Exposure (The Fringe Book 2)

by Tarah Benner

  The last week and a half has been horrible, and training with Eli has been the only distraction that can suppress the panic about my upcoming deployment. He’s been extra nice since my meltdown on the simulation course, and we’ve almost been getting along.

  I bang on his door, but he doesn’t answer. I know he wouldn’t ignore me deliberately, so I head to the training center to see if he’s squeezing in an extra workout to rehab his leg.

  He isn’t there, either.

  There’s only one other place I can think of where he could be, but it’s a long shot.

  Taking a deep breath, I turn down the dark maintenance tunnel and use the walls to guide myself into the shadows. I’ve only gone a few yards when the sound of voices reaches my ears. Bingo.

  There are no fights tonight, so this is the perfect place for Eli to train for his upcoming bout. Jayden would flip out if she knew he was entering an illegal fight, which is probably why he isn’t practicing in the training center.

  As I draw closer, I can make out Eli’s and Miles’s voices. They’re muffled by their mouth guards, but I can tell that they’re arguing.

  I slow down and consider turning back. I don’t like Eli’s anger directed at me, but I really don’t want to walk into the middle of a fight between him and Miles.

  “You don’t get it,” says Eli, his voice echoing in the empty space.

  “No, you don’t get it. You can’t do this.”

  “I have to.”

  I reach the opening of the shaft and see them facing off across from each other. The entire room is lit by a few florescent lights suspended over the ring, so they can’t see me lurking in the shadows. I know I should reveal myself, but seeing Eli like that freezes me in place.

  He’s stripped down to a pair of black athletic shorts, with his gloves raised protectively in front of his face. His golden skin is glistening with perspiration, and his chest and shoulders are as well muscled as I always imagined. He’s lean and fast, with perfectly cut abs leading down to his shorts.

  Then my eyes land on the burns trailing up his right arm from the explosion on the Fringe, and I get a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. I’m appalled that the drifters tried to blow him up — not once but twice. They’ve left their mark in the mottled pink patches of skin splayed across his perfect bicep and chest. But I don’t have time to dwell on that.

  Miles throws a punch. Eli checks it and delivers a counterstrike. His punch glances off Miles’s face, but Miles returns with a fake jab and a ferocious hook.

  They’re both wearing protective headgear, but I know from experience that it doesn’t do much to dampen the blow of a really powerful hit.

  The hook catches Eli in the jaw, and he staggers backward.

  They trade a few more strikes, each getting faster and more powerful.

  When Eli sucker punches Miles, I think that might be the end of it, but Miles comes up swinging. He drives Eli back with a relentless combination of punches and swings out a leg that connects just above Eli’s kneecap.

  Eli’s face twists in anguish, and his injured leg crumples underneath him.

  He throws an angry glare at Miles and scrambles back to his feet. He pushes him across the ring with a few jabs and hooks and a wicked uppercut.

  Miraculously, Miles puts a little space between them and gears up for a counterstrike. He uses a jab to cover his switch kick, and Eli never sees it coming.

  This time, Miles’s shin connects with Eli’s thigh — right where he was shot.

  Eli goes down hard with a strangled groan of pain, and the impulse to go to him is so strong that my legs nearly run over without me.

  “Sorry, man,” Miles pants. “I told you. You aren’t healed yet.”

  “Fuck you,” Eli moans, clutching his leg.

  “You can’t do this fight.”

  Eli breathes in deeply, trying to ease the pain.

  At first, I think he might give in, but he gets to his feet and tucks his chin. He tilts his head from side to side and wiggles his shoulders, loosening up with a little movement around the ring.

  “I’m fine,” he says, smacking his gloves together. “Let’s go again.”

  “You’re crazy.”

  Frustrated, Eli spits out his mouth guard and points his glove at Miles. “If you don’t want to help me, I can do it without you.”

  “How?” snaps Miles.

  “I’ll get Lopez or —”

  “You crazy son of a bitch. You can’t do this! Hell, I’ll fight. You can bet on me.”

