Surely, street fighting 101 isnotto look weak in front of your opponent?
“Loverboy Ares won last night’s match against Copper,” the MC continues his introduction, and Rico hobbles off somewhere. To ice his balls is my guess.
Damien doesn’t look up from his phone once, not even when Ares andThe Unseen Destroyersquare off, and the MC trades places with the referee.
What even is the point of the referee anyway? I haven’t seen him step in once, and I don’t think there’s a single rule in this underground version of sport. Shit, I don’t think murder is off the table, for that matter.
I take another swig of my now empty bottle of beer, and my bladder reminds me that it exists and is in dire need of a reprieve.
Damien tucks his phone into his pocket when the Destroyer lands a blow to Roman’s face. I wince and scream Mickey’s stage name, which may as well be a magic trick or spell, because Roman lands three consecutive punches to the Destroyer’s stomach—which counts for something, even if it barely made the guy flinch.
“I need to pee,” I yell at Damien.
He nods, uncaring about my bodily needs, and I scurry off to where I saw the ladies' room. It’s down one of the creepy corridors, but it could be in the middle of the woods, and I wouldn’t care right now. I’m seconds away from combustion.
I breathe a sigh of relief to find the bathrooms blissfully empty—disgusting, but empty. I know I'm in trouble the second my behind hits the toilet seat.
How much did I drink? Like… four bottles? Or was it six?
I think I’m substantially drunker than I thought. The alternative to my inebriation is that the world is moving, and I’m the one that’s completely still…which seems unlikely.
I’m not sure how long I sit there. Maybe a minute, maybe twenty. I’m dead to the world, attempting to take deep breaths and ground myself physically, mentally, and metaphorically.
How the hell did I get here?
Not the bathroom, buthere, in a goddamn underground fighting ring? I thought the wildest thing I’d do in my life is be an accomplice to an after school fight involving Roman or maybe break into a place or two because he convinced me to tag along. But now I’m hanging out in an arena filled with every shade of criminal in existence.
Mickey said this is the last time. I believe him.
I think.
As long as he comes out of this alive, I’m willing to move on from this criminal chapter of our lives and pretend to be Alice and Michael, not Bonnie and Clyde.
Taking one last steadying breath, I force myself to get up. I stumble a couple of times before I make it to the sink to wash my hands.
If Roman saw me like this, he’d probably kill me.
Actually, I’m pretty sure he’d love having a drunk Isabella to himself. But a drunk Isabella alone in the bathroom of an underground fighting ring?
Wait, not alone.
There’s… is that a man?
Am I imagining things? Did I accidentally go to the men’s bathroom?
The man narrows the space between us, taking up all the oxygen. He’s the size of a mountain, maybe bigger. With long black hair tied back into a ponytail at the nape of his neck, sides shaved to show a massive scar. He smells like danger and looks like he wouldn’t hesitate to turn my lights off. Permanently.
Oh God.
Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.
I broke my promise to Mickey.
Oh no. Oh no. Oh no.
“What’s your name?”
He creeps closer. Every cell in my body screams at me to get out of there. I need Damien. I shouldn’t have left his side.
