Chapter 12

CHAPTER TWELVE

MAYA

T he event is like an upside-down wonderland. We walk into the back of what seems like an electronics store, down a flight of stairs, and then into what seems to be a vast basement with a raised ceiling and several rooms. Riley walks at my side, wide-eyed. For several minutes, we forget about Matteo and Carlo—my “date,” Matteo joked on the ride here, which I hated—and walk around this magical, strange place we’ve fallen into.

“This place is crazy!” Riley beams in my ear.

Fire-breathers and stilt walkers roam through the crowd, their elaborate, fantastical costumes flickering under the dim, multicolored lights. Contortionists twist and turn gracefully, their movements entrancing in the surreal ambiance. The décor is opulent beyond belief. Rich velvet drapes in deep reds and purples hang from the ceilings and walls, interspersed with shimmering golden tassels and twinkling fairy lights. Crystal and brass chandeliers cast dazzling light patterns across the room, adding to the magic.

We turn a corner and walk into another large room with many interesting art pieces. I touch a sculpture that comes alive with light in response. The displays shift and change. Riley giggles. “Do it again.”

There’s so much to see. I find myself drawn to a series of kinetic light sculptures. These large, moving pieces change shape and color in response to soft music pulsing from somewhere I can’t see.

Across from it, an interactive projection mapping installation covers parts of the wall and floor. As I move closer, the projections react to my presence, swirling and shifting in intricate, ever-changing visuals that seem almost alive. Each step I take causes a ripple of color and light, making me feel like a part of the art.

Finally, I come across a wall of interactive digital graffiti. I pick up a stylus and draw on the large touch-sensitive screen. I write the word Mom and then laugh in pure delight when an image of a maternal figure suddenly appears.

“It’s AI,” I hear a nearby guest say. “Anything you write, it will create. Clever, right.”

Then I write “ home ,” and I can’t stop smiling. An image of a house on a luscious green hill appears, kissed by sunlight. I can’t imagine living in a house like that. Who would I live with?

I jump when Riley touches my arm.

“Sorry, I got lost,” I say.

“Isn’t that what parties are for? Let’s find Matteo.”

We leave the room, walking into what I realize is the main section. This place is huge . As we walk into the central chamber, waiters in masquerade masks glide through the crowd, offering gourmet hors d’oeuvres on silver platters. The lavishly decorated bar glows with the light of crystal decanters, serving drinks that emit smoke and sparks.

All around me, mysterious figures in elaborate masks and costumes gather in hushed conversations while others laugh and engage in lively banter with their identities concealed.

Illuminated pathways lined with glowing, color-changing lights guide me through the space. We find Matteo and Carlo at the bar. Carlo is tall and thin and watches me in a close way I don’t like. He’s not mean or rude, just maybe overly attentive.

“Isn’t this amazing?” Carlo yells over the music, approaching me with a drink.

I’m happy when Riley leans forward for me. “She doesn’t drink.”

Carlo tilts his head. “No?”

“No,” I say firmly, not liking how he looks at me as if he thinks there’s something wrong with that.

He shrugs, then tosses my cocktail back. “Okay then.”

Matteo says something to Riley, and then she leans over to me. “Let’s go. Apparently, there’s a special event.”

“I’m not sure how this could get even more special,” I say.

Part of me feels conflicted for throwing myself so eagerly into this experience. This is for the mega-rich, not people like me. Yet I can’t stop myself from latching onto the excitement and the sheer grand scale of it all.

We walk toward the edge of the party, behind a big speaker that almost blows my head off, and then around to a small, unmarked door. A man in a suit opens it for us and quickly closes it behind us. The music recedes, pumping behind us. I feel the atmosphere in the air change, and Matteo and Carlo suddenly seem more official, more tense.

We turn a corner, and everything comes into view.

The chain-link fence, which is slightly uneven, cordons off the makeshift simple cage. Harsh overhead lights cast stark shadows on the blood-stained matted floor. The crowd, a mix of elite party-goers and rougher-looking types, presses close to the fence, their faces illuminated by the light.

At the edge of the cage, a woman in a bikini with a clipboard and a wad of cash takes bets, scribbling names and amounts on a piece of paper. A few well-dressed men in suits stand nearby, their eyes cold and calculating as they pace or drink, clearly more interested in the money changing hands than the sport itself. The air is thick with the smell of sweat, alcohol, and a hint of something more illicit, adding to the sense that this is far from legitimate. It’s not like I wasn’t warned.

