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“You wouldn’t want to maybe go, would you?”
“Are you serious? Hell yes, I would!” I say a little too enthusiastically. “But….” I pause. “I hate that
I even have to ask this.”
“Yes, Zayden and Oliver will likely be there. But,” he quickly continues. “there are so many people there that it’s unlikely they will have any clue you’re in attendance. Besides, you can’t let them scare you into hiding. Isn’t that what you said earlier?”
“I don’t know. Two nights in a row might be pressing my luck.”
“Or, maybe it will show them that they can’t break you.”
I consider his words.
“I’m in,” I finally agree.
“The first fight starts at nine. We’ll want to be there by seven if we want any shot of getting inside.”
“Pick me up at six-thirty?” I reach for the door handle.
“It’s a date.” He nods, his dimple making an appearance as he smiles.
“Rylee and Charles take on the world—take two,” I tell him, pushing open the door.
“Let’s just hope it goes better than take one.” He chuckles.
I step out of the car and turn to lean against the open door. “Just one question. What does one wear to an underground fight club?” Just saying the words makes me smile.
“Ripped jeans and a sexy top.” His eyes dip to my heels. “And those shoes.” He smiles. “Definitely those shoes.”
“Casual, but sexy. Got it.” I step back to shut the door.
“See you at six-thirty.”
“See you then.” I give him a small wave before swinging the door closed.
Pierce waits until I make it inside before driving away. I lock the door behind myself and turn, taking the stairs two at a time on the way up to my bedroom. When I reach the last step I nearly fall on my face when my heel catches and sends me off balance. Luckily I’m able to catch myself on the railing.
Straightening back up, I feel a slight twinge in my wrist. Holding it up for closer inspection, I see a light bruise has formed, five unmistakable fingerprints marring my wrist and lower forearm.
My mind darts back to the party when Zayden grabbed me. At the time, it didn’t hurt. I definitely never suspected it would bruise. Then again, my adrenaline was pumping so hard I doubt I would have felt much of anything. I doubt me jerking my arm away helped matters. That’s probably why I bruised. I’d pulled so hard I damn near dislocated my shoulder.
Sliding my heels off, I snag them off the floor and continue to my room, but when I reach my door, I hesitate. Turning around, I stare at Oliver’s door for a solid minute, the wheels slowly turning.
Two can play at his game. I drop my things right inside my room and quietly slip across the hall. His room is dark when I step inside. And quiet. It feels almost too quiet.
I almost chicken out.
Almost….
Taking a deep breath, I flip the switch that powers his bedside lamp, causing a soft light to flood through the room. Other than looking through his open door, I’ve never actually been in here. It feels wrong on more levels than one. How would I feel if he did this to me?
I think back to the “fun fact introduction” and my resolve thickens. If he can spy on me in the bathroom, then why the hell should I feel bad about snooping in his room?
I start with his nightstand. Pulling open all three drawers, I rummage through an assortment of junk, magazines, and unused condoms—gross—before dropping to my knees to look under the bed…. Nothing.
I go for the closet next, a little surprised by his organization skills. Everything is separated into storage bins, labeled and stacked on shelves that hang above his clothing inside the massive walk in.
Scanning the handwritten labels, I stop on one that says pictures, hoping to find some incriminating photos or something I can use to deliver a little well-deserved payback. Pushing up on my tiptoes, I manage to pull the bin down, holding it against my chest as I make my way back into his room. Crossing to his desk, I set the container down and pop off the lid, pulling out a handful of pictures.
