“Well, that’s good. Are you gonna check up on him or anything?”
I waited for another student to walk past before answering. “We’re gonna meet after my shift, to discuss tactics for tomorrow.” I paused and dropped the prongs.
“Okay, you’re not telling me everything,” Mercy said, sliding her goggles down to the end of her nose as if they were glasses. “Spill.”
I shrugged, not even pretending to participate in the task anymore. “The chick I fought last night said some stuff about Marshall. Just, I dunno, kinda threw me.”
“What’d she say?”
“She said Marshall would kill me if Seal didn’t get to me first,” I muttered.
Mercy raised an eyebrow. “And you believe her?”
“Well, The Damned can’t lie. So, she has to be telling the truth...”
“Maybe she got it wrong somehow. There’s gotta be a whole lot of ways to get around that loophole.” When I didn’t answer, she continued. “Look, babe, I don’t know Marshall too well, but from what I’ve seen, he’s a good guy. Otherwise, he wouldn’t go out of his way so much for you. He cares about you.”
I looked up from the table and nodded. “Yeah, you’re definitely right. I think maybe I’m all weird over this because of Albert dying and us being so close to finally ending this.”
Mercy smiled. “You always freak out when you don’t need to. I’ve come to love you for it.”
I shook my head at her with a bemused smile. Then, feeling guilty about my lack of participation, I picked up the spatula and began to stir the concoction in our beaker. I had no idea what we were supposed to be producing, but it stunk like burning rubber.
Though it was one of the busiest days that I’d ever seen at The Hut, I was happy for it. With so much to do, and so much to get right, I barely had time to remember my own name, let alone think about Albert’s death and Marshall’s distress. Still, it didn’t stop me from looking over to the pool tables, hoping he’d be there hustling students, or even watching me creepily. When my shift finally ended, Marshall was still nowhere to be seen.
“Hey,” Sam said, walking over to me.
I pulled on my coat, barely listening as my eyes scanned the room hopefully for Marshall on last time. He wouldn’t ditch me, not when tomorrow was so vital to what we were doing.
“Hey, Sam.”
“You finished your shift?” He looked down at my jeans and boots. “Guess so.”
“Yeah. All done for the night.”
We walked together, weaving through the crowd until we reached the booth where Mercy and Chuck sat. Neither of us slid in to join them.
“She shot you down yet?” Chuck asked, smiling cockily at Sam.
Sam stuck his middle finger up at him. “I haven’t asked her yet.”
“Asked me what?” I turned to the side so that I had a clear view of the door.
“We’re all heading out to this house party down by mine,” Sam said. He placed a hand on the slightly sticky table and shuffled his weight onto it. I wondered if he thought he looked cooler like that.
“When?”
“Now. We’re heading down there now. But we wanted to wait for you in case there was a chance you’d come along.”
Mercy snorted and slid her coat on. “She’s not gonna come. I told you, she has plans, Sam. Not to mention she’s supposed to be grounded.”
“I thought I’d ask anyway,” Sam snapped, shooting her a warning glare.
I’d barely paid attention to anything any of them said. My eyes still scanned the room, hoping that maybe Marshall was just running late.
He’d be here. He had to.
I stared at kissing and flirting couples, jealous of how happy they seemed to be, and jealous that I didn’t have that. I’d finally found someone worth caring about, and it had to be the most complicated relationship on earth.
“So,” Sam said, waving a hand in front of my face. “What d’you say?”
I snapped out of my daze. “Sorry, Sam, but I’ve got plans.”
His hopeful expression faded, and then suddenly turned to frustration. Without realizing, I stepped back, putting space between us.
“Why? Meeting that dude that follows you everywhere?”
I nodded, narrowing my eyes at him. “His name is Marshall, Sam. And yeah, I am meeting him. It has nothing to do with you.”
Sam shook his head, laughing bitterly. “Well, I’m sorry to say that you’ve been stood up. I saw him about half an hour ago when I was driving down here. He was walking in the opposite direction, heading into this shitty factory down the road.”
