Chapter 1: Evicted
The air smelled like heat, freshly cut grass, and the faint, perpetually dusty scent of the old library walls. Somewhere, a basketball echoed a steady, lonely rhythm against asphalt.
She wove through the scatter of students, her mind already halfway through her ethics reading. The bank of lockers near the west stairwell was a blessedly quiet corner, away from the main thoroughfare. She was fumbling for her combination when the sharp, stinging slap landed.
She gasped, whirling around, her books tumbling to the floor.
Tristan Evans stood there, a smirk carved into his tanned face. His green eyes held that lazy, possessive gleam she used to mistake for charm. “Remember how much you liked that?” he said, his voice a low, confident rumble.
The heat in her cheeks wasn’t embarrassment; it was pure, fizzy anger. She shoved him, her hands meeting the solid wall of his chest. He barely rocked back. “News flash, Tristan, I never liked it. And you lost my perfect ass when you screwed Ashley.”
He shrugged, the picture of infuriating nonchalance. “What did you expect? I’ve got needs.”
“You’re right,” she said, her voice dropping into something cold and sharp. She knelt to gather her books, her movements deliberate. “How should I expect a red piller who got held back twice to be a gentleman.”
The smirk vanished. His hand shot out, not at her, but at the delicate silver chain around her neck. His fingers closed around the small, teardrop pendant her grandmother had given her. “What did you call me?” he snarled, and yanked.
The chain bit into the back of her neck before snapping with a pathetic ping. The pendant disappeared into his clenched fist.
“Asshole,” she breathed, rubbing the stinging skin.
He looked from her furious face to his own hand, a new, crueler idea dawning. He shoved his hand—and her necklace—down into the front pocket of his low-slung jeans. A slow, taunting grin spread across his face. “Want it back?” He adjusted himself, the outline of the pendant clear through the thin fabric. “Come and get it.”
The violation was so absurd, so petty, it tightened her throat. But the fear was gone, burned away by the outrage. She squared her shoulders, her kind brown eyes turning to flint. “No. I’ll actually have you expelled for sexual harassment instead.”
He barked a laugh, leaning in close. The smell of his cheap cologne was suffocating. “My dad just donated a new wing to the campus. Come on, Kenzie. Don’t play. I know you still want me.”
A shadow fell across them both.
Neither had heard Joseph Black approach. He moved like a quiet current through the crowded hall, a storm contained in a lean six-foot-two frame. His fluffy black hair was messy, and the scar through his right eyebrow stood pale against his tan. He’d been heading for his locker, just two down from hers, the argument an annoying buzz in his periphery.
He didn’t say a word. He didn’t announce himself.
One moment Tristan was leering over Kenzie, the next a large, calloused hand was wrapped in his brown hair. There was a terrifying, economic efficiency to the motion. Joseph pulled Tristan’s head forward and down, smashing his face into the metal door of Kenzie’s locker with a damp, crunching thud.
The sound echoed in the sudden silence of the hallway.
Tristan groaned, stumbling back, both hands flying to his nose. Blood, shockingly bright, welled instantly between his fingers. “You asshole!” he whined, his voice nasal and thick. “I’m shooting a nose spray ad tomorrow!”
Joseph didn’t acknowledge him. He just stared, his piercing blue eyes utterly blank, as if he’d swatted a fly.
Cradling his face, Tristan shuffled backward, the bravado completely drained. “You’re both crazy,” he muttered, before turning and hurrying down the hall, a trail of sporadic crimson droplets marking his exit.
He finally broke his stare, turning his head toward her. His gaze held hers for one brief, electric moment. There was no heroics in it, no reassurance, no smile. Just a flat, assessing look that scanned her face.
Then he turned away as if nothing had happened. He spun the dial on his own locker, yanking it open.
He spun the dial on his own locker, yanked it open.
Kenzie watched Joseph. He pulled out a worn black hoodie and shoved it into his backpack, his movements sharp, efficient, entirely closed off.
She walked over, stopping a few feet from where he leaned against the locker next to his.
He didn’t look up, just zipped a compartment shut with a harsh rasp.
“Joseph, did you just rescue me?” she asked, her voice softer than she intended.
He finally glanced at her, a flick of piercing blue. “Your fuck boy was blocking my shit.”
“Okay, not my fuck boy,” she corrected, folding her arms. “Tristan is a wannabe bully with a minuscule brain. And terrible cologne.”
He made a noncommittal sound in his throat, a short hmph, and slammed his locker closed. The bang echoed. He hooked his backpack over one shoulder and started walking down the hall, away from the main flow of students.
Kenzie stared at his retreating back for two full seconds. Then she followed.
Her flats squeaked softly on the polished floor, trying to match his long, ground-eating strides. “You’re in a very unique position to help me.”
He kept walking, shoving a hand into the pocket of his jeans.
“Excuse me,” she said, louder. “I’m talking to you.”
