Page 12 of Klutch's Kryptonite

Hope fills my chest. “Okay.”

“I may know of a place,” she drags out the words before adding, “but you’re not going to like it.”

My brows jump. “At this point, beggars can’t exactly be choosers.”

“You say that now,” she mumbles, head cocked to the side.

“McKenna!” I insist, waving my hands for her to get on with it. “Spit it out. Please!”

She holds up her hands for me to chill. “Okay, okay. So you know I went to that party last night.”

I nod, wondering what that has to do with me needing to rob, but I stay quiet. “I overheard some girls talking about how they used to be ring girls at this underground fight club.”

My nose wrinkles before I can stop it. “A ring girl? Like a boxing ring?”

“MMA, I think. But yeah, same idea. They said they made bank, Dems. All they had to do was parade around in a bikini holding up round cards.” Kenny shrugs like walking around in a bikini, in an underground fight club is not a big deal. My gaze drops to my barely-there B cups and I frown.

“Oh stop it!” she scolds. “Money—your dad, remember?”

“You’re right.” I wave my hand at her to go on. “Keep going.”

“So,” she leans forward again. “They said she made like five hundred bucks a night, sometimes more.”

Okay. Now she has my full attention. “Did you say five hundred dollars a night? That’s...” I do some quick math in my head. “I could have the money in less than a month.”

“Right?” Kenny pauses, biting her lip. “But there’s a little catch.”

I groan. I knew there had to be more to it. “Of course there is.” I sigh. “Hit me with it.”

“The Underground Arena is run by bikers.”

My heart drops into the pit of my stomach. “Bikers? I don’t know, Kenny...”

“I get it,” she says quickly. “It’s sketchy as hell. But they’re looking for waitresses too, not just ring girls. And from what those girls said, the tips are insane.”

I chew my bottom lip, weighing my options. Which, if I’m being honest, are nonexistent. I either find a way to get the money fast, or my dad is dead. It’s as simple and as terrible as that.

“Where is this place?” I ask finally.

Kenny forces a smile. “It's in the warehouse district.”

****

“What is this place?” I raise my eyebrow at McKenna. We’re standing in front of what looks like an abandoned warehouse.

McKenna grins. “This is The Underground Arena.”

I look from one end of the building to the other, taking in the boarded-up windows and brick walls sprayed over with graffiti. According to the sign half-hanging off the building, this place was once Thurman’s bottling factory. “This is it?”

“It’s in the basement,” McKenna clarifies, noticing my confusion.

“Of course it is,” I mutter. “Because that’s not creepy as hell at all.”

She laughs, linking her arm through mine and pulling me toward a side entrance. “Come on, scaredy-cat. Fortune favors the brave.”

“I’m pretty sure fortune favors those who don’t get murdered in abandoned warehouses,” I counter, but I let her lead me inside anyway.

The interior is dimly lit, with exposed pipes running along the ceiling and concrete floors that echo with our footsteps. Despite its rundown appearance from the outside, someone has clearly been maintaining the inside. There’s no dust, no debris, just the faint smell of cleaning products.

---