“Damn, he’s quick,” I commented, while my fighter of choice dodged and weaved, not allowing any contact from his opponent. Each strike he blocked or evaded, he returned three-fold, until eventually he had the other guy down on the bloodstained mat.
“Is it over?” Bree asked, gripping my arm.
I shook my head. “Not until one of them taps out or, you know”—I shrugged—“gets knocked out.”
“Brutal,” she breathed, but there was a spark in her eyes that said she was having fun.
The Archer's opponent thrashed around like a fish on a hook, just barely holding back the arm threatening to get under his chin. Once the bigger, tattooed fighter got his forearm under there, it'd be all over for the guy whose nickname I hadn't even listened to.
"Come on, come on," I urged, bouncing slightly in my stupidly high heels. "Come on, Archer. Finish him!"
The struggle continued for a few more moments, then some huge-headed asshole moved into my line of sight. Something happened, and the crowd roared. I could only imagine Archer had locked down his choke hold.
"Yes!" I exclaimed, craning my neck to try and see. “Oh come on, move!” This was aimed at the guy blocking my view. Not that he could hear me.
The commentator started counting. It would all be over in ten seconds, if the other guy didn't tap out before that.
"...three...four...five..."
Frustration clawed at me that I couldn't see.
"...six...seven..."
Bang!
Startled and confused, I jerked my attention to Bree at the loud noise. Had a car just backfired? Inside the big top? How the hell was that even possible?
"What was that?" I tried to ask but couldn't hear my own voice. My ears were ringing with a high-pitched sound, and everything else was on mute.
Bree was saying something and tugging on my arm, but I couldn't hear her.
What the fuck is going on?
"MK, come on!" Her words finally penetrated the ringing in my ears, and I stumbled as she dragged me down from our elevated position and into the chaos below.
I shook my head, still confused as fuck, until Bree's panicked yell sank in.
"Someone just got shot," she told me. "We need to get the hell out of here. Now."
Several more shots—because holy shit, she was right—rang out in the crowded space, and people scattered like bowling pins.
Bree and I clutched each other’s hand as we crouched low and made our way as fast as possible to the exit, but we soon realized there was a whole lot more going on than a lone shooter. Between us and the door, an all-out brawl was happening, with at least thirty people swinging punches and kicks. Blood and fuck knew what else flew everywhere, and I just barely dragged Bree out of the way when a burly guy in a leather jacket stumbled back from a punch to his face and would have knocked her over.
"We need to find another way out," I told her, stating the obvious as I searched around for another exit. It was a freaking big top, and there must been almost five hundred people spectating the illegal MMA fight night. The venue had to have loads of other exits. "This way!" I shouted, dragging her behind me as I ducked and weaved through the violent mob.
"MK," my friend exclaimed, tugging on my hand. "Look!"
I followed her shaking finger and saw a puddle of red across the polished concrete floor. A spill of pale blonde hair—the same color mine would be if I hadn't just dyed it hot pink for this costume—and a lifeless hand with chipped nail polish.
"Don't look," I snapped to Bree, yanking on her hand again to get her moving. One girl was already dead, and I sure as shit didn't want to join her.
It only took a few more minutes to get clear of the violent mess inside the big top. The night air held frost, and my teeth chattered as Bree and I hurried away through the dark amusement park.
"Th-that was..." Bree stammered over her words, and I slowed just enough to check that she was okay. Her eyes were wide and haunted, her face pale. She hadn't broken down into hysterical crying yet, so maybe shock was working on our side for once.
If nothing else, it'd hopefully keep her from mentioning why I was so seemingly unaffected by seeing a dead body and all that violence. All that bloodshed.
I locked down the memories of the last dead body I’d seen, stuffing them back into the tiny mental box they’d been in for exactly six years. Halloween was the anniversary of my mom’s murder.
"Stay quiet," I whispered to her, my attention on the shadows around us. "We need to get back to your car and away from here."
My best friend, for all her amazing qualities, had zero clue how much danger we were in.
"What's going on, MK?" she demanded, her voice pitched way too loud for my liking.
"Shh!" I placed a hand over her mouth to emphasize my point. We were tucked into the shadows beside a dilapidated sideshow booth, and I frantically searched around us to check that we were alone. "Bree, you need to trust me. That was no random act of violence. Didn't you see the tattoos on those guys brawling? The patches on their jackets?" Her eyes grew even wider above my hand, and her breath came in jerky, panicked gasps. I nodded, confirming what she'd just guessed. "Yeah. Exactly. We're neck deep in the middle of a gang war, and if we don't get the fuck out of here soon..." I trailed off. She knew what I meant. If either gang—the Wraiths or the Reapers—caught us, the consequences didn't bear thinking about. Let's say death would be the easy way out. Bree would probably get ransomed back to her filthy rich family, but I wouldn’t be so lucky. Not because my father couldn’t pay, but because he’d somehow made an enemy of the Reaper’s leader.
Voices came from nearby, laughing guys, and I pulled Bree farther into the shadows until they'd passed us.
"Let's go," I said softly when their chatter faded away.
Bree was right behind me as I started hurrying back toward where we'd parked. More and more people were spilling out of the big top now, so we kept our heads down and tried to blend with a group in costumes. It helped that Bree was still in her sexy-cat outfit and my waist-length hair was hot pink. We just looked like regular girls out for a Halloween party.
I almost let the tension drop from my shoulders around the time we made it halfway through the park, but we couldn't hide with the crowd forever. We'd parked Bree's car in a shed behind the south gate, and everyone else was flowing toward the west one.
Silently, I tugged her hand, and the two of us broke away from the crowd, immediately picking up our pace and hurrying past the broken-down bumper cars.
"This was a bad idea," Bree mumbled, but she stuck close behind me as we jogged—in heels—through the scary-as-fuck park. Why had it all seemed so damn exciting when we'd arrived? Suddenly it was like we were stuck inside a horror movie and any minute now someone would jump out with a knife or chainsaw or something.
Adrenaline pumping through my veins, I rounded a corner without checking first and ran straight into the back of a guy in a full Beetlejuice costume.
"Shit, sorry," I exclaimed, catching my balance on my stripper-esque stiletto heels.
I made to move past him, but a huge hand circled my upper arm. He stopped me in my tracks at the same time as I saw the guy he'd been talking to... and the large, open bag of cash on the ground between them.