Chapter 13 Cross
CROSS
What. The. Fuck?
My attention skitters across the crowd surrounding the cage, automatically seeking out Scarlett.
I couldn’t believe my eyes when I caught a glimpse of her before the lights plunged out.
I was expecting the blackout after the first fight—the idiots in charge think it creates more excitement and focuses the audience after a lull.
I wasn’t expecting the rush of adrenaline to hit when Scarlett’s body pressed to mine. She immediately started trembling. Her breath on my hand came fast and shallow. Another minute and she might’ve passed out.
And then, in the back room, her usual vitriol returned. Like it’s my fault.
As if. She’s in my space. I never imagined she would get an invitation here.
Damn Tyler. Damn Scarlett for going to the gym and presumably putting it together.
And she wants to blackmail me!
The rotten part is, it might work.
I give up on finding her and lock eyes with my opponent. I’m supposed to lose this fight, but my skin crawls at the idea of giving Scarlett more ammunition against me. My bruises have finally faded, but the memory of that pain is sharp.
“Touch knuckles,” the emcee tells us.
The guy I’m fighting isn’t someone I’ve ever seen before. He’s shirtless, like me, with his knuckles wrapped. He has no tattoos, a preppy yacht-owning haircut, and a smarmy smile. Rich, presumably.
Someone might consider him handsome, but he and I are so very different.
Why the fuck is he in this dingy warehouse, scrapping with strangers, then?
I clench my jaw and step into the center of the cage, my arm outstretched. He comes to meet me. We’re the same height, but he might have fifty pounds on me. I train to be lean and quick. This guy’s muscles probably came from a personal trainer having him bench press until he can’t breathe.
“You know Scar?” he asks.
I tilt my head. “What?”
“Scarlett.” He smirks. “We went to Yale together. But hey, I hope the sloppy seconds are worth it.”
My expression drops. She slept with this prick? Dated him?
“Ohhh,” the guy continues. “She hasn’t put out yet.”
I jerk. “Excuse me?”
He leans in. “The trick to getting her legs to open is to get her blindingly drunk. Works like a charm.”
I see fucking red. The slam of the cage door closing rings in my ear–the signal to start the fight. I lunge without hesitation and pop him in the nose. His cartilage crunches under my fist, and he falls backward. Belatedly, his hands come up to defend himself. I give chase, striking low.
Get her blindingly drunk.
The insinuation sits like acid on my shoulders.
He manages to bring his knee up, and I let out a hollow grunt at the impact. He shoves me away, and I allow us to separate.
Blood drips from his nose, but he doesn’t seem perturbed. If anything, he seems more sinister than he did a minute ago. He grins at me, his white mouthguard bloody.
Side note: that’s why I picked a black mouthguard, precisely to avoid that deranged look. Sure, it can be a bit of a mind game, but I don’t need to fall back on tricks to win.
His muscles bunch a split second before he comes at me, and I evade, my steps light. Part of me wants him to keep talking, keep giving me evidence to stack against him, to fuel my rage. Unfortunately, he seems fresh out of words at the moment.
I drop into the zone, tuning out the roar of the crowd that’s been energized by the first sight of blood. Sometimes I think the people outside the cage are more vicious than the fighters.
We reconnect, exchanging hits. I grunt when he connects with my ribs and again when he kicks at my thigh. My leg goes numb, and my knee gives out. Motherfucking Charlie horse. I stumble to the side, and I hit the cage hard with my shoulder. All the while, he’s right in front of me.
I duck, protecting my head, and I manage to circle around. It’s a circle–there’s no getting trapped in a corner–but that doesn’t mean he can’t get me up against the cage and hammer body and face shots while my feet stick to the floor. That’s the surest way to lose.
I just need to finish this. There’s no getting out of here otherwise.
The tiniest voice of reason rings in the back of my head. I promised to lose this fight. But how was I to know he knew Scarlett?
How was I to predict she would show up here, of all places?
“Come on,” the big guy pants, his fist sailing over my head. “Winner gets to take her home, yeah?”
We live together, jackass.
I dive for him. I bring him to the mat. His head bounces off, and his hot exhale hits my face. His fist catches my cheek, and I go into survival mode.
The rest is a blur.
I won. My opponent lies on his side on the mat, and he spits blood out as he comes back to consciousness.
The cage door’s hinges squeal, and suddenly, Tyler is in front of me. He presses a cold compress to my brow. I wince at the prick of pain, but he just scoffs at me. He shakes his head and glances over at the guy on the mat.
I was not supposed to win. That thought filters in amidst the din, and it dawns on me that the crowd is going nuts.
Tyler leads me out of the cage, down the steps, and straight through the audience to the back room. I bump my knuckles against outstretched fists. My head swims.
“Find Scarlett,” I tell Tyler.
Someone holds the door open for us, ushering me through, and I crane back to check that my best friend is still following.
“You definitely have a concussion,” he says with a frown. “Scarlett?”
“Scarlett Wallace. Maybe you’re the one with a concussion.”
He rolls his eyes. “Fine.”
“Thanks.” It physically pains me to say that in regards to him tracking down Wallace, but whatever.
I move farther into the room and sit gingerly on one of the benches. I stretch out my legs in front of me and slowly lean back. What’s-his-face got some good hits in but not nearly as many as the last fight.
I see another ice bath in my future.
The door opens again, letting in the noise of the crowd. There’s another fight about to start, by the sound of it. Two guys come in with my opponent, whose arms are slung over their shoulders. His eyes are barely open.
They help him in and to a chair on the other side of the room. One of the guys blocks my view as he pays attention to his injuries.
Whatever. I should’ve hit him harder.