  Eli jerks his head no. “It’s too risky. If Jayden catches you in another illegal fight, you’re screwed.”

  “What’s that bitch gonna do to me?”

  “Send you out into the Fringe until you get killed.”

  Miles stops arguing, and I can tell Eli’s warning scared him.

  Eli smacks his gloves together again. “Let’s go.”

  “No,” I say, stepping out from my hiding place.

  Both guys whip their heads around, surprised to have an audience. I suddenly think I should have just kept my mouth shut and made a quiet exit.

  “Harper, what are you doing here?” snaps Eli. His ears and neck burn crimson, and he throws an annoyed glance at Miles.

  “I was looking for you.”

  Miles is still staring at me in surprise, but I swear I see the shadow of a grin flit across his stoney face.

  Eli’s expression immediately turns serious. “Why? What’s wrong?”

  “Never mind. Eli, listen to him. You can’t do this. Your leg is just starting to heal.”

  “What’d I say?” Miles adds in a smug tone.

  Eli scowls at me, and I know I’m going to get the full brunt of his anger later. He doesn’t like bickering with me in front of Miles, and he especially doesn’t like me and Miles ganging up on him.

  “You know we don’t have a choice.”

  I take a few steps toward the ring so I can really look at him. “If you do this, you’re going to get hurt worse.”

  Eli scowls. “Do you have a better plan? Because I don’t.”

  I stare at him for a moment, thrown off by the question . . . and his chiseled arms.

  Before I have time to think about what I’m about to say, the words come tumbling out of my mouth. “Let me do it.”

  “What?”

  Miles’s smile broadens. “This ought to be good.”

  My brain is working in fits and starts, but then I remember something. “They have amateur fights before the main fights, don’t they?”

  Eli snorts. “Only when there are two novices who are crazy enough to do it. They never go past the first round. Somebody always taps out or gets too messed up to finish.”

  “So I’ll enter one of those. There has to be some girl who would fight me.”

  Miles and Eli exchange a glance, and Eli lets out a full-body sigh. He knows I’m serious, but there’s another problem.

  “Have you seen the girls you’d be up against?” he asks. He’s choosing his words carefully, which is so not like Eli. “Most of them —”

  “— would wipe the floor with your ass,” Miles finishes.

  Crossing my arms over my chest, I draw myself up to my full height and fix Eli with my most stubborn glare. “Then teach me . . . sir.”

  Eli’s eyes widen in an “I’m going to kill you” sort of way, but I twist my scowl into a sweet smile.

  Miles looks me up and down and then looks back at Eli. “This just keeps getting better and better.”

  Eli squeezes his eyes shut in a grimace, as though my stubbornness is giving him a migraine.

  Before I know it, I’m standing in the ring across from Eli, with Miles leaning between the ropes to give me instructions. I’m wearing his sweaty headgear and a pair of boxing gloves that look as though they haven’t seen any action in about a decade.

  Eli is in his fighting stance, still annoyingly sexy, but his face is all business. If I didn’t know any better, I’d be scared as hell, bu
t there’s a flicker of concern and pride in those bright blue eyes. He taught me everything I know about fighting, and I know he wants me to put on a good show in front of his best friend.

  “I’m not going to use full power,” he says around his mouth guard.

  I scoff and roll my eyes, but then Eli’s fist flies out and strikes me right in the nose. I yell, feeling my eyes start to water, and Eli takes the opportunity to sweep my feet out from under me.

  My ass hits the mat with a resounding smack, and I scramble to my feet, trying not to be a wimp.

  “Never let your guard down,” Eli warns sharply, looking as though he already regrets this.

  I advance on him before he has a chance to launch into a full lecture. I know he’s faster than me, but I throw out a jab anyway.

  Eli swats my glove away and takes the opening on my dead side to deliver another punch. His glove hits my headgear, but I’m still a little stunned.

