Page 72 of Pistols & Peonies

“How much do you love me?” Char asks, that telltale lilt of mischief threading through her voice.

I shift my phone to my shoulder, tilting my head to pin it there and free up my hands. “Depends on why you’re calling,” I reply warily, resuming the task of rinsing the last of my smoothie out of the blender.

“What if I told you Mack just called, and they want you on the ticket at Eclipse Underground tonight?”

I almost drop the damn blender. My grip slips, plastic knocking against the sink with a sharp clack. “I’d say you must be confused,” I reply, pulse kicking up a notch. “Because tonight’s the Gauntlet.”

“Yep,” she chirps.

I switch off the faucet and grab a towel, wringing it around my hands, more to occupy them than to dry them. “And they’ve had their lineup set for months.”

“Uh-huh,” she giggles, dragging it out, enjoying this far too much.

My heart pounds faster, that familiar pre-fight adrenaline trickling into my bloodstream as I carefully set the towel down on the counter. “And I never got an invitation,” I say slowly, thinking it through out loud, “so unless someone had to drop out at the last minute…”

“Havoc is out and The Slay is in, baby!” Char shouts down the line, unable to contain her glee a second longer.

I yank the phone back into my hand, fingers curling tight around it. “No fucking way,” I breathe.

Havoc is the reigning champion of the Gauntlet. Since then, she’s pulled twelve more wins– ten by knockout. Suffice to say, her reputation as a monster in the ring was earned.

“What happened?” I ask, words tumbling over each other. “How–”

“No idea,” Char interrupts, undeterred. “But her loss is our gain, babe!”

I brace myself against the counter, breathing going fast and shallow. The cool marble bites into my palm, anchoring me in place as excitement crashes into disbelief, then into something dangerously close to hope.

I’ve wanted to fight in the Gauntlet since the moment I stepped into Eclipse two years ago, but I never trained enough to have a real shot. Never fought often enough, never committed the way you have to if you actually want to make a name for yourself in the underground fighting circuit. A career was never my endgame. I was in it for the quick cash, the adrenaline rush, and the roar of the crowd.

The Gauntlet promises all three.

It’s an annual event– a single-elimination tournament reserved for the best of the best– and the payouts are obscene. Five grand if you make it past the first round, ten if you survive the second. Fifty if you take the final.

Beyond the money, there’s also the prestige. Winning the Gauntlet is like earning a black belt, a championship title, and permanent street cred all rolled into one. Basically, if I ever wanted to turn fighting into a real career, this would be the way.

“So, whaddya say?” Char asks eagerly, dragging me back from the edge of possibility. “Should I tell him you’re in?”

I open my mouth to say hell yes, but before I can get the words out, I’m hit with a memory of the last time I fought at Eclipse Underground. Or, more specifically, what happened after I returned home that night, bruised and bloodied.

“I dunno,” I murmur, buying myself a second as I start weighing the scenarios in my head. Kane might not even notice if I’m gone for one night. And even if he does, what’s he going to do about it? It’s not like I’m his prisoner.

“Excuse me, what?” Char gasps, incredulous. “Who are you, and what have you done with my best friend? Since when is this not the best news ever?”

“I mean, it is,” I say quickly. “But… things are different now. With my whole… living situation.”

The words feel clumsy on my tongue, like I’m fumbling for a language I’m not fluent in yet. How do I explain that living with Kane has been like slowly sinking into quicksand? The more I struggle against it, the deeper I get pulled under. And the worst part is, some days I’m not sure I even want to fight it anymore.

Char clucks her tongue. “Oh, I get it. You’re afraid Daddy Kane will catch you sneaking back in again, huh?”

“Ugh, don’t call him that,” I groan, grimacing.

“You did first!” she cackles.

“And I’ve regretted telling you ever since,” I grumble, my lips twitching into a reluctant smile. “But yeah. I don’t want him asking a bunch of questions.”

“Then stay here tonight,” Char replies easily. “The apartment is still half yours, anyways. Your rent’s paid up for another month.”

“Yeah, maybe,” I reply noncommittally, still trying to figure out how to thread this needle.