CHAPTER SIX

-•NATHAN•-

Presley's room was on the fourth floor, one floor below mine. My dad wanted to have a meeting with him because he said that if he hadn't met Presley, then nothing was official.

I disagreed with my dad, everything was official now. Presley had proved himself beyond what I had expected yesterday. For a second, I was convinced that it was magic, but not even magic could completely heal three gunshot wounds in two hours. By the end of the night, the entire infirmary's occupants were up and training.

Presley looked exhausted at the end of the night, Haley suggested that he should sleep but he refused and said he needed to work just a little bit more. Haley had turned to me with pleading eyes but I didn't argue with Presley's decision. The more he worked, the stronger our gang would be.

By the time Haley had eventually escorted Presley to his room, it was two in the morning, the kid was tolerant, I'd give him that.

Now, as I went down the stairs to reach his room, it was six in the morning. In the cellar, he had told me that his school started at eight, so the meeting with my father was going to have to be quick.

I hoped Presley was awake or else I was going to drag the poor kid out of bed, my dad did not like to wait, that's one thing him and I had in common.

When I reached his door, I banged on it three times with my fist. There was no answer. I huffed out a frustrated breath and knocked more loudly.

After a moment, Presley creaked open the door with wide eyes. He seemed to relax when he confirmed that it was me behind the door. I didn't blame him, after that encounter with one of the biggest fighters in the gang in the cafeteria yesterday, he was probably left shaken up.

He rubbed his eyes and let out a small yawn, then leaned against the door sleepily. "Is...is somebody hurt?," he asked groggily.

Maybe I should let him sleep. No, he didn't have time to sleep, there were things we needed to discuss.

"Get ready, you have ten minutes. My father, your actual boss wants to talk to you," I replied.

Presley's expression turned from tired to frightened. He looked ready to cry again.

"Am I in trouble?," he asked quietly.

I arched a brow. "No, unless there's something you're not telling me," I stated, looking at him skeptically.

A relived smile took over his face and he shook his head. The small dimple on his left cheek almost made me forget about the healing cut on his right cheek. I still didn't ask about where he got the cut or why his wrist looked a dangerous shade of purple, he seemed reluctant to tell me. I didn't want to waste time trying to get it out of him.

Or maybe I didn't ask him because he cried every time that subject came up and he already looked like he cried too much.

"If you're not out in nine minutes, I'm dragging you out, understand?," I asked, keeping my voice stern.

He let out a small noise of protest. "But you just said I had ten!," he exclaimed.

"It's about to be eight if you don't hurry up," I said, trying not to laugh at his frustrated expression.

"You're mean," he pouted, then he shut the door with a soft sigh.

I leaned on the wall beside his door, thinking about a way to end the K Blades once and for all. I almost laughed out loud about the absurdity of the thought but no dream was ever too big. The K Blades had already caused enough trouble and now they wanted Presley for themselves. There was no way in hell I was going to let that happen. Presley was just too talented.

When I told my dad about the information that Presley gave me yesterday in the cellar about the K Blades truck that was trailing him, he was furious. He started making phone calls to our members that were now surrounding Presley's school. Everyone would keep watch.

I heard the door swing open, and Presley stepped out in a yellow sweatshirt and blue jeans. I almost wanted to tell him to go back and change into a color less...colorful so he wouldn't stand out so much, but we were out of time.

"What?," he asked quietly, wrapping his arms defensively around himself.

I shook my head. "Follow me and walk fast."

He nodded.

On our way to my dad's office, there were various skeptical glances in Presley's direction. He didn't seem to notice though, he was looking around every inch of the facility with eagerness. He looked like a little boy on a field trip to the zoo.

His thick caramel colored curls glinted in the morning light that poured in through the windows. His boyish features and small frame seemed to be out of place here in the gang's facility, everyone else here wore dark colors and their skin was scarred one place or another.

"Hey! Wait up!," a voice called out behind us.

I whirled around to see Red barreling towards us. He looked the picture of health which was a polar opposite of what he was in the infirmary before Presley healed him. I was glad to see that he was up and on his feet, I had an assignment for him.

"You!," he pointed at Presley. "You're a saint! You're my saint," he said as he crushed Presley with a hug.

