Chapter Fifteen

"Looks like an even match," Andre observes.

Elliott is smaller and younger than his competitor, but I know he's smarter. His strategy combined with his unshakable confidence should guarantee him this win. Every team gathers in the arena to watch how the weekend will end.

"For our final bout today, we have Elliott King from Midtown Ring versus Jameson Meyer from Sweat Shop Boxing!"

The referee starts the match.

Elliott steps forward to swing, but his movements are surprisingly slow. Jameson dodges him easily. Elliott jabs and hits nothing but air. His lips part in surprise when his glove returns back to his side, untouched. I'm not surprised when he takes a hit to the shoulder. I expect the impact to startle him enough to at least wake him up, but then Elliott gets hit again.

And again.

Jameson's black glove hits his arm, his chest, and then his stomach.

Elliott stumbles to the floor.

"Well shit," Andre shudders.

I don't take my eyes off Elliott. Fortunately, the referee calls the round before Jameson can cause any more damage. Elliott stays on the ground, unmoving, as the whistle blows. Andre and a medic rush into the ring to help him.

"Is it over?" I ask Riley.

Andre whispers something to the medic. After a moment of deliberation, the referee blows the whistle, signaling the end of the match. Elliott forfeits. Sofía breaks into a round of applause when he stumbles back to the group.

"Nice one, King. You really showed them."

Elliott shoots her a glare but says nothing. She's right. He blew it.

"At least we'll get a head start on traffic," mourns Andre. "Come on. Let's head out."

At the hotel, the five of us grab our bags from the concierge and make our way to the parking lot. Elliott drags his feet across the gravel. Once we're both seated inside of his convertible, I face him. There are more bruises on his face than clear patches of skin.

"You threw the bout."

He sighs. "It wasn't on purpose. I can't stop thinking about what my dad said. He saw you fight. He liked it."

He bites down on his lip, tears welling.

"Elliott," I plead. "You and I both know I'm nowhere near as good as I'd need to be to hold my own in a fight. You have years of practice, I have weeks. That would be insane."

"I know," he cuts me off. "But my father isn't one to take sanity into consideration."

"I—"

He shakes his head. "Everywhere I turn, he's there. If you're part of my life, he's going to be a part of yours, too. It isn't fair."

I slip my index finger under his chin and push, forcing him to look at me.

"I'm not afraid of him."

Elliott smiles weakly before I press my lips to his. The feeling raises the hair on my arms. I sink into him, pulling him closer, embracing the comfort of his touch.

"I don't want to be anyone's entertainment," Elliott professes between breaths. "I don't."

"Then quit?"

He shakes his head. "It's not that easy."

I pause, hoping he'll finally tell me more, but he remains silent. I continue, "You deserve better, Elliott. We'll find a way to get you out."

Even though I have no plan, Elliott nods like he believes me. He lights a cigarette, takes a puff, then turns the keys in the ignition. He seems lighter, as if the weight of tackling this problem alone has been lifted off his shoulders.

We leave the windows down for most of the ride home. The gentle breeze rushes through my curls. Elliott turns the music up, blasting Florence and the Machine out of the stereo.

"How would you feel about me telling Gemma about all of this?"

At first, he looks slightly horrified. He drums his fingers against the steering wheel until horror morphs into reluctant acceptance. "I don't think there's anything I could do to stop you."

"She's good at keeping secrets."

Gemma keeps all of the gory details of my past to herself, even when she would have benefitted from adding to the gossip.

"I was always terrified that somebody might find out," mutters Elliott, glancing at his bruised nose in the car mirror. "Every time I thought about telling someone, I talked myself out of it."

"Probably because it's stupid and illegal," I muse. "Who would you have told?"

"I don't know. Maddy?"

"I think she'd be into it," I joke even though it hurts.

"Yeah?"

"Hot guys beating each other up is every girl's wet dream."

He smirks mischievously. "Is it yours?"

I hit him with my elbow. My dad sends a text to let me know he won't be home until dinner time, so I ask Elliott to drop me off at Gemma's. But when his car pulls into her driveway, I wish the ride didn't have to end.

