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Chapter 18
Astrid
I walk into the Pit, and my feet stick to the floor. I can hardly recognize the warehouse, except the concrete ring is still there, padded with thick blue mats. The ring is surrounded by stadium seating on three sides—wide chairs with headrests, some wide enough to hold two people.
The seats are spaced far enough to offer a little privacy—men with women, women with women, and men with men occupy the seats. The spectators openly touch each other or themselves as they watch two women in the ring bitch slapping and hair pulling. One of the women grabs the other one by the hair and she screams, struggling to break free as her breasts fall out of her top. The catwalk is lined with dancing girls, and a few have nothing on but a G-string. Waitresses in tight pants and bikini tops squeeze past the attendees, holding trays overhead. Some are stoic and ignore the hands that cop a cheap feel.
I jump when a hand squeezes my ass from behind. I hold onto my temper fast. If I lash out, I’ll definitely be thrown out.
“You’re new.” An old man with a thick mustache in a button-down shirt and jeans squeezes my ass in both his meaty hands. I’m about to tell him hands off or he’ll lose a finger when the guy from outside grabs my arm and pulls me away.
“You’re not allowed on the main floor unless you’re in the ring,” he says, escorting me over to a door. Four walls have been added to a vacant area of the warehouse. It’s no longer the dark corner where people would sneak off to make out and more. I think about that night with Bryce when I thought that was why he had cornered me. I was going to bust his lip if he tried. A lot has changed. The room is packed with the girls that were waiting outside, plus a few more. Girls sit around on dark couches, and a few mirrors line the walls. There’s a cheap bar, like the kind you see in a hotel conference room, in a corner.
Blondie spots me from where she’s standing by the bar, a red cup in her hand. “Her.” She points to me. “I want to fight Stonehaven. Chad, did you hear me?” she speaks louder. “I want to be in the ring with Stonehaven.”
I swear I’m losing my shit as I storm toward her, and all she does is smirk at my rage. “Look,” I tell her, “You call me Stonehaven one more time, and I will punch you in the throat.”
The guy in the suit named Chad grabs my upper arm and spins me around to face him. “This your first time here?” he asks. I nod once, and he keeps talking. “It’s all fake. Fight like a fucking girl, not an animal. No punches. No kicks. And no blood. Understand?”
I nod again, staring into his pissed face.
“Good,” he says, “Now, what’s your name?”
Fuck. I’m going to get stuck with Stonehaven if I don’t think up something fast. “Phoenix,” I reply. I slide down my waistband to show my entire tat on my hip.
Chad stares a second longer than he should and then smiles. “You have any questions, Phoenix?”
“How much do I get when I win?”
And poof, the smile fades. He shrugs. “That depends on how much they want to tip.”
I gawk. “Don’t we win a purse?”
He frowns. “It’s not that kind of place. Not anymore.”
My thoughts swim in my head, and I can’t believe what just happened. Of course. I can earn all the money I need, but only if I’m willing to put out.
He senses my disappointment. “You get tips for fighting, and the tips you get for fighting are a lot more than you would get if you sat on some guy’s lap,” he assures me. “Don’t worry; you’ll make money here.” His finger grazes my ass as he walks away.
And I’m left with Blondie. She leans over the bar and tells the bartender to give us two cups. She hands me a flat beer in a red cup. I look at the pale color and scant foam on top.
“Beer is free and plentiful if you wanna drink this piss.”
“Thanks,” I say, taking a sip, and I screw up my face. It tastes really awful, warm and bitter.
“I’d drink it all if I were you,” says Blondie, “You’ll need liquid courage out there.”
She’s right, and I finish it off as our names are called. Her nickname is actually Blondie. How fucking original.
The crowd used to part when I walked toward the ring, but now I have to push grabby hands away from my ass and breasts. The music rattles my teeth, and the flashing light hurts my eyes, but I try to keep my head up as I ignore the catcalls. Blondie gives them a show, but I’m over it before it starts. I just want to get my money and go home.
With a firm grip, I climb into the ring, using two hands, and someone places their hands on my ass, giving me a push. I stumble, catching myself. Why do I feel so off? I squint against the bright lights, holding my arm up to shield my eyes. What is wrong with the music? It keeps slowing down and speeding up again. I don’t feel good.
Blondie smiles like she can’t wait to beat me up. I stagger back, trying to lift my arms, but they won’t move. I try again, but nothing happens. I weave back and forth with heavy steps, dragging my feet on the mat. I almost lose my balance.
Blondie dances over to me, and her mouth moves, but nothing comes out. She smirks. And I watch in slow motion as she lifts her hand and, with a push to the shoulder, she sends me flying backward. Even she looks startled as I stumble to my knees and struggle to keep my eyes open.
Someone shouts my name, but they’re miles away—too far away for me to ask for help. I don’t know who’s calling, and I stop moving and listen for the sound again. My eyelids won’t stay open as I place my hands on the mat. I want to get up, but my eyes keep closing.
The last thing I feel as darkness takes over is someone scooping me up.
I’m helpless as I lie dangling in someone’s arms. My eyes refuse to open.
I can’t see.
My mouth won’t form words.
I can’t even ask if they’re the one calling my name.