My blood ran cold. “Where?”
“Roosevelt way. Why?”
I didn’t answer. I shoved my rucksack on and barged through the crowd, pushing anyway who got in the way. Anger rushed through my body, as if someone had injected it into my blood stream.
He’d quit. He promised me that he’d quit.
As soon as I pushed through the doors, and out into the rain, I broke into a run, not stopping until I reached Roosevelt way, about two miles from the Hut. My chest heaved as I slowed down, my eyes scanning the dilapidated area for the factory his stupid fight club would be held.
I turned a corner leading to more factories, when I saw a crowd gathered outside one of them. I didn’t have to rely on my senses, to determine what they were. Damned, and a whole lot of them. Logic argued with emotion inside of my head. I had to get Marshall out of there. He was fighting while consumed with grief, and that was always the worst emotion to channel. It could make people unpredictable. Sloppy. But then, I was walking into the lion’s den, too. Who was to say I’d make it out alive?
I squared my shoulders and kept going. The crowd didn’t seem to be queuing to get inside; more like congregating outside, talking loudly and animatedly about the fights happening. I squeezed through them, ignoring the ones who could sense what I was. Their heads turned to follow me, some angry, some curious, but none of them stopped me.
A bald man with a giant beard sat in a booth just inside of the doors, metal bars running down through the pay window. Standing next to the booth was another burly man, piercings covering most of his face. He held a black metal detector wand, and when he saw me, he used it to point at the booth. Hesitantly, I walked over. A huge sign behind the cashier said ‘Unless you’re in the ring, no fighting’. Then a smaller sign next to it said ‘£10 entry and a free bet with every visit.’ I sighed and dug my hand into my jean pocket, taking out the money I’d made in tips today. Marshall was totally reimbursing me for this.
“Ten pounds,” he said gruffly. I slid the money through the bars and turned to walk through another set of doors when a hand clamped around my arm. I turned and yanked the hand away.
“Calm down, love,” the burly man said, his smile just a little too close to a leer. “Just need to search ya.”
“In your dreams.”
He rolled his eyes and waved a metal detector. “With this.”
“Oh.” I spread my arms out and let him sweep the detector over my body. When he ran it over my bag, it beeped wildly, and he grabbed the bag off my back.
“You got any weapons in here?”
“Maybe.”
He sighed and unzipped it, shoving his hand down to the bottom, and pulling out one of my daggers. Thankfully, not my favorite one and one I didn’t care too much about either. Then he threw it down in a box I hadn’t noticed at his feet. It was filled with weapons.
“You can get it on the way out. Have fun.”
I took my bag back and pushed through the next set of doors that led me right into the main room. A massive fighting ring had been set up in the middle. Hundreds and hundreds of people crowded around it, holding betting sheets, and screaming out unintelligible words at the fighters. Cigarette smoke swirled around me, and I tried fanning the air around my face futilely. Scanning the crowd, I realized not all of the people in here were Damned. Some were human too. No one fought or caused a scene.
&nbs
p; I pushed my way around the back of the room, keeping pressed against the wall. The last thing I wanted to do was draw extra attention to myself. All I had to do was find Marshall, and get him the hell out of here. It couldn’t be so hard, right?
The two people in the ring were pummeling the crap out of each other. Humans. Amateurs. They fought sloppily, and there was so much blood sprayed across the ring’s floor that I wanted to gag. I found a relatively quiet corner and tried to focus my hearing on just Marshall’s voice. Pushing through all the shouting, the yelling, the conversations, and curse words, I finally caught a faint hint of him. My head snapped in the direction it came from, and I saw him. He was following someone through the crowd, looking irate, and screaming something at his retreating form. I took off after him, not caring about remaining hidden anymore. Marshall and the guy he berated disappeared through a fire exit door and I followed them.
