Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 141464 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 707(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141464 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 707(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
I snap a quick selfie and send it to Jigsaw.
No death talk. No sideways glances or whispered gossip. I’m not the weird girl who touches dead people for a living.
I’m…a friend. A guest. Someone who belongs here.
Heidi and her daughter stop by for a few minutes. But after Alexa watches the screen for a bit, she tries to mimic one of the fighters’ moves on Z’s son, Chance.
“That’s our cue to go back to the dining room,” Heidi mutters, while Murphy scoops up his mini menace before a full toddler cage match breaks out.
The rest of the afternoon and evening is just as pleasantly chaotic.
Then, the television screen goes dark except for thousands of twinkling lights in the arena.
“This is it!” Teller shouts. “It’s starting!”
A low hum of anticipation zips around us.
The theme song to Halloween starts playing.
“What the fuck? The guy’s using the Halloween theme song as his walkout?” Sparky shouts. “What a doofus. I hope Griff rocks that dude into next year.”
“Who knew Sparky was so bloodthirsty,” Serena titters.
While Griff’s opponent takes a lap around the entire arena, the screen splits, showing a full hallway of jittering men.
Stash jumps up off his blanket and points at the screen. “There’s Remy.”
Hope squeals. “There’s Wrath. Oh my God, he looks ready to chuck people left and right.”
The camera zooms in on Griff squinting into the light and Molly handing him a pair of sunglasses.
“Awww, they’re so cute,” I sigh.
“There’s Dawson.” Heidi elbows Murphy’s side. “I’m so jealous we couldn’t go with them. Shelby said the private plane was a-maze-ing.”
“Next time,” he promises her.
The screen shifts to just showing Mike “Magic” Everson again. Sparky’s right, the guy looks like a doofus, hurling insults and talking trash about Griff.
The camera switches again.
The whole parade of people backstage starts walking down the long hall into the arena. A loud, grinding country song blares from the speakers. Lights flash everywhere.
“I never realized it was such a spectacle,” I murmur. “It’s all so… theatrical.”
“Right?” Lilly flashes a grin. “Men are so dramatic.”
I shake with laughter and nod.
The announcer’s voice booms, rattling off betting stats—how the odds are laughably against Griff. Making it sound like he’s a charity case.
Indignation flares in my chest. “That’s rude. Why would he be there if he has no chance of winning?”
Teller turns and grins at me. “Let ’em keep underestimating him.” He rubs his fingers together in the universal sign for money. “Only benefits us.”
“Is it too late for me to place a bet?”
“Nope.” He rattles off a bunch of different options—which mean nothing to me, finally promising to place fifty on Griff to win by knockout.
“Oh!” Heidi jumps out of her chair and points at the TV. “There’s Shelby and Molly.”
“Shelby looks so cute in that jumpsuit!” Serena gushes.
A microphone gets shoved in Shelby’s face. “Who are you rooting for, Shelby?” someone off-camera asks.
Shelby’s pretty face screws into an are you stupid scowl. “Stonewall! Who else?”
The camera slides to Molly’s anxious face. “You think your boyfriend’s going to win this fight, Molly?”
Like a baby deer caught in the headlights, she blinks several times. My heart squeezes at her obvious discomfort. Finally, she lifts her chin and glares right into the camera. “Of course he will.”
If Shelby’s on the screen, Jigsaw shouldn’t be far away, right? Searching the people in the background, I finally spot him. My heart kicks. He’s so focused and serious, standing next to Rooster, glaring at the cage. Even in a sea of shouting fans, my eyes go straight to him.
I shoot a quick text.
Me: I see you.
The camera pans away just as it looks like he dips his hand into his pocket.
Next to me, Serena’s phone dings, She quickly checks the screen and frowns. “Aww, some jerk asked Shelby if she’s pregnant.”
Lilly’s eyes narrow. “People are such assholes.” She gestures wildly at the screen. “She looks adorable.”
The screen goes to the inside of the cage.
“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the main event tonight! Reigning champion Mike ‘Magic’ Everson out of ME Army Gym right here in Las Vegas with an impressive record of eleven wins and one loss, versus the up-and-coming Supreme Underground Fighter Griffin ‘Stonewall’ Royal out of Furious Fitness all the way in Empire, New York! You’re here to witness history as Stonewall steps into the cage for his first professional fight tonight.”
“Yes!” Murphy claps. “Shout out to Furious Fitness!”
Z walks over and high-fives him.
I glance to my right. Teller’s abandoned his laptop, standing next to Charlotte and Rock.
The bell rings.
And all hell breaks loose on the screen.
Fists fly. Kicks land. They’re spinning, grappling, throwing each other into the cage wall. The force behind their movements feels violent and intimate all at once. It’s hard to track everything—they move fast, and the commentary is a blur—but the sound of the crowd roaring inside the arena? That cuts through loud and clear.