kona dragged his brother toward her car, his feet sliding behind them, blood staining the cream leather of her backseat, Keira knew that Luka was already gone.

Kona flew down the street, his sobs fractured between prayers he said aloud, and Keira flew across the backseat, holding Luka upright when Kona took a hard right. Her hands slipped in the blood as she tried to fasten Luka’s seatbelt. She stayed with him, right beside him, hoping she could see his chest moving, hoping that the still, fixed stare would shift, move. She prayed for a blink, for a cough, anything that would have Luka waking up, but nothing came.

“It’s okay, man. We’re almost there. University’s down the way. We’re good, Lu. We’ll be good.” Kona kept looking behind him, eyes on his brother, glimpses at Keira as he thundered down the street. He reached behind the driver’s seat, grabbing onto Luka’s hand and Keira saw him shudder, heard the sob trapped in his throat when he pulled back a bloody hand. “Fuck! FUCK!” He slammed his fist into her console, once, twice, shattering the radio until bits of silver plastic stuck into his knuckles.

“Kona, you have to slow down. Please, baby.”

He caught her eyes in the rearview mirror and the look he gave her had her hands shaking, her legs twitching; the fear coiled deep, burned her stomach. “Why the fuck wouldn’t you listen? Why didn’t you stay home? Why did you call him?”

“I was scared. He was scared.” Dread. That was the only word for what worked in Keira’s chest; there was too much sensation—the cold drip of Luka’s blood drying on her hand, the scream of sirens behind them as they flew faster and faster down the street, Kona’s curses, his angry words shouted at Keira and she couldn’t take it, couldn’t sort all that noise, all that fear in her mind. She couldn’t stop her eyes from burning or the hot track of her tears down her face. 

Keira covered her ears, tried to rub away the sound of Ricky’s gunshot and Kona’s poorly suppressed crying. “We wanted to help you.” She heard Kona sob, heard the low prayers he made and the sirens behind them, the cruisers speeding past them wailing their horns. “Kona, you have to pull over. They’re chasing us. Please!”

But Kona wasn’t listening, didn’t hear her, didn’t noticed the beams of red and blue light streaming through the windows. “You should have stayed!” he screamed, taking a curve too quickly, the tires crying against the pavement. “You should have fucking stayed, Keira!”

She slipped into her seatbelt, vision blurred with her tears, her head muddy with fear, with heartache. She settled next to Luka, her head on his shoulder and she reached up to brush her fingertips over his open lids. They should be closed. 

“I’m sorry,” she told him, feeling the tight clench in her heart twisting, burning until she couldn’t breathe. “I’m so sorry, Luka.”

The squeal of tires started again, became louder than the sirens chasing behind him. Keira heard Kona’s scream, the angry rage that pierced her ears, then with the rip of a crash, Keira’s body jerked forward, and the silence took them.