Chapter 25 Violet
Violet
“How much do you love me?” Char asks, that telltale lilt of mischief threading through her voice.
I shift my phone to my shoulder, tilting my head to pin it there and free up my hands. “Depends on why you’re calling,” I reply warily, resuming the task of rinsing the last of my smoothie out of the blender.
“What if I told you Mack just called, and they want you on the ticket at Eclipse Underground tonight?”
I almost drop the damn blender. My grip slips, plastic knocking against the sink with a sharp clack. “I’d say you must be confused,” I reply, pulse kicking up a notch. “Because tonight’s the Gauntlet.”
“Yep,” she chirps.
I switch off the faucet and grab a towel, wringing it around my hands, more to occupy them than to dry them. “And they’ve had their lineup set for months.”
“Uh-huh,” she giggles, dragging it out, enjoying this far too much.
My heart pounds faster, that familiar pre-fight adrenaline trickling into my bloodstream as I carefully set the towel down on the counter. “And I never got an invitation,” I say slowly, thinking it through out loud, “so unless someone had to drop out at the last minute…”
“Havoc is out and The Slay is in, baby!” Char shouts down the line, unable to contain her glee a second longer.
I yank the phone back into my hand, fingers curling tight around it. “No fucking way,” I breathe.
Havoc is the reigning champion of the Gauntlet. Since then, she’s pulled twelve more wins– ten by knockout. Suffice to say, her reputation as a monster in the ring was earned.
“What happened?” I ask, words tumbling over each other. “How–”
“No idea,” Char interrupts, undeterred. “But her loss is our gain, babe!”
I brace myself against the counter, breathing going fast and shallow. The cool marble bites into my palm, anchoring me in place as excitement crashes into disbelief, then into something dangerously close to hope.
I’ve wanted to fight in the Gauntlet since the moment I stepped into Eclipse two years ago, but I never trained enough to have a real shot.
Never fought often enough, never committed the way you have to if you actually want to make a name for yourself in the underground fighting circuit.
A career was never my endgame. I was in it for the quick cash, the adrenaline rush, and the roar of the crowd.
The Gauntlet promises all three.
It’s an annual event– a single-elimination tournament reserved for the best of the best– and the payouts are obscene. Five grand if you make it past the first round, ten if you survive the second. Fifty if you take the final.
Beyond the money, there’s also the prestige. Winning the Gauntlet is like earning a black belt, a championship title, and permanent street cred all rolled into one. Basically, if I ever wanted to turn fighting into a real career, this would be the way.
“So, whaddya say?” Char asks eagerly, dragging me back from the edge of possibility. “Should I tell him you’re in?”
I open my mouth to say hell yes, but before I can get the words out, I’m hit with a memory of the last time I fought at Eclipse Underground. Or, more specifically, what happened after I returned home that night, bruised and bloodied.
“I dunno,” I murmur, buying myself a second as I start weighing the scenarios in my head. Kane might not even notice if I’m gone for one night. And even if he does, what’s he going to do about it? It’s not like I’m his prisoner.
“Excuse me, what?” Char gasps, incredulous. “Who are you, and what have you done with my best friend? Since when is this not the best news ever?”
“I mean, it is,” I say quickly. “But… things are different now. With my whole… living situation.”
The words feel clumsy on my tongue, like I’m fumbling for a language I’m not fluent in yet.
How do I explain that living with Kane has been like slowly sinking into quicksand?
The more I struggle against it, the deeper I get pulled under.
And the worst part is, some days I’m not sure I even want to fight it anymore.
Char clucks her tongue. “Oh, I get it. You’re afraid Daddy Kane will catch you sneaking back in again, huh?”
“Ugh, don’t call him that,” I groan, grimacing.
“You did first!” she cackles.
“And I’ve regretted telling you ever since,” I grumble, my lips twitching into a reluctant smile. “But yeah. I don’t want him asking a bunch of questions.”
“Then stay here tonight,” Char replies easily. “The apartment is still half yours, anyways. Your rent’s paid up for another month.”
“Yeah, maybe,” I reply noncommittally, still trying to figure out how to thread this needle.
I want to compete in the Gauntlet, no question about it.
But I’m also starting to reach a strange sort of understanding with Kane lately, and part of me doesn’t want to risk upsetting the fragile peace between us.
Good things never last, but that doesn’t mean I have to be the one who lights the match.
