Exposure (The Fringe Book 2)

by Tarah Benner

  “There is no belt,” I mutter against his shoulder.

  “Whatever.”

  As I pull away, I catch a glimpse of the serious expression clouding his usually carefree smile. “Riles . . . Eli told me he didn’t think you should be in this fight.”

  I groan. “Not you, too!”

  “Oh, no. I’m much more optimistic than that broody man-donut. I think you should kick her ass.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Just be careful.”

  “Times up, Riley!” belts Miles from behind him. “We’ve got to go.”

  I pull away from Celdon, and my dread returns in full force.

  Taking a deep breath, I follow Miles out of the training center toward the maintenance shaft, where I can already hear the anxious crowd.

  My lungs constrict as we duck down the narrow passageway, and as we move into the heart of the space, the sound becomes deafening.

  Miles pushes people out of the way, trying to clear a path for me in the sea of spectators. But the crowd isn’t on my side. I don’t recognize most of them, which means they’re ExCon and Waste Management. The boos are deafening, and the crowd seems to form a solid wall around me and Miles, jostling us in an attempt to intimidate me.

  It’s working.

  The crowd quickly becomes my own personal hell. I feel the walls start to close in around me, and I clamp my teeth down on my lower lip, trying to rein in my mounting panic.

  Suddenly I hear a high-pitched cheer off to the side. In the horde of angry faces, I see Lenny, Bear, and Kindra yelling and screaming. They’re waving a sign with my name on it and a crude drawing of me punching out another girl with blood splattering everywhere.

  “You’re going to be great!” yells Lenny.

  She’s fighting through the cluster of ExCon guys with those wicked-sharp elbows, but Bear pushes through the crowd easily.

  “Yeah!” he calls above the din. “You can kick my fat ass. That’s gotta count for something.”

  I give him a weak smile, but I’m slightly distracted by Miles shoving a drunken Waste Management guy in the chest.

  Kindra is being swept along like a buoy in the mob, but every so often, I catch a glimpse of her pale blond hair. She’s frantically checking her interface, and I’d bet money she’s reading my birth chart again.

  “Everything okay?” I yell.

  She looks up and offers me a weak smile, completely oblivious to the chaos around her. “I hope you win, Harper!”

  The crowd is starting to thin a little, and when I hear cheers behind me, I know why.

  Marta is coming in, and the spectators are clearing a path for her.

  “My horoscope didn’t say anything bad, did it?” I yell. I’m ninety percent joking, but the nervousness in my voice gives away the ten percent that really wants to know.

  She smiles weakly but doesn’t say anything.

  That’s not reassuring.

  My friends’ faces become a blur as Miles pulls me toward the ring. My heart is hammering wildly in my chest, and I focus on taking deep breaths in and out.

  When another arm shoots out and grabs me, I nearly swing out a punch before I recognize Blaze.

  “You shouldn’t be here,” he mutters into my ear.

  “Well, I am,” I growl, squeezing between two lanky guys in orange.

  Blaze falls into step beside me, still holding on to my arm and pushing people back like a bodyguard.

  “I meant what I said, Harper. You aren’t supposed to walk away from this one.”

  I glance up at his face and am startled to see an uncharacteristic look of anxiety in his eyes. Blaze — the quiet, easygoing one — is worried for me.

  “I’m not talking about losing,” he continues. “I mean you aren’t supposed to live.”

  Those words hit me like a bucket of ice water, and I stop pushing through the crowd.

  He yanks me even closer. “Listen. Jayden paid a visit to Shane.”

  “What?” I choke.

  Blaze’s eyes tighten, and he suddenly looks like a guy who knows way more than he should. “I don’t know what you did to piss her off, Harper, but Jayden wants you gone.”

  My stomach drops. If Jayden knew about the fight and went to talk to Shane, that can only mean one thing: She doesn’t want me arrested. She wants me out of the picture for good.

  It won’t be a clean, tragic death from walking into an ambush on the Fringe. Jayden plans to execute me in a messy, public fashion.

  No one will question Constance’s involvement. Nobody thought I would win this fight anyway.

