Page 75 of When Darkness Calls

But I have always wanted to go. Just to see what all the hype is about. Since freshman year of high school, every other Monday it seemed, the hallways would be buzzing with talk about what happened that Friday or Saturday night. My curiosity is kind of one of my weaker traits…along with the bad decisions.

Cade would never let me go with him and the guys. Liz wasn’t ever really interested. And I at least have the sense to know I shouldn’t go alone.

So…I took the opportunity.

I spent the better part of the day getting ready. I painted my nails, deep-conditioned my hair, shaved, exfoliated, used my absolute favorite body wash, and moisturized.

Went through all the motions of doing the skincare routine Liz demanded I have—even though I rarely do all the steps.

Took the extra time to really do my hair, instead of my usual wash, leave-in-conditioner, and go. I had curl cream up to my elbow and gel all over my bathroom sink, but in the end, I got it done.

I tried on fifteen different outfits before I finally chose one, opting for something a little more comfortable since it’ll likely be packed and stuffy inside the building.

Then, I did my makeup. The eyeshadow was a little darker than normal, but I did my eyeliner the same as always and picked a deep mauve lip stain over a lipstick so it’d last longer without the worry of it smudging or fading in weird places throughout the night.

I did all the things a girl is “supposed” to do before a date she’s “supposed” to be excited about. Yet, I wasn’t. In fact, for most of the day I couldn’t seem to shake this incessant feeling that something was really wrong. And it gnawed on me.

Red flag number two.

Ethan picked me up around nine and we made a stop at the diner for dinner. Liz did a terrible job of pretending like she wasn’t watching us like a hawk the entire time we ate. Scuttling past our table every five minutes, hovering near the tables around us like she could overhear what we were talking about. Which, honestly, wasn’t a lot beyond Ethan telling me about his family, his dad’s law firm in Tennebris, and how he was in a frat the last four years but has been an alumni since spring so he could intern at the law firm. Mostly the conversation was just…about him.

Red flag number three.

After that, it all kind of went downhill.

The longer we sat in the booth, the more and more the eyes made themselves known. The small hairs along my arms and the back of my neck raised, goosebumps dotted my skin, and every now and then, a shiver raced down my spine. The feeling grew and grew.

And I believe Liz picked up on it. Her quizzical glances and worried looks could only be dismissed so many times.

But the watchful chill persevered. All the way from the diner to the old worn down building a few minutes outside the Shadow Grove town limit. The winding back road wasn’t even enough to distance myself from the haunting sensation.

Ethan paid our way in. The older man at the door gave us each a once over, his eyes narrowing on me a few beats longer than Ethan before he opened the heavy metal door and a rush of hot air hit us moments after the sounds of the crowd and music filled the cool night.

Inside the warehouse, the fights are in full swing.

The room is blanketed in a haze. Small shifting lights in various colors dance along the corners of the room, flowing over the bodies writhing and dancing in the darker areas to the music thumping within the walls. In the center stands a raised, roped off platform a foot or two off the ground. One large industrial light high above illuminates the ring, casting a spotlight on the spray of crimson as it flies through the air from one of the fighters’ noses.

It’s everything, and nothing, like it thought it would be.

The atmosphere carries the same kind of infectious energy I got from the football game, and even though the place is crowded and full of drunk, possibly high, people, I don’t have the same anxiousness as I did at the party.

As much as I want to lose myself in the scene before me, I can’t. Not when the sinking in my gut, ice in my veins, and overall sense of wrongness permeates my mind.

My hand slides along the back of my neck in an attempt to soothe the creeping fear.

Ethan reaches around me, his hand laying low on my hip. “I’m going to grab us drinks, okay? I’ll be back in a second.” He squeezes my side, fingers dipping just under the hem of my shirt, freezing against my heated flesh.

Jesus, how is he this fucking cold in here?

It’s stifling and humid, barely any air flow with the amount of people acting like living space heaters.

Ethan gives me a quick smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and he’s gone. He didn’t even ask me what I wanted to drink.

Red flag number four.

Surprisingly, it’s much easier to make my way through the crowd here than it was at the party. In only a few long strides, I reach the dais just behind the line of viewers shouting obscenities and encouragement to the two men in the ring. From where I stand, it seems everyone here is either watching the spectacle, or in their own world dancing, laughing, in varying degrees of making out and groping one another in the shadows.

I have to admit I kind of love it. This strange controlled world of debauchery and hedonism. It’s the exact kind of thing I’ve been wanting—needing—for the journey I have embarked on with myself. If only I could shake this feeling…