♕Harley Anderson♕

Despite the warmth that I had been feeling throughout the day, the slight- ever so there- breeze that whistles every now and then racks shivers up my spine. However, I didn't think to bring a jacket with me to the track with it having been warm when I left the apartment. I'm beginning to regret it now. All that I have on is a pair of jeans- that are ripped which makes them even less protective against the cold- and a simple pink tank top. Not even the boots I have on are enabling my feet to keep me warm.

As I impatiently wait for the races to begin, I absentmindedly trace patterns into the sand with my foot. Ants scatter away in a panic, running away from my foot and knock into each other and I find some kind of amusement in that. When I hear a girl let out a loud laugh, I look up and watch as a short girl with a red bob is tossed over the shoulder by some guy before he walks away with her playfully cussing him out. Without Katalina here, I don't have anyone to really talk to given the fact that I make a point of not talking to many people at the track. The less drama, the better. However, I do make a point of listening to people's conversations so as to try hear for anything useful- I haven't heard anything concerning.

Sighing, I pull my hair up into a messy bun on my head and tie it. My hair is no longer as short with it being near my shoulder blades now and my dark roots really visible. I make a mental note to do a touch up as soon as possible.

"You look a little lonely without Katalina by your side." A familiar voice says and I snap my head to the side to see Cyrus Reynald walking to me. He is wearing a brown jacket over a cream shirt that's paired with blue jeans and he casually rests his hands in the pockets of it. Clenching my jaw tightly, I eye him up and down. He looks so clean-shaven and... ordinary. I can't believe that this man standing in front of me is a leader in a gang yet is the boy I grew up with. The attempt at a joke does not go unnoticed but I choose not to really acknowledge it.

"And I'm surprised to see you at all." I respond. "I sometimes forget you're even a part of this gang."

For some reason, Cyrus seems to take that as an invitation to take a seat next to me on the hood of my car. I almost tell him to get off, to go away. But a part of me tells me to leave it. What harm can just sitting next to him do?

"It almost sounds like you want to see me." He muses, sending a smile my way and I roll my eyes.

"Trust me when I say that is not the case." Looking away, I continue to watch various people bustle about. I notice a few Slither members and a few Kings members and I wonder if they know I'm on their side.

"I've been in Pittsburgh." He suddenly blurts and I look at him with a frown.

"You don't need to explain anything to me. I'm the last person who cares."

He looks down at his feet as he crosses one over the other before nodding his head. Cyrus looks out to the crowd, eyes moving about. "I know," he admits, "but I felt like telling you something anyway."

"I'm sure Percy must have missed you." I bite sarcastically, pushing a smile onto my face. Cyrus makes a point of ignoring it by looking away and I do the same. With my snarky remark, I was expecting him to have walked away already.

"She was with me. In fact, she's still there." He replies, not a moment later, and I'm surprised that he's even answered my somewhat question. Frowning, I glance down at my shoes while wondering if this is what Katalina and Enrique meant when they said that me being related to Cyrus puts me at an advantage because here he is, telling me something I didn't really ask. And... perhaps I should dig more. It would be easy- just get him talking with the fake idea that I care about him and not the words he says.

Don't trust me Cyrus sits on the tip of my tongue, shame coating it to taste so bitter that I almost spit it out. You should never trust someone you've hurt, you should never trust someone who hasn't forgiven you. Because they will not hesitate to hurt you, and that's exactly what doing this will make me do. Don't trust me Cyrus.

"And why exactly is she there?" I reply, that sarcastic, indifferent tone not needing to be faked. I ignore the thought in my mind and keep going, knowing that this is a good opportunity. This how I need to take Jack down. So what if Cyrus is collateral damage?

He shrugs. "She has some stuff there that she needs to do for Jack."

Pursing my lips, I debate how I should respond before testing my luck and saying: "Should I be worried about what that 'stuff' is?" I try phrase it as a joke but still keep up the sarcastic nature to avoid making my interest obvious. Surprisingly, Cyrus let's out a throaty laugh and I'm taken aback, watching the action for a moment- the way he tips his head back, skin crinkling around his eyes. Do people around us think we're long lost friends? That I'm not his sister still heartbroken from her brother's choice of actions?