  Blaze’s grip tightens on my arm, as though he plans to physically stop me from getting in that ring.

  “He’s already told the refs,” he says. “Nobody is going to stop Marta from fighting dirty. If you go down, she’s going to keep hitting you until you’re finished.”

  “And she just agreed to kill me?” I splutter.

  Blaze clenches his teeth, his jaw working furiously. “Harper . . . I don’t know what power Jayden has over my father, but nobody disobeys a direct order from Shane. Ever.”

  As we reach the ring, the lights suddenly seem much too bright. Miles turns around and looks at me expectantly, and Blaze releases his death grip on my arm.

  “Wait!” I yell. “What do I do?”

  He leans in quickly, eyes scanning the volatile crowd. “If you get a shot, take it. Don’t hesitate. Finish her.”

  Then he’s gone.

  There’s no time for me to formulate a plan or back out. Miles shoves my mouth guard between my teeth, and I gag a little as I fit my lips around it.

  A few people in the crowd slap my shoulders as I climb up onto the platform, and I hope nobody can see how badly my legs are shaking. I try to get my body under control, but the encroaching crowd is making it impossible.

  I scan the mess of dark faces, hoping to find someone familiar to latch on to. I see Celdon cheering near the far corner — the only Systems worker in here — and Sawyer is standing next to him.

  I can’t help but grin when I see her, mainly because she looks even more out of place than Celdon in her crisp Oxford shirt, peach cardigan, and glasses. She looks nervous, but it isn’t because of all the rowdy, tattooed people jostling her in the crowd.

  I realize she’s nervous for me.

  Lenny, Bear, and Kindra have moved to my left, rallying the handful of Recon cadets who showed up, but Eli is nowhere to be found.

  Suddenly the spectators closest to the ring erupt into cheers. Marta didn’t have to fight her way through the crowd. She’s Waste Management, and she’s been fighting for a while. They know her and love her.

  As soon as I see her face, her dark eyes find mine. She glowers at me and wrinkles her nose as though she’s about to take out the trash.

  Her expression is unmistakable: Get out of my ring, bitch.

  Marta climbs up between the ropes as though she does this every day, and I feel a stab of jealousy when I see how much better her mocha skin looks under the harsh florescent lighting. I feel pale and scrawny in comparison.

  She’s about an inch shorter than me, but she’s packing at least ten extra pounds of muscle — most of it in her shoulders and biceps. An acid green top and high-waisted black shorts show off her chiseled abs, and her dark brown hair is pulled back in a braid, with three corn rows on either side of her face.

  The ref gestures toward the center of the ring, but I don’t hear anything he says. He looks ordinary enough, but he’s on Shane’s payroll.

  Marta isn’t watching him. She hasn’t taken her eyes off me once.

  I glance over my shoulder at the shadowy crowd once again and spot Miles watching me. Eli is standing far behind him, but he’s literally in my corner. That would send a thrill through me if I couldn’t see his expression.

  When he meets my gaze, I know he was holding back when he visited me in my room. His deep blue eyes are full of sorrow and fear. He isn’t just spectating; he’s committing me to memory.
>
  Eli doesn’t just think I’m going to lose tonight. He thinks I’m going to die.

  twenty-two

  Harper

  The bell is deafening, and I’m immediately hit by a wave of sound from the crowd.

  Marta charges toward me, and I realize all the training in the world could never prepare me for what’s happening in my own body.

  For a moment, I freeze. I can’t remember anything — not my combinations, not my own name. My hands are frozen, and my arms feel as heavy and stiff as clubs.

  Marta swings at me, and miraculously, I slip to the side. Her glove glances off mine, and I quickly back out of her striking range.

  My heart is thundering in my chest. Her fist flies out in a fast jab, but my gloves absorb the brunt of the blow. She delivers a left hook, and my body automatically moves to the side. For a split second, she just stares at the spot where I’d been standing, and I take the opportunity to deliver a fast cross to her dead side.

  It wasn’t as powerful as it could have been, but Marta is momentarily stunned.