The door opens again, and Tyler leads in a pale Scarlett. My fury spikes again at the guy’s words, and I know he wasn’t making shit up. She wouldn’t be this freaked out by me fighting.
That would imply she cared.
“I should not be back here,” she says faintly. “I need to go.”
“Caught her trying to get her phone back in the hallway,” Tyler supplies.
I grimace and shove myself to a stand. “Come here.”
She glances uncertainly at Tyler, who returns her look with a blank stare. When he gives her nothing, she moves across the room and stops just out of my reach.
“I’m gonna go find out about your winnings,” Tyler says.
“Who is he?” I ask quietly.
I’m mindful that he is in the corner, and she hasn’t seemed to notice him yet.
The two guys fussing over the rich asshole pay us no mind.
“Who?”
I scowl. “I’m not an idiot, Scar.”
She stiffens. “Don’t call me that.”
Touched a nerve. I lean in. “Did he call you that?”
Slowly, she nods.
“And?”
Her expression changes. Anger then resolve.
All at once, I don’t want to know. I don’t want to pry these details out of her–it doesn’t matter. Beating him in the cage didn’t matter. I want to strangle him now, simply for putting her on the defensive. For making those comments about her.
Jesus, where is this coming from?
She’s my stepsister. I’m supposed to be protective, aren’t I? It’s like…I can mess with her, but no one else can.
Yeah, that’s what we’ll go with.
I deliberately turn my attention to the guy, and her gaze goes with mine. She gasps and staggers back. Her shoulder hits my chest.
Automatically, I wrap my arm around her—to steady her or to keep her from sprinting away from me, I have no fucking idea. She trembles. Every muscle in her goes taut.
“Let me go,” she whispers. “Cross–”
The guy seems to hear her. His laugh comes from behind the two guys, and he swats them away. He orders them out, and they go without a word.
To be fair, he looks like shit. His nose, which I absolutely broke, has been set straight, but it’s swelling and darkening the skin under his eyes. His cheekbone might be broken too.
“Scarlett,” he breathes. “I’ve been looking for you.”
She’s no more stable than a feather in a hurricane. I tighten my grip and shift so she’s partially turned away. Her hands come up to my forearm, and her nails bite my skin.
“Don’t look at her,” I bark.
His laugh is ice-cold. His gaze flicks to me, appraising me, and I fear I’m revealing some secret weakness.
“I came so far for this sort of reception?”
“I want nothing to do with you, Nicholas.” She sounds shockingly confident.
He touches the blood under his nose idly. “You used to call me Nick. When did that change?”
I catalog the detail, although I’m going to need a lot fucking more than his first name to bury him.
“It’s no matter,” Nicholas continues. “I got an upgrade after you left. She handles her liquor a bit better. She’s one I can take home to my parents, you know?”
“Great,” she hisses. “Then why are you here?”
“I missed you. Thought we might relive some old times before I head back to school.”
There’s something wrong with his head. In his brain. He wants to, what, get her drunk and have his way with her? He traveled all the way here for that?
“I’m a little strapped for cash too,” he adds.
“What does that mean?” Scarlett demands. She pries my arm off of her, but she doesn’t move away. She plants her hands on her hips. “I don’t have money.”
He rolls his eyes. “Your daddy does.”
He leans to the side, where a bag is tucked partially under his chair, and pulls out a cell phone.
Even I don’t have mine. Who the fuck didn’t check his bag?
“Look.”
He pulls up an article about her father’s company going public. The headline is legible from here–probably because I wouldn’t shut up about how it meant this guy was just another rich, white asshole, and I practically memorized it.
“You pay me, and I pretend you didn’t file a report with the school.” His eyes narrow. “You nearly got me in trouble, Scar.”
“I–” She shakes her head. “I’m not asking him for money.”
He glances at the phone. “I’ve got a nice little video I could send him. One of you in your glory days at those frat parties… Or maybe of your boyfriend cage fighting? It’s a secret, isn’t it? I’d hate for this to get posted.”
“Boyfriend?” she questions.
Nicholas motions to me.
Ah, fuck.
He flashes a video someone must’ve taken discreetly–one of his goon helpers, probably. It’s got my face in it.
“How much?” she asks.
My mouth dries. She must really not want whatever video he has of her to get out. Not that I can blame her. God, my mind is a jumble. I think I do have a concussion.
“Hmm…” Nicholas smirks. “Twenty grand sounds reasonable.”
Her jaw drops.
My gut churns.
“I don’t have that,” she whispers. “I can’t ask for that.”
He shrugs and pretends to pick at his nails. The phone disappears back into his bag. “I don’t know, Scar. It’s either that or those two videos get sent out, and I get to watch both your lives crash and burn.”
“Nicholas–”
I can’t hear her beg him.
“I’ll pay,” I blurt out.
I have twenty grand. Locked in a safe in the house. I’ll have to figure out another way to pay back the Webber brothers, now that the plan for this fight has gone out the window. Now that I’ve failed their test. But I’d rather deal with that than this.
Scarlett’s jaw drops, but she recovers fast. “No, Cross–”
“It’s fine,” I say quickly. I step forward and put myself between them. “I pay, and you disappear for good. Is that the deal?”
Nicholas rises. He presses a hand to his ribs and tries to suppress his expression. He can’t hide the flicker of pain, but it passes after a moment. He meets me in the middle and sticks out his hand.
“And you delete the videos,” I add.
He pauses. His eyes gleam, but after a beat, he nods.
I shake his hand when all I want to do is punch him in the face until he’d need surgery to put his nose back together. He snickers and pulls away first, turning his back like he doesn’t have a care in the world about the two of us. He grabs his bag and heads to the door.
The noise rushes in when it opens then leaves Scarlett and me in the devastating quiet when it slams shut again.
I look at her, and for once, I’m at a fucking loss.