What Lies Within (27 page)

Though her jaw felt as though it were going to fall off her face, Kyla clenched it. “No!”

The hands gripped her.

“Miss Justice—”

“No!”

She pushed their hands away. “Take care of Wayne.” She waited as they helped him to his feet, then drew a breath.

Stood.

Prayed no one could see how she trembled.

Another kid, hands fisted at his sides, started toward her, but before he came two steps, he yelped and flew backward. The thug beside him followed suit. Before Kyla could figure out what was happening, two forms strode through the line. Kyla knew one of them right away.

“Rafe!”

Rafe.

Not Rafael. But Rafe. And the way she said it sent his pulse into overdrive. It took all his self-control not to gather her in his arms, to cradle her against him. But now wasn’t the time.

Not if they wanted to get out of this in one piece.

He took up a stance on Kyla’s right. Tarik moved to her left. The message was clear: You want her, you go through us.

“Sorry I didn’t get here sooner,” he ground out of a suddenly dry throat. “We met with a little resistance.”

Her wondering gaze swept from Rafe to Tarik. “I thought …”

Tarik didn’t look at her, but then, he didn’t need to. What she’d thought had been clear in the glares she’d directed at the two of them all day. To the kid’s credit, there was no resentment in his voice when he spoke.

“I’m not in the Brotherhood.”

Kyla wavered and alarm stung Rafe.
Keep her on her feet, Lord. Don’t let her fall. If she goes down, they’ll move in
.

His leg was already aching, just from the little dance he’d done a few minutes ago. He’d be able to take out one or two, maybe three. But ultimately …

Forget it. Don’t think about ultimately.

Just think about survival.

Kyla fought the wave of dizziness. She was not going to fall. She needn’t have worried. The boy to her left shifted closer, just enough to support her with the side of his crossed arm.

He and Rafael stood there, arms crossed, feet planted. Two men of muscle and sinew. Strength personified.

An angry rumble sounded from the line circling them, and Kyla tensed. Waiting.
Here they come. God, help
.

“Step off.”

The low words worked a miracle. Within seconds the aggressors vanished into the night.

Kyla blinked. “What …?” She turned to Rafael. “What happened?”

“King K.”

This from the boy to her left. She shifted to get a better look at him. “How can you tell?”

Something crossed his features. Anger? Pain? Maybe both. “I know his voice.” He nodded to the nonexistent line. “And so do they.”

An arm came around Kyla’s waist. Rafael. She should protest but was shaking too hard to speak. In fact, she was shaking too hard to stand.

Rafael caught her as she fell, sweeping her into his arms as though she were a feather. He nestled her against his chest, his arms a protective barrier around her.

“One of those animals hit her!”

Her eyes had drifted shut, but she felt him nod to Hilda.

“I know. I saw.”

The raw rage saturating his hoarse reply sent shivers across her nerves. His arms tightened around her, their strength and warmth seeping into her cold body.

“Let’s get you inside.”

Tenderness. Protectiveness. Concern
. It all resided in those few words, and as he carried her up the stairs and into the church, Kyla had to fight the powerful urge to press her face to his shoulder …

And weep.

R
afe cradled Kyla close, his arms locked around her. He’d have to put her down in a minute, but until then …

He wasn’t letting her go.

“Lay her here.”

He walked to the pew Hilda indicated, then hesitated for a moment. He wanted to keep her right where she was. Where he could keep her safe.

In spite of herself.

Hilda touched his arm. “She’ll be fine, Rafe. Just lay her down so we can see to her injury.”

He set Kyla on the cushioned pew and started to straighten, but her fingers gripped the front of his shirt. He met her gaze.

“Stay.”

She didn’t have to ask him twice. He eased onto the pew beside her, careful not to crowd her too much. Hilda hustled about, dispatching the others for water, ice, a washcloth, and other things. Rafe sat beside her, then glanced
back. Kyla turned and saw the boy standing there, shifting from one foot to the other.

Rafe inclined his head to the boy. “Wait for me outside, Tarik.”

The boy turned and started to walk away.

“Wait!”

He turned back, brows arching when Kyla extended a hand to him. He came back to her and let her take his hand.

“Thank you.” She brought her other hand to grip his as well. “Thank you so much. And … I’m sorry. For what I thought.”

His dark eyes rested on her face as though he sought something. Then he spoke, his words firm but without anger. “You saw what you expected. ’Cuz you looked with your eyes. If you’re gonna make it here, you better start looking with His.” He gave one brief nod toward the cross at the front of the sanctuary, then pulled his hand free and walked back outside.

Willard handed him a basin of water and a washcloth. Sheamus appeared behind him, holding out what looked to be a small bag of crushed ice.

Rafe took the items. “Did you call the police again?”

“Ag’n?” Suddenly Kyla’s mouth wasn’t working right; she felt like she was talking around a mouthful of rocks. But Rafe seemed to understand her.

“I called them when Tarik and I saw the Brotherhood move on you and the others.” He dipped the washcloth into the water, then wrung it out.

“It all hap’n so fas’—” She gasped when he pressed the washcloth to her face.

“I know. It usually does.” He pulled the washcloth from her cheek and dipped it back in the basin of water. She was shocked to see the water turn red.

Rafe lifted the washcloth to her face, and she winced. He reached out his free hand to brush her hair back with gentle fingers. “I’m sorry. I know it hurts. But that bas—” he drew in control on a deep breath—“jerk who hit you must have been wearing a ring, because he cut your cheek. We need to get it cleaned out.”