  Eli isn’t using even a fraction of his power, but it’s obvious he’s been holding back even more in practice. His fists are faster than I ever imagined.

  Within seconds, he has me up against the ropes with my gloves forming a protective barrier between his fists and my face.

  “Come on, Harper!” he growls. I can tell he’s hating himself for this. “Do something.”

  The element of surprise is all I’ve got going for me. Eli knows this, and yet he’s gotten a little careless. He’s right up on me, and he doesn’t see my knee coming when it shoots up and drives straight into his abdomen.

  He grunts and eases up, giving me the chance to create some space.

  “Nice!” yells Miles from right below me.

  I don’t waste Eli’s momentary distraction. I swing out a wild hook to his face. It’s not a very powerful hit, but I feel my confidence mounting.

  When I hit him, Eli smiles — actually smiles — and aims a low kick.

  I block it with my shin, but he anticipated my movement. He delivers a wicked cross, and I barely slip in time to keep it from smashing straight into my face.

  I back away to put some distance between us and step out with a powerful round kick.

  Unfortunately, Eli never had a chance to break me of my worst habit. As my hips turn, I lean in — just as Eli’s fist flies out.

  This one is not as soft as the first direct hit.

  I hear Miles groan, and Eli’s eyes widen in horror. He hadn’t counted on me getting that close, and he hit me harder than he meant to.

  My glove goes up too late, and I’m stunned by how painful a real honest-to-god punch to the face is. My nose is throbbing through the back of my skull.

  “Harper!”

  In an instant, the fighter is gone, and the other Eli is back.

  His gloves bat mine away to get a look at my face, but I twist out of his reach to collect myself in the corner. I’m fighting back tears, albeit unsuccessfully. Usually I can stop myself from crying, but it’s as though the pain flipped the switch on all my screwed-up emotions.

  Somehow Eli is right in front of me again. His gloves are off, and he’s pulling me down into a seated position and yanking my gloves off, too.

  “I told you this was a bad idea,” he growls at Miles, reaching around to unfasten my headgear.

  Through the tears, I get a look at his face and shiver. Eli is furious with himself, but I know that’s his worst mood of all.

  “What are you talking about? She did great.”

  I glance at Miles and see that he’s grinning in approval. A muscle is working in Eli’s jaw as he pries the headgear off and searches my face with a worried expression.

  “Are you okay?” he asks.

  “Y-Yeah,” I stammer, still trying to get the waterworks under control.

  I’m embarrassed, but Eli’s too preoccupied with whatever’s going on in his head to make me feel any worse about it.

  He produces a towel and mops up the blood streaming from my nose. I freak out a little when I see it soaked with red, and I taste the blood running down the back of my throat.

  “This was a bad idea,” he mutters. “You’re not doing this.”

  “Sure I am,” I say. “Whoever I’m fighting won’t be as good as you, and —”

  But Eli is already shaking his head. “You’re not ready yet.”

  “So train me,” I snap. “I have a couple weeks to practice.”

  “It’s not enough. Some of these girls will have been fighting for a year. You’ll barely have four months of training.”

  “Well, I think you should let her do it,” says Miles, coming up behind me and grinning. “I’ll help her get ready.”

  “She’s not going to be ready,” Eli growls.

  “She’ll be ready enough. If she can take a hit like that . . .”

  “It’s not going to happen.”

  “Come on, Eli,” I groan, my voice oddly nasally. “I can handle it.”

  Eli lets out an aggravated sigh. “You really want to do it?”

  I nod, pinching the towel over the bridge of my nose to stem the bleeding.

  “Let’s wait until we see who she’d be fighting,” he says to Miles. “If she’s too good, we won’t take it.”

  I shrug, and Eli turns his glare on me. “Harper, promise me. If I tell you that you can’t win against this girl, you turn it down.”

  “Why? If you think I can’t win, just bet against me. Either way, we get the money.”

  Miles grins and cocks his head in amusement, but Eli is worried.