He turned so suddenly she nearly walked into him. In one fluid motion, he backed her against a bank of lockers. His hand came up to rest on the cold metal beside her head, not touching her, but caging her in. He loomed, all lean muscle and simmering impatience. “What do you want?”
She held his gaze, refusing to look away from those glacier eyes. She took a slow, deliberate breath, catching the scent of detergent on his shirt, something clean and sharp, and underneath it, the faint, earthy smell of old leather. “Tristan hasn’t left me alone for months,” she said, the words coming out in a rushed whisper. “He stalks me on campus. He shows up to my house in the middle of the night. Last week he sat in his car across the street for three hours. Just… watching.”
Joseph’s expression didn’t change. “I’ve got nothing to do with that guy.”
“I know you don’t. I wanna change that. You can make him leave me alone.”
“Your dude and I don’t talk.”
“I know it’s ‘cause he’s scared of you,” she said, leaning forward slightly, into his space. “And, for the last time, he’s not my dude.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw. He studied her face, as if looking for a lie, for dramatics. All he saw was the pale tension around her mouth, the genuine fear shadowing her kind eyes. He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous rumble. “How am I supposed to help you with a guy I don’t talk to?”
A flicker of triumph sparked through her fear. She allowed a small, tight smile. “Well,” she said, her voice gaining strength. “I’m glad you asked.”
Her chin lifted, a defiance that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “You’re gonna talk to me. You’re gonna walk me in between my classes and sit with me at lunch and be with me all day.”
Joseph stared. A slow, disbelieving smirk twisted his lips. “You want me to be your fake boyfriend?”
She looked at him, then her gaze dropped to the floor between them, focusing on a scuff mark on the tile. “No. No, as if. No one would even believe that we are together.” She met his eyes again. “Less boyfriend, more guard dog.”
The air went static. He went very still. Then he licked his lips, a slow, deliberate motion, and leaned in until his face was inches from hers. She held her breath, caught in the glacial blue of his eye. His voice was a low, dangerous wire. “I’m not your bitch, Kenzie.”
He pushed off the locker and walked away.
He got ten feet before his phone buzzed in his pocket, a violent insectile rattle against his thigh. He pulled it out, thumb swiping the screen without breaking stride. He stopped.
The words were simple, bureaucratic, final. FINAL EVICTION NOTICE. LOCKS HAVE BEEN CHANGED. BELONGINGS REMOVED.
His entire body locked. The phone crumpled slightly in his grip. Then he shoved it back into his pocket and ran.
He took off down the side hall, sneakers slapping hard against the linoleum, a streak of black hair and desperate motion.
“Where are you going? It’s the middle of the school day!” Kenzie’s voice chased him, useless and shrill.
He didn’t hear her. He was already through the west exit doors, the sunlight hitting him like a physical wall. He ran past the drowsy lawns, past the basketball courts, his backpack hammering against his spine. He cut through an alley strewn with broken pallets, the sound of his own ragged breath loud in his ears.
Twenty minutes later, he skidded to a halt outside a rust-streaked warehouse in the industrial district. The air here smelled of diesel and hot metal. He shoved a heavy side door open and plunged into the gloom.
Inside, the cavernous space was choked with the smell of stale sweat, sawdust, and testosterone. A chain-link cage sat in the center under a pool of harsh white light. A sparse, rough crowd of men, tattooed, desperate—milled around it, the low murmur of bets passing between them.
Joseph didn’t hesitate. He went straight to a plastic crate near the wall, yanking his shirt over his head and tossing it in. His torso was lean and defined, a map of old bruises and sharp angles. He climbed into the cage.
Across from him, a guy named Ash was already waiting, bouncing on the balls of his feet. Ash was all coiled muscle and bad intentions, his knuckles taped, his eyes flat. He grinned, showing a chipped tooth.
A bald man with a neck like a stump slid the cage door shut with a metallic clang. The lock clicked.
The bell dinged, a cheap, tinny sound.
Ash lunged forward, leading with a wild, heavy right hook aimed at Joseph’s temple.
Joseph didn’t flinch. He shifted his weight, his left forearm coming up to block the blow, the impact vibrating up his bone. In the same fluid motion, before Ash could recover his balance, Joseph uncoiled his own right fist.
It wasn’t a brawler’s swing. It was sharp, direct, and brutally efficient. It connected square on the point of Ash’s jaw with a crack that cut through the warehouse murmur.
Ash staggered back, shaking his head like a wet dog, but the grin never left his face.He spat a glob of red onto the mat. “Alright, kid. Alright.”
Ash lunged forward again, feinting an uppercut that made Joseph flinch, then swung hard into Joseph’s exposed side. The air left Joseph’s lungs in a pained whoosh. He grabbed his ribs, the world blurring for a second, the taste of copper flooding his mouth. He bounced on his feet, forcing air back in, and as Ash came in close, Joseph reached out, locking Ash’s arm above his head in a vicious twist. With his other fist, he drove two rapid punches deep into Ash’s already damaged side.
