Chapter 13
Millie
Curiosity killed the cat.
That’s what I tell myself as Dash leads Abby and me toward the derelict theater. He found me in the library and insisted I come because he accidentally invited my roommate and didn’t want her thinking it’s a date.
Somehow, that turned into me being their third wheel.
I could’ve said no. I already told Hyde and Noah that I’m not interested in watching men throw fists, but the truth is, I’m curious. The campus has been buzzing for days, and too many people have mentioned Creed’s name. Everyone’s been looking forward to tonight, their excitement contagious.
Yellow tape and chain-link fencing surround the building and most of the windows are boarded up.
Hyde told me it’s been like this for two decades.
Apparently, every year the faculty makes renovation plans and applies for grants.
And every year, something else takes priority while the theater wastes away.
“This way,” Dash says, glancing back at us.
Abby’s slightly ahead of me, hips swaying, the little black number she wears rolling up her milky thighs every few steps. Her heels click against the stone path and her skin prickles with goosebumps, but she doesn’t stop beaming at Dash.
And he doesn’t stop sending please help looks my way.
It’s painfully obvious that, despite my warning and her saying she just wanted one night of fun, mind-blowing sex with the hottie, she’s hoping for more than Dash can offer.
We follow him around the back, a thin line of pine trees obscuring the view of the ocean. Somewhere beyond them sits the post-grad dorm, the most remote building on campus, its inhabitants enjoying privacy no one else gets.
Dash stops and points to a cut-open section of the chain-link. “Through here.”
“How has this been kept secret from the faculty all these years?” Abby asks.
There’s an edge to her voice as she carefully steps through while Dash widens the gap.
“Oh, they know all about it. They tried to shut us down at first, so we kept switching venues. We took over an abandoned warehouse a little south of here and the roof collapsed. A few students got hurt, some uptight parents threatened to sue, and the dean decided it was better to turn a blind eye.”
He gestures for me to go next, his hand settling briefly on my head, so I don’t catch my hair on the wire.
“Besides,” he continues once we’re both through. “Half the wager money finds its way into the campus fund.”
Right. Isn’t that how the world works? If something shouldn’t be allowed to happen, money’s usually the reason why it does.
“Up there?” I ask, watching a group of guys climbing into the building through a busted window.
“I’m afraid so.” Dash steps in front of me and cups his hands, ready to give me a boost. “Come on, Mini Ward.”
“I’ve got her.”
I turn at the sound of Noah’s voice. He comes out of the shadows, hood up, cigarette expiring between his fingers.
“Get up there, Dash,” he adds, jutting his chin at the window. “You’ll pull her in.”
“I thought you were sitting this one out,” Dash says, climbing the stone facade.
“Changed my mind.” He drops the cigarette, crushing it under his shoe, eyes on me. “Ready, beautiful?”
I pinch my lips, holding back a smile that endearment evokes, but Noah notices, anyway.
“Yes.”
He crouches slightly, cupping his hands and I place my foot in them, bracing against his shoulders, very aware of his proximity, and masculine scent soaking his hoodie despite the cigarette he just finished.
In one smooth motion, he propels me upward. I catch the ledge, dangling for a second while my Chucks search for purchase.
“Got you,” Dash says, closing his hand around my forearm.
He pulls me up and my jean-clad knee drags against the stone as I haul myself inside.
“Alright?” Noah calls.
“She’s fine,” Dash replies, glancing down. “Take your heels off, Abby.”
I straighten up, brushing dust from my palms, and move aside to give Abby space. As expected, her dress has ridden past her hips by the time she’s inside, red, lacy panties on display. Thankfully, she doesn’t scrape her knees bloody.
“Next time, dress accordingly,” Dash hums, passing her the five-inch heels Noah threw in. “You’re pretty, cupcake. Half the guys on campus would fuck you even if you showed up wearing a potato sack. No need to sacrifice your comfort.”
She just huffs, but the pinkness of her cheek betrays that she’s flattered.
“Why is it so quiet?” I ask, craning my neck left and right.
“The fights are three floors below,” Noah explains. “Before Gravemont was turned into a school, it was a government research facility. Some buildings go deep underground, and most are connected by service tunnels.”
That’s... unsettling. I wonder if the dorms are connected. Could a senior sneak into the sophomore dorm undetected? It’s not like there’s security at the door now, but I bet there was a time when there was.
“Come on, let’s go,” Dash prompts, already on the move.