  Even though I’m determined to fight so Eli won’t have to, something tells me I don’t have a clue what I’m getting myself into.

  thirteen

  Eli

  There isn’t any place I hate as much as the Fringe, but Neverland definitely comes close. The noise, the people, the lights — everything about it puts me on edge.

  Every time I go down there, I keep my eyes fixed on the top of the tunnel, just waiting for it to collapse and crush everyone partying down below.

  That’s the problem with finding people who run illegal fights: Neverland is their playground. And if you want to fight, you have to meet them on their turf.

  I really should go alone, but Shane refuses to sign on fighters without meeting them in person, and he’s the guy we want. Most of the illegal fights are disorganized and give measly payouts, but Shane runs a top-notch operation with serious prize money. The trade-off is that you get tougher opponents, more dangerous fights, and a certain amount of indebtedness to Shane.

  The thought of taking Harper down to meet him gives me an uneasy feeling, but I shove it aside and pound on her door. Since it’s nearly midnight, the cadet tunnel is deserted. I still glance around nervously, though, hoping no one spots me down here.

  Harper opens the door dressed in tight black pants, knee-high boots, and a studded jacket. With her hair pulled up high in a messy ponytail, she looks like someone who’s not to be fucked with.

  “You have to change,” I blurt out, striding into the room to avoid being seen in the tunnel.

  She looks puzzled and then suspicious. “Why?”

  “You look like you’re ready for a fight.”

  Harper shuts the door and cocks an eyebrow. “Isn’t that the idea?”

  “You look too tough.”

  “What’s the problem?”

  My stomach does an uncomfortable flip. I do not want to have this conversation with Harper, of all people.

  “Don’t take this the wrong way, but Shane only books fights between female novices for one reason.”

  I hope that will be enough to make her understand, but she’s still looking at me as though I’m insane.

  “It’s not for the fight.”

  For a moment, Harper continues to stare at me. Then her face turns beet red. “That’s sick!” she shrieks. “What? Are they going to make me fight in a mud pit or something?”

  “N-No,” I stammer, fighting the image of Harper wrestling some girl in a mud pit. “But . . . he’s not loo
king for the toughest fighters, okay? He’s looking for hot ones who will draw a crowd. You should wear that dress.”

  I feel the heat burning a trail up the back of my neck, and I clear my throat for the umpteenth time.

  Harper’s mouth twists into a wicked grin that makes me want to go bang my head against the wall. “What dress?”

  “You know, that dress . . .” I’m bumbling like an idiot, and she’s enjoying it. “I don’t know which one.”

  That’s a lie. I’ve pictured Harper in that dress so many times I’d know it anywhere.

  Scooting around me with a mischievous grin, Harper goes to her closet and pulls out the dress. “Turn around.”

  I pivot to face the bed, and I hear a lot of unzipping going on behind me. My entire body is a heated coil, and I clench and unclench my fists to distract myself.

  What is wrong with me?

  “Better?” she asks.

  I turn around. Harper looks so different from the Harper I’m used to. She’s a knockout in strappy heels and a black dress that hangs over her shoulders from delicate silk cords. It dips down low in the back and shows off her awesome legs.

  “Almost,” I murmur.

  Without thinking, I reach over her shoulder and hook a finger through the tie holding up her heavy mass of dark hair. I pull, and it all tumbles down over her shoulders. Those legs and that hair combined with her silvery-gray eyes are enough to bring any man to his knees.

  I realize I’ve been staring at her too long and toss her hair tie onto the bed. I jerk my head toward the door, and she follows me out toward the emergency stairwell.

  Harper walks much slower in heels, which gives me time to collect myself as we make the descent.

  The heavy bass vibrates the walls around us and makes my skin tingle unpleasantly. “Ready?”

  She nods, and I shove the door open.

  The noise bowls me over instantly, and my eyes struggle to adjust to the flash of white light that washes over the crowd of gyrating bodies. The music is upbeat and trippy, and I imagine half the crowd is so burned they have no idea where they are.