by Nora Cobb
The main gate is shut so that a car can’t enter, but the smaller iron gate for pedestrians is always open. I take a running start and hop on my bike, racing down the quiet suburban street. The wind blows hard into my face, and I take deep breaths, smelling freedom in the air. My body is alert to the building excitement and sends a burst of happiness into my brain. In fifteen minutes, I’m back in Weymouth, pedaling past late-night shops that sell gas and cigarettes. My bike starts bouncing over the potholes, and the warehouse is ahead of me. Damn, I feel like a fight.
“Teeny!” I greet him with a smile as I race toward the metal doors. He responds by lifting a brow.
“No drugs inside,” he says, opening the door.
I shake my head and decide to calm the fuck down. It’s the Pit, not one of the dream destinations in the Caribbean. I strut into the warehouse, scanning the crowd for Nova. She’ll help me warm up if I can find her. I dance and weave to the music off to the side. Grinder is on the catwalk, and I climb, my feet barely resting on a step, eager to know when I’ll be on. I need to get rid of this tension while I earn some cash, and I know I’m going to slay. I reach the platform and have to spring to my right before I collide with a dumbass that’s blocking the stairs.
“What the fuck are you standing there for?” I demand.
The man turns around, and I’m face-to-face with Bryce. My eyes widen, and he smirks because my expression does nothing to hide what I’m thinking. He doesn’t look like himself either, not that he would have worn his fancy uniform here, but his clothes are rundown compared to what he wore over the summer.
His old jeans are tight on his thighs and flaunt the fact that he must work out. His vintage rock T-shirt pulls across his muscles, leaving no doubt in any mind that he is fit. His eyes move over my body, checking out my midriff, which is tight. When he lifts his eyes, he has a crafty smirk on his face.
“Did you lose your way to the dining hall?” he asks.
“No,” I point my finger in his face. “Don’t play with me on my territory. What are you doing here?”
He smiles at Grinder as if I’m the crazy one, and they exchange a look that’s meant to put me down.
“You didn’t answer my question, rich kid. No one cares if I’m at Stonehaven because I’m the help. Remember? But here, I belong. So why are you here?”
Wisely, Bryce keeps his eyes on me, but he talks to Grinder. “Do students fight at the Pit, Grinder?”
Grinder shrugs but refuses to make eye contact as he looks off toward the ring below. “She does, and she’s pretty good.”
“Pretty good?” I balk. “You know I’m better than fucking good, Grinder.”
Bryce shakes his head and then ignores me. “You’ve convinced all of us with your eloquence, Astrid.”
I would’ve blown the games off, except Grinder conceals a smirk by sipping on his beer. I look past Bryce. “Who am I fighting, Grinder?”
“Ivette is wandering around,” he replies, “You can fight her if she’s not high.”
“She can barely throw a punch.” Grinder knows the real reason why I am upset. No one’s going to bet on a fight with Ivette in it. She’s unreliable, and it will probably end in a forfeit. Or she will go maniac and kick ass. No one knows which Ivette will get into the ring, so no one wants to risk their money.
“That’s no challenge, Grinder.” I move past Bryce, but Grinder continues to ignore me. “You know I’m better than that.”
“I thought you were until you started going to that prissy school,” he replies.
I’m pissed, and I know who told, but Bryce’s jaw twitches ever so slightly. I’m not the only one who’s pissed. Knowing Grinder, it was an underhanded comment that I’m sure he didn’t expect Bryce to challenge.
“I’d like to see a fair fight,” says Bryce, watching Grinder. “Astrid ranks up in the fights when properly challenged.”
I narrow my eyes on Bryce and tug him away though I’m sure Grinder can hear us. “What the fuck are you up to?”
“I’m here to have fun,” he smirks, “and maybe see the occasional nip slip.”
I expect him to lower his gaze, but he doesn’t. Bryce stares into my eyes as he takes an interest in my situation. It’s weird, but I don’t think he’s ever really studied my face before. Unfortunately, he must also see the desperation in my expression. I swallow hard and start to move away. He catches my arm and pulls me back.
“What purse are you looking for?” he asks.
“I need five hundred at least,” I reply evenly.
He frowns. “That’s not a lot of money.”
My face burns with humiliation. It’s money I don’t have, and now Bryce knows it. “I’m short this week.” I’m unable to look him in the eye while I lie. “I need a little extra for school fees, but I won’t have the money until next week.”
Bryce smirks. “Why doesn’t your father pay for it?”
Gritting my teeth, I shake him off my arm and hurry down the steel steps to the main floor. Bryce follows behind, not slowing his steps and almost stepping on the back of my heels as I try to put space between us. The Pit is my space to be real around people who know me, and I know them. We have the same issues and have to do what we need to do to keep ourselves from disappearing into an unforgiving system. Bryce will never get that.
I head for the open metal doors, but I see Justin and Pierce hanging out. They’re dressed down like Bryce in old jeans and T-shirts. Justin has his silky clean hair hidden underneath a worn trucker’s cap, and the pair fit in perfectly as they sweet-talk two sophomore girls from Monarch. Fuck. I make a U-turn before they spot me, giving Bryce’s hand an opportunity to close around my wrist.
