4. Zela #2
I watch them as they bicker, looking for something that says they know, but it seems like they're back to their usual selves.
My panic lessens by the moment as they continue on and on about fighters and who could beat who. With a clearer mind, I realize something.
“Your fighters?”
Three sets of eyes turn toward me, making me realize I’d spoken aloud.
It’s all the same, though, because that doesn’t make any sense, and I’m going to need them to explain.
Jace hops up out of his chair to join me near the railing I lean on.
There were only three chairs up here when we arrived.
Three chairs that they all claimed, and I wasn’t going to sit on the floor or give them my back.
The railing seemed like a good place to keep an eye on them and keep some distance.
It doesn’t seem like such a great idea now as Jace leans back against the rail, throwing his arm around my shoulder just like he did in the hall. It seems innocent enough, but I know better than to believe everyone is innocent; most people aren’t.
I don’t know shit about these three other than that they're Diane’s sons and will soon be my stepbrothers.
That doesn’t equal trust. If anything, it only makes me more wary, not to mention the fact that none of them seem to be keen on the idea of me being their new sister.
“How rude of us. Here we are, dragging you around without a lick of information,” Jace says, but the wicked smile on his face tells me he’s not really sorry. I let it go. I honestly didn't even give a shit until about two minutes ago.
Kolson stands, moving toward the railing as well. Unlike Jace, he keeps his distance from me, instead reaching out to brace his arms on the bars while his eyes move down to the pit below us.
“This is the new location of The Pit,” Jace tells me, and I can hear the excitement in his voice, like a kid who just couldn’t keep the secret any longer.
It’s not hard to keep any reaction off my face. I knew from the second we walked in and I saw the cage, but they don’t need to know that.
“Telling her the name of the club doesn’t really explain anything when she doesn’t know a damn thing about it,” Isaac says with a laugh from where he still sits in his chair watching me.
“The Pit is a fight club. People from all over come in to fight every weekend. Some do it for money, others to repay debt, or simply because they love the thrill of it. Why they fight doesn’t really matter, though; so long as they do, we’ll be in business.”
Kolson doesn't seem like one to mince words, and my stomach drops out as I start to put the pieces together in my head.
“The Pit used to belong to our father. When he died, he left it to us. Everything in here is ours. This building, the ring, tables and chairs, workers, everything. Even the fighters.”
He turns to face me, his eyes dark. Not for the first time since I met them, I get the feeling there's more to these three than just some rich kids looking for a power trip. They might be younger than their father, but I have no doubt they know what they're doing.
You don’t build a place like The Pit if you don’t, and considering their dad died almost five years ago, that means this is all them.
Taking a once run-down location and giving it life.
Hiring a doctor to wait in the wings should something go wrong during a fight.
Security, warm-up rooms, food, and drinks while you watch.
It’s come a long way over the last few years; the building is just the most recent upgrade.
And there’s no denying it is, in fact, an upgrade.
The space is about three times as big, which means more people can eat, drink, and, most importantly, bet.
It’s also in a richer area, meaning more foot traffic of the spending kind.
I would know.
I started fighting as Vixen three years ago…
“Seeing as Mother is set on us showing you around and seems happy with your father, you're going to need to get used to being here,” Isaac says, sounding almost bored, but I don’t turn to see.
“Hopefully, you don’t have a weak stomach. The fights have been known to be a little bloody.” Jace sounds almost excited by the thought. Not that I can say much, I am. Something about the fight always fills me with adrenaline, a high like nothing else.
“You’ll be here Saturday for the fight with us,” Kolson says, turning toward me and holding my gaze, as if daring me to disagree.
His words sink in, hitting me like a slap in the face.
“I study on Saturdays.”
“You can study after, or any other day of the week. You're going to be a DuPont, which means you're a part of this whether we like it or not.”
I choose to ignore Kolson’s apparent distaste for me being a part of his family. I’m not too excited about it either, but I have more important issues right now.
“I won’t be a DuPont. I’m a grown-ass woman.
Our parents might be getting married, but that doesn’t change shit.
You three can keep doing all of this.” I shrug Jace's arm off my shoulder and open my arms wide in a show of the place.
“But I need to graduate and get my degree, which means I need to study.”
“Let’s not pretend like you won’t pass. I’ve seen your grades. You ace everything, Zela.” I turn to face Isaac at his words, trying to keep the shock off my face at his easy admission of looking into my schooling.
That shit’s supposed to be private. How the hell did he get information about my grades? Or is he just saying that to fuck with me?
No, he doesn’t seem like the type to lie, at least not about this. He said it so simply, as if he were telling me I have brown hair. It’s just a fact.
I’m not sure why I’m shocked; even after just a few hours with them, I can tell they don’t play by the same rules as the rest of us common folk.
I keep my face neutral, leaning on years of my perfected resting bitch face to ensure he doesn’t get the satisfaction of knowing he got to me.
“Yeah, because I study.”
“But you won’t need to. You’ll find that being a DuPont will bring you certain privileges, one of which is that our family has a lot of leeway.”
Kolson pushes off the railing, letting his hands drop at his sides, freeing me from our little staring match, and I mentally high-five myself for winning, even if he didn’t know we were playing.
One step is all it takes for him to eat up the distance between us, and I have to crane my neck back to meet his eyes.
“Which means you’ll be here Saturday.”