“We’re all on edge. I just want to make sure you’re okay, and that your head is in the game.”
I snorted with sarcasm before turning to face him again. “My head is always in the game. You don’t have to question that.”
“I’m not. I’m just looking out for a friend.” Dutch looked over my shoulder toward the main entrance. “Ah, fuck.”
“What?” I glanced in the same direction.
“It’s that boy I told you about last week.”
“The one you suspect is getting his ass kicked back at home?”
“Yup. Look at his face.”
The scrawny teenager was wearing a black hoody, trying to hide the bruise on his cheek but doing a piss poor job at it. “What’s his name?”
“Trent.”
I placed my towel over my shoulder and called out, “Yo, Trent.”
The boy looked at me.
“Get your ass over here.”
Trent looked around him, behind him, then back at me as if he wasn’t sure I was talking to him.
“Yeah, you. Get over here.”
Trent slowly moved toward us, and it was painfully obvious the boy was scared as hell. But the closer he came, the clearer we saw the blue and black bruise that stretched all the way from his eye to the bottom of his nose.
“How’d you get that?” I pointed to his face.
“I…um—”
“Spit it out,” I warned.
“Please,” he started, “I don’t want trouble. I’m just here to learn how to fight.”
I crossed my arms. “You got someone you need to defend yourself against?”
The boy glanced around the gym, and Dutch stepped forward. “Take off the goddamn hoody, would you?”
Trent cautiously slipped the hoody from his head, and when I saw the blue bruises around his throat, clearly from someone’s hand, my rage started to simmer. There was a lot of nasty shit I could tolerate, but child abuse wasn’t on the list. In my opinion, if you could beat up a kid, you could burn in your own personal corner in hell.
I glanced around the gym and noticed Ink standing by the back entrance. I moved closer, staring down at the boy. “Who the fuck did this to you, son?”
“Nobody.” His voice shook, the vein in his neck going apeshit.
“Do not lie to me, boy.” I wanted to shake the truth right out of him, but Dutch stepped in when he saw I was about to lose my shit.
“Trent, we can’t help if you don’t tell us what the hell is going on.”
“I don’t need help.” His jaw clenched, nostrils flared. It was a mix between anger and fear, something I knew a lot about.
Dutch reached out and grabbed the boy’s chin, turning his face to the side, scrutinizing the bruise. “Sure looks like you don’t need fucking help.”
“Listen,” I pulled the hairband from my wrist and tied my hair behind my neck, “if you want to get roughed up for the rest of your fucking life, be my guest, but let me tell you this. If you don’t do something about it now, the day you’re old enough to fuck off to who knows where, whoever is doing this to you will just find another innocent boy or girl to hurt. So man up and tell us who the fuck it is. You might just save another kid a whole lot of trauma.”
Trent’s gaze dropped to the floor, and he crossed his arms with his shoulders slumped. “It’s my mom’s boyfriend.”