Page 13 of Lies Like Love

He hums, his laugh fading as the electricity in his stare crackles through the air. “Well don’t worry, I don’t think you’re an angel.”

“Why not?”

He leans closer, and I catch an inhale of his pine scent. Like a forest I’m already lost in. “Because the quiet ones never are.”

Violence.

Blood.

And they cheer it on. They beg for more from the depths of their souls as some guy’s fist connects with another’s jaw and they slowly paint the ring red. The fighter slams his knuckles into the other’s face again, and I swallow hard, trying not to acknowledge the sinking in the pit of my stomach.

All I see is blood.

All I see is her.

“You actually came.” Maren pops up in front of me, smiling so brightly it’s out of place in this underground fight club.

“Promised I would.” The fighters finish a round, and the amount of blood splattered on the ring leads me to believe this isn’t the first fight. “Am I late? You said to get here at six?”

Maren follows my gaze to the ring. “Pre-show.”

Her hair is up in a tight ponytail, showing off her strong cheekbones. Her thick eyeliner and fake lashes are dark enough to draw out the gold in her brown eyes so they sparkle. And she’s wearing a bikini top so small her full breasts fight to break free from all sides. It’s neon pink and stands out brightly against her dark skin.

“Don’t worry,” she wraps her arm around my shoulders when she notices whatever look crossed my face at the sight of her outfit. “I made sure to save you a top with a little bit more coverage.”

She winks, and the shimmer from her eyeshadow glimmers as she grabs my hand and drags me toward a dressing room.

When we step inside, it’s chaos. Girls are running around wearing next to nothing as they get changed. Some are on their phones and others are laughing, unfazed by the fact that half the room is topless.

“Ladies, this is Fel,” Maren yells out to them.

A few turn their heads long enough to skim me over and smile at me like they think I’ll be eaten alive.

I blame my yellow, floral summer dress. It’s out of place here.

I’mout of place here.

You need the money.

Maren leads me to a corner she’s claimed with her things. Her makeup is piled on a small section of the counter, and her bag hangs from the back of a chair. She reaches in and pulls out a scrap of fabric, handing it to me.

“This is what you considermorecoverage?” I hold up the green bikini top, which apart from two small cups and a thick band that will wrap my ribcage, is mostly a collection of strings.

She shrugs, turning to the mirror to fix her makeup. “More coverage than the others.”

Scanning the room, I guess she’s right. One of the girls has skipped a top all together, in favor of glittery, star-shaped pasties.

Once more holding up the bikini top, I repeat the same speech I’ve been reciting in my head all afternoon. It doesn’t matter if my morals are about to take a hit, there’s a reason I’m doing this. I’m so close to finally making it on my own without my family’s help, and I’m not backing down now.

Freedom is worth spending a few hours in this itty-bitty bikini top.

It’s worth everything.

Turning to face the wall, I slip my dress overhead and toss it to the side. I was prepared with a pair of spandex shorts, but without the dress, they don’t feel like they cover as much skin as they did when I examined myself in the mirror at home.

I slip on the bikini top, and it barely covers my cleavage. I’m lucky I’m only trying to hide my conservative B cup and not Maren’s double D’s, or I’d be falling out.

“Happy?” I spin around, adjusting the band once more around my ribs.

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