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Remy swore abruptly. He was looking down on his phone, but that was not exactly an unusual thing. “Like emptying my bank account? Or something...I can't access my bank account.”
My hands flexed again. “He was planning something, and this was part of his plan. He wanted us out of the lake house and focused on him–”
In front of us, the lake house exploded.
7
AURORA
Funny thing, when someone takes your money and blows up your house, you have to get creative.
Which is what we were doing tonight.
The city lights shimmered in the distance as we approached the warehouse park, drawn by the promise of the high-stakes fight Remy had found out about online. A fight that could solve our temporary financial woes.
It would also keep Cain off the warpath while we plotted a somewhat more cool-headed plan to get back at his dad.
And I meantsomewhatwith all the sarcasm I possessed.
The warehouse park was a shithole, its desolate appearance casting a shadow over the area. Rows of dilapidated structures, their weathered walls marked by time and neglect, stretched out around us. The once vibrant colors of the buildings had faded, now a muted reflection of their former glory. The atmosphere was heavy with an air of abandonment, as if the ghosts of forgotten industry still lingered within the cracked concrete and rusted metal.
As we ventured deeper into the warehouse park, the signs of illicit activities became more evident. In the dimly lit corners, shadowy figures moved with a sense of urgency, their hushed whispers punctuated by the occasional exchange of small packages. The unmistakable scent of narcotics hung in the air, mingling with the dampness and decay, a reminder of the darkness that thrived in this forgotten place. Graffiti adorned the walls, an art form born from rebellion and desperation.
My senses were heightened as we walked, attuned to the edginess of the environment. The occasional flickering streetlight cast eerie shadows, heightening the sense of danger and intrigue. The ground beneath my feet was littered with debris and discarded remnants, a testament to the forgotten tales of the past.
This place was even shittier than the locations of Pax’s other fights.
But maybe its raw, gritty allure fit us now. Maybe we’d never belonged in the sparkling hallways of college. Maybe we belonged in places where secrets whispered in the wind and desperation bred an undercurrent of survival.
Fuck. I was a bit messed up after that Carnage kill. I shook my head, trying to clear it, and Stellan cast me an inquiring glance. Always seeing me, as usual.
I’d loved that about him. But now…
Now I wasn’t sure how much I wanted him to see.
We turned the corner and there was the entrance. A bouncer, a hulking figure trying and failing at exuding an aura of authority, stood sentinel at the door. His stern gaze swept over us for a moment, before his face dropped into a hesitant smile.
“Paxton Jones, fuck. They didn’t tell us you would be here tonight.” He and Paxton did one of those weird handshakes that guys did with each other, and I held in my snort. Beyond the doors he was guarding, a thumping bass reverberated out, wading through the cool night air.
“Good luck tonight; my money’s on you,” the bouncer finally said, granting us passage after Cain huffed in annoyance. It was the first time there was fear in his eyes—staring at Cain. His eyes slid right past me.
Rookie mistake.
The door swung open, revealing a cavernous space teeming with life. Hundreds of people packed the warehouse, their voices blending into a deafening symphony of anticipation and excitement. The air crackled with energy, carrying the scent of sweat, adrenaline, and the promise of untold fortunes.
We wandered through the warehouse, our gazes centered on the fight already unfolding in the center ring. The pounding bass of the music swirled around us, melding with the murmurs of the crowd that had gathered around the makeshift arena.
The ring itself was better than most of Paxton’s other fights. A raised platform, encircled by flickering lights, drew everyone’s attention like moths to a flame. The crowd pressed against the metal barricades, their hands reaching through the bars, desperate to feel a part of it all.
The fighters going at it right then looked vicious. One was lean and sinewy, his muscles honed for speed and agility, while the other one seemed twice as wide, brawn and sheer strength clearly his weapons of choice. Beads of sweat glistened on their taut, slick skin as they danced around each other. Each punch landed with bone-crushing force, eliciting gasps and roars from the enthralled sheep around us.
They hadn’t seen anything yet. I glanced over at Paxton and saw the same small smirk on Paxton’s face that I was sure was on mine.
The fight escalated in front of us, drawing my attention away from Pax, the announcer's voice rising above the chaos, his words dripping with a frenzied enthusiasm that matched the fervor of the crowd.
The smaller fighter unleashed a flurry of relentless attacks. Blood splattered, bodies slammed against the mat, and the air vibrated with the sheer force of the fighters’ collisions.
And then, in a climactic crescendo, the fight reached its conclusion. One last strike, followed by a collective gasp that seemed to hold the entire room in suspended animation. Time stood still as the big lug crumpled to the ground like a tree, the echoes of his fall resonating throughout the warehouse.