Riley looks at me, her expression becoming slightly unsure. Then Matteo takes her hand and leads her to a table in the top corner, overlooking the cage.

“Ah, Matteo!” a sweaty man yells, with a combover and a big grin.

“Raffie, good to see you,” Matteo says, and the two men clap hands. “Allow me to introduce Riley and Maya, our dates for the evening.”

“Lucky man,” Raffie says. “The main event will begin soon.”

“How’s it been so far?” Matteo asks.

“Good. Bloody.” Raffie gestures to the table. “Come. Drink. Eat. Enjoy.”

As we shuffle around the table, I don’t have time to slow down to choose where I sit, meaning I end up wedged between Riley, which is fine, but with Carlo on my other side. The smell of his cologne is almost overwhelming. He brushes his arm against mine, and it feels like a bee stinging me.

When he tries to shift even closer to me, I turn to him, giving him a look. He grins as if to say, Ah, you won’t be so stubborn at the end of the night . My skin crawls, but leaving this place feels suddenly impossible. I try to gameplan it out. If I was going to get up, I’ve got to shimmy by Carlo. I can tell he’s the sort of creep to make it weird. Riley’s talking with Matteo, but I can’t even hear it; I can’t hear anything over the music and my heartbeat in my ears.

Swallowing, I stare down at the blood on the canvas. It makes me cringe slightly, but not much. I’ve seen much worse while caring for Mom when Lacey or one of her other nurses was busy. “A girl has to harden herself,” Mom said after Dad, but I can’t think, care, or pretend. “A girl has to keep her cool.” Mom was so cool before she got sick. What a horrible, evil thought. It’s the kind of thing I can think about but never say. With her lopsided grin and her cocky wink, she was always cracking jokes, always making fun of herself in the cutest ways.

“Are you okay, Maya?” Carlo says, leaning his weight against me, and it’s weird. It’s like his image is mixing with the blood on the canvas, like if he pushed more, the blood would expand, and that’s just so … funny, isn’t it? He laughs when I do, and I hate the sound of his laugh, but I like the idea of the blood expanding and retracting in time with his weight.

What am I thinking?

“They are having a giggle fest over there,” somebody calls, and there’s more laughter and blood; it’s so beautiful. I could write a poem about it. What’s wrong with me? Have I just, what, embraced the sick side? The shit side. The ugly side.

Riley touches my arm. Oh, that’s so much better. I move away from the ocean of the stink of Carlo’s cologne and fall right against my friend. She wraps her arm around me. “Isn’t this just the greatest night ever?”

“Yeah, you’re so warm.”

She giggles. “I missed you so much.”

“I missed you more.”

“No way, it’s not possible.”

“Holy shit, it’s starting!” Raffie leaps to his feet, pushing against the fence. A chain-link fence borders off the raised section, and it looks as if the fighters will jump up here and start swinging at us.

“This is going to be crazy,” Carlo says excitedly.

“Mess him up, T!” Raffie yells, slamming his fist against the fence.

Everybody is around the caged area now, watching closely, the masquerade masks dancing and becoming huge ghoulish grins and then frowns, and it’s so captivating. It’s all I can look at or think about. It’s like time is doing strange dances, refusing to behave normally.

Riley nudges me. “You’re going to miss the fight.”

“Huh?” When? Now.

“Look.”

I drag my gaze up, struggling not to fall over at the same time. Doing both at once is difficult until it’s not. There he is, but we’re in reverse positions this time. I’m looking down on him. Am I dreaming?

Tristan stands under the harsh light in the cage. My body heats up the second I see him.

Shirtless and glistening with sweat, every sinew and muscle is defined like they’re tempting me to trail my finger along them. His broad shoulders taper down to a chiseled chest, each muscle sculpted and powerful. His biceps bulge as he flexes, veins snaking across his arms like tributaries.

His abs are a series of intricate and taut ridges, each standing out like a stone in a riverbed. I can’t take my eyes off how his muscles move and shift under his skin with each breath he takes. His skin gleams with a sheen of sweat, accentuating the contours of his physique and making him look almost like a living statue.

Despite the chaos around me, my eyes are locked on him, every detail of his body burning into my core. His legs are thick and powerful looking, supporting his impressive frame with a solid stance. Amid the crowd and the noise, he seems to be the only real thing.

What am I even thinking? Real thing? I lick my lips. I wish Tristan were kissing me. I wish he were shirtless with me for a different reason. God, I’m hot all over.