Page 55 of Poison Touch (Monarch Vipers #1)
KINSLEY
The day of the fight, I dress in black from head to toe: jeans, tank top, hoodie, boots, and my mask.
Adam texted me earlier, giving me the entry word.
I’m officially all set. The venue is in an abandoned warehouse near Airport Road.
Cars are parked along both sides of the street.
Most are everyday cars, with a few luxury models scattered among them.
Some cost more than my college tuition. Those belong to the big betters.
The shit boxes usually belong to the fighters, the ones who risk their lives to entertain these rich assholes.
I park my bike behind a green rusting dumpster, then put on my mask.
It does nothing to tame the stench of garbage.
I brought nothing with me, no money, no ID, not even my phone.
The only item on me is my motorcycle key, which I slide down into my boot.
I lower the mask over my face and lift my hood over my head, then I head for the side door. Gravel crunches under my boots.
The bouncer is the same guy at every fight.
Even though he wears a mask, it does nothing to hide his protruding belly and thinning, uncombed hair.
If that didn’t give him away, his bland personality would.
Monotone doesn’t even begin to describe him.
This time, though, he’s wearing a different rock band T-shirt.
Usually, it’s AC/DC, but tonight it’s Ozzy Osbourne.
I step up to him. He just looks at me without saying a word.
“Ninja,” I say as I internally cringe, giving him the entry password.
The unease that crept up my spine when I read the text from Adam had me questioning if tonight was safe to come.
And since Venom is the one running the show, the word is either a coincidence or a shout-out to yours truly.
When Edge came to Thanksgiving, he knew my uncle, so I can only assume he figured out who I am.
And telling him my dad died a few months ago was a huge hint.
It’s not like the world of MMA, especially the UG, is a very big one. Everyone knows everyone.
Mr. Boring unhooks the rope, allowing me to enter.
I’m not sure how I expect to feel when I walk in and am hit with the visual of the cage, but fuck me, I feel like I’ve been slammed up against a concrete wall as the breath whooshes from my chest. The octagon cage at the center of the vast room sends a nasty, unwelcoming chill skating up my spine.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
The unpleasant surge of tingling is like tiny spikes of fear.
My heart pounds in my chest with so many horrid images flooding me all at once.
Coming here used to evoke feelings of excitement and thrill, but the death of my dad overshadows all that used to be.
The thrill and excitement have given way to anxiety and dread.
With people coming in behind me, I move out of their way toward the back of the room. I rub my side where the scar from the knife wound is. Maybe coming here isn’t such a good idea.
Taking a deep breath, I slowly let it out.Get your shit together, Kins! You’re just here to gather information.
The card has four fights on it for tonight: two lightweights, one middleweight, and one heavyweight.
I scan the names and freeze. Viper vs. Python will fight in the heavyweight challenge.
I don’t know who Viper is, but I guarantee that with a stage name in the reptile family, he’s part of Venom.
Edge is known as the Viper at school, but that’s only because of the mascot and his status, right?
As for Python, I don’t know who he is, but I sure as fuck know what he’s capable of. If Edge is Viper and he’s fighting Python, that has to mean he isn’t the one who killed my dad.
My head is spinning too fast to comprehend everything and try to fit all the pieces together. I take another deep breath to calm myself, then work my way around the room to see if there’s anyone I recognize.
Even though everyone is wearing a mask, they’re still easy to identify. But if this place were to get overrun with cops, no one wants to have to be the snitch. And if you did, with the money and connections involved, your ass would be dead the moment they find out it was you.
There’s a crisp feel to the air tonight, but with the number of people pouring in, it won’t last long. Sticky heat will soon suffocate us all. I do what I can to push all of my feelings aside. Tonight is a night of truths. I can only hope I’m ready for them.
Music begins to thump throughout the warehouse. I can’t hear shit unless I’m right on the person. So, eavesdropping is going to be an issue.
Keeping my distance from the majority of spectators, I try to look inconspicuous.
My hair is tied up and hidden under the hood of my hoodie.
