Demi
I pound on McKenna’s door for the third time. “Kenny!” I call, leaning closer. “Come on, I know you’re in there!”
I glance over my shoulder as the lock finally clicks. I swing my head back around as the door swings open to reveal my best friend looking like she’s been hit by a truck.
My brows shoot at. “Uhh, rough night?” Her usually perfect pitch black hair is standing up all over the place and under her eyes is smudged with a ring of dark mascara, making her look like a raccoon.
She squints as she flips me the bird.
“Do you have any idea what time it is?” she croaks.
I do, but I’m pretty sure her question is rhetorical.
“I need your help,” I say instead.
With those four words, Kenny blinks rapidly, her focus instantly sharpening as she peeks around the door frame like she’s expecting trouble to be standing right behind me.
“Get in here.” She motions for me to come inside.
I do and wait for her to throw the deadbolt.
The lock clicks in place and she attempts to run a hand through her hair. “Shit,” she mutters when her hand gets stuck. “You’re gonna have to give me a minute to get my life together,” she says as she turns for the kitchen. “I can tell I’m going to need coffee for this.”
More like a bottle of Jack.
I leave that part unsaid as I follow her through the cramped living room and into the kitchen.
“So,” I start dropping into one of the mismatched chairs at her secondhand table.
“Aht—” McKenna holds up a hand silencing me as she pops a K-cup into the coffee maker and pushes the button.
I roll my eyes, although I should know better than to attempt a conversation with my bestie before she’s had her coffee.
In seconds, the kitchen fills with the rich aroma of coffee.
“Here.” She hands me the first cup.
I doctor it with two spoonfuls of sugar and a splash of milk then take a sip. My eyes close. God that’s really good. So maybe she wasn’t wrong about us needing coffee for this.
Kenny moves back to the Keurig, pops in another K-cup and hits the button again. Once the cup is filled, she grabs it and moves back over to the table and drops into the chair across from me.
“Okay.” She wraps her hands around her mug, takes a long sip, then her eyes lock onto mine. “Whose body are we hiding?”
Despite everything, my lips turn up into a big smile.
Kenny has been my ride-or-die since the fifth grade when she punched Tiffany Hawkins for calling me trash after finding out where I lived. We’ve been inseparable ever since.
“It’s my dad,” I say, the smile on my face fading. “I found him on the floor yesterday when I got home. He was beaten to a pulp.”
Her brows shoot up. “Holy shit, Dems. Is he okay?”
I laugh bitterly thinking about the guilt he laid on me last night. What kind of father puts his screw ups on his daughter’s shoulders? “Define ‘okay.’ He’s alive, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“What happened?”
I blow out a breath. “He owes Frankie Fish ten G’s.”
“Ten thousand dollars?” McKenna’s voice rises. “What the actual fuck?”
“Yep.” I stare into my coffee. “Apparently he borrowed it to make a bet on ‘a sure thing.’”
“Nooooo,” she groans. “He can’t seriously be that stupid. Can he?”
I nod. “Those suits we saw in the stairwell yesterday? I’m pretty sure that was them. According to my dad, they said they’d be back in two weeks for the money. If he doesn’t have it...” I can’t finish the sentence.
“So what’s the plan? Because I’m guessing he doesn’t have ten grand lying around.”
I scoff. “Bobby Cross have money? Now that would be funny if the shit hadn’t just hit the fan.” Sighing heavily, I continue, “I worked a double at Mel’s last night. All I made was forty bucks.”
“Ouch.” Kenny winces.
I laugh, but there’s not a trace of humor in it. “Right? At this rate, it’ll take me six months to come up with the money.”
“By which time your dad will be somewhere at the bottom of the Mississippi,” Kenny says absentmindedly.
I jerk back in my chair.
“Shit, I’m sorry, Dems. I wasn’t thinking.” She reaches across the table and places her hand over mine. “You’re my best friend in the whole world and you know I love you.”
“But…?” I can hear it in her tone that one is on the tip of her tongue.
Her face softens. “But, Bobby is a grown ass man. His problems are his own. It’s bullshit how he always expects you to come in and clean them up.”
“It’s not like that?—”
“Yes. It is, sweetie. When are you going to stop setting yourself on fire to keep him warm?”
I turn my head and stare at the alphabet magnets on the fridge. “I know, but he’s my dad.” Before I can stop it, a tear slips down my cheek. “He’s the only family I have left.”
Kenny squeezes my hand.
When I turn back to look at her, I can see the wheels in her head are spinning. Suddenly her eyes pop open. “I think I might have an idea.”
Hope fills my chest. “Okay.”
“I may know of a place,” she drags out the words before adding, “but you’re not going to like it.”
