THE BAD BOY BARGAIN

Chapter 18: The Ally

I pedaled hard, lungs burning, Rico’s truck growling behind me like a beast off its leash. Main Street blurred—shop lights dim, asphalt slick with May dew—and my phone buzzed again in my pocket, Jake’s call unanswered. The truck’s headlights flared, blinding in my mirror, and I swerved into an alley, tires skidding. It roared past, missing the turn, and I ducked behind a dumpster, chest heaving, sweat stinging my eyes. Gone—for now.

I yanked out my phone—two missed calls, a text: “You home? Call me.” I typed fast, hands shaky: “Safe. Rico chased me. Pier tomorrow.” His reply buzzed instant: “s**t. Stay put—I’m coming.” But I didn’t wait—biked the back way home, locked the door, and collapsed on my bed, heart still racing. Sleep didn’t come; Rico’s smirk haunted the dark.

Morning hit too soon—school loomed, and I dragged myself there, hoodie up, eyes gritty. Jake found me by my locker, face tight, grabbing my arm before I could speak. “You okay?” he hissed, scanning the hall like Rico might pop out. “Why didn’t you wait?”

“Couldn’t,” I said, voice low, pulling free. “He was gone—I’m fine. But he’s not bluffing.”

Jake cursed, rubbing his neck. “I’ll handle it. Stay out today—”

“No,” I cut in, firm. “We’re done with solo. I’m telling Ellie—she’ll dig something up. You talk to Tyler—he’s got your back.”

He frowned, hesitant, but nodded. “Fine. Lunch—meet me. We plan.”

The bell rang, splitting us, and I found Ellie in chem, her pink hair a beacon. I slid beside her, whispering, “Need help. Jake’s in deep—guy named Rico, fight ring stuff. Can you snoop?”

Her eyes lit up, mischief sparking. “Oh, I’m in. Gimme a day—my cousin’s got dark web tricks. What’s this Rico look like?”

“Scarred cheek, tattoos, black truck,” I said, sketching quick on my notebook. “Dangerous.”

“Hot,” she teased, then sobered at my glare. “Got it. I’ll text you.”

Lunch came fast—Jake waited by the bleachers, Tyler beside him, tossing a football. I jogged up, breath short. “Ellie’s on Rico,” I said, nodding at Tyler. “What’s he know?”

Tyler grinned, tossing the ball to Jake. “Heard of Rico—runs a ring out by the old mill, still active. My cousin’s bouncer there—says Rico’s shaky since jail, owes big to some boss. We could bluff him out.”

“Bluff how?” Jake asked, catching the ball, voice sharp. “He’s not dumb.”

“Cash drop,” Tyler said, leaning in. “Fake bills—my cousin’s got a stack from a prank. We set a meet, stall him, figure his next move. Buy time.”

I frowned, glancing at Jake. “Risky. He’s already tailing me—what if he flips?”

“Then we’re there,” Tyler said, clapping Jake’s shoulder. “Team, right?”

Jake hesitated, eyes on me—worry, not fight—then nodded. “Okay. Where?”

“Warehouse off Route 9,” Tyler said. “Tomorrow night—empty, no cameras. I’ll set it.”

“Done,” I said, firm, before Jake could argue. “I’m in—Rico’s my problem too.”

“No,” Jake snapped, stepping close, voice low. “You’re not—”

“Yes,” I cut in, meeting his glare. “You don’t get to bench me. We end this.”

He stared, jaw ticking, then sighed, pulling me aside as Tyler smirked and tossed the ball alone. “Mia, if he hurts you—”

“He won’t,” I said, softer, touching his chest. “We’ve got Tyler, Ellie—us. Trust me?”

His hand covered mine, warm, steady. “Always.” He kissed my forehead, quick, and I leaned into it, heart steadying despite the storm.

Next night, Route 9 loomed dark—warehouse squat and rusted, windows black, air thick with oil and damp grass. Tyler drove us in his beat-up Jeep, $500 in fake bills stuffed in a duffel. Jake sat shotgun, tense, me in back, gripping my phone—Ellie’s text fresh: “Rico’s ring’s real—cops raided it last year. He’s desperate.”

We parked behind a stack of crates, headlights off. Tyler nodded at the bag. “Drop’s there—corner by the loading dock. We watch, wait.”

I nodded, but my gut churned—Rico’s truck wasn’t here yet. Jake grabbed my hand, squeezing. “Stay low,” he whispered, eyes scanning the dark.

Tyler crept out, bag in hand, placing it under a tarp—smooth, quiet. He slid back, grinning. “Easy. He’ll bite.”

Minutes dragged—crickets, wind, my pulse loud in my ears. Then a rumble—black truck, rolling slow, headlights off. Rico stepped out, scarred face glinting as he lit a cigarette, smoke curling. He grabbed the bag, unzipped it, and froze—fake bills fluttering in his hand.

“s**t,” Tyler hissed, ducking lower. “He knows.”

Rico’s head snapped up, eyes raking the dark—straight at us. Jake cursed, grabbing me, but headlights flared behind him—another car, fast, screeching in. Two guys jumped out, hulking, shouting Rico’s name, fists clenched.

“His crew,” Tyler whispered, panic spiking. “They’re early—we’re screwed.”