"I'll see you at school tomorrow?" I say.

"Sure."

He watches expectantly as I lean in close to him. Instead of a kiss, I whisper into his ear.

"About that dream." I bite down on my lip before continuing, savoring the sweet moment of closeness. "It could be."

He grins as I step out of the car. I can't even get in one knock on Gemma's door before she answers.

"Hi," she says, watching as Elliott's convertible speeds away.

I beam. "Hi."

We make our way inside her small cottage-style house. Blue couches, eccentric decorations. It reminds me of a vacation beach home. Gemma's mom smiles from the kitchen. Mrs. Shao is the closest I've had to a mother since mine died, though she's way too overbearing.

"Gemma told me you went boxing this weekend. Are you crazy?"

"Mom!" Gemma shrieks.

"I was extra safe," I reassure her. "Don't worry."

Mrs. Shao nods apprehensively, pouring me an ice-cold glass of lemonade. I down it. We chitchat about school until Gemma finds an opportunity to drag me upstairs. She locks her bedroom door behind us as she inspects me. I notice the injury at the exact same time that she does; my right wrist has a bruise the size of an orange from when Luke grabbed me. My bandage, coated in dry blood, has almost completely fallen off.

Crap. I need to go back to Dr. Kilmer before it gets infected again.

"Jesus," Gemma yelps, running her finger lightly over my wrist. "How did that even happen? They're allowed to grab you like that?"

"Not exactly."

I take a deep breath and sit down on her bed. "I need to tell you something."

"I'm listening."

I swallow. Telling Gemma about Elliott's secret was a lot easier in theory. "Elliott's . . . part of something."

She tilts her chin. "Like what? A brothel?"

"Oh my god, no!"

"Well, you're being super vague!"

"Sorry," I reply, cheeks flushing. "The tournament in Savannah was fun, yeah, but that's not really why we went. Elliott and my coach from the gym are involved in something."

I'm not making any sense. There aren't words to describe what I witnessed this weekend, but I can't turn back now.

"Something . . . underground."

Gemma perks up. "Like Fight Club?"

It sounds insane, but I guess she's right. I nod and her mouth drops open in surprise.

"Oh my god. Did somebody hurt you? Did you get in a fight?"

I shake my head, shushing her. "No. Elliott's brother showed up, and I got in the middle of it."

That only scares her more. Her concerned frown mirrors my father's—a clear reminder that I can never let him find out about any of this. Maybe telling Gemma was a bad idea.

"Holy shit, Rose! What if he gets caught?"

"I don't know," I reply, truthfully. "He keeps mentioning how there's ‘more to all of this than I know.'" I pull out the wad of money that's been loitering in my pocket since last night and toss it onto the bed. Gemma eyes it suspiciously. "This is a small cut. It's five hundred dollars."

Gemma holds up one of the bills to the light.

"It's real," I assure her.

"This is like . . . blood money."

"I think they treat it more like gambling. People bet on who they think will win."

She stares at the money in disbelief. "They bet this much on Elliott?"

"More than that."

Suddenly, Gemma wraps her arms around my shoulders and pulls me in for a hug. I exhale, relieved, as I relax against her.

"I'm glad you told me," she says, inching away to face me again. "But I don't think it's a good idea for you to be involved."

There's no way that I can abandon Elliott after everything we went through this weekend. "It's a little too late," I respond. "We bonded on the way there, talked about our parents and stuff. He likes to read, and he's scared of swimming."

"Seriously?"

"And . . . we kissed."

She shrieks. I shush her, then proceed with the story of Elliott's fight with Luke. Gemma listens intently like I'm describing the next season of The Bachelor.

"You and Elliott King getting together wasn't on my bingo card."

"No shit," I groan, collapsing against her bed.

She lies down beside me, both of us contemplating the total madness that is my life now. Who would've thought one party could lead to all of this?

"Thanks for not thinking I've totally lost it," I say.

Gemma laughs. "Oh, I think you're certifiable."