My brows jump. “At this point, beggars can’t exactly be choosers.”
“You say that now,” she mumbles, head cocked to the side.
“McKenna!” I insist, waving my hands for her to get on with it. “Spit it out. Please!”
She holds up her hands for me to chill. “Okay, okay. So you know I went to that party last night.”
I nod, wondering what that has to do with me needing to rob, but I stay quiet. “I overheard some girls talking about how they used to be ring girls at this underground fight club.”
My nose wrinkles before I can stop it. “A ring girl? Like a boxing ring?”
“MMA, I think. But yeah, same idea. They said they made bank, Dems. All they had to do was parade around in a bikini holding up round cards.” Kenny shrugs like walking around in a bikini, in an underground fight club is not a big deal. My gaze drops to my barely-there B cups and I frown.
“Oh stop it!” she scolds. “Money—your dad, remember?”
“You’re right.” I wave my hand at her to go on. “Keep going.”
“So,” she leans forward again. “They said she made like five hundred bucks a night, sometimes more.”
Okay. Now she has my full attention. “Did you say five hundred dollars a night? That’s...” I do some quick math in my head. “I could have the money in less than a month.”
“Right?” Kenny pauses, biting her lip. “But there’s a little catch.”
I groan. I knew there had to be more to it. “Of course there is.” I sigh. “Hit me with it.”
“The Underground Arena is run by bikers.”
My heart drops into the pit of my stomach. “Bikers? I don’t know, Kenny...”
“I get it,” she says quickly. “It’s sketchy as hell. But they’re looking for waitresses too, not just ring girls. And from what those girls said, the tips are insane.”
I chew my bottom lip, weighing my options. Which, if I’m being honest, are nonexistent. I either find a way to get the money fast, or my dad is dead. It’s as simple and as terrible as that.
“Where is this place?” I ask finally.
Kenny forces a smile. “It's in the warehouse district.”
****
“What is this place?” I raise my eyebrow at McKenna. We’re standing in front of what looks like an abandoned warehouse.
McKenna grins. “This is The Underground Arena.”
I look from one end of the building to the other, taking in the boarded-up windows and brick walls sprayed over with graffiti. According to the sign half-hanging off the building, this place was once Thurman’s bottling factory. “This is it?”
“It’s in the basement,” McKenna clarifies, noticing my confusion.
“Of course it is,” I mutter. “Because that’s not creepy as hell at all.”
She laughs, linking her arm through mine and pulling me toward a side entrance. “Come on, scaredy-cat. Fortune favors the brave.”
“I’m pretty sure fortune favors those who don’t get murdered in abandoned warehouses,” I counter, but I let her lead me inside anyway.
The interior is dimly lit, with exposed pipes running along the ceiling and concrete floors that echo with our footsteps. Despite its rundown appearance from the outside, someone has clearly been maintaining the inside. There’s no dust, no debris, just the faint smell of cleaning products.
We move down a narrow hallway until we reach a large freight elevator guarded by a man in a leather vest. The patch on his chest declares him PROSPECT . He looks awfully young to be part of a biker gang, but what do I know?
“You girls lost?” he asks, eyeing us up and down like we’re something he wants to eat.
I cringe as McKenna's eyes narrow to slits.
Oh boy. Here we go.
“Girls? Girls?” McKenna growls, her hands curling into fists at her sides.
This guy has no idea the can of worms he just opened. Fortunately for him, I can’t let my friend blow a gasket right now.
“Uh, we need to talk to whoever’s in charge,” I say quickly, hoping to prevent his murder.
The man looks us over again, his gaze lingering a beat too long on Kenny’s chest before he pulls out his phone. He presses a few buttons, then holds it to his ear.
“Yeah, boss. Got two girls here that say they need to talk to you.”
Kenny narrows her eyes at him, but he seems completely unfazed by her death glare. Then again, he’s part of an outlaw biker gang. He’s probably stared down worse than a hundred-pound brunette with a blazing temper.
He nods as if getting instructions from whoever is on the other end of the call. “Yeah. Yeah. Got it.”
The prospect then tucks his phone back in his pocket. “Go on down. Pee Wee’s sitting at the bar.”
He grabs the rolling metal door of the elevator and pushes it up with a loud, grating sound that makes me wince.
“Thanks,” I mumble as I usher McKenna inside.
The prospect pulls the door back down, and we’re locked in. I press the down arrow, and the elevator lurches into motion with a concerning creak.
“Pee Wee?” McKenna giggles, her anger at the Prospect apparently forgotten. “What kind of badass biker is named Pee Wee?”
I turn to her with wide eyes. “I don’t know but you can’t make fun of this man to his face. I need this job.”