Page 2

T he crowded basement is loud, filled with people placing bets, cheering, and guessing who will take the win tonight. It’s in a secluded area of New York, and without an invitation, you can’t get in.

It sounds more exclusive than it actually is.

It’s an underground, illegal boxing ring. People from all around the city gather around once a month to witness the epic fights and to try and earn some money. Most lose, though given Cove’s recent unbreakable score. He hasn’t been defeated in over a year and a half, and I’ve lost count of how many matches he’s had.

Arlo, Blair, and I always come to watch, having the first-row seat.

The people who are scattered around, watching intently and squirming in their seats before the fights begin, can vary. Some are politicians who love gambling; others are drug dealers trying to sell during the games. Though all of them follow a simple rule — never tell about the fights.

The basement is located under a nearly torn-down building. It used to be a factory of sorts, though it hasn’t been in use since the eighties. It belongs to one of the men who is always watching the fights, and he takes a lot of profit from it.

There’s nothing extraordinary about this place. In the center is a big ring, and there are built-in bleachers of sorts all around for people to watch. People selling popcorn and soda are here, too, like it’s some sort of a game.

Which, in a way, I guess it is.

Most participants do it for the money, since they do get a lot of it if they have consecutive winnings. Thus far, there have only been a handful of people who managed to keep their wins in a row as much as Cove.

He isn’t in it for the money; he’s in it for the fun. From what Arlo has told me, this is Cove’s way of releasing all of his anger, and he’s definitely good at it. Being tall, muscular, and handsome definitely gets him more points than the rest. He’s the type of man who just stands out in the crowd.

Well, I personally believe it’s because he’s freakishly tall, and it’s impossible not to notice him, though Arlo has other theories that I was never too keen on listening to. Besides, Arlo and Cove are best friends, and they tend to speak of each other in high regard, even to the point of absurdity.

Blair sits down next to me with a bag of popcorn and two bottles of water. Her hair is styled into a high ponytail, and it never fails to amaze me just how long her hair is. Even in a tied-up style, it reaches her mid-back. It’s thick, soft, and has no split ends.

She hands me the bag of popcorn, and I open it, grabbing a handful and popping it into my mouth whilst my eyes skim through the crowd. Behind the ring is a room where fighters emerge from, and the lockers are back there, too. Right now, Cove is preparing. His fight is the fourth one of the night, and although we came to support him, I can’t deny that it’s kind of exciting to watch all the matches.

“Is Arlo with Cove?” I ask, grabbing more popcorn.

Blair’s eyes are focused on the ring as she nods. “Yes, doing warm-ups and just giving him the pep talk.’’

I chuckle. “At this point, does Cove even need a pep talk?”

“Everyone needs it, Aria,’’ Blair laughs softly, taking some of the popcorn. “On another note, how are you? You just stormed off last Saturday. We haven’t seen you since.’’

“I’m fine,’’ I sigh. “I’m sorry for acting like a brat. But I want to be a part of this, you know? It makes me seem like an outsider in my own family. It sucks that Arlo’s so overprotective.’’

Blair offers a small, sympathetic smile, and it manages to piss me off even more. It’s not a situation where I require anyone’s pity, and seeing that in her eyes makes me feel even worse.

“I get that, I really do, but when Arlo and I started the Kortlek game, he was twenty-four. I was twenty-six. When Cove came along, he was twenty-five. You’re just too young.’’

“The difference in age between when Arlo started and my current age is four years, Blair.’’

She sighs, though her expression is still filled with compassion and love. She’s always been like that. Given the hell she’s been through, when I first met her, I thought she’d be more closed off, distant, or even angrier at the world. But she isn’t. And if she is angry, it’s never directed toward people she cares about.

Blair is the best thing that’s ever happened to Arlo.

At this point, I may even love her more than I love him.

“I know that, but you need to know that his concern comes from a place of love, not malice.’’

I pop the lid open on the water and take a big gulp. I’m about to respond, but the lights go out, and two massive spotlights are directed toward the ring. Blair falls silent, too, both of our attention turned toward the upcoming fight.

The crowd started cheering immediately as the two fighters stepped into the ring, immediately placing bets and screaming on top of their lungs to see who’d take the victory. I’ve never seen these two men before, which means they’re likely new players.

One of them looks to be roughly in his mid-thirties, tall, with a great build. He has a scar across his face, and he’s skimming through the crowd, smirking lightly as many people cheer for him. He’s soaking in the attention, not even trying to hide his arrogance. It reeks of him.

The other man is a little lankier, though just as tall. He’s younger, too, probably around twenty-five. He’s just waiting for the round to begin and overall seems uninterested. He doesn’t have as many supporters as the other guy, but I can already tell he will take the win. Something about his unbothered expression is almost unnerving. As if he knows he’ll quickly take the win and get it over with.