The strength in his grip can’t be beaten without a vicious struggle. I don’t want the Monarch crowd seeing me fighting a rich boy in a silly catfight that I’m bound to lose. He hauls me into the restricted area, pitch black and far from the crowd, behind some old equipment lifts. I hop over the used condoms left behind on the floor, but no one’s back here now for a hookup. I shake, wondering if Wyatt’s here with them. I don’t want him seeing me with Bryce back here.
We find a little light in the darkness, and Bryce places his index finger in my face. “Don’t you ever run away from me again,” his eyes narrow as he speaks in tight words, “You are not to embarrass me in public, do you understand?”
I shake my head, blown away by the double standard. “How long do you think I should put up with your shit, Bryce?” Tears of frustration are threatening to appear, and I sniff them back. “You don’t like me, and I hate that prissy school. Why can’t you be decent and ignore me the same way I try to ignore you?”
Bryce straightens to his full height. I’m tall for a girl, but he towers over me. His lips twist into a filthy smirk that makes my body tense up. I should’ve run for the door.
“It’s not necessary to lie about having a father,” he says quietly.
The tears are forgotten as I raise my hand, but he catches it. I got one solid slap in, but he won’t make that mistake again. Bryce steps back, giving me space, and a band of light from a busted window illuminates his face entirely. His blue gaze softens, but his jaw looks like it’s about to snap into pieces.
“I know you’re proud,” he says, “It’s your one redeeming quality. So, I’ll make you a generous deal. I’ll lend you the money at no interest with no due date.”
“Only a sucker believes in free,” I reply sharply, “What do you want from me?”
Bryce releases my wrist, and rubbing the feel of his hand off me, I take a step back. This time, Bryce doesn’t close me in, and I wonder if he can hear my rapid breaths. I can hear his. He looks at me again, but it’s not a look of desire or curiosity. His gaze stays off my body and studies my face shrewdly. He’s coldly judging my worth with a hostile stare and taking inventory of what I can pay back later.
“Look.” I ease past him. “I have to find that girl I’m fighting and maybe sober her up.”
H
e nods, and I hurry back toward the crowd without him on my heels. Desperately, I look for Ivette, and of course, she’s smashed with a bottle stuck to her mouth like it’s an appendage. She stumbles in the ring with her eyelids barely open, and her posture is limp as she hunches over her shoulders. She didn’t even bother to wrap her hands.
I glance up at Grinder, and he’s amused with my sorry-ass life as if it’s the best joke he’s heard in a long time. Motherfucker. I punch Ivette twice in the gut, and she topples over, barely throwing a punch. It’s a shitstorm in my favor, but I take no pride in winning. The crowd starts hollering like the place is on fire, but I’m no fool. I look down, and Ivette’s breasts have popped out of her tiny sports bra as she lolls around on the ground.
The tears are threatening to show themselves again as I suck my cheeks in hard. It’s frustrating knowing that I was set up to fail. I think about Stonehaven, and what should be an opportunity to get ahead will be fucked because someone says I shouldn’t have it. I needed the money tonight, but I sure as hell won’t take it from Bryce.
Grinder makes me wait beside him while he speaks on his phone. I know my eyes are glassy, but I refuse to cry, not while the whole room can look up and see me. My intense gaze shifts toward the mirror, and I wonder what Bryce and his boys are doing behind the glass. Those two girls are probably giving head to the rich boys as they sip top-shelf liquor and gloat.
I tap Grinder’s shoulder, but he doesn’t end the call. Instead, he reaches in his jean pocket and pulls out fifty dollars, holding it up between his two fingers. I snatch it out of his hand, and he glances over in shock as I turn away. He shoves his phone in his pocket and calls me back.
“Astrid, we didn’t get enough action on this one.” He tries to explain it like he cares. “The crowd is waiting for the big fight.”
“Whatever. Who else is on tonight?” I ask miserably.
“Mask is going up against Crow,” he replies, “I figure it will be cool. You know they both wear all black.”
I frown at his pathetic humor, which doesn’t cheer me up. “Why do I bother to come here?”
“Astrid, I’m sorry, but you were last minute,” he continues, “And Bryce puts in a lot of bets.”
There it is, and I shake my head in disgust. “So, the rich kids are running the Pit now?”
“It’s a lot of cash, Astrid, and they aren’t interested in seeing the girls fight. Not unless it’s sexy, and I know you’d never do that.” Grinder shrugs. “But there is a way. Come, let’s sit down.”
I look behind me, and someone has dragged a plump white sofa up onto the catwalk. I’m just surprised to see it. The catwalk is ten feet wide in that location, and steel will support the weight, but it’s the rich kids’ couch. I sit down, holding my arms and crossing my legs. Grinder might have something worth listening to, and maybe I can tell Bryce to go suck on his money. I’m definitely giving off a don’t touch me vibe as Grinder sits down. Grinder sits guy-style with his legs open wide as if he’s airing out his junk. I try not to roll my eyes.
