Chapter 24 First and Last
Chapter twenty-four
First and Last
Marigold Belmore
Jameson hasn’t stopped touching me. The heat of his palm on my low back is disconcerting, which is rather inconvenient in a time like this. I need all my wits about me because we’ve stumbled into something much different than I anticipated.
Velvet drapes the walls, servers in tuxedos offer drinks as they pass by, and almost everyone is dressed as though they’re attending a cocktail party rather than a fight.
“I’m severely underdressed,” I say quietly.
Panic rises at the idea of drawing attention to myself. There are people present dressed more on the casual side, but the vast majority aren’t. I might as well have worn a big neon sign that says outsider in flashing red letters.
“I don’t think anyone will notice.” Jameson tries to reassure me as he leads us to the fray of the crowd.
I should protest, tell him we need to mingle, but I’m worried that if I try, I’ll incite more suspicion.
We pass the ring, which stands out in the midst of the 1920s-style glamour.
It’s a professional boxing ring, complete with a raised platform and ropes.
There’s no one in it yet, but we are a little early.
“I expected a bunch of drunken idiots in a circle around two guys throwing punches,” I whisper to Jameson after we find a place near a swath of velvet.
“Me too,” he replies, his hand not leaving.
I wonder if he realizes he hasn’t moved it? Or if he’s so unaffected that he’s forgotten.
“There’s champagne, Jameson,” I hiss as a tray of flutes passes us. “Something weird is going on.”
He nods his agreement, then bends down to speak against my ear.
“We need to be here for as little time as possible,” he says in a low voice. Goosebumps prickle my skin. “You can take some photos of the room and the fight, then we need to leave, okay?”
His breath is warm against my ear, and the combination of that with his hand on me threatens to make me dizzy.
“Okay.” I whisper my reply.
We don’t have to wait long before Carson—who’s wearing a suit—hops the ropes to the ring and addresses the room from the middle.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he calls out, sounding like a circus performer. “I am pleased to announce that our first fight of the night is about to begin.”
Applause fills the room. The polite kind, that sounds like something from a golf tournament. What is this place?
“If our two fighters could please join me in the ring,” Carson says.
Two men enter the ring on opposite sides. They’re wearing shorts, boxing gloves, and … nothing else. Both of them are incredibly fit, sporting lean, rippling muscles as they bounce from foot to foot.
“If you haven’t placed your bets with Pierson—” Carson gestures to his right, where a man is standing behind a podium wearing a slick smile. “Now is your last chance. As soon as the bell rings, bets are locked into place.”
Carson claps his hands together and grins.
“We have three fights on the schedule tonight, the final being one I know you’re all excited to see.” The crowd erupts with salacious whispers. “Our illustrious founder, Hayes Rosewood, will take on the incredible Vincent Havershall in a fight like you’ve never seen before.”
The excitement of those around us is palpable in the air. Carson eats up the attention as though it’s for him, but it’s clear that whoever this Hayes is, he’s the one everyone wants to see. The name feels like one I should recognize, but I can’t quite place it.
“For now, let me introduce you to our opener.” He swings a hand toward one of the men.
“Santiago Martinez, an up-and-coming fighter on our roster, but one who’s been trained by none other than Mr. Rosewood.
” His arm swings to the opposite corner.
“And Byron Edwards, longtime member of the Shadow Ring, with twelve wins under his belt.”
The two men cross to the middle where Carson stands. A referee in black-and-white stripes enters the ring as the fighters shake hands.
Carson smacks both of the guys on the shoulders good-naturedly, then heads out of the ring to a stand with a silver bell.
He waits for the fighters to put up their gloves; then he rings the bell, the sound reverberating through the room.
What follows it can only be described as a wave of chaos.
The once dignified students begin to yell, pushing close to the ring and shouting at each of the fighters directions on what to do.
“I need closer,” I yell to Jameson over the swarm.
He gives me a concerned look.
“Just a few pictures, then we’ll go,” I promise him.
Though he seems conflicted, he grabs my hand and starts pushing through the crowd, dragging me behind him.
The feeling of my skin on his is as electric as this crowd, if not more so.
Someone bumps into me and knocks my hand out of Jameson’s.
He immediately turns around and sets his scowl on everyone in the vicinity.
He grabs my hand again and tugs me to his chest.
“You okay?” he asks, scanning my face.
I swallow, incapable of words. His dark eyes are an abyss I’m tumbling down.
The corner of his mouth ticks up a little, as though he knows what I’m feeling.
I really hope that’s not the case. Jameson starts to push through the crowd again, this time while holding me against him.
I’m surrounded by his warm scent and not entirely sure I want to change that.
Jameson lets me go once we’re settled in near the front. I try not to think about how I miss his touch already, and I slide my phone out of my pocket. I’m going to have to be sly about this. Getting caught is not an option.
Santiago’s glove makes contact with Byron’s chin, sending his face whipping to the left. I wince. Blood splatters the floor and the crowd cheers. I’m fond of violent sports, but this might be a little too much bloodlust for me.
I lift my phone and take a few pictures, though it’s difficult to get good ones with people blocking the way. It’s not like I can lift my phone above my head. But if we move any closer, someone will definitely see me.
“Got it?” Jameson asks near my ear.
I shake my head and lift my phone again, this time just a little higher. Right as I do, it’s snatched out of my hand.
“Now, how did this get in here?” a smooth, deep voice asks.
I whirl around to face the culprit, my heart racing in my chest. A tall man with messy auburn hair and a deadly smile is waiting for me. He looks to be close to my age, so he must be a student too.
“I don’t think I’ve seen you in here before,” the man says. His gaze rolls over me, and I feel Jameson wrap a protective arm around my shoulders in response. “Who invited you?”
The guy tosses my phone from one hand to the other.
I notice the scars on his knuckles, and then the way everyone around us has moved to create a bubble of space.
Attention is split between us and the fight still going on in the ring.
Whoever he is, I don’t think it would be good for him to know Carson invited me.
It might get Carson in trouble. I don’t care for the guy, but I don’t want that for him either.
“I overheard someone talking about it,” I reply carefully.
“How about you just give her phone back, and we’ll be out of here?” Jameson says in a gruff tone. I glance up at him, and he’s gone full scary-hockey-player mode. I lean against his side, grateful that I have him while facing off against whoever this is.
“I’m afraid I can’t do that quite yet,” the guy replies with a wicked smile.
Jameson starts to step forward, but I hold him back. I know Jameson is capable, but I really don’t want to see more blood tonight.
“Look, I’m sorry for bringing my phone in,” I tell him. “We’ll go, and we won’t say anything about what we saw.”
He chuckles. “Of course you won’t. Especially because you won’t have any proof after I delete all the photos you took.”
My heart sinks. There goes my story.
“I’ll need your password, then you can be on your way,” he says in that silky-smooth voice.
“121675,” I mutter, feeling more than defeated.
“Jane Austen’s birthday?” Jameson asks me under his breath, and his knowledge makes a smile tug at my lips in spite of the circumstances. I nod.
After a few clicks, my phone is given back to me. The guy motions, and two hulking men in all black approach. This earns more looks from the crowd.
“Escort them off the property.”
Both of the guards nod and reply in unison, “Yes, Mr. Rosewood.”
My eyes widen. Hayes Rosewood. The founder. Probably the worst person to get caught by.
The guards begin to herd us toward the door. Hayes waves with a smirk.
“Hope you enjoyed your first and last time in the Shadow Ring.”