Chapter 7 Violet
VIOLET
“Okay, the top is a definite win,” Lexie decides.
It’s just after nine. The sun has set, and whatever streetlights once lit the crowded parking lot outside the dilapidated warehouse have long since lost their bulbs.
It’s dark, a little eerie, and does nothing to illuminate my outfit in question, so I take advantage in the driver’s seat while there’s still light from my car to assess it.
She’s right. It’s cute. Not necessarily something I would pick out on my own, but Lexie twisted my arm into purchasing it.
My new, dark red top hangs off one shoulder, showing more skin than I'd normally agree to, but when the options are slim to none, and the desire to blend in outweighs the cons of sticking out like a sore thumb in a T-shirt and jeans like I did at the last party, this seemed like the lesser of two evils. I slip the strap back into place, climb out of the car, and close the driver’s side door behind me.
“Thanks,” I reply.
“You left your phone in the car, right?”
“Huh?”
“Your phone,” she repeats. “Ethan said there’s a bouncer at the entrance. If they find any kind of phone or recording device, they’ll confiscate it or make you bring it back to your car.”
I blink slowly, convinced my best friend’s grown a second head because that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. “You’re joking.”
“Not joking. Supposedly, they take fight nights, or any Harden event, really seriously.”
“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” I say, voicing my thoughts from two seconds ago.
“And yet, here we are,” she quips.
Rolling my eyes, I open the driver’s side door one more time, toss my phone onto the front seat, and lock the door. “There. Happy now?”
“Not really,” she volleys. “You should hide it. Put it under the front seat or something.”
“Because someone’s going to break into this piece of crap to steal a hand-me-down phone with a cracked screen when they have all of these fancy cars to break into?
” I spread my arms and motion to the shit-ton of expensive cars littered throughout the parking lot.
Seriously, you’d think the blacktop was located in the Hamptons with how many fancy cars are parked here.
Until you notice the beaters mixed in. It’s like a puzzle tossed together with misfit pieces to make a very confusing kaleidoscope.
“Good point,” Lexie concedes. She pauses and takes in the same strange accumulation of vehicles surrounding us. “Okay, we can go in.”
As we walk across the parking lot, I ask, “So, how did your brother know about the no phones rule, anyway?” I ask. “Has he been to any of these before?”
“Not that I know of, but it wouldn’t surprise me either way.”
It wouldn’t surprise me, either. I’ve yet to meet the infamous Ethan Morgan, but from what little I’ve gathered from my best friend, he’s not only into shady things, he thrives off them.
The reminder doesn’t exactly ease the anxiety simmering through me.
I peek over my shoulder, checking the shadows for any boogeymen, but only find a few more stragglers dressed like they’re walking into a late-night club.
“Hmm.” I hesitate. “How did you find out where to go anyway?”
“They send out a message through an encrypted app.”
“And how did you know to download the app?” I push.
“Ethan,” she repeats with a shrug. “Why?”
“I don’t know? It just feels so…official and secretive and—”
“Badass?” she offers.
A little, but I refuse to give the Harden brothers that much credit.
No wonder they have such big heads. With the funds to create a secret encrypted app, the popularity to generate so much buzz that people from all over town are dying for an invite, and the genes to make each of the Harden brothers mirror Greek gods, I’m pretty sure the term badass is only the tip of the iceberg.
“Told ya,” Lexie quips, reading my silence for exactly what it is. “Badass.”
“Didn’t you say you hate all things Harden Heights?” I remind her.
“Didn’t you say this morning how you wish someone could knock Jagger down a few pegs?”
My lips purse.
She mirrors the expression, daring me to outlast her stubbornness.
I give in within two seconds. “Okay, fine. Lead the way.” I continue following her through the dark parking lot and toward the abandoned warehouse.
Metal. Rust. Cinderblocks. And mostly broken lights.
That’s what makes up the building. It’s a bit spooky, if I’m being honest, but so is The Drift in general, so I’m not even surprised.
Just like Ethan prophesied, a bouncer stands at the entrance.
His large arms are crossed over his broad chest as he stands with his legs spread like a sexy biker man moonlighting as a super intimidating guard.
One after another, he pats down each guest, then steps aside, granting them entrance into the run-down warehouse that’s been abandoned for years.
“Holy shit,” I mutter.
