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“First reaction is I’d kill them,” he says flatly.
I nod.
His gaze narrows.
I breathe in deep. “When I was twelve, my parents were murdered. They were shot,” I say, trying to calm my beating heart. I can think about my parents all I want inside my head, but the moment I start to talk about them aloud, it starts to break me. Like talking about it makes it real.
Brawler’s shoulders pull back. I wonder if he knows where I’m going with this yet.
“They bled out in the alley. They were out on their weekly date. They always had date nights on Fridays. The neighbor lady was watching me when the police showed up to tell us what happened.”
“Kyla, I’m so sorry.”
It’s funny how I’ve acclimated to this new name. I am Kyla now, the fusion of two people who meant the most to me in this whole world. I don’t even think of me as that little girl anymore. I can’t.
“Like your sister’s death, it was a senseless murder. It didn’t need to happen. My parents weren’t some criminals, they were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
Brawler lifts his hand to tuck a strand of hair around my ear. “Why did you ask me what I would do if I knew who killed my brother and sister?”
Here we go. I’m so close to the truth I might as well say it now. There’s no going back. “Because I know who killed them, and I’m going to make them pay.”
Brawler stands to his full height and turns, his hands diving into his hair. “Fuck, Kyla.” But he’s not mad, he’s sad. “What the fuck is wrong with this world?” he asks, looking up at the ceiling of the cramped room we’re in, but he’s not asking the ceiling, he’s asking whoever’s above that. The angels, maybe? Like the ones on his neck. One dark. One light.
I gasp. I’m the dark angel. It’s just dawned on me now. A harbinger of death, and I don’t care. I only hope that once I do this, I can turn light again. I hope I won’t be too far gone.
“Who is it?” Brawler asks. “The person who killed your parents? I’m guessing he’s in the Crew.”
I remember when I found out who it was. The policeman, explaining to my aunt and uncle that they knew who did it, but that there was nothing they could do about it. No evidence. No witnesses. It was a gang hit after all. Like Johnny said, they can clean up almost anything.
My stomach rolls. In that moment, I’m the embodiment of Brawler’s tattoo. Half bad. Half good. I know what I’m doing is wrong, but that’s not going to stop me, anyway. It only makes me more determined.
“Who is it?” Brawler asks again.
I picture myself on the day I found out, hiding around the staircase as my aunt and uncle talked to the homicide detective in charge of my parents’ case. He was explaining to them they were going to shut the case down. I remember my aunt’s sobs. Even now, I don’t know how she heard what he said through all her pain. “We know who did it, but our hands are tied. The DA won’t prosecute.”
“Who?” My uncle asked. “Who did it? You can at least give us that much.”
“Kingston Marx.”
I meet Brawler’s stare with one of my own. “Kingston Marx.” The inflections, the tone, everything I use to say that name is just how I heard it the first time all those years ago.
The color drains from Brawler’s face. “Kyla…”
I steel my shoulders. “Big Daddy K killed my parents as an initiation to take his spot atop the Heights Crew. I guess that’s what those vile, fucked up, murderous fucking assholes do. Prove their allegiance. Prove they’re badass enough. Prove—”
“—they’re less than human,” Brawler says, finishing for me.
I nod, swiping at my eyes.
Brawler approaches me. It might just be me, but he seems skittish now. Like maybe I have completely ruined this whole thing, but honestly, I’m glad someone else in the world knows my parents’ story. Knowsmystory. “You can’t kill Big Daddy K,” he says. I open my mouth to tell him some indignant phrase like ‘Fucking watch me’, but he continues, “It’s just not possible. Even if you did, what then? It’s a death wish.”
“Thanks for trying to mansplain this to me. You don’t think I’ve thought about everything? You’ve known about this for a whole half a minute, I’ve had six years. I know what I’m doing.”
“Okay, okay,” he relents. His voice is soft, but then his face turns hard the longer the silence grows between us. “That doesn’t mean I have to fucking like it.”
I jump off the desk. “You don’t have to, and I don’t care. I’m doing it. When I’m done, I’m leaving the Heights behind me. You just said you wanted to run away with me, can you wait? I have to do this, but then we can go. I’m starting a new life. One that’s not dictated by what someone did to me, but by what I want to do. You can do it, too, Brawler. You can leave the Heights with me, and we can both start over.”
“Together. With Oscar?”