  That wasn’t the plan. What was it that Miles said? Just stay out of her way.

  When she rounds on me, I can see why. Fury is pouring off her in waves. This is her ring, and she wants me gone.

  As I watch her, it’s as though someone turned the volume down on the crowd and dimmed their faces.

  It’s just me and Marta, and she is pissed.

  Before I have a chance to move, her leg swings out of nowhere and cracks mine just above the kneecap.

  My leg stiffens as pain reverberates up the bone.

  I stagger, and she takes the opportunity to swing a punch at me. This time, I don’t move out of the way. I take it right in the forehead, and the burning pain crawls back through my skull.

  Dragging myself into an upright position, I barely have time to retreat as she unleashes a storm of punches.

  Her glove hits my head, and then she pummels me in the side. Some of her strikes glance off my gloves, but she gets a few over my guard.

  One hook hits me squarely in the side of the head, and her left hand follows it with a brutal uppercut.

  I fold in on myself, desperately trying to shield my face, and when I fall back against the ropes, I know I have to get her off me somehow.

  Suddenly I remember the one time Lenny managed to beat me fair and square. She’d used her position of weakness against me, and I’d never seen it coming.

  I push myself back as far as I can, forcing Marta to lean in with her next punch. I lunge to the side at the last minute, gripping her around the neck. Using her body for leverage, I drive my knee up into her abdomen and hear a satisfying groan escape her lips.

  That had to hurt like a bitch.

  I take advantage of the pain rolling through her and slip away from the ropes. She recovers fast and delivers a sidekick. And damn her kicks are powerful.

  Pain shoots up my knee, and I feel myself go down. I throw out my hands to catch myself, but I still hit the mat.

  Marta fights dirty — just as Blaze said she would. I don’t see her foot swing out again, but I feel it sink into my gut.

  Mercifully, the bell rings, pulling me back to the dark maintenance shaft.

  The crowd is cheering, and it’s the cruelest sound I’ve ever heard. They like seeing me hunched over on all fours. They want her to win. I want to puke.

  “Come on,” says a familiar voice behind me. I feel a warm arm snake around my waist and hoist me to my feet.

  Everything is still a little blurry, and I have to focus to make out Eli’s face. He holds me tight to his body and deposits me in a folding chair that Miles has put in my corner.

  I spit out my mouth guard and feel a cool rag on my face. Somebody sticks a straw in my mouth and squirts some water down my throat. I take it all in passively, unable to process the movement around me.

  Eli’s hands are gripping my knees. His face is right below mine. He looks . . . proud? That can’t be right.

  “How are you holding up?”

  “She’s killing me,” I gasp.

  “I told you,” growls Miles. “Stay the fuck out of her way!”

  “Even that doesn’t seem to help much.”

  “That’s because she’s better than you!”

  Eli shoots him a death glare, but Miles rolls on. “Just stay on your feet, and you’ll be okay.”

  I don’t have the heart to tell them that Marta has no intention of letting me walk out of here tonight. I just nod shakily and take several deep breaths.

  My skin is tingling with nerves and pain. I don’t feel like myself at all.

  “It’s the adrenaline,” says Eli, correctly interpreting the manic look in my eyes. “You’re okay. Just stay sharp in there.”

  As if I have a choice.

  Before I can even catch my breath, the ref is yelling something at us, and Miles hoists me to my feet. He and Eli jump back down, and I’m alone in the ring again — just me and Marta.

  I bite down on my mouth guard and see her flash a nasty smile.

  She loves to fight. She lives for this shit.

  That’s when I snap. All the anger and frustration and fear mix together and blaze through me like Owen’s whisky. There’s a fire burning in my core, my skin feels electric, and every sense is heightened.

  When Marta charges me, I don’t even let her get within arm’s reach. I load up my leg and shoot it out to connect with her stomach.

  She was so focused on my locked arms that she never saw it coming. She staggers back with a groan, and I know I got her good.

  But she recovers and tucks her chin to try again. This time, I let her get close enough for the fake jab — jab, hook, a hook to the body that once surprised Miles — but she blocks my hits easily.

