31. Calista #2
Harper didn’t seem to notice as she continued.
“It’s organized by the scum of society; a dangerous group of people that could care less whether someone lives or dies.
They must have paid off the right people.
That’s my only guess as to why it’s been going on for so long.
It can’t be much of a well-kept secret if students are talking about it in lecture halls. That’s how I found out about Lincoln.”
“What about Lincoln?”
“He’s a part of this world, Cal.”
I shook my head. “No. No, he’s not.”
“When I found out you were being asked to tutor him, I wanted to tell you.” Harper’s jaw went tight. “But I know you too well. I knew that would only drag you in closer to him. You want to help people, and Lincoln Pierce is as fucked up as they come. ”
Lines formed in my brow, and I was still shaking my head side to side. “You think Lincoln fights in some underground fight club, and you didn’t want to tell me because you thought it would bring us closer ?”
She cocked an eyebrow at me. “Are you telling me you wouldn’t have been more inclined to help him if you knew? Do I need to remind you of Collin Blecher?”
That was a name I hadn’t heard in a long time. It was like a ghost from my high school past—a blip from the four years that I wished I could erase.
“This is nothing like the Collin situation.”
“It’s precisely like the Collin situation. You befriended the guy because he sat alone at lunch, only for him to hide his stash of Adderall and marijuana in your locker.”
News of a peddler had made its way around students and faculty. It was taken seriously enough that our principal brought in a K9 unit to find out who it was. Imagine the surprise when police arrived outside my physics class to ask for me.
That hadn’t been a fun conversation to have with my parents.
“When I learned that you and Lincoln weren’t getting along, I thought we were in the clear. You were convinced he was an asshole, and I didn’t think you’d care enough to dig deeper.”
I stood up straighter, taking a step back towards the way we came. “This is ridiculous, Harp. Lincoln isn’t in there.”
He had too much to lose by getting caught up in a place like this.
“Then amuse me.” Harper pushed the door open. “Come inside and prove me wrong.”
She didn’t wait for me to respond. She hauled me through the open cavity with her. It was only once I was through the threshold that I was able to comprehend how massive the underground room really was.
I squinted into the bright lights. It definitely looked like a basement.
Vents ran along the ceilings, and the walls were crafted from less-than-aesthetic cinder blocks.
Moisture formed around some of the exposed piping, dripping onto the cement floor.
I could smell the mildew. Despite the fact that it was a literal unfinished basement, there was a gathering of people—more than I’d ever seen in The Underground at one time.
The other weird thing? Most of the people there didn’t look like university students I’d seen around campus.
As if to prove me right, my eyes landed on a middle-aged man with a beard down to his belly button.
He smacked one of the servers on the ass, a yellowing smile on his face.
When the man turned back to his friends at the booth, I felt the unnerving feeling of being watched.
I peered over my shoulder. Stationed by the hidden door was a man dressed in black from the neck down. He stood against the hard, grey wall, his arms bulging across his chest. The expression on his face was all business.
Harper nudged my arm, causing me to tear my eyes away from the scrutinizing glare. She gestured to our left, finger pointing into the thickest mass of people.
In the center of the crowd was a boxing ring.
It was similar to the one I had seen Lincoln fight in, but with one major difference. This one was wrapped in a metal cage. The crisscrossing material reminded me of a chain link fence. The same braided metal lined the top. I couldn’t decide if it was there to keep the crowd out or the fighters in.
Something told me I was about to find out.
The tempo of the music changed. It was deeper, more ominous, and I was beginning to regret my decision to allow Harper to convince me that this was a good idea.
I squeezed her hand a little tighter, hoping she would realize that I wanted to go back.
If she did, she didn’t show it. She only led me deeper into the throng of people.
The entire time, I kept searching for Lincoln or Andrew. Neither one of them was to be seen, and a knot of anxiety began to build in my chest. There were too many coincidences. But still, I prayed that Harper and my gut were wrong.
The music faded, and the crowd’s rumbling hushed along with it. A man with a microphone appeared in the center of the ring. His grin split his face from ear to ear, and the crowd fed off his excitement.
“Ladies and gentlemen, your patience tonight has been greatly appreciated. Are you ready for the main event?”
Hollering and whistling bounced off the walls, reverberating through my body. If I thought the energy at Lincoln’s boxing match was intense, this was something else entirely.
“It’s the moment you’ve all been waiting for. Tonight’s match will be like no other,” the man promised, moving around the ring to address the crowd. “A reminder before we start to place your bets. See one of our gorgeous ladies and they’ll get you sorted.
“Tonight, ladies and gentlemen, we have two fan favorites. Two ultimate fighters in their own right. In red, we have Jordan ‘Two-Hit’ Matthews.”
At the sound of his name, Two-Hit entered the ring. He flexed, muscles rippling under the hot stage lights. The crowd hollered. People in the front slammed their hands against the cage, causing it to rattle. A shiver crawled up my spine .
“And in blue, we have our reigning champion, the King of the Ring… Lincoln Pierce !”
The sound of his name was like a shot of adrenaline.
My heart hammered from within my chest, threatening to escape.
Lincoln made his way through the rickety gate on the far side of the ring.
There was a blankness to his stare. Unlike his opponent, Lincoln didn’t make a spectacle.
He advanced to his side of the ring, taking in the man still bouncing around on the balls of his feet.
Lincoln’s face was void. It was as if the person in front of him wasn’t a person at all.
This wasn’t the Lincoln I saw in the boxing ring. This Lincoln was a weapon, a predator. Bile rose to my throat.
“What do you say, folks?” the announcer said. “Are you ready for the fight of the night?” He raised both hands, beckoning for the crowd to cheer louder. A maniacal gleam appeared in his eyes at the uproar around him. “Well then, let’s get ready for a show!”