Chapter 76
Raven
The morning sun streamed through my window like an uninvited guest, far too chipper for my liking. I rolled over, burying my face in my pillow before finally surrendering to consciousness. My phone buzzed insistently on the nightstand.
Scarlet. Of course.
I swiped open the encrypted message, already preparing myself for whatever dramatic news she'd decided warranted interrupting my sleep.
Urgent. Need face-to-face. Information about your parents.
I sat upright, suddenly wide awake. My parents? The ones who'd abandoned me to Bloodline's tender mercies when I was barely old enough to form memories? I'd spent decades convincing myself I didn't care about the faceless ghosts who'd contributed to my DNA.
I typed back: What about them?
Can't discuss electronically. Already in LA. Meeting required.
I snorted. Already in LA, my ass. This was typical Scarlet—using any excuse to check out Nash in person. Not that I blamed her; the man was essentially a walking weapon wrapped in designer suits and brooding silence.
Since when do we need face-to-face? You've delivered intel from Siberian bunkers before.
This is different. Concerns your biological parents. Trust me.
I hesitated, fingers hovering over the screen. My biological parents. The void at the beginning of my life story. The unanswered question I'd buried beneath years of training, killing, and survival.
Fine. When and where?
I hit send, then immediately realized my oversight. Shit. Scarlet had no idea about my... situation. I quickly typed another message.
Oh, and heads up—I look completely different now. You won't recognize me.
Her reply came almost instantly:
Ooh, upgraded your disguise techniques? Don't worry. I'd know your aura anywhere. Some things can't be concealed.
I rolled my eyes. If she only knew.
It's not what you think. Just be prepared for a surprise.
Now I'm intrigued. Will send details later. Currently... occupied. LA has its perks. Sweating it out gloriously.
I frowned at the cryptic reply. Sweating it out? What the hell was she—
"Oh for fuck's sake," I muttered, tossing my phone onto the bed. "You couldn't just say you're having sex like a normal person?"
I dragged myself to the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face while contemplating the day ahead. School could wait—it wasn't like calculus was going to teach me anything I didn't already know about derivatives.
As I finished getting dressed, my phone rang again. Not Scarlet this time, but Ben—my "uncle" and, as I'd recently discovered, the second-in-command of the Crimson Brotherhood.
"Hello, Uncle Dearest," I answered dryly. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"Raven!" His voice was overly cheerful, the tone he reserved for asking favors. "My favorite niece! How are you this beautiful morning?"
"Cut the crap, Ben. What do you need from a high school student that the second-in-command of LA's most notorious motorcycle club can't handle?"
There was a pause, then a chuckle. "I keep forgetting you know about that. After you helped with those nineteen problems the other night..."
"You mean the nineteen armed men I eliminated while you called in the cleanup crew?" I corrected, examining my nails. "Let's not sugarcoat assassination."
"Right..." He cleared his throat. "Look, I hate to ask, but I need your help with something. Something worse than last time."
My interest piqued despite myself. "Worse? Now you've got my attention."
"The Brotherhood runs an underground fighting ring called The Pit. Usually, it's simple—fighters compete, people bet, we take a percentage. But there's this woman who showed up yesterday. She's won thirty-eight consecutive fights against everyone—ex-military, street brawlers, professional fighters. She refuses to leave the ring, and no one's willing to challenge her anymore."
"And the problem is...?" I prompted, already guessing where this was heading.
"No fighters means no bets. No bets means no money." Ben's voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "I was thinking... maybe you could step in? After what I saw the other night, I know you've got skills."
I laughed, a genuine sound that surprised even me. "So you want me, your teenage niece, to go into your illegal underground fighting ring and beat up some mysterious badass woman who's demolished nearly forty opponents?"
"When you put it like that—"
"I'm in." The words left my mouth before I could reconsider, surprising both of us.
"You're... really? Just like that?"
I shrugged even though he couldn't see me. "Fighting's just a hobby of mine." I smiled, momentarily lost in memories of rain-soaked training grounds, the rhythmic sound of striking practice, muscles burning with each perfect movement. "Consider it scratching an itch."
"That's fantastic!" Ben's enthusiasm was palpable. "If you win, the Big Man will be very grateful. He could be a powerful ally—"
"I don't need allies," I cut him off, tone cooling. "I'm doing this because I'm bored and my knuckles miss the feeling of breaking someone's jaw. Your Big Man's approval means less to me than yesterday's weather forecast."
Silence stretched between us. I could practically hear Ben's brain recalibrating, trying to process someone who didn't quiver at the mention of the Brotherhood's leader.
"I... understand," he finally managed. "Regardless of your reasons, I appreciate the help. I'll pick you up in thirty minutes?"
"Make it twenty. I have another appointment later."