Page 74 of Pistols & Peonies

“The usual?” Char asks as she slides up to the counter, folding her arms on the lacquered surface.

“Water,” I say firmly. “I need to stay sharp.”

She rolls her eyes but orders me a water anyway, along with a shot of tequila for herself. She knocks hers back like it’s nothing while I drain the bottle in long pulls, already mentally shifting gears.

We peel away from the bar and slip through the crowd, heading for the back door. The bouncer there sees us coming, opening it so we can duck into the back corridor quickly.

Mack is posted up in front of the basement door at the end of the hall, eyes bright and grin wide.

“Hell of a crowd tonight,” he remarks as we approach.

“Thanks again for the invite,” I reply, letting him pull me into a one-armed hug.

“You’re the best, Mack,” Char coos as he pulls her in next, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

His face goes red, a dopey smile spreading across it as he laughs and waves us through. Char starts down the stairs ahead of me, and I fall into step behind her, boots pounding against the metal treads.

“Get ‘em, Slayter!” Mack calls out, his deep voice echoing off the concrete.

I pause, glancing back over my shoulder. “It’s The Slay tonight,” I remind him, tossing a wink his way.

He rumbles a laugh. “Yeah, yeah. Kill it, girl. I’m betting on you.”

A grin stretches across my lips as I turn away, bounding down the rest of the stairs and into the biggest crowd I’ve ever seen here. Bodies surround the ring shoulder to shoulder, heat and noise crashing over me all at once. The energy is feral, and I sink into it immediately.

This is my element.

This is where I come alive.

Char peels off toward the bar for another drink while I claim a spot near the edge of the crowd to watch the opening fights– smaller matches aimed to rile everyone up before the Gauntlet officially gets underway.

“You’ll never believe what I just heard,” Char gushes when she reappears with a spiked seltzer clutched in her hand.

“What?” I ask, eyes still tracking the fighters in the ring.

She leans in close, dropping her voice conspiratorially. “Rumor has it Rogue’s in the crowd tonight.”

“What?” I bark, jerking back and blinking at her. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” she laughs, already scanning the masses. “Maybe rebel leaders like to have fun once in a while, too. Tell me if you spot him.”

I follow her gaze, sweeping the crowd, but I don’t see the elusive masked leader of the resistance anywhere. And unlike Char, I’m decidedly not thrilled by the possibility of his presence. The last time I was in a room with that guy, it didn’t end particularly well for me.

The first fight finishes and another kicks off– two guys I don’t recognize, both solid but nothing special. The crowd roars as they circle each other, throwing sloppy punches and grappling for position. It’s over in the second round when one of them gets locked in a chokehold and taps out.

Char leans in close, shouting over the noise. “You nervous?”

“Nah,” I lie, adrenaline already flooding my system. “Just ready.”

Three more fights pass in a blur of blood, sweat, and cheers before the announcer finally steps into the ring, microphone in hand. His voice booms from the speakers, cutting clean through the noise.

“Alright, alright, settle down!” he calls, grinning like he knows exactly what chaos he’s about to unleash. “It’s almost time for the main event. The Gauntlet qualifier rounds!”

The place goes absolutely insane. People scream, stomp, and pump their fists in the air, howling for violence. This is what they came for.

This is what I came for.

The announcer produces a deck of cards, each one stamped with a fighter’s name. “You know the drill,” he shouts. “We draw two cards, and those fighters go head-to-head. Single round. No time limit. End by tap-out or knockout. Winner moves on, loser goes home.”