  She aims another round kick, but I block it and throw a jab that she isn’t quite fast enough to avoid. She does dodge my hook, and I’m still too excited about hitting her to block the punch she delivers in return.

  The pain spreads quickly, melding with the ache from all my other bruises.

  Marta takes it up a notch. Her punches are relentless, and all I can do is cover up and retreat.

  She doesn’t give me a chance to aim a counterstrike, and for the first time since she entered the ring, I realize just how much better she is than me.

  I’m so busy blocking and parrying her steady punches that I’m unprepared for her lightning-fast double jab. Her fist crashes into my eye socket, and the force rattles my brain. She follows up with a vicious hook, snapping my neck around and throwing me into the ropes.

  She doesn’t stop there. She punches me in the stomach, and I half expect her fist to go all the way through me. Instead, I just feel the bile bubble up in my throat.

  I go into full defense mode, using my arms to form a cage around my upper body. She’s still pummeling me, and I feel myself give up a little.

  This is what she’s been waiting for. The first round was just her warm-up. This go-round, she wants to break my spirit and humiliate me.

  The bell rings, but Marta keeps going. I try to push her off, but my willpower has taken a hit.

  The ref moves to pull her away from me, but he’s taking his sweet-ass time. People are shouting, and the boos in the crowd are becoming more pronounced.

  Finally, the pain stops, and I feel two sets of hands pulling me into my corner.

  “Harper! Harper!”

  Eli’s face is swimming in front of me. My upper lip is wet, and something tells me there are hot tears mixing with the blood trickling from my nose.

  “Holy shit,” says Miles, mopping my face with the towel.

  “Can we call the fight?” asks Eli in a panicked voice.

  “No!” I growl. “I’m still in this.”

  “Harper, she’s beating the shit out of you.”

  “Oh, thanks. I hadn’t realized that,” I snarl back, shocked by the anger thrumming in my veins.

  “Listen to me,” he says, gripping my arms tightly. “You
aren’t going to make it another round.”

  “Harper!”

  I can’t quite turn all the way around, but I catch a glimpse of Celdon’s blond hair as he sticks his head through the ropes. “Do what he says.”

  “Thanks a lot, guys,” I mutter, more to myself than to Celdon. I must really look like shit if he’s starting to panic.

  I roll my eyes, suddenly noticing that Miles is conspicuously quiet.

  “Care to weigh in, coach?”

  Man, I’m really in a bitchy mood.

  Miles shrugs and looks over at Eli. “Now, don’t hate me,” he says cautiously, “but I think she should hold out. If she can take that kind of beating and still be talking, I think she can last one more round.”

  “Are you out of your mind?” yells Eli. I’ve never seen him so pissed.

  But it’s too late. The ref is gesturing me over, and I force myself to stand. My legs are a little shaky, but arguing with Eli has given me a second wind. I’m actually feeling halfway decent. The pain in my face and stomach has dulled to a slight throb, and I force my feet to move back to the center of the ring.

  Marta looks a little worried. As her cornerman retreats, I realize her eye is swelling shut from a cut near her eyebrow.

  Did I do that?

  Just below the platform, I can make out Shane’s angry face.

  For the first time, it hits me just how much trouble Marta is going to be in if she lets me walk out of here. Blaze’s words float back to me: Nobody disobeys a direct order from Shane.

  Before I have a chance to form a plan, the bell rings, and Marta launches herself at me like a cannon.

  She fakes a punch and swings out with a wild kick. I block it, but it doesn’t matter. The impact reverberates up my shin, making me stumble.

  That second is all Marta needs. She takes the opportunity to blast me with a jab that makes me see stars and an uppercut that snaps my head back. That’s when she swings out an elbow, slicing across my face with vicious force.

  Blood spurts out of my nose, and suddenly her arm is around my neck. She drags me down to the mat. I try to shift my body sideways as I fall, but she shoves me onto my back and brings her elbow straight down over my guard.

  A low grunt escapes my throat, and I feel the tears sting my eyes. I’ve never felt so much pain.