Page 50 of All That Glitters

Without thinking, I press a hand to Marigold’s lower back and lead her inside. We enter the room, and we’re immediately transported to something far different than what I was expecting from a fraternity fight club. Something that makes me think we might be in over our heads.

Chapter twenty-four

First and Last

Marigold Belmore

Jameson hasn’t stopped touching me. The heat of his palm on my low back is disconcerting, which is rather inconvenient in a time like this. I need all my wits about me because we’ve stumbled into something much different than I anticipated.

Velvet drapes the walls, servers in tuxedos offer drinks as they pass by, and almost everyone is dressed as though they’re attending a cocktail party rather than a fight.

“I’m severely underdressed,” I say quietly.

Panic rises at the idea of drawing attention to myself. There are people present dressed more on the casual side, but the vast majority aren’t. I might as well have worn a big neon sign that says outsider in flashing red letters.

“I don’t think anyone will notice.” Jameson tries to reassure me as he leads us to the fray of the crowd.

I should protest, tell him we need to mingle, but I’m worried that if I try, I’ll incite more suspicion. We pass the ring, which stands out in the midst of the 1920s-style glamour. It’s a professional boxing ring, complete with a raised platform and ropes. There’s no one in it yet, but we are a little early.

“I expected a bunch of drunken idiots in a circle around two guys throwing punches,” I whisper to Jameson after we find a place near a swath of velvet.

“Me too,” he replies, his hand not leaving.

I wonder if he realizes he hasn’t moved it? Or if he’s so unaffected that he’s forgotten.

“There’s champagne, Jameson,” I hiss as a tray of flutes passes us. “Something weird is going on.”

He nods his agreement, then bends down to speak against my ear.

“We need to be here for as little time as possible,” he says in a low voice. Goosebumps prickle my skin. “You can take some photos of the room and the fight, then we need to leave, okay?”

His breath is warm against my ear, and the combination of that with his hand on me threatens to make me dizzy.

“Okay.” I whisper my reply.

We don’t have to wait long before Carson—who’s wearing a suit—hops the ropes to the ring and addresses the room from the middle.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he calls out, sounding like a circus performer. “I am pleased to announce that our first fight of the night is about to begin.”

Applause fills the room. The polite kind, that sounds like something from a golf tournament. What is this place?

“If our two fighters could please join me in the ring,” Carson says.

Two men enter the ring on opposite sides. They’re wearing shorts, boxing gloves, and … nothing else. Both of them are incredibly fit, sporting lean, rippling muscles as they bounce from foot to foot.

“If you haven’t placed your bets with Pierson—” Carson