"No," he eventually shakes his head. "Not if it means a bigger and better gang,"

Bigger and better. I save the two words in my mind so that I can repeat them to Lina when I see her.

"Right," I say, looking down at my arms that are crossed over my chest.

"You know, you're great at racing." The man who was my brother in another universe says and I internally kick myself for feeling the joy blossoming in my chest from the sound of Cyrus's pride.

For some reason, I want to give an opportunity or a reason for Cyrus to spend time with me. And despite not knowing why, I do know it's not because I want his company.

"Well I wish Jack would stop making me have to practice something I already know and let me focus on something I don't but actually need if I want to survive... like self-defense." I reply bitterly.

His eyes widen at the insinuation and I immediately wish I had never said these words- do I really want to spend more time with Cyrus than necessary just to get information for the Kings? Is it worth putting myself through that? Realizing it's too late, I roll with it anyway.

"You want me to teach you?" Dumbfounded he asks and my tongue feels like sandpaper suddenly. Swallowing hard, I meet his green eyes with a passive mask on.

"I just want to be taught. I don't care by who."

I see the delight in his eyes deflate a little and he nods, clicking his knuckles before smiling tightly. "I thought that you'd at least have learnt something from Cameron." He phrases the statement more like a question and in frustration, I get up off of my car and walk pass him as I round it to the driver's side. He turns to face me as I open the car door.

"I have." I respond, my hand on the roof of the car. "But not enough for me to be able to defend myself against a Kings member hell bent on killing me." Shrugging, I continue. "But I'm not surprised that you don't want to help me out since, y'know, it's always the gang before me." I'm about to slide into my seat when I hear the man I once trusted with my life say:

"I'll do it. Let me just speak to Jack about it."

My hazel eyes meet his green ones and I try to make out what exactly the emotion running through them is but I can't pick it out. It's like looking at a blank piece of paper so, instead, I nod my head and climb into my car before letting out a deep sigh as the door swings shut.

****

Despite it already being eleven at night, I decide to head to the apartment and grab a jacket before going to watch Danté tonight. I haven't gone to watch him since the first day I saw him fight but I know he'll appreciate the support and I'd do anything for him- even watch violence out of my own free will.

Quickly, I run into the bedroom and pull out a black suede jacket before pulling it on. I slip a gun back into my waistband and reach for my keys and phone before opening the door. However, before I can even take a step out, I bump into Danté clutching his ribs while leaning against the doorframe. Blood oozes down his skin and through his hand that he clutches over the wound. I don't think twice before dropping my things on the counter and rushing to his side. Sweat beads down his forhead and he clenches his jaw as I step closer to him.

"Ola hermosa." He greets, trying to sound chirpy. I ignore his attempt at making light of the situation as I move his hand away and take a look at the gash along his ribcage that has a steady flow of blood. I pull him inside before pushing him to the sofa which he falls down onto without complaint. Retrieving the first aid kit from the bathroom and grabbing a cloth, I bend down on the floor. I press the piece of material to his wound, staining it red.

"Is it deep?" Danté asks, a bit breathlessly and I nod, dropping the red cloth on the floor before rummaging through the first aid kit.

"You're going to need stitches." I reply and Danté exhales loudly. "But I can't do the stitches." I admit and he frowns, looking at me through glossy eyes.

"Why?"

"I don't have enough stitching." I respond, double checking the kit to only come up empty. "Plus, I can't stitch like a doctor so your scar will be bigger than it would be if done by a professional."

"I don't care about the damn scar."  He says and I know it's somewhat a lie.

"I think we're both tired of adding scars on top of scars." I reply, placing the cloth back against the injury and applying pressure before placing Danté's hand above it so that he can do it. Wiping the blood off on my jeans, I reach for my phone and scroll through my contacts.

"What are you suggesting, amado? Taking me to a hospital? I don't even think there's one around here, let alone one that doesn't have doctors that will realize something is wrong with me and call the damn cops if they aren't part of one of the gangs."

Shaking my head, I press on Katalina's name before it begins ringing. "Lina will know where we can go. Just... keep applying pressure."

After Lina picks up and I explain the situation to her, she tells me to get to her house. Ending the call, I help Danté stand up before leading us out of the apartment and locking it up.

"Where are we going?" He asks as we take the elevator.

