Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 131789 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131789 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
“Where the hell are we going?” I ask, my fingertips grazing the weeds as we walk.
“You’ll see.” Fenn leads us with the light of his phone down an overgrown trail pitted with rocks and random potholes.
“At least clue me in on what this is all about. I don’t like surprises.”
“You’re no fun,” he sighs. “The fights are an underground tradition. Call it unsanctioned athletics.”
“For guys with loose morals and deep pockets,” Lucas chips in, his voice dry.
“A sturdy chin doesn’t hurt, either.”
I nod. “Rich Boy Fight Club. Got it. Could have just said that.” Wealthy people are always repackaging poor-folk shit and calling it clever. “Does the faculty know about this? Tresscott?”
“Probably,” Fenn answers. “Kind of hard not to be suspicious when you’ve got dudes showing up to class with shiners and busted lips. But if they do know, they look the other way.”
“Oh, Headmaster Tresscott definitely knows,” Lucas says, grinning. “I swear he let it slip at dinner one time. But I have a feeling he allows it because he thinks it’s a good way for us to let off steam. Maybe he hopes it’ll cause less trouble for his staff.”
I don’t miss Fenn’s cloudy expression when Lucas says the words “at dinner.” My stepbrother’s still got a major thorn in his paw about the fact that Lucas gets unlimited access to Sloane’s little sister while Fenn is kept on a tight leash.
“You ever fight?” I ask Fenn.
“Sometimes,” he says, now staring straight ahead as he picks up the pace. “If I feel like releasing some aggression.”
“Dude, Fenn’s vicious,” Lucas tells me. “You should’ve seen what he did to Duke’s wingman this one time.”
Fenn snickers without turning around. “Who knew an ear could bleed that much?” He shakes his head in disbelief. “That was a total fluke hit.”
“Yeah right,” Lucas accuses. “You went there on purpose.”
Fenn glances over his shoulder to flash an innocent smile. “I would never clock a man in the ear. That’s just cruel.”
I can’t deny that their banter succeeds in raising my interest levels about these “fights.” Just slightly. I’m still not on board with the whole being social thing. But it’s hard to imagine my pretty boy stepbrother beating the shit out of anyone, let alone Duke’s goon Carter. That’s definitely something I’d pay money to see.
“How long has Rich Boy Fight Club been going on?” I ask curiously as we push our way through the darkness.
“It started years ago,” Fenn says. “Hell, probably decades. Sometimes guys from other schools come to mix it up. The real action is on the sidelines.”
I’m almost afraid to ask what kind of scratch these dumb fucks are throwing down to watch each other bleed.
“Gabe told me one time he saw like fifty grand change hands in one night,” Lucas says.
“Gabe…that’s your brother, right?” I prompt. “Fenn’s old roommate?”
“Yeah.” Lucas deflates somewhat, dropping his head to watch his feet disappear through the tall grass. “Our dad sent him to military school this year.”
I raise a brow. “What happened? He get caught betting the Bentley on a couple sophomores knocking each other’s teeth out?”
“Have you heard from him?” Fenn jumps in, turning to study Lucas.
“Nah, man. I told you, it’s like Dad threw him in solitary or something. I haven’t spoken to him since the van came and picked him up.” Lucas glances at me. “He got caught dealing.”
“Your dad didn’t say anything else about why?” Fenn gets weirdly insistent, pumping Lucas for information even though the junior is obviously not in the mood to talk about it. “You didn’t hear them arguing or anything?”
“No, dude. You know my dad. The quieter he gets, the worse it is. Gabe came home that night, and the next morning his bags were on the porch.”
“And Gabe really didn’t say anything to you before he left? How he got caught.”
Lucas becomes visibly reluctant to participate in this investigation, and I kind of feel bad for the kid getting grilled by Fenn. I know Gabe is his best friend, but Christ, dude, you don’t have to waterboard his little brother. Let him come up for air.
“How much farther?” I prod to change the subject. “I can’t see a damn thing out here—”
I barely finish that sentence when a whistle calls out to us and breaks the darkness.
Fenn turns to grin at me. “We’re here.”
Through the silhouette of trees, we come to a clearing where a dilapidated greenhouse is lit by a few dim lanterns inside. The panes are cruddy with years of pollen and decomposing foliage collecting on the roof. Shrubs and vines hug the perimeter, climbing up the walls and breaking through the glass.
“School closed it up decades ago and left it abandoned,” Fenn says as we approach the shadowy figures standing outside. “Rumor is a groundskeeper used to bring kids here.”
“I always heard it was a woman and she killed herself because a teacher got her pregnant and wouldn’t marry her,” Lucas says.