Presley looked taken by surprise but giggled into his shoulder. He smiled up at Red. "I'm not a saint, you just heal fast," he said modestly.

"Yeah, if that was true then Red would've been up and running two weeks ago," I said, playfully shoving Red.

Presley's cheeks blushed pink. Red swatted my hand away with a grin then turned back to Presley. "Just take the compliment, kid. You're fucking awesome."

Presley smiled shyly up at Red.

"All right, Red we got to go meet with the boss, but tell Lance that I have an assignment for you two," I said, voice back to stern.

Red nodded obediently then saluted Presley. "Good luck, kid."

"He's nice to me," Presley muttered, pouting with his arms crossed once Red was gone.

"Are you implying that I'm not?," I asked, looking at him incredulously.

He nodded as we mounted the stairs to my dads office.

I scoffed. "This is me being nice. I don't think you truly know what mean is, kid."

He frowned and opened his mouth to respond but the door to my dad's office swung open.

"You're late," my father growled.

Presley looked queasy, his arms were wrapped protectively in front of him. "I-I'm sorry, it was my fault-," Presley started, but my dad cut him off.

"I don't care who's fault it is, boy! If you're late again, you'll have more than that little cut on your cheek to worry about," he said, taking a challenging step towards Presley.

"Don't scare him, boss. He's the only thing that's holding your gang together right now," I pointed out, noticing Presley's lip tremble.

My dad looked from me to Presley with squinted eyes, then let out a tired huff. "I didn't mean to yell at you, little one. I heard you're a badass in the infirmary," my dad said, looking more relaxed and clapping Presley on the shoulder.

Presley beamed up at my dad. "You have a very resourceful garden, sir," Presley said sweetly.

Sir? I snorted out loud. Presley's head snapped toward me in confusion. My dad howled with laughter and slapped his knee.

"Come on in," my dad said when his fit of laughter was over. "And don't call me sir, just call me boss."

Presley seated himself on the opposite end of my dad's desk. I preferred to stand, if there was an emergency, I would already be on my feet and whipping out my gun.

My dad seated himself at his desk with his hands folded. "Alright, kid, let's not beat around the bush here," he said. "Those rotten K Blades just posted a million dollar prize for you. That means everyone who knows about it is going to want to turn you in. Unfortunately, I have no one who can do what your little magic hands can, so I'm not going to let that happen."

Presley looked at me with wide eyes then back at my father. "Who are they? Why do they want me so bad?," he asked quietly. "Hayley wouldn't tell me."

"The K Blades are the worst kind of scum there is," I growled. "Every single one of them is foul. That's all you need to know."

"The K Blades have always been our greatest enemy. The difference between us is that we're not made of cheaters and sneaks. Sure, we break the law, but so does everyone else. The K Blades play dirty, a little too dirty if you ask me, and I'm the dirtiest bastard alive!," my dad exclaimed.

When I looked over at Presley, his hands were trembling. "We already positioned troops at your school. They leave when you leave," I said, reassuring him.

He nodded but he didn't convince me. He still looked frightened.

"I have a question," Presley stated, teeth nibbling on the pink flesh of his bottom lip.

"Well go on," my dad urged impatiently. "We don't have all the time in the world, little one."

"Well I...," Presley began, looking embarrassed.  "I help the school nurse on Fridays after school, could I still help her? Even if it's only for a few minutes."

My dad inhaled a breath and looked out the window of his office. He turned to Presley.

"No," my dad said simply.

Presley's wide hazel eyes welled with tears. "But you don't understand. She needs me, and I need her," he said quietly.

"The only people you need are in this damn facility, boy!," my dad slammed his hand harshly on the desk. "Now you go to school, and come back directly after, do you understand me?"

Presley noticeably flinched, his hands were  trembling. He wiped a tear with the sleeve of his yellow sweatshirt, let out a little sniffle then nodded slowly.

"Nathan, drive him to that little school of his and make sure he doesn't make any detours," my dad instructed, opening a file that was in front of him.

I nodded stiffly and gestured for Presley to follow me out the office door. He rose from his chair and moved out the door, still wiping tears from his cheeks.

There was never a time where I felt so filled with guilt. I tried hard to shake the feeling but it wouldn't rest.

Get it together. Focus.