"Lina and Ramiro's house." I reply, eyeing his bloody torso briefly before the elevator doors open and I walk out to the car with Danté tiredly following me. He climbs into my car and I immediately switch the engine on and back out of the parking space.

"Thank goodness your seats are leather." He mutters and I eye the blood dripping onto the seat.

"What exactly happened anyway?" I enquire as I drive. A part of me already knows the answer but another part of me has hope that he isn't going to say what I think he will.

"It was Dirty Fight Night. My opponent had a knife and decided to take a swipe at me."

I glance at him briefly in confusion, "Don't they have doctors on site there? To deal with situations like this?"

Danté nods.

"So then?"

"I refused to use the knuckle-busters that Xavier gave me so he denied me medical attention. Fucking bastard." He grunts and I grip the steering wheel tighter. Images of Danté fighting while somebody constantly tries to stab him with a knife comes to mind and I have to suppress it in order to keep my anger under wraps. Should I tell Danté I'm proud that he decided to stick to his morals and not use any weapons? Or should I tell him to be smarter next time and use the damn knuckle-busters? Where do I draw the line? This is what the gang does to people- it makes us choose violence and blood because it's the only choice that means we'll survive, that we'll thrive.

"I'm assuming that he wasn't too happy when you lost either." I add and Danté manages to let out a little chuckle.

"There wasn't anything to be mad about regarding that."

With my eyebrows raised high in surprise, I glance at the man bleeding beside me to see him already watching me.

"Wait, you won?" The words come out in a surprised question.

"I'm glad you have so much faith in me." He muses and I roll my eyes, turning the street that Lina and Ramiro's house is on.

"Well it's hard to when there was apparently a man trying to beat you up with a knife." I respond, knowing that I would have playfully punched his shoulder if this was another situation but given his state of bleeding I decide against it. When I pull up outside of the house, there is another car outside- one which I don't recognize- and I see Ramiro standing against the wall next to the open door to their house. After I stop the car, he comes towards us and I climb out before rounding to Danté's side although he's already halfway out the door. The gash isn't as deep as it could have been but there's a lot of blood, making it seem worse than what it really is.

"Dirty Fight Night didn't seem to go so well, huh?" Ramiro questions, eyeing Danté. My boyfriend offers Ramiro a wry smile before he begins walking- or rather stumbling- towards the door.

"Can you guys question me after I'm sitting on a couch or something. I'm about to pass out." Danté grumbles, looking paler than he was. Ramiro nods, taking one of his friend's arms and placing it around his neck to help alleviate some of his weight. We stumble inside, blood dripping onto the tiled floors when Lina appears.

"You're messing my house Cameron." She says with a frown but the joking tone doesn't go unnoticed as Cameron flips her the bird and offers her a mocking look. Laughing, she moves out of the way for the men to go down the passage. When they're gone, she glances at me and smiles before eyeing my now bloody top.

"That was a cute shirt." She comments and I nod with a small laugh.

"Yeah- was."

She laughs along with me, before gesturing with her head to tell me to follow. I do, walking down the passage to a spacious master bedroom with red fabric and brown detailing. Danté is on the bed, a towel underneath him while another man I don't deem familiar stands with various medical supplies on the vanity.

"This is Jacob- he's a callout doctor." Lina explains and the man who has greying hair and a very crooked nose nods his head in greeting before he begins working on cleaning and disinfecting the wound before sterilizing what is needed for the stitches. He injects Danté with something I'm assuming is to numb the area and I lean against the doorway, watching as Danté shuts his eyes tightly.

"Are you sure you don't want something to drink? Like, in the kitchen?" Ramiro asks, suddenly being beside me and I pull my eyes away from Danté and look at him. Offering a tired smile, I nod and follow Ramiro out of the room. Lina stays behind, leaning against the wall as the doctor fixes Danté up.

In the kitchen, I slide into a chair as Ramiro switches on the kettle. The sound drowns out the voices of the doctor, Lina and Danté although I can't understand what they're saying anyway with it being Spanish.

"Coffee or tea?" Ramiro asks, pulling out two yellow mugs that have intricate patterns on them in green.

"Tea, thanks. I don't drink coffee."

Ramiro gives me an incredulous look and I chuckle at the expression on his face.