And soon enough, my theory is proven to be correct. The first round was spent with the older guy getting some solid punches in, though nothing major for the younger guy to back out. He was definitely observing and studying the older man. He allowed himself to be punched in order to find a weak spot of the older man, and during the next two rounds, it was proved to be effective.

The younger man is lankier, but also faster and more flexible, which helped him in evading the punches he received during the first round. He was swift on his feet, moving swiftly and throwing punches as if it were the easiest thing to do, and with that, he managed to win.

People booed; some were slightly impressed, though the majority was pissed given that the older man cost them betting money, which they have now lost. Blair snorts beside me, watching it all unfold.

There’s a fifteen-minute break in between each match, and the other two aren’t impressive. From the get-go, it’s obvious who will win, and I can tell that Blair is slightly annoyed with how the fighters were paired. The second and the third matches were definitely not powerfully balanced; the fighters weren’t on equal footing, not by a long shot. A rookie with a man with at least ten years of experience in both cases. No matter how strong the rookies may be, they have no previous encounters in an illegal ring; hence, their losses aren’t a shocker.

During the fifteen-minute break between the third and the fourth match, Arlo appears. He has a duffle bag with him, and I immediately recognize it as Cove’s. He drops it by his feet as he sits down next to Blair, immediately kissing the top of her head.

“Is he prepared?” I ask, grabbing another mouthful of popcorn.

Arlo nods. “Yes, although his… opponent for the night is a little tricky.’’

My brows narrow. “Why?”

“He’s known to play dirty.’’

I snort. “I mean, yeah, most of them do. But it’s nothing Cove hasn’t encountered before, right?”

“It’s a bit different. The dirty type I’m talking about is having some sand hidden, tossing it into the opponent’s eyes, having needles in his gloves, and aiming for throats.’’

My eyes widened. “What?! That’s… allowed?!”

“No one’s ever been able to prove anything. It’s the opponent’s word against his, and no one actually gives a shit to do something about it.’’

“Cove knows all of this and yet… he’s still fighting him?”

Arlo nods, a wary sigh slipping his lips, his hand tightening around Blair’s. “He’s a moron.’’

“You can say that again,’’ I mumble. “I’m worried.’’

“Me too.’’ Arlo leans back, eyes closed, as we wait for Cove’s match to begin. “But I’ve warned him. Thus far, this man, Jackson, is known to use sand, needles and to have metal in the front part of his shoes. I’ve told Cove to protect his balls, just in case.’’

I snort. “If those are his most known methods, who’s to say he won’t think of something else to take Cove by surprise? By now, everyone knows that Cove’s been undefeated.’’

“I know,’’ Arlo groans. Blair tries to soothe him, softly stroking the back of his hand with a thumb, idly playing with the ends of his white hair. They’re so cute it makes me sick to my stomach.

“Why in the world is he doing this?” I ask, munching on the popcorn. I chew on it, swallow, and down it with some water before turning back to Arlo. “We could’ve used our intimidating tactics to warn Jackson beforehand.’’

“Cove has something to prove.’’

I raise a brow. “What?”

Arlo rolls his eyes. “He said, and I quote, ‘I need everyone to know who’s the toughest shit around here’, which, in my opinion, is bullshit.’’

A laugh slips from me at the statement. It’s not surprising Cove said something like that. He’s a man of a few words, but the few words he does speak are often of that sentiment. He has the constant need to show that he is the best and that no one can top him.

The break ends, and Jackson is the first one to step into the ring.

He’s around Cove’s age, mid to late twenties. He’s not as tall, though definitely bulkier. His face scares me. He’s not ugly by any means. In fact, I’d categorize him as hella attractive if it weren’t for that look in his eyes. I’ve seen it many times, mainly on the men I’ve killed. It’s the look of pure evil, and he isn’t trying to hide it.

My heart rate picks up the pace, anxiety flooding through me like a tsunami. The gut-wrenching feeling makes my stomach twist and turn in anticipation, and I can feel my face slowly drain of all color. My hands start trembling, and I put them under my thighs to prevent Arlo or Blair from seeing it.

"What’s wrong?”

Arlo’s voice rings in my ears, and I swallow a knot that formed in my throat. He’s caught me already, and lying would be useless. But I can’t pinpoint what exactly feels off. Something is terribly wrong, as if the air had shifted around me into a thick mass of tension that sends chills down my spine.

“Something is terribly wrong,’’ I whisper, eyes glued on the ring.

If Arlo knows something — it’s not to question my gut feeling. It has never failed me before, and it’s something he always takes seriously, no matter the situation or circumstances. I can feel his eyes boring into the side of my head as I try to force my eyes from the ring, but I can’t.

I’m all but paralyzed in my spot.

“You need to give me more than that, Aria,’’ Arlo urges, the command in his tone making me flinch slightly. “What are you feeling?”