We were in a dingy hallway now. I took a wild guess at what door they’d gone through, and walked into a smaller room filled with about twenty or so guys. Prospective fighters. Some were dressed in shorts with protective padding. Others were in street clothes. Every one of them was psyching themselves up somehow. I scanned the faces and found Marshall, still arguing with the same guy in one corner of the room. I stormed over to him, ready to give him a piece of my mind.
“Go home!” the man shouted at Marshall.
Marshall shook his head, dejected. “You have to let me fight.”
“How many times do I have to tell you? I don’t let my fighters go out there drunk. You’ll be annihilated.”
“I...I just...”
“Marshall, what the hell?” I shouted.
He whirled around, his eyes narrowing in confusion. “Amerie? What’re you doing here?” His words slurred, and his breath reeked of alcohol.
“I came to get you. Come on, let’s go.”
“Listen to your friend,” the man agreed. “You’re not fighting tonight.”
He walked away, and Marshall made to follow him, but I reached out and grabbed his arm, holding him still. On any other day, we were evenly matched. Today, I was stronger. Marshall tried to pull away, stumbled, and fell into the wall next to him.
“Get off me!”
“Marshall, it’s over. Let’s go.” My fingers tightened around his wrist.
“You’re always involving yourself in my business,” Marshall shouted. He finally pulled his arm away. “I’m over this. Over you. You’re not that special.”
He turned and marched away, storming through a metal door marked ‘Emergency Exit Only’ and I followed him. It had led us right outside into a dark alleyway. The rain still poured, and Marshall stumbled away, bouncing into walls, bins, crates. I caught up to him quickly.
“Marshall, stop.”
“Piss off, Amerie.”
“No, Marshall. Talk to me!” I grabbed his hand and pulled him to a stop. Without my hood protecting me, the rain pounded down against my hair with a fury, soaking me. “I know you’re upset about Albert...”
“You don’t know shit.”
My eyes widened. “I don’t know shit? How the hell can you say that? My mother died Marshall. Or had you forgotten that?”
Marshall rolled his eyes, his dark hair stuck down to his forehead. “Oh blah, blah. My mum’s dead. Boohoo. At least you have a dad and a brother who love you. Who the hell do I have? I’m so sick of your self-righteous bullshit.”
Anger burned through me like my blood was on fire, boiling and bubbling beneath the surface of my skin. It was the kind of anger that hurt - that really came from the core. I clenched my fists at my side and then...
I punched him straight in the face.
He staggered back, grunting, and then shoved me. Hard. The force knocked me off my feet, and as I hadn’t seen the blow coming, it hurt lot more than it should have. He knelt over me and grabbed my upper arms, shaking me.
“Leave me alone. Don’t you get it? I’m done. Done with you. Done with rituals and figuring out how I feel. I don’t care anymore.”
My face crumpled though I tried hard not to show it. “And what about me? Don’t you care about me?” Without letting him answer, I pushed him away and sat up.
Marshall sat too and ran a hand through his wet hair. He scooted back to lean against the wall behind him and drew his knees up, resting his arms on them. “It hurts so much.” He tapped his chest and buried his head in his hands. “I just wanted to feel something else. Even pain.”
I bit down on my lip and then crawled over, kneeling in front of him. I reached out and took both of his hands, so I could see his face. His eyes brimmed with tears.
“Marshall. You have to trust me. This will get better.”
“But it won’t be better right now,” he argued.
“Then let me distract you.”
He didn’t answer, and I took that as permission. I shuffled to kneel between his thighs, and tentatively moved my right hand up to stroke his wet cheek. His eyes caught mine and then he threw himself forward, catching my lips with his own. He started slowly, imploringly, giving me time to back away if I changed my mind. Then when my hands cupped around the back of his neck, he deepened the kiss. His kisses were frantic, as if I would disappear at any minute. His hands found my waist and yanked me closer, holding me against his broad chest. I moaned against his lips, the sensation pure ecstasy. It was better than I could have ever imagined. I expected to taste the alcohol on his breath, but there wasn’t a trace of it. His lips moved down to suck on my neck, and I bit down on my lip, rolling my head to the side. When he moved back to my mouth, it was as if I’d died and gone to heaven. Now that I’d kissed him once, I wanted to kiss him forever. Suddenly he pulled away, and I drew back, staring at him in confusion.
