cease-fire and let him lead me to the basement entrance.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Gabbi
T he roar of the crowd is exhilarating. I can feel it in my bones; the pulsing beat of the music mixing with the rumble of the crowd and the sounds of flesh hitting flesh as the two men in the octagon beat each other into a bloody pulp.
This is the third fight of the night and the last one before the main event featuring Nate’s uncle begins. The fights have been eye-opening, and have proven what Jep said to be one-hundred percent correct. This is nothing like the martial arts tournaments I’ve attended and it makes the fights I’ve been in look like child’s play.
Eyebrows have been split, blood has gone flying, and ribs have been broken right before my very eyes. I imagine that this is what the ancient Roman’s felt when they watched the gladiators fight to the death for their entertainment. The atmosphere is potent; feral and brimming with hostility and an animal-like wildness that I’ve never witnessed before. It speaks to me. I can picture myself in the cage channeling the rage that simmers underneath my surface into a need to annihilate my opponent. The desire to hurt has long resided within me, occasionally being let out and allowed to inflict pain, yet it’s never been given the free rein of the men fighting in front of me.
Due to Nate’s uncle, we have ringside seats so my view has been uninterrupted. Jep has passed me two or three beers, and I’ve drunk them without thought, intent on the action in the ring. Nate’s nudged me a few times when a particularly violent moment has occurred to make sure that I’m handling it. In my seat between Nate and Jep, I’m isolated from the rowdy crowd—as safe as I can be as one of the few women present tonight.
“Here,” Jep yells in my ear as he passes me another beer. I grab it, even though the previous ones have gone to my head and I’m feeling a little woozy. I’m not much of a drinker, usually popping an E if I want to party all night. My fake ID is good enough to get me into Nitro’s but I’ve never been game to try it to purchase alcohol. Not to mention the fact, that watching my mother drink herself into a coma every night doesn’t make it appealing. Ecstasy makes me feel in control and vibrant, high enough to have a good time, yet in control enough to stay safe and lucid.
“She’s only seventeen, dickhead.” Nate grabs my beer out of my hand and skulls it in one go. “She’s had enough.”
“Fuck off,” Jep leans across me to smack Nate light-heartedly. “There’s no need to tell lies to put me off. We both know she likes me better.”
Grabbing both of their wrists when they reach over my lap to slap at each other like a pair of girls, I dig my thumb into the joint at the bottom of their palms until they yelp. Throwing their hands back into their own personal space, I smirk at Jep who looks at me with worry in his glazed eyes. His face is red from the beer he’s thrown back and his hair is everywhere. He really is cute—not as cute as Nate, though.
“Pfft, who says I like either of you?” I quip. My attention is dragged away from his reaction to the cage when one of the fighters is knocked to the ground and the other fighter mounts him. I bound to my feet with the rest of the crowd when the fighter on top chokes the fallen fighter out.
“Woo, what a fucking move,” I scream, jumping in the spot and punching the air. I’m caught up in the moment and loving every second of it. Nate meets my eyes and grins; a real grin that goes all the way to his eyes, not the one I’ve come to think of as his come-hither smirk. In that moment, I feel a connection grow between us. Maybe there’s hope that we can salvage a friendship out of this after all?
“Nate—” I begin to tell him how thankful I am that he talked me into staying tonight. This is the most fun I’ve had in a long time. My words are cut off by an iron grip around my torso that squeezes most
CHAPTER SEVEN
Gabbi
T he roar of the crowd is exhilarating. I can feel it in my bones; the pulsing beat of the music mixing with the rumble of the crowd and the sounds of flesh hitting flesh as the two men in the octagon beat each other into a bloody pulp.
This is the third fight of the night and the last one before the main event featuring Nate’s uncle begins. The fights have been eye-opening, and have proven what Jep said to be one-hundred percent correct. This is nothing like the martial arts tournaments I’ve attended and it makes the fights I’ve been in look like child’s play.
Eyebrows have been split, blood has gone flying, and ribs have been broken right before my very eyes. I imagine that this is what the ancient Roman’s felt when they watched the gladiators fight to the death for their entertainment. The atmosphere is potent; feral and brimming with hostility and an animal-like wildness that I’ve never witnessed before. It speaks to me. I can picture myself in the cage channeling the rage that simmers underneath my surface into a need to annihilate my opponent. The desire to hurt has long resided within me, occasionally being let out and allowed to inflict pain, yet it’s never been given the free rein of the men fighting in front of me.
Due to Nate’s uncle, we have ringside seats so my view has been uninterrupted. Jep has passed me two or three beers, and I’ve drunk them without thought, intent on the action in the ring. Nate’s nudged me a few times when a particularly violent moment has occurred to make sure that I’m handling it. In my seat between Nate and Jep, I’m isolated from the rowdy crowd—as safe as I can be as one of the few women present tonight.
“Here,” Jep yells in my ear as he passes me another beer. I grab it, even though the previous ones have gone to my head and I’m feeling a little woozy. I’m not much of a drinker, usually popping an E if I want to party all night. My fake ID is good enough to get me into Nitro’s but I’ve never been game to try it to purchase alcohol. Not to mention the fact, that watching my mother drink herself into a coma every night doesn’t make it appealing. Ecstasy makes me feel in control and vibrant, high enough to have a good time, yet in control enough to stay safe and lucid.
“She’s only seventeen, dickhead.” Nate grabs my beer out of my hand and skulls it in one go. “She’s had enough.”
“Fuck off,” Jep leans across me to smack Nate light-heartedly. “There’s no need to tell lies to put me off. We both know she likes me better.”
Grabbing both of their wrists when they reach over my lap to slap at each other like a pair of girls, I dig my thumb into the joint at the bottom of their palms until they yelp. Throwing their hands back into their own personal space, I smirk at Jep who looks at me with worry in his glazed eyes. His face is red from the beer he’s thrown back and his hair is everywhere. He really is cute—not as cute as Nate, though.
“Pfft, who says I like either of you?” I quip. My attention is dragged away from his reaction to the cage when one of the fighters is knocked to the ground and the other fighter mounts him. I bound to my feet with the rest of the crowd when the fighter on top chokes the fallen fighter out.
“Woo, what a fucking move,” I scream, jumping in the spot and punching the air. I’m caught up in the moment and loving every second of it. Nate meets my eyes and grins; a real grin that goes all the way to his eyes, not the one I’ve come to think of as his come-hither smirk. In that moment, I feel a connection grow between us. Maybe there’s hope that we can salvage a friendship out of this after all?
“Nate—” I begin to tell him how thankful I am that he talked me into staying tonight. This is the most fun I’ve had in a long time. My words are cut off by an iron grip around my torso that squeezes most
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