Chapter 17: The Demand
929 Words
The pier stretched dark and quiet under the May moon, waves lapping at the pilings as I leaned on my bike, waiting. It was past ten, the town’s lights a faint glow behind me, and my pulse hadn’t slowed since Rico’s truck shadowed me home. Jake promised answers, but after his dodge at practice—“I thought it was over”—trust felt like a frayed rope. I zipped my hoodie tighter, the night air cool on my neck, and checked my phone. No texts. Just me, the creaking wood, and a growing itch to run.
Headlights cut the dark—his motorcycle, rumbling low as it rolled up. Jake killed the engine, helmet off, hair wild from the ride. He looked wrecked—eyes shadowed, jacket scuffed—and didn’t smile, just swung off and stepped close, hands shoved in his pockets. “You came,” he said, voice rough, like he’d doubted it.
“You said no more secrets,” I replied, arms crossed, keeping the rail between us. “Rico’s not nothing, Jake. Start talking.”
He exhaled, sharp, rubbing his face. “Yeah. Okay.” He leaned on the rail beside me, staring at the water, voice low. “Last summer, Lexi got in deep with Rico—five hundred she couldn’t pay, some deal gone bad. He ran fights, underground s**t—cash, blood, no rules. I stepped in, fought three nights, won her out. Thought that squared it.”
“Two grand says it didn’t,” I snapped, turning to him. “What else?”
He flinched, eyes flicking to mine, then away. “It wasn’t just fights. Rico had me run bets—small stuff, fifty bucks here, a hundred there. Kept me in his pocket ‘til Lexi bailed. I quit when she did, but he’s claiming I owe—interest, he says, for keeping quiet when he got pinched.”
My stomach sank, cold and heavy. “You bet on fights? After you swore—”
“I know,” he cut in, voice breaking. “I lied, Mia. Not proud of it—hated every second. But Kyle was crashing, Dad was gone, and Rico… he doesn’t ask nice. I stopped, I swear, but he’s back, and he’s pissed.”
I stepped back, the rail digging into my spine. “You promised no secrets. After Lexi, the test, everything—how’s this different?”
“It’s not,” he admitted, turning to face me fully, eyes pleading. “I f****d up. Thought he’d stay locked up, thought I could bury it. I’m sorry.”
“Sorry doesn’t fix two thousand dollars,” I said, voice rising, sharp with hurt. “Or him threatening me. What’s he want, Jake? Really?”
He gripped the rail, knuckles whitening. “Cash by Friday—or he burns my bike, my place, whatever he can touch. He saw you with me. That’s why I said stay away.”
“Too late,” I shot back, echoing myself from the lot. “He followed me home—black truck, tailing my bike. I’m in this, and you put me here.”
His face went white, then red, and he grabbed my shoulders, urgent. “He followed you? Mia, why didn’t you—”
“I’m fine,” I said, shaking him off, though my hands shook too. “But you’re not. We’re not. What’s the plan—run? Pay him with what?”
He let go, pacing, boots thumping the planks. “I don’t know. Sell the bike, maybe—only thing I’ve got. Or fight again, one night, square it.”
“No,” I snapped, stepping into his path. “You’re not going back to that. Rico’s not worth your blood.”
“Then what?” he yelled, spinning on me, voice cracking. “I’ve got nothing, Mia! No cash, no family—Kyle’s locked up, house is a dump. I can’t let him near you.”
I stared, his words slicing deep—anger, fear, love tangled in his shout. “You’ve got me,” I said, softer, stepping closer. “We figure it out. Together.”
He stopped, breathing hard, eyes locked on mine—wild, then softening. “You’re crazy,” he muttered, a half-laugh breaking through. “Why stick around?”
“Same reason you do,” I said, touching his arm, steady now. “This matters. Us.”
He pulled me in, arms tight, chin on my head, and I hugged back, his heart thudding against mine. “Okay,” he whispered, rough. “Together. But we need a plan—fast.”
“Tomorrow,” I said, pulling back. “School, after practice. We’ll think—Tyler might know something, or Ellie. No fighting, no running. Deal?”
“Deal,” he echoed, faint smile tugging his lips. He kissed me—quick, fierce, tasting of salt and nerves—and I kissed back, clinging to the moment, Rico’s shadow hovering too close.
We broke apart, and he grabbed his helmet, nodding me to my bike. “Home safe,” he said, firm. “Text me when you’re in.”
I nodded, pedaling off, the pier shrinking in the dark. But as I hit Main Street, headlights flared behind me—too bright, too close. I glanced back—black truck, engine growling, Rico’s scarred face glinting through the windshield. My phone buzzed in my pocket—Jake, probably—but I couldn’t stop, legs pumping, breath short, the truck’s rumble swallowing the night.
- Writer