Lexie gives me a knowing look. “Told ya.” Stepping up to him, she adds, “Hey, big guy. Give it to me nice and slow, will ya?” As if this isn’t her first rodeo, she raises her arms into the air so the security guard has easy access to check her for any hidden…recording devices?
Seriously, this is ridiculous.
“Name?” the security guard demands in a low baritone. It spreads goosebumps across my flesh.
“Barry White?” she offers wryly.
The man manages to almost smile. “I meant yours.”
“Lexie. Lexie Morgan. Nice to meet you. And you are?”
Holding her gaze, the security guard drags his hands along her arms, sides of her boobs, and armpits before dragging them along her torso. “Head inside, Lexie.”
“Don’t mind if I do.”
“Next,” he grunts.
I step forward and spread my arms, mirroring my best friend's stance from moments ago. “Hello, Barry.”
“Name’s Paulson.”
“Hello, Paulson.” He almost cups my boob, and I shy away from him, my nostrils flaring.
“At least buy her dinner first,” Lexie quips from the side of the entrance.
I fight the urge to bat at his meaty paws despite him being nothing but analytical in his search. “You guys aren’t kidding about the no recording device,” I add.
“Not even close.” His hands leave my body, and he steps aside. “You’re good to go.”
“Why, thank you.”
I meet Lexie at the entrance, and we head inside.
It’s dark. Not pitch black or anything, but dark.
Ominous, almost. Fluorescent lights hang from the tall ceilings on thin wires.
It makes me feel like I’m trapped in an abandoned basement, and I’m about to be tortured by a serial killer or something.
I step closer to Lexie’s side and thread my arm through hers.
“Don’t worry,” she says. “It’s always like this.”
Always.
Because Lexie goes to so many Harden Nights.
Suuuure.
“Lexie!” someone yells.
Standing on my tiptoes, I search for the culprit. A guy with dark brown hair buzzed close to his head and the same olive skin my best friend was blessed with is staring at us with his arms raised in a what took you so long gesture.
“Get your ass over here!” he calls.
I give Lexie the side-eye. “Is that your brother?”
“Okay, he’s a little impatient. Come on.
” Keeping her arm looped with mine, Lexie tugs us toward her brother and the small group of friends.
Or at least, I think they’re his friends.
They’re standing around, shooting the shit together like chaos doesn’t surround us.
Okay, chaos is a bit of an overstatement, but also… is it?
The sound of fists hitting flesh mingle with groans and cheers as I try to take it all in.
The sea of people. The alcohol. The familiar scent of perfume and cologne mixed with sweat.
It would remind me of the other night at Harden Estate if it wasn’t for the added undertone of copper, thanks to the blood.
Two stages are highlighted in the center of the large, open room.
Each one showcases a pair of angry men in bottoms and nothing else.
Sweat glistens off their muscles as they dance around the rings with their hands raised.
Each of them takes turns throwing punches left and right while spectators surround the small platforms and shout at the opponents.
Cheering. Booing. Gasping. Groaning. Chanting.
The energy is overwhelming. It also makes me want to step closer out of sheer curiosity.
I thought I’d seen it all, but this? This is something else entirely.
One of the fighters takes a hit to his jaw and stumbles back, covering his face with his hands while the opponent takes full advantage and barrels closer.
Lexie guides me through the throng of people until we reach her brother.
“You’re late,” he says, stealing my attention.
Here he is. The infamous Ethan Morgan. It’s kind of weird.
Because I almost feel like I should know him, thanks to my relationship with his little sister, but with how little she talks about the guy, instead, all I feel is…
confused. And now that I’m closer, I can’t help but notice their similarities.
Not just the olive skin, but the shape of their faces, too, though Lexie’s nose isn’t crooked from taking one too many hits.
Yeah, this man screams fighter. Bulky muscles.
Cauliflower ears. Roid rage aura. Okay, that last one’s a bit of an assumption, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he dabbled in a bit of the juice. He sure as hell looks like he has.
Waving him off, Lexie says, “Or did we make it just in time?”
He gives her a look that would make a lesser woman cower, but she only gives him a smile. “When do you go on?”
“Up next.” He casts her a quick glance before turning back to the closer brawl. “You gonna place a bet?”
“I would, but it would mean talking to the enemy, remember?”
“For now,” he mutters under his breath. His gaze catches on me for the smallest of seconds.
“This is Violet,” Lexie says. “Violet, this is Ethan.”
“Nice to meet you.” I offer my hand for him to shake, and he takes it.