My mask covers most of my face except my eyes.
The volume of the music drops until the hard beat has ceased.
Everyone in the place goes completely quiet as a guy in a black sports jacket, who looks like all the other big betters here, steps into the cage.
He taps the cordless mic. The loud knocking rocks through the surrounding speakers.
“Let’s get our first fight started, shall we?” He looks over to his left. A brooding man with arms crossed over his chest nods at the announcer. The announcer says, “Looks like we’re ready to start.”
That’s code for all bets have been made.
My gaze travels from one masked figure to the next, searching for one specific person.
Even with a mask, Edge would be easy to recognize.
At least, that’s what I tell myself. The Venom boys have distinct body types for MMA fighters.
In likeness, they have very defined muscles on every inch of their body.
The difference they possess is their muscle mass, and they’re several inches taller.
It also helps that I’ve memorized Edge’s form, ripped to perfection with an intimidating posture.
He won’t be able to hide from me behind his mask.
The first lightweight fighter steps into the cage. The announcer drones on about the fighter’s stats and experience. His opponent is next. Although curious to see their skills, I stay focused on my task of scanning the room.
I don’t see anyone I recognize before the first fight ends. There should be a Venom mask somewhere in the crowd.Where the hell are they? They’re the reason I’m here.
The second lightweight fight is very similar to the first. Although I don’t pay much attention, I can guess the defender is trying to work his way up the ranks. The newcomer thought he could easily remove his opponent but royally underestimated the standing champion.
The middleweight fight is the same as the first two.
After the announcer calls the winner, the crowd begins to chant, not for the winners of the lower-class fights but for the one coming up.
It’s the real moneymaker. A shit ton of money is on the line.
And there’s a chance the winner will move up in the ranks and receive a higher payout.
Popularity equals a fatter wallet. To some fighters, it doesn’t matter if they don’t get any credit in the real world.
To them, this is the real world. They get to do what they love, and they get paid to do it. Win-win.
Unease races up my spine. I stand near the back of the crowd, avoiding whatever attention I can while continuing to look for Edge or any of the other guys.
Just as the announcer calls the first fighter of the heavyweights to enter the cage, I see Venom.
Five of them huddle on the other side of the octagon.
By the looks of their physiques, I determine that they are Gunner, Levi, and Kade.
The man in the suit may be a manager or an investor.
But from where I’m standing, I can’t be sure.
He shakes hands with one of the organizers, who’s wearing a jacket with a snake logo on the pocket.
I don’t see Edge standing with them. My imagination jumps to places I don’t want it to go. I hug my arms around my stomach. The leftover mashed potatoes I ate before coming here threaten to make an appearance of their own.
The announcer stands in the center of the octagon. “Are we ready for the big boys? First, we have our champion, PYTHON!”
The room explodes. Their fists pump in the air as they scream and chant for the murderer himself. Bile rises in my throat. I cover my mouth and force myself to swallow it down.
“Hey, what are you doing back here? You won’t be able to see the fight.” Some guy in a Joker mask grabs my attention.
“I’m fine.”
“Why don’t you come over and hang with me and my friends?” he insists.
Even as badly as I want to see the fight, I’m not going with this guy. “I said I’m fine.”
Not taking no for an answer, he tries to grab my arm. “We’re just right over here.”
His heaving breath smells like stale beer. I refrain from gagging. “Get the fuck off me,” I growl, tearing my arm away from his grip. Trying to avoid a scene, I take off in the opposite direction. I can’t take the chance of Edge or Venom seeing me.
“Bitch,” he calls out as he walks back to his friends.
God, what is it with that guy? And how did he know I’m a girl? Asshole! They come to these fights, and as soon as they cross the threshold, they think they’re instant MMA fighters and invincible, that they can do whatever the fuck they want and to whom.
Piled against the back wall are empty pallets. Since the octagon is in the center of the room, I should be able to see the fight from there. I use an abandoned chair to climb onto the pallets. Once on top of them, I balance to avoid crashing to the ground and creating a huge scene.