"You don't drink coffee?" He asks dubiously as he places a teabag into a mug. After asking how many sugars I take, he places two inside. "How do you deal with sleep deprivation?" He muses and I snort.

"I don't. I just get drunk to forget I'm tired in the first place."

This seems to amuse the man in front of me because he shakes his head with a smile. Soon, the sound of the spoon clinking against the mug is heard and I realize how tired I actually am. The late nights and early mornings are exhausting and with the random bursts of panic, fear and worry during the day, my mind is exhausted too.

"Weren't you fighting tonight too?" I ask and Ramiro nods, sliding the mug of tea to me. I grasp it then, inhaling the scent of Earl Grey. I narrow my eyes at him, searching for any possible injury but come up empty. Did he maybe not have to fight a dirty one tonight? Ramiro seems to understand what I'm thinking because he suddenly lifts up his shirt, pulling it over his head and turning around. The defined muscles of his stomach, back and arms prove that he is indeed a fighter. But I notice that what he's showing me is the big ugly bruise across the middle of his back that's a deep purple colour. My eyebrows raise and he drops his shirt back down before turning around.

"I fought one of the earlier fights and the guy decided to whack me repeatedly with the back of his knife." He offers me an explanation. "I didn't see Cameron fight though, but given the fact that he didn't use a weapon and he only has one gash and still won tells me that he's much better at it then he gives himself credit for."

A knot forms between my brows as I take a sip of the steaming tea. "If you weren't there, how do you know about the whole thing of him not using a weapon?"

"Do you want to go outside?" He asks but doesn't leave room for me to respond when he leads me out the living room and onto the veranda that looks out at their quaint garden. I take a seat at the small glass table while Ramiro sits opposite me, sipping on what looks like black coffee. At first, all that is heard is the peaceful chirping or the insects and the whistle of the breeze every now and then and I feel at peace for a little while.

"Word spreads when a guy refuses to go in armed in a dirty fight." Ramiro answers my previous question and I watch the stars glowing in the night sky as I listen to him talk. Does that mean that Danté will have more respect for going against the norm and breaking the rule? Will it make him seem like an arrogant prick who thinks he can fight someone else who is armed? Or is he now going to be viewed as weak for not picking a knife and trying to stab someone?

"Does it ever get tiring?" Ramiro suddenly asks and I look away from the black canvas and to him. His head is cocked ever so slightly to the left, eyebrows furrowed a little.

"Does what get tiring?"

He shrugs, placing his mug on the table before twisting one of his rings off and then slipping it back on. "Being a good person." He replies. "You and Cameron just radiate this... good spirit kind of vibe. And you... you have an air of innocence but you've seen such horrible things."

Speechless at his words, I try think of a suitable response. I don't think I've being a good person for a long time because if you're really a good person, it means you treat yourself with the same amount of respect and kindness that you offer others. And I don't do that. The only reason I look good is because they haven't given me a gun and put someone I loathe in front of me and asked me to shoot. Because if they did, I would pull the trigger. If I could kill Jack I would- I would. I do not like the taste of blood but I still crave it, I suppose. I don't want to kill someone ever again but if I have to, I will, if it's my only choice, I'll do it. If I have to kill a hundred people to save Danté, I will.

Does that make me a good person?

I'm planning on manipulating my brother to milk him of information to try and take the gang down. I'm willing to hurt him even though I hate him for hurting me.

Does that make me a good person?

"I'm not." I respond. My voice is filled with much more emotion than I wanted it to be but I swallow and shake my head. "I'm not a good person."

Ramiro offers me a small smile. "Just because you've done bad things doesn't mean that you're a bad person."

"And just because I've done good things doesn't mean I'm a good person." I counter and Ramiro's lips twitch up into a smile.

"Touché," he nods his head and I find myself smiling, somehow, someway.

"Touché," I repeat before I let the breeze take the conversation with it.

•••
Sorry for the late-ish update <3
I hope you guys enjoyed the chapter.
Also, I'm curious as to what you guys think of Cyrus and Harley's interactions?
Lastly, this is going to be the last double update for a while... from next Saturday, I'll be uploading a single chapter just to slow down the pace a little. We're also just over halfway through the book :)
Love you all and hope you're staying safe!!

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