“Astrid, you’re one of the best fighters in the Pit, but there aren’t a lot of skilled women fighting here. And the men don’t want to fight a girl.”
“So, what is your solution?” I ask.
“You and Nova fight.”
I sigh deeply because the thought of hitting my best girl hurts me. “Nova is my first true friend. She didn’t have to be, plus she taught me how to fight.” I shake my head, “And you want me to use her moves against her? Your plan sucks like your ass.”
“Her charm knows no limits.” Bryce is standing in front of us, and he probably heard everything. Sneaky bastard. Justin and Pierce glance over but remain by the rail with the two girls they picked up. The girls aren’t supposed to be up here in an employee-only zone. Showing off, they wave like C-list celebrities to the people below.
Bryce motions for Grinder to move over, and Grinder makes room for him on the couch. He sits down between us, crossing his ankle on his knee. Weymouth guys would never sit like that, but Bryce doesn’t care because our humble ways are simply off his myopic radar. Everything poor people do is off his radar, and he’s just here to use us. A handout ain’t worth a damn, and I’m sick of his shit. I move to stand, but Bryce catches my wrist.
“Let go of me,” I state patiently, “Unless you want me to embarrass you in front of your little friends. We’re not at Stonehaven.”
He leans against me, squishing my torso against the arm of the couch. His thigh presses hard against mine, and I’m very much aware of his hard muscles underneath his clothes.
His lips brush my ear. “Astrid, what did I say about embarrassing me in public?” He pinches my bare thigh, digging his nails in.
I twist away from him. “I’m about to give it to you,” I hiss.
“That’s not what I want.” His hand brushes my thigh again and grabs only the skin. His short nails bite as they twist my skin. I can endure pain, but this is wicked. The razor-sharp pain makes me turn away, but as I pull back, it stings even more.
“Not to embarrass you,” I hiss.
He pats my thigh as if I’m his pet. “Good girl. See, you can behave if I invest the time to tame you.”
My eyes have to be rounder than the headlights on a Mercedes SUV. Bryce casually wraps his arm around the back of the sofa, resting it behind my shoulders. From where we sit, we have an excellent view of the fight that’s about to begin. I sit up straight when Mask appears through the ropes. His black knits drape his fit body, emphasizing those sleek muscles as he performs a few kicks in the air. He turns around and pauses, looking up at the catwalk, but turns around quickly when Crow enters the ring. Bryce leans forward, and his full attention is on the match as Mask hurls a fist in Crow’s nose.
“He’s a very gifted fighter, Astrid,” Bryce whisper, “I wonder what he is hiding.”
Chapter 10
Astrid
Early in the morning, I slip back into my room but hear someone giggle as I shut the door. I creep over to Roni’s bed, but she’s snoring softly. The clock on her side of the room inches toward 4 a.m. Quietly, I climb into bed, pushing the pillows out of the way as I squirm underneath the covers. The next thing I remember is the sunlight in my eyes as I wake up. I didn’t get caught sneaking in, but I notice Roni eyeing me with suspicion. She’s too smart to be treated like a fool.
Instead of meeting after school, the investors club meets on Fridays, and I have fifteen minutes to shower and find the classroom. My luck is finally changing as I rush into the rarely empty bathroom. Soon I’m out the door, heading toward Oberlin Hall, checking my map every step of the way. Lame excuses for not having the fee race around my head, but Professor Getz will have to believe that I’m good for it.
I tug open the heavy wood door to an ancient building that looks more like a residence than a school. If I ever go to England, I guess I’ll see plenty of ancient brick houses with slate roofs like this. My shoes echo on the gleaming floor as I listen for movement. Oberlin has a musty odor of old books and lemon-scented polish that does something to me. Pausing for a moment, I close my eyes and take everything in around me with all my senses. I absorb the atmosphere—the muted paint on the walls, the smell of old paper as it crumbles to dust, and the coolness of an old, drafty room with creaky floors. For the first time, Stonehaven inspires awe in me, and I realize fully the lucky break I’ve been gifted. Giggling, I take a running start and slide across the polished floor.
I open my eyes, and Professor Getz stands a few feet away from me, smiling. The heat rushes up my neck, but it’s too late to play cool.
“You caught me acting like a nerd,” I smile weakly, “I used to sniff books at the bookstore when I was little.”
He laughs. “I still do it.”
I clear my throat. “Professor Getz, about the fee for the club…”
“Bryce Shelton paid it,” replies Professor Getz, frowning, “He said he owed you money.”
Professor Getz con
tinues down the hallway, and I hurry to catch up before I lose him. Bryce offered, but I would never say yes. Or maybe I did? It was the middle of the night. But he wanted a deal. What did he want?
We enter a small room in the basement, which I later learn is Professor Getz’s office. I also learn that we can replace economics with the investors club meetings, but Getz suggests we continue with the class to get a better understanding of the topic. He glances over at Bryce, who sits regally in a stuffed armchair by a tall bookcase. I sit with the only other girl on a small couch. There are eight of us in total, and while I don’t say much, I listen closely and take a lot of notes.