I straighten my spine and act nonchalant, as if they’re going to know the dirty things I did in the library with my stepbrother thirty minutes prior.
“No need to hide that pretty face from me.”
I jerk my chin upward, my teeth clanking together. My eyebrows furrow together as I eye a man dressed in cheap clothing with an even cheaper gold chain hanging below his thick neck. Once he sees that he has my attention, he smiles smugly at me to reveal his yellowing teeth.
“Care to go watch your boyfriend get the shit beat out of him?” He hits theclose doorbutton of the elevator, and from the width of his body, there’s no chance I can reach the emergency button.
“Boyfriend?” I repeat, playing coy.
Who the hell is this?
Did Nicholas send him? Is Nicholas telling people I’m his girlfriend?
“Don’t play stupid with me, Scarlett Wallace.”
The way he says my name sends me spiraling. My throat closes with anxiety, my heart racing behind my tight chest. I suck in air when his grimy hand wraps around the strap of my bag, but I’m quick to pull on it to let him know that I’mnotokay with the manhandling.
“Let go of me,” I hiss.
The elevator dings, and I pray someone is waiting on the other side of the door.
“Not until we get to the fight. Your little boyfriend…” The man pauses to chuckle. “I mean,stepbrother…owes us a fight, and let’s just say that you’recollateral.”
[ 27 ]
CROSS
Lose.
I have to lose.
I have to lose to the guy who got Scar drunk and then drugged her and then forced himself on her.
In her.
I’ve been in her–I was allowed. I waswelcomed. I got to hear the sweet noises she made when she was surprised, and turned on, and so fucking willing she was soaked between her legs.
He wasn’t allowed. He hurt her.
And here I am, letting him punch me in the face.
I catch myself on the mat on my hands and knees. The room–this time a basement of some factory–tilts. My vision tunnels, and I swallow hard a few times. I shouldn’t let him hit me in the face anymore, but I literally walked right into that one.
Some part of me just wants this to be over.
Stanley is here.
One of the Webber brothers is here.
They both came into the makeshift dressing room before my fight, one–Stanley–with a pep talk, and the other with some threatening glares. I guess there’s more money on this fight. Theaudience is older, and there’s a bookie set up taking bets. There are skimpily dressed girls wandering around with drinks.
This isnotthe sort of place I’ve ever been invited to. This circuit seems more serious. I should know just by the fighting order–the douche nozzle and I are the appetizers. The first fight on a list of six shows.
“Had enough, Lopez?”
I shove myself back to my feet and dodge his foot. If that had connected with my stomach, it would’ve been brutal. I probably would’ve lost my lunch.
He’s still huge, still tough, but it’s instinct to see an opening and go for it. I get in three hits before I remember:lose, god damn it!