Then he leaned to the side and threw up all over the concrete.
It was just the perfect way to end such an amazing kiss.
“Guess we should get you home,” I said with a heavy sigh.
He groaned, and I stood up, helping him to his feet. I slipped my arm around his back and walked with him back to the main road where I called him a taxi and shoved him inside it. Just as I was about to close the door, he grabbed hold of my hand.
“Thank you,” he said, eyes half closed. “You know what for.”
“No problem,” I replied, though I wasn’t actually sure at all.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Mission Maybe Impossible
The next morning, I woke up to my phone signaling I’d gotten a text. It was pretty late in the morning and the sun poured through my window, basking my room in a beautiful golden glow. If I hadn’t known exactly how cold it was outside, I would have thought it could be springtime. I stretched in the bed, remembering my kiss with Marshall last night. It was totally unexpected but, despite the violence and vomit, completely perfect.
I snatched the phone off my bedside table and opened the text message. It was from Marshall. My heart thumped a little anxiously in my chest. What would he say? Now that he was sober, and maybe a little embarrassed about throwing up. As my eyes scanned through the message, my smile dropped bit by bit.
Sorry about my behavior last night. When I get drunk, I get stupid. Let’s not mention it? Call me when you wake up and we’ll arrange to meet. M.
He could not be serious. However, I wasn’t one hundred percent sure what he had referred to. Let’s not mention what? The kiss? His begging to fight? Him throwing up? Him shoving me? I deleted the text message. Instead of assuming, I’d let him explain what he meant.
I showered and dried off quickly, but took my time styling my hair and applying minimal makeup on my face. Then I found some leggings, a long jumper, and my Ugg boots. Once I was totally ready, I turned on my iMac and began to search through the web for information about tonight’s auction. I found the location: a huge mansion in the countryside. The only problem was that we had no idea where in the mansion that they would keep the statue - let alone how to steal it.
With no
thing left to do, I picked up my phone and dialed Marshall’s number. I chewed at the skin from around the edges of my nails – a habit I’d had since I was little. In a way, I hoped he wouldn’t answer. What if it was awkward?
“Hey,” he said.
“Hi.” Oh, damn. It was awkward.
“What’re you doing?”
“Shearing a sheep. It’s cold outside, and I need a new hat.”
He paused. “You’re joking, right?”
“Yes, Marshall.” I gnawed on my fingers some more and sunk back in my chair.
“I’ll come get you if you’re ready. We’ll go get some coffee or lunch and plan out tonight. That okay with you?”
“Sure. Ring when you’re outside. Technically I’m still grounded so I’m probably gonna have to sneak out.”
He agreed and hung up. Just as I turned to check my email, there was a soft knock on my door. The door swung open and my dad, not waiting for permission, stepped inside, looking a little worse for wear. His hair was a mess and his shirt dirty. He squinted past the sunlight through red-rimmed eyes.
“Amerie.”
“Dad.”
“I came into your room last night to talk to you. Imagine my surprise when you weren’t here.” He stumbled slightly and placed a hand on the wall to steady himself.
“I worked late. Double shift.”
He grunted, but didn’t argue. “I hope you know you’re still grounded.” His eyes drifted to down to my booted feet. “Not planning on going out, are you?”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
I was either way too good at lying, or he was too hung over to argue with me. He nodded once and turned to amble out of my room. In any other circumstance, I would have felt ashamed that I was deliberately ignoring his punishment – no matter how unfair or unjustified. In this case, it was kind of a necessity.
I watched the clock for the next ten minutes until my phone vibrated on the table next to me. Without answering it, I jumped up, shoved it into my bag, and headed for my window. Sneaking out was getting easier and easier every time.
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