20. Amorette #2
“I’d rather do that,” I said quietly. The men had already filed into the conference room, and I couldn’t see them anymore. I wanted to avoid interactions with those men as much as possible. And it wouldn’t hurt to know the layout of the fighting arena, assuming we’d watch the fight from down there.
He cupped the swell of my hips and tugged me closer. I wanted to snap at him, tell him the men couldn’t see us from the conference room, but I held my tongue. Now was not the time to push him. And I shouldn’t anyway if I wanted to make an ally out of him.
“I don’t need to remind you to be a good girl, do I, Amorette?” His voice dropped, and he leaned closer, almost as if he would kiss me.
He didn’t.
“I won’t leave. I learned my lesson on escaping without a plan,” I responded drily, glad my voice wasn’t quaking the way my insides were from the weight of his combined touch and attention. But… he probably felt the trembling as his fingers massaged my flesh.
His sudden crooked grin was full of boyish charm, so at odds with his fierce features. No one would ever look at Grey and believe he grew up in the suburbs. There was something too wild about him.
“Good. Remember, this door will be open, and the main entrance opens only with the proper clearance from either side,” he warned me. Giving me another squeeze, he left me standing in the middle of the empty room.
There were no chairs, but this had to be the viewing box. It could be that they wouldn’t bring them out until closer to the fight.
I walked over to the glass, making use of my time alone.
I’d been to concerts before, with Grace and the rare college girlfriend, although those relationships never lasted under the staggering weight of my ambition.
It was difficult to keep friendships alive when I was constantly studying or taking extra courses.
Below, an octagon ring stood in the center of the circular space, and instead of levels going up with steps, the room appeared to slope up the further away from the ring it went.
It wasn’t such a dramatic angle that people would roll toward the center, but it was enough that people in the back of the room would be able to see the fight.
The same went for lighting. The ring was the brightest, yet further away from the center the lighting was sparse and dimmed.
The scene reminded me of the chaotic setup before a band took the stage.
Tons of workers in jeans and greasy t-shirts roamed the floor carrying cables, chairs, and lights.
A few women in tiny spandex shorts and sports bras strutted through the aisles, stocking waters and snacks at the end of each row.
If I didn’t know this was illegal, that criminals ran the fights, I’d have thought this was something as legit as the UFC, only without the well-known branding.
In fact, there was no branding at all. Not on the T-shirts of the workers, the girls' outfits, or any of the walls, doors, or chairs.
The lack of information made the entire scene much more mysterious.
There were exactly three doors labeled Salida , which had to be the exits. That was it. There were no hallways, nothing hidden from view. Just an open room with three doors out.
I hadn’t really believed I’d get the opportunity to run. But seeing how open the setup was, my heart still sank in disappointment.
Casting my gaze around the room one more time, I stopped on a familiar figure.
Parker hadn’t been a thought in my mind since he left us on the roof.
Grey had said he would let Parker share what he did for their crime organization, but he stood off to the side with his arms crossed and his feet braced apart, practically lording over everyone down there.
Did he work the fights too, and Grey just hadn’t wanted to tell me?
He was probably fifteen or twenty feet away, standing caddy corner to me with the way the room curved. His devilish smirk was just visible from this view of his profile.
What was he smiling about?
Then it slowly made sense.
A blonde girl, nearly as tall as him with curves for days, approached him, running her finger down his bicep. He shook his head. With a heavy pout on her lips, she walked away.
It wasn’t long before another girl approached. She was a little shorter and definitely saucy as she sauntered up, a wide grin on her lips. They had a short conversation, but he shook his head and she left too.
Another girl I hadn’t noticed before appeared out of nowhere. She was short, probably not much taller than me, with long dark hair cascading down her back in shiny waves. When she started speaking to him, he dropped his arms and turned toward her—and toward me.
She was the one who interested him.
They chatted for a few minutes, and she stepped closer, pressing her large breasts that were on the verge of bursting from her sports bra against his chest. He tipped his head back in laughter as one hand snaked down to squeeze her ass cheek.
It wasn’t a gentle caress. It was a brand of dominance. If they knew each other, it could even be a sign of ownership.
He spun her away from him, until she mostly faced me.