“Maybe?” Char scoffs. “C’mon, Vi, I need a real answer here. Mack needs to know, like, now. Otherwise they move down the list. There are a lot of fighters who’d kill for this chance.”
She’s right. I know she’s right.
This is a once in a lifetime opportunity. If I turn it down out of some misguided attempt at not rocking the boat with Kane, I’ll regret it forever. Worse, I’ll be betraying the last pieces of who I am, settling for the safe choice rather than going after what I really want.
I didn’t fight against that my whole life just to sell out now.
My phone vibrates against my palm. I lower it from my ear and glance at the screen, a text from Kane lighting up the display.
Kane
Working late. Don’t wait up.
Something twists in my chest– relief tangled with disappointment, mixed with something dangerous I don’t want to name. He won’t be here tonight. There’s nothing holding me back from accepting the invitation.
If that’s not a sign from the universe, I don’t know what is.
“Fuck it,” I sigh, lifting the phone back up to my ear. “I’m in.”
“Hell yeah!” Char shrieks, and I have to yank the phone away as her squeal of excitement threatens to puncture my eardrum. “Okay, I’ll let Mack know, and I’ll pick you up at nine. Wear something hot.”
“Don’t I always?” I shoot back, smirking as I push off the counter to head toward the bedroom, my mind already shifting gears.
Combinations. Strategies. Footwork. Which walkout song will get the crowd on their feet and the adrenaline spiking before I even step into the ring.
She squeals again, her enthusiasm uncontainable. “This is gonna be epic! See you tonight!”
“Bye,” I laugh, hanging up and tossing my phone onto the bed.
I lift my gaze, catching my reflection in the mirror on the back of the closet door. She’s still there– the fighter. The girl who refuses to be caged. The version of myself that comes alive under bright lights and roaring crowds.
And she’s ready to be let out to play.
I’m already waiting at the curb when Char pulls up in front of the Tower, bass thumping loud enough to rattle the windows. I grab for the door handle before she’s even rolled to a complete stop, sliding into the passenger seat.
“Holy shit,” she breathes, eyes going wide as she takes me in. “You look like you’re about to commit murder.”
“That’s the idea,” I reply, smirking as I buckle in.
I went with black leather pants that hug every curve, a cropped tank that shows off my abs, and my favorite combat boots. My hair’s pulled back in a high ponytail, and I’ve got just enough makeup on to look fierce without worrying about it running the second I start to sweat.
Char peels away from the curb, grinning like a maniac. “God, I love this version of you.”
“Yeah, well, she’s been taking a nap,” I mutter, checking my phone one last time before tossing it in my bag.
No new messages from Kane. Good.
“But she’s clearly awake now,” Char says, glancing over at me.
“And pissed,” I add, flipping off the Tower in the rearview.
The drive to Eclipse takes twenty minutes, winding through progressively sketchier neighborhoods until we’re deep on the south side, the streets narrowing and the buildings pressing closer together.
Char parks a few blocks away, then we hustle toward the club, boots hitting cracked pavement as music thumps faintly in the distance.
We bypass the line outside without slowing, waved through instantly by the bouncer.
Inside, the place is packed. The main floor is a sea of bodies, the air thick with the scent of sweat and alcohol. Music pounds through the space, vibrating up through the soles of my boots as we shoulder our way to the bar.
“The usual?” Char asks as she slides up to the counter, folding her arms on the lacquered surface.
“Water,” I say firmly. “I need to stay sharp.”
She rolls her eyes but orders me a water anyway, along with a shot of tequila for herself. She knocks hers back like it’s nothing while I drain the bottle in long pulls, already mentally shifting gears.
We peel away from the bar and slip through the crowd, heading for the back door. The bouncer there sees us coming, opening it so we can duck into the back corridor quickly.
Mack is posted up in front of the basement door at the end of the hall, eyes bright and grin wide.
“Hell of a crowd tonight,” he remarks as we approach.
“Thanks again for the invite,” I reply, letting him pull me into a one-armed hug.
“You’re the best, Mack,” Char coos as he pulls her in next, pressing a kiss to his cheek.
His face goes red, a dopey smile spreading across it as he laughs and waves us through. Char starts down the stairs ahead of me, and I fall into step behind her, boots pounding against the metal treads.
“Get ‘em, Slayter!” Mack calls out, his deep voice echoing off the concrete.
I pause, glancing back over my shoulder. “It’s The Slay tonight,” I remind him, tossing a wink his way.
He rumbles a laugh. “Yeah, yeah. Kill it, girl. I’m betting on you.”