Tears slid down her cheeks as she managed a nod. Moments later, he lifted the ice pack and pressed it to her jaw. “Hold this here.”

Kyla squared off with Rafe. “You th’nk I c’n’t han’le a buncha hoods on my own?”

Heat flickered in his features, and then his pointed gaze rested on the ice pack. “I know you can’t.”

How could mere words hurt so much? More than she’d ever thought possible. “Thanks for the vote of confid’nce.”

A nerve jumped in his jaw. “Look, these aren’t some TV sitcom thugs. These guys mean business. And their business is hurting people who get in their family’s way.”

“Their family?”

“See? That’s why you don’t belong here. You don’t even understand the basics!”

She struggled to sit up. “Th’n explain it to me.” She laid her hand on his arm. “Tell me.”

He seemed to struggle within himself for a moment, then gave in. “The gangs are like a family. Once you’re in, you belong for good. The OGs—”

She held up a hand. “OGs?”

“Old gangsters.” He grunted. “Of course, most of them are all of midtwenties, but life expectancy for kids in a gang isn’t high. Gangs like the 22s, they’re all about turf. About keeping it, protecting it from anyone who might invade. Might take it away from them. They’ve fought off other gangs, and they sure have no qualms about taking you out if they need to.”

What kind of craziness had she gotten herself into? “Don’t they know they’ll get caught?” Oh, thank heaven. Her mouth seemed to be back in gear.

“They know. They don’t care. Not unless it’s a three-strike situation.”

Kyla hated to show she didn’t understand yet another term, but it was the only way she’d learn. “Three-strike?”

“We don’t have it here in Oregon, but in a number of other states, including California, if you’re convicted of a serious criminal offense on three or more separate occasions, you’re done. The courts are required to lock you up for a long time. But the gangs get around it. If they’ve got a two-striker about to go down, one of the young members will cop to the crime.”

Kyla couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Are you saying someone would go to prison for a crime he didn’t commit?”

“Without hesitation.” He ran his hand through his hair. “That’s what I’m trying to get you to see, Kyla. This isn’t about a group of kids being troublemakers. These gangs, they’re solid. They’re organized. They have their own list of commandments.”

“Their what?”

He held up a hand, counting off on his fingers as he spoke.

“Thou shalt not snitch.

“Thou shalt get thy respect.

“Thou shalt be down for thy homie, right or wrong.

“Thou shalt be down for thy set, thy hood, thy crew.

“Thou shalt handle thy business.

“Thou shalt have money.”

Kyla’s head felt like it was spinning. It was too much. Too much to comprehend. To absorb and sort through. These people were crazy. Dangerously so.

“Are you okay?”

His concern was both touching and irritating. She held up her hand, warding off any more questions. “I just … I need to think a minute.”

She swung her legs off the edge of the pew and sat there, head in hands, willing the chaos to still. But it all swirled around her, amping up her tension.

Maybe Rafael was right. Maybe she should leave. Get herself and her people out of here before something terrible happened.

So it’s time, then. To make a change. To sell JuCo to Mason?

Just … shut up
.

Time to get married. Settle down to being a wife. A mother of his chil—

“Stop!” Rafe started as she came off the pew. “Just stop.” She turned to face him. “I know, okay? I know I’m in over my head. I know this crazy bunch of people is out to get me for helping the church, but it doesn’t matter.”

“Kyla—”

“No!” She imposed an iron control on her raging emotions. She wanted to run. More than anything she’d ever wanted in her life. But there was no way those thugs were chasing her off. “I’m not leaving. God called me to this; He’ll protect me.”

“He expects you to arm yourself. To gain the knowledge you need. To enlist the help of others you can trust.”

Emotion swept over her at his words. She wanted to fall into his arms, let him protect and shelter her. Instead, she stiffened. “I appreciate your concern. But I can deal with it.”

Bold words from a heart that was quaking in its shoes. But she couldn’t let him see that.

“Not by yourself, you can’t.”

Yes, by herself. Always by herself. Because that was the only person she knew for certain she could trust. “I’m not afraid. Not of the Blood Brotherhood. Not of King K.” She shifted, trying to find a stance that didn’t hurt. “Not even of your dire warnings. None of it worries me.”

The last remnants of warmth dissipated from his eyes. “Then you are an utter fool.”

With those chilled words hanging in the air, Rafe turned and walked away.

THIRTY-ONE   

T
arik listened as the angry voices faded, replaced by rapid-fire, retreating footsteps.

Wow.

So that’s what being in love did to you, huh? He’d seen Rafe angry before, but he’d never heard him like this. He was going to have to ask Rafe—

“Why you got to be here, L’il Man?”

Tarik didn’t even turn. “I wondered when you’d come back.”

“How many times I gotta tell you, stay away from these dead men.”

“I can’t do that, Jamal. You know it; I know it.”

A powerful hand grabbed his arm and spun him to face the man standing at his side. “I don’t know it. No reason you can’t jus’ walk away.”

Tarik didn’t flinch. “Yes, there is. These people are my family.”

“I’m you’re family, little brother. And stop callin’ me Jamal. My name is King Killa.”

“That’s your street name. I prefer the name Mama gave you.”

Jamal’s face twisted. “Yeah, well, Mama ain’t here now, is she?”

His brother’s cold tone would have hurt if Tarik hadn’t known the pain
that fueled it. “No, Jamal. She isn’t. These streets killed her. Like they’re going to kill you one day.”

His brother didn’t argue. He knew as well as Tarik that it was true.