Dante. Even the name was something out of a gangster movie, where people die. Taylor had given her a brief description of him. He was the would-be victim from their mini-heist. Seeing him now, in person, tall and muscular, scary. He was the poster boy for ‘do not fuck with me or my money’. And they were going to do just that.
She licked her lips trying to dredge up any kind of moisture. Her dry mouth was making it impossible to swallow. It was a nervous reaction. It didn’t happen often, but when she got really nervous, her mouth would go dry, her tongue would swell, and a large lump would form in her throat. She inhaled a long breath, as deep as her lungs would allow, through her nose.
The loud voices in the crowded room seemed to quiet briefly and suddenly she was moving in a mosh of people. Panic set in. She gripped the back of Taylor’s shirt. She glanced over her shoulder and smiled. It was meant to calm her. It didn’t.
They, along with everyone in the room, all fifty of them, moved forward, reminding her of a herd. The lights gleamed in from the door and as she passed through, she squinted from the harsh fluorescent light hanging over the warehouse.
The room was gigantic, and empty, with the exception of seating stands surrounding a large cage centered in the room. She had seen it before. It was what MMA fighters used. She wasn’t a fan but her dad and brother were. She had seen enough fights to last her a lifetime. She never understood the appeal. Getting paid to get the shit kicked out of you?
She raised up on her toes to see past the men milling by. She crinkled her eyebrows. The mat on the cage was stained with darkish brown spots.
“Is that blood?”
Her question went unanswered as her hand was clasped and they walked to the far end of the room. A tight squeeze was the only interaction she had with Taylor. The plan, she just had to remember the plan.
They followed Dante through another door and up a flight of stairs. A man in a collared black tight fitted shirt stood on the landing. The hallway wasn’t loud but she couldn’t make out whatthey were saying. They were shuffled into what look like an old office that was decorated as if money were no object. Leather couches covered every square inch of the room, with a bar in the corner. There were only about twenty people, mostly men, but a few women. Taylor led her across the room and nudged her to sit.
“Is it your first fight, girls?”
Kenzie jerked her head. A blonde with a plunging neckline to her dress smiled back at her. Her cleavage on display was hard not to look at, even for a heterosexual woman like Kenzie. It took effort not to look down. The woman giggled.
“I’m Callie.” She winked and pointed to her breasts. “They’re fake.”
That’s your introduction? Kenzie’s eyes widened and she glanced down at the not-so- subtle set.No shit, lady. People aren’t usually born with basketball sized breasts. How was she even supposed to respond to that? “I’m Kenzie and mine aren’t.” Taylor leaned over her lap, smiling at the woman.
“I’m Liz, this is Meg, and they’re fabulous.”Fake names, really?
The woman’s smile spread across her face. Taylor had a way of telling people what they wanted to hear, which was obvious from the girl next to them.
Taylor tapped her knee and whispered, “I’ll be right back.”
Kenzie lunged for her hand forcing Taylor to twist back into her.
“You are not leaving me. That’s not part of the plan,” she whispered through gritted teeth.
“Relax. When opportunity strikes, you take it.” A sly smile formed around her lips. “This is gonna be easier than I thought. Just stay here, I’ll be back in a minute.”
She pulled her hand out of Kenzie’s grasp and made her way to the bar tucked in the corner.
“Who you here with?”
Kenzie jerked her head to the woman next to her, losing sight of Taylor. “I’m sorry.”
Callie glanced around the room and her gaze landed back on Kenzie. “Who are you here with? My man’s fighting tonight,” she said proudly.
“Oh, um, I’m not with anyone.”
Callie stared at her. She tilted her head as if confused. “Then how’d you get up here?”
It was Kenzie’s turn to be confused. “What do you mean?”
“Well, they don’t just let anyone come up here. Usually only wives or girlfriends of the fighters. Sometimes, the organizers bring women.”
“Oh, um, Dante invited my friend, I’m just tagging along.”
“How long they been together?”
“They’re not together, together. She doesn’t really know him that well.”