He leads us through the building, our steps echoing in the empty space, the air humid but surprisingly warm.
The weather’s been—very briefly—lovely, a final summer heatwave before Washington succumbs to its usual rain for fall, winter, and the better part of spring.
I stay close to Noah, his phone lighting our way. We descend the stairs, and with every step, the sound builds louder until it becomes a deafening mix of voices.
A tall, bulky guy stands in front of tall metal doors, brass knuckles adorning his fist. Dash pushes a few bills into his hands and the guy stamps small black snakes on the insides of our wrists before letting us through.
We step onto a wraparound balcony, and I pause at the railing, looking down. Music vibrates through the concrete, different songs seeping from many portable speakers and phones while people crowd together in groups, shouting over one another, alcohol sloshing in their red solo cups.
A cage sits in the center of the room, fashioned out of chain-link and thick metal posts. It doesn’t look professional, but I guess it doesn’t need to be. People clump around it, bodies packed shoulder to shoulder, excitement palpable in the beery, sweaty, dusty air.
I take in the chaos. The tables lining the walls, stacked with kegs, bottles, and towers of red cups, the electric atmosphere, the guy inside the cage, microphone in hand. He’s saying something, his voice disappearing in the noise of voices and music before it has a chance to reach me.
“You look awestruck,” Noah says.
I glance at him. “Who runs this?”
He nods toward the cage. “Same guy you’re looking at. Brock King. He’s post-grad, organizes the fights, takes a cut from the bets, pays the dean, and spends a few grand on beer to keep people coming.”
“A few grand?” Abby asks, incredulous eyes on Brock. “How much does he make in a night?”
Dash leans against the railing beside us. “Entry’s fifty a head. Do the math, cupcake.”
I dig into my pocket for cash, but Dash cinches my wrist, shaking his head.
“My treat, Mini.”
“Thank you.” I glance around the crowd. “There’s... what?” I scrunch my nose. “Four hundred people here?”
“Probably more, but say you’re right, that’s twenty grand for entry and then the wagers on top of that.”
“That’s insane,” Abby breathes. “Is this even legal?”
Dash laughs, the sound warming me up. I like it when he’s around. He’s overbearing sometimes, but so carefree it makes me feel light.
“Not at all,” he says.
The mass of bodies below shifts, everyone’s attention snapping toward the cage.
“Let’s move,” Noah says. “Creed’s up soon.”
His hand settles on the small of my back as he guides us to the stairs. We push through the crowd, people stepping aside and jutting their chins at Dash and Noah.
“You guys really do run this place,” Abby comments.
She said that before, and even though in theory it didn’t surprise me, seeing their reputation in practice is completely different. I wonder what elevated their status. Is it Creed and his undefeated champion status or is there more?
We stop by the beer tables and Dash waggles his eyebrows at me. “You want one, Mini Ward?”
“Yes, please.”
“Coming right up.” He turns to Abby. “Come on, cupcake, I’ll introduce you to someone. He’s been asking about you.”
Her face falls, disappointment painting her features, but she masks it quickly, stalking after Dash toward a group of guys.
I turn back to Noah and catch him watching me. My mind lights up in an instant. Abby was right when she said my brother’s friends are hot... and holding the attention of someone like Noah makes me feel a little giddy.
I squash that feeling hard.
“So how does this work?” I ask, rising on my tiptoes to speak in his ear so I don’t have to shout. “Walk me through it.”
His arm comes around my waist, holding me steady, and my pulse spikes on cue. “Three one-minute rounds. Fifteen seconds between.” He points toward a long, narrow table by the cage. “Four judges track points.”
“How many fights?”
“Depends on the evening. Minimum of four. Freshmen go first, seniors last, plus there’s always random guys settling their grudges or testing their skills early on.”
“And Creed?”
Noah smirks. “Main event, of course. He goes last, but we’re late, so it won’t be long.”
“There you go,” Dash mumbles, materializing beside me.
He pushes a red cup into my hand while passing another to Noah. The rim of his cup is clenched between his teeth until his hands are free.
“Where’s Abby?” I ask, glancing around.
“She said to tell you she’s staying with Thomas. He’s a good guy, Mini, I swear. He’ll keep her safe. Don’t worry.”
Noah shifts beside me. “Let’s get you out of the crowd.”
“Yes, VIP time,” Dash cheers.
“A VIP area in an underground fight club?” I ask, cocking one eyebrow because it sounds absurd.
“It gets crazy here sometimes, Mini Ward.”