Page 216 of Fighting the Forbidden

Venom, Woolly, and I huddle around Bear Trap to say our goodbyes.

“This shit’s fucked,” he says, shaking his head.

He gives me a hug. “Stay vigilant, Stonewall.”

“I’ll try.”

“Hit me up when you get out.”

I pull away and shake his hand. “Will do.”

He says a similar goodbye to Venom and Woolly, flips everyone else the bird, and storms off the set.

“And then there were three little monks.” Deadass pulls a sad face at us and mockingly rubs his fists against his eyes.

I glare at him but don’t respond to the taunt. Why couldn’t I have gone up against him instead of Hammer Fists?

“Center,” Woolly reminds me. “Ignore him.”

Kiki—persistent as ever—hurries to console us. No one’s confirmed it, but I’ve gotten the impression she was “assigned” to us or something. I rarely interact with the other girls, but somehow Kiki’s always in my face. Wandering the hallway outside my room, bumping into me outside the gym, in the kitchen.

“I’m going to the gym,” I say.

Venom pats my back.

Working out to avoid the drama going on with the other contestants is the only thing preserving my sanity. It keeps me from missing Molly. When I think about her, I train. When the pain becomes too much, I picture Molly’s smile, replay her laugh in my head. Think about our last night together. The note she gave me. The little cherries embroidered on her underwear that she picked out just for me. That only makes me miss her. So, I jump on the treadmill and run until my body’s as limp as overcooked spaghetti.

For a show dedicated to fighters training, Venom, Bear Trap, Woolly, and I were usually the only ones in the gym. Guess now it’ll just be the three of us.

The days after the match are a never-ending monotonous routine of physical punishment and mental gymnastics. Forming the alliance helps. But I’m still on my guard—which one of the guys will stab me in the back? Will I see it coming? Betrayal always comes from the ones you least expect.

Finally, I get my weekly phone call.

I swear I had more access to outside communication when I was in kiddie prison.

“Remember, no details about the show,” the producer reminds me.

I haven’t talked to Diane since that first night. She didn’t even show up for my first match. And she wasn’t at the fuck off ceremony, either.

“Yeah, yeah,” I answer.

“Keep it short. If she asks about the show, cut her off or we’ll cut you off,” the producer warns.

I flick an irritated glare at him. How the fuck did I ever let myself get roped into this bullshit?

“I got it.” I jerk my chin toward the door to the room that’s barely bigger than an old-time phone booth. “Now get out.”

Once the door’s closed, I pick up the phone and punch in Molly’s number. Part of me doesn’t even want to talk to her. To expose her to any of this madness. But I miss her so damn much. It’s selfish but I need to hear her voice. Know that she’s okay. That she’s still my girl.

“Griff?” Excitement rings through her greeting.

“Hey, baby.” I refuse to call her Muffin with all these creeps listening in on our phone calls. “How are you?”

“I miss you.” She sighs. “How are you?”

“Missing you too.” I clear my throat and flick my gaze in the direction I think the “hidden” camera is located. “I can’t talk too long. Tell me what you’re up to.” I hesitate. “Remember, they’re recording my calls.”

“I know.” She sighs. “Well, finals are next week and I’m freaking out about Pre-calc. I wish I’d never taken it.”

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