Ash scrambled out of the hold, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He swung wildly, his knuckles clipping Joseph across the cheekbone. He answered with a savage kick to Ash’s lead leg. The leg buckled. Ash went down to one knee on the mat, but he looked up, smiling through the blood dripping from his nose and split lip. “Show me what you got, boy.”
Joseph grabbed a fistful of Ash’s sweaty hair.
From the shadow of the open rolled door, where the grey afternoon light leaked in, Kenzie watched. No one in the crowded, jeering circle had a clue she was there. Her hand was pressed over her mouth, her heart a trapped bird in her throat.
Joseph hit him once, a short, brutal punch to the face. Then he let go of the hair, stepped back for momentum, and drove a final, punishing uppercut up under Ash’s chin. Ash’s head snapped back. He folded, collapsing to the mat in a motionless heap. The warehouse erupted. Cheers, curses, the clinking of cash changing hands.
Joseph stood over Ash, his chest heaving, sweat and someone else’s blood streaking his torso. He looked up, scanning the crowd with dead eyes, looking for the bald man who owed him.
Through the haze of cigarette smoke and moving bodies, he saw a figure haloed in the doorway light. Blonde hair. A familiar, horrified face. His blood ran cold. He pushed through the crowd, ignoring the slaps on his back. He moved quickly, a predator’s grace cutting through the chaos, and grabbed Kenzie’s arm. His grip was iron. He didn’t speak, just pulled her backwards out of the doorway and into the grimy alley, around the corner where the stink of dumpsters was overwhelming.
He released her arm. “Kenzie. Are you serious? You need to leave. Now. It’s not safe for you here.”
She rubbed her arm, her brown eyes wide but defiant. “Well, you didn’t give me an answer at school, so.”
“Are you always like this?” he exploded, running a hand through his hair. A smear of blood transferred to his temple. “I got my own problems! I don’t need to mess with some poor little rich girl’s self-made drama.”
“Illegal fight ring problems, you mean,” she shot back, her voice quieter but sharp as glass.
He stared at her, the words hanging between them in the damp alley air.
He glanced past her shoulder, his eyes scanning the brick walls and the rusted fire escape. His voice dropped to a harsh whisper. “Lower your voice.”
“You want me to be quiet?” Kenzie’s own whisper was fierce, carried on a breath of incredulous laughter. “Either you be my guard dog, or I’m gonna turn you in.” She took a step closer, the toes of her flats nearly touching his battered sneakers. He looked down at her, his expression unreadable.“What sounds better? Guard dog or prison?”
The distant cheer from the warehouse bled into the silence. Joseph’s chest rose and fell, the adrenaline from the fight still singing in his veins, now souring into a desperate calculation. He looked back toward the building’s door, then back at her defiant, upturned face. He let out a sharp breath, fogging in the cool alley. “Fine. I’ll do it.”
“Good boy,” she said, the words crisp and dismissive. She turned to leave. His hand shot out, circling her wrist. His grip wasn’t rough, but it was absolute, a steel cable halting her momentum. He turned her around to face him again. “Under one condition,” he said, the words leaving him like a surrender. “I need a place to stay.”
She blinked, her brow furrowing. “What’s wrong with your house?”
“I need a place to stay,” he repeated, his jaw tight. “Or no deal.”
“And I get your protection?”
He nodded, once, his breathing still heavy from the fight. Sweat and blood traced paths through the dust on his skin.
Kenzie’s eyes travelled over him—the sheen of sweat, the mottled bruise forming on his ribs, the spatter of Ash’s blood across his collarbone. She shook her head, a small, resigned motion. “Fine. You can stay at mine.” She put her hands up, taking him in fully. “But I really need you to shower. I can’t with all this.” She flicked her hair over her shoulder with a finality that seemed to dismiss the entire filthy arena, the blood, the danger, him.
She walked away, her footsteps echoing lightly until she turned the corner and was gone. Joseph stood alone in the alley. The throbbing in his knuckles finally registered. The ache in his side flared with each breath. The sharp, metallic taste of the fight was still in his mouth, but it was now underscored by the bitter chalk of the bargain he’d just made. Guard dog.
He leaned back against the cold brick, tilting his head up to the narrow strip of grey sky. A laugh, dry and hollow, escaped him. He was homeless, bleeding, and now he was the hired muscle for a rich girl who looked at him like he was something she’d scraped off her shoe. The eviction notice sat in his phone like a stone. This was the only door that hadn’t slammed in his face today, even if she’d left it swinging.
He pushed off the wall, gathering his discarded shirt from the crate inside with a numb detachment. The crowd had begun to disperse, the money already counted. The bald man found him, pressed a wad of crumpled bills into his hand without a word. It was less than he’d been promised. It always was.
He didn’t count it. He just stuffed it into his pocket, shouldered his backpack, and walked out of the warehouse.