“Jackson… he has something planned, and this will end terribly.’’

Arlo immediately stands up, ready to jump into the ring, eyes still on me.

“Then, I have to go and warn Cove.’’

“Too late,’’ I whisper.

Cove steps into the ring. His expression is as blank and as stoic as ever, not a trace of emotion or what he’s thinking visible on his handsome face. He stands in one corner, fixing his gloves, not paying much attention to Jackson.

On the other side, Jackson is smirking smugly, patiently waiting for Cove to get ready.

Cove, just like the young man from the first match, tends to let his opponents win the first round. It’s his way of studying their movements and his way of toying with them. Letting them win the first one gives his opponents a false sense of accomplishment, of victory. Then, during the second and third rounds, Cove goes all out. His opponents often left bloody, without a tooth or two, and with a broken nose.

There’s no denying that he’s a beast in the ring, but even beasts have weaknesses. And somehow, I fear that Jackson has found it.

During the first round, my heart nearly leaps out of my chest. My hands don’t stop shaking, and no amount of reassurance from Blair helps my mind be at ease. If anything, the fact that Arlo has approached the ring closely and is watching Jackson like a hawk makes me feel worse because he’s also waiting for something to happen.

Whatever it is, it won’t be pretty, and I’m afraid of the fatality it could bring to Cove.

Whether it’s because of the feelings I’m trying to suppress or genuine friendly worry toward Cove, it’s irrelevant. All I know, all I feel, is tremendous panic, slowly building deep inside of my chest, threatening to burst.

The first round goes as expected.

Cove loses.

The second one ends in Cove’s victory.

By now, my anxiety is ready to hit the roof, goosebumps prickle my skin, and I’m unable to look away. I’m afraid that if I look away, in that split second, Jackson will land a fatal blow to Cove, and I won’t be able to prevent it from happening.

During the first round, Jackson looked smug.

During the second one, he looked even more smug, if possible.

That just proves the unexplainable feeling of dread in my bones. He’s up to something; he’s waiting for the final round to do something outrageous, something dangerous. And Cove is too much in his groove to notice the glint in Jackson’s eyes. The pure evil, menacing grin and even his body language tell me he’s about to do something.

I blink, and as soon as I open my eyes again, I spot it.

A small metal flashing directly into my eyes from the spotlight that’s on Jackson. It’s small, and Cove doesn’t seem to notice it yet. It’s tucked in his fisted, gloved hand, the tip peeking through. That hand is kept down, next to his body, while the free one is ready to punch Cove.

It’s a pocket knife.

My chest tightens, and I can’t help the piercing scream of Cove’s name that slips from my mouth. Even in the midst of the crowded basement, with people yelling left and right, cheering on Cove, my screams pierce through the room, reverberating around me. The agony, plea, and panic in my tone make Cove quickly flicker his eyes toward me.

That’s my biggest regret.

Because when he looks at me, all confused, Jackson strikes. He isn’t quick enough because Arlo jumps into the ring and manages to successfully tackle him down, though not before Jackson stabs Cove.

His aim was Cove’s throat, but since Arlo’s body weight pushed him, he missed and stabbed the spot where Cove’s neck and shoulder meet.

I run toward the ring, entering it without a second thought, whilst Arlo’s dealing with Jackson. From the corner of my eyes, I can see Arlo plummeting his fists into Jackson’s face, his bare hands getting bloody with each passing moment. The pure fury and rage in Arlo’s eyes is undeniable — he’s putting all of his strength into hitting Jackson, and he won’t stop until the bastard is dead.

Cove’s just… standing there.

His expression is blank, the pocket knife embedded in his shoulder, blood dripping down his body. It’s likely the adrenaline, because no matter how tough he is, it’s impossible not to feel something piercing his skin that deeply.

“Cove?” I ask, standing in front of him, quickly assessing the wound and how I should treat it. For now, the best choice is to leave the knife inside. Pulling it out with no right equipment to treat the wound could cause his bleeding to worsen, and I can’t have that.

“Are you alright?” My voice is barely above a whisper, worry radiating off me. With trembling hands and on the brink of tears, I cup his face and force him to look down, to meet my eyes.

“Fine,’’ his gruff tone is as usual, though there’s a hint of annoyance behind his eyes.

“Come with me,’’ I take his hand and lead him out of the ring and toward the locker rooms. Arlo remains behind, still dealing with Jackson. It’s not something I want to get involved in, nor is it any of my business.

Jackson is trying to fight back, but it’s futile. Arlo’s overpowering him more with each passing moment and has no intention of stopping before he sees Jackson dead. If Blair isn’t getting involved, it means Arlo’s too angry to even notice anyone.

Jackson made his bed; now he’ll have to lie in it.

Because Arlo De Santis doesn’t fuck around when it comes to people he cares about.

And neither do I.