Page 18 of The Harder You Fall (Rixon Raiders 3)

“You’re so certain we wouldn’t work out. Why is that?” I scrubbed my jaw, half-surprised, half-relieved she wasn’t just shutting down this line of conversation.

“Look around you, Asher.”

Frowning, I glanced around the diner. A few kids watched us, curiosity glittering in their eyes. But it wasn’t anything outside the usual. Kids tended to know when a Raider was around. It’s just how it was in Rixon; came with the responsibility of wearing a blue and white jersey.

“In case you haven’t noticed, having an audience comes with the territory.”

“Wow, arrogant much?”

Laughter rumbled in my chest. “Just telling it like it is. I could care less if we have an audience. I only see you, Mya.”

Her lips parted on a small gasp.

“What, no sassy comeback?”

“I do not sass.”

“Sure you don’t.” I smirked, loving our playful interaction. But it ended all too quickly, when Mya’s smile slipped away.

“You don’t think they’re looking at us wondering what someone like you is doing here with someone like me?”

“I don’t give a shit what they think, and you shouldn’t either.”

“It’s easy for you to say,” she threw back and I tugged my hair in frustration. Mya was a complicated girl. Walls so high and reinforced I wasn’t ever sure I’d get through them. But then, sometimes, she’d give me a look that said, ‘don’t give up’.

“Come on, Hernandez, work with me here. I won’t let them bother me, if you don’t let them bother you. Or I could go over there and ask them what the fuck their problem is?” I went to get up, but Mya’s hand snagged my wrist over the table.

“No,” she rushed out. “Don’t, please.”

“So you’ll ignore them?”

“Them who?” Her voice dripped sarcasm but I’d take it.

“That’s my girl,” I said, grinning like the damn Cheshire cat. Mya’s eyes widened in surprise at my slip of the tongue.

If only she knew the truth. Knew that it wasn’t a slip of the tongue at all. It was a test. A promise of things to come. Because one day, Mya Hernandez would be mine.

She just didn’t know it yet.

Mya

Every Tuesday without fail, I spoke to Mom. Sometimes we’d speak for hours, other times it was shorter, and if she got upset, we usually ended the call and promised to talk again soon. But today, the first time in almost twelve weeks, she didn’t pick up.

“Come on, Mama,” I muttered, hitting call again. It rang out, the drone of the dial tone echoing through my mind. “Aunt C, have you heard from Mama today?”

She appeared in the door. “She texted me a couple of days ago. She isn’t answering?” Aunt Ciara eyed the phone in my hand.

“No. It’s Tuesday. We always talk on Tuesdays.” Panic flooded me. “What if something happ—”

“Breathe, Mya. Breathe.” My aunt hurried to my side. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”

Just then, my cell phone blared to life. “See, nothing to worry about.”

“Mama?”

“Mya, mi pequeña. I’m sorry I missed your call. I was washing my hair and didn’t hear my cell.”

“That’s okay.” Relief sank into my bones. Aunt Ciara pressed a kiss to my head before leaving me alone. “How are you?”