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“No idea.”
My stomach churns at the thought of Harley not knowing what he’s walking into, but it’s too late now. We push our way down to the door that leads through to the changerooms for the fighters.
A giant of a man wearing a black security t-shirt steps in front of us. “Name?”
“Harley Breed.”
The security guard consults his clipboard then gives us a grim look as he shakes his head. “You’re not on the list.”
“Son of a bitch,” Tom mutters, his shoulders slumping beside me.
Harley just frowns. “Surfer Boy?” He tries again.
The man sighs as if we’ve asked him to hand over his first-born child rather than to check the list again. This time he just smirks as he steps aside. “Good luck, kid.”
Lachy chuckles behind us. “Original.”
“Shut up,” Harley grits out. He grips my hand tight, and we move to go down the dark hallway, but the security guard puts his hand out.
“Fighters only.”
Harley grimaces. He turns to Lachy and Tom. “Shedoesn’t leave your side. Got it?”
“Got it.” Lachy says, while Tom nods.
Harley tugs me into him, tilting my chin so he can press his lips to mine. “Stay safe, Kitten.”
“You, too.”
He offers me a tight smile before stepping away. I watch him walk down the corridor lined with doors until he pauses outside one about halfway down. He glances back at me, blowing out a deep breath before pushing it open and disappearing from view.
THIRTY-EIGHT
HARLEY
IT TAKES EVERYTHING within me to walk away from Lily. My gut is screaming at me that something bad is about to happen, but I push the feeling down, knowing I need to focus on the upcoming fight. I stop out the front of a door with a crudely written sign that says, “The Prophet/Surfer Boy.”
I allow myself one last glance back at where Lily stands between my brother and my best mate, her bottom lip pulled between her teeth, before blowing out a deep breath and pushing into the room. My eyes are assaulted with Zeke’s naked chest as he bounces around the room like a kid on a sugar high.
He grins when he sees it’s me. “You made it.”
I narrow my eyes as I close the door behind me. “Surfer Boy, really?” I shake my head and move over to Zeke’s speaker, turning it off.
His grin grows wider, and he shrugs. “I had to come upwith something on the spot. They don’t deal with real names here.”
“You could have warned me of that before I gave my name to the security guard out there.” I smack him over the back of the head.
“Whoops.”
I sigh, dropping my training bag on the wooden bench that runs the length of the back wall. I need to focus if I’m going to have any chance of coming out of this alive.
“So, what’s the go anyway? How does this all work?”
“It’s like a Russian Roulette. All the fighter’s names are placed into a random generator, and you don’t know when or who you’re going to be fighting until your names get called out.”
“Wait, so we could be fighting each other?”
“Potentially.”
