“Not to worry.” I shake my head. “I have it figured out.”
“You do?”
Before I can reply, the lights dim and the crowd charges towards the cage as someone steps inside and a spotlight slowly comes to rest over him. It’s the bookie—Danger, he’d introduced himself as earlier. He tosses back his ginger mane and though he’s a skinny looking fucker, he’s got tattoos etched across his knuckles as he fists pumps the air and brings a microphone to his lips.
“Lords and Ladies,” he shouts, “are you people ready to see some bloodshed?” The crowd roars back and he chuckles, the sound deep and amused. “Well, then you’ve come to the right place. My name is Hanson Reed and I'll be your host for this evening."
I grin, standing up as I strip off my t-shirt. Jake's eyes widen when I reveal my sports bra. I leave my pants on. They're loose enough for what I need. "What the fuck are you doing?" he demands, his face paling.
I remove the tape I'd grabbed from one of the other fighters when I went to talk to the bookie from my pocket. "Getting your fee for the ride here," I say as I start to wind the white strips around my knuckles and through my fingers. I'd learned the hard way that un-taped knuckles in a fight can hurt like a bitch and I'm not about feeling pain, I'm about delivering it.
"I thought you said you didn't fight!"
I chuckle at the accusation in his tone as I finish one hand and move onto the next as Hanson continues to talk to the crowd. He's good at getting them riled. I'm half-paying attention, more focused on the task at hand as other people take notice and begin to stare. Jake looks around like he's afraid the boogeyman is about to pop out at any second.
"I said I don't fight for money," I reply. "And I'm not. The money is yours. The fight—" I cut myself off as I finish my second hand and clench my fingers up and down to make sure they're tight enough, but not so tight that they inhibit my ability to make a fist. Already that sick bitch known as addiction is clawing at my insides, ready to be let out of her cage. Or rather … into one. "The fight," I state again as I lift my head and take a step off the bleachers, tossing my unneeded shirt at Jake's face, "is all for me."
"This is such a bad idea," he says. "You can't do this."
"Wrong." I pause and turn back. "I can do whatever the fuck I want."
"You're just going to piss them off," he insists.
I laugh, a full bellied laugh. "I doubt they'd give a shit about me fighting either way." And even if they did, Abel never specified every action I could and couldn't take—then again, if he had, I wouldn't have accepted the deal. I need this. The rush in my veins. The feel of sweat coating the back of my neck as I pull my hair up into a ponytail. I anchor it at the back of my skull and swing it from side to side as I bounce on my toes. My desire for blood and adrenaline is already pouring through me. Nothing can stop this, I think. It's the best high in the world.
Controlling this feeling is better than any drug in the world.
"Ava!" Jake jumps off the bleachers and reaches for me as I start off. I scowl when his hand closes around my upper arm.
"Remove. Your. Fucking. Hand." Already feeling the pulse of violence, I grit the words out. I don't want to hurt him, but every time someone touches me without my permission—as people seem to love doing at Eastpoint—it only serves to piss me off and make me that much more ready to break some bones.
Jake's hand is gone in a flash, but he still stands over me. "This is a bad idea," he repeats. "Please don't do this. I'm begging you. They're probably here. They'll see you."
I glance around but come up empty. "I don't see them," I say with an arched brow. "Besides why does it matter? Why would those pretty rich boys even be here?"
"Jesus fuck!" he snaps, staring down at me as though I've grown a second head. "Are you really that dense?" My shirt hangs between us, still clutched in his fist.
"Insults?" I huff. "Really?"
"Yeah, really." He shakes his head as if he truly can't believe me. I turn my head, noticing that Hanson is winding down his speech. He's getting ready to introduce me. I need to go. "Ava," Jake says, capturing my attention again, "they own this place. They own pretty much all of Eastpoint. You have no idea what kind of connections their kind of money has. They might seem like normal college students"—they don't, I admit silently. The Sick Boys are anything but normal. I don't say as much, however—"but they're beyond fucking powerful. And with power comes a lot of... " He bites his lip, his teeth a flash of white as his head tips back and his eyes dart around before coming back to me. "Power like the kind that they have is never one-hundred percent honest," he finishes.
He's being vague, but I get the point. They're wealthy. They're corrupt. They're powerful. The only problem with that is … I don't really give a shit. I made up my mind a long time ago. I'll never let anyone think they can control or use me again.
I take a step back. "Thanks for the warning," I say, softening my expression when Jake's panicked gaze reaches mine. "But don't worry about me. I can handle the Sick Boys."
"You say that..." Jake's face pinches up tight, "but I'm asking you not to."
"Why?" I challenge, taking another step back. I can hear Hanson announcing my opponent in the background, listing their accolades to get the crowd hungry for more.
Jake's eyes dart to the ground before lifting again. "I don't want to see you get hurt, Ava." It's nice. Honestly, it's amazing. Jake hardly knows me and yet he shows more consideration than half of the people I've met in my life, but I don't completely believe him. I think he doesn't want to be involved in my trouble, which I get. At the same time, though, for people like me, there's no hiding from the darkness. All I have left is to embrace it.
I give him a smile as I hear the speakers churn out Hanson's words. "And tonight, Lords and Ladies, we have a new contender. Please welcome Avalon Manning!"
"Watch a winner work," I say to Jake just before I turn and slide through the crowd, slicing my way to the fenced-in area where Hanson and another female fighter wait. I enter the ring, letting the black gate close behind me.
I'm ready for some bloodshed.
29
Dean
No. She. Fucking. Isn't.
Those words are an echo in my mind, but as I step into the warehouse, dry sweat coating my throat, I see that she is exactly where that motherfucker said she would be in his last text. The dripping strands of my still wet hair hangs in my face, half obscuring my view, and I shake them out of the way. A few of the droplets land on a few people near me that haven't noticed my entrance.
One of them flinches as the cold water hits the side of his neck and he turns, face already morphed into an angry scowl, but one look at me and he hightails it as far from me as he can get. Smart dude. I storm through the crowd, circling the cage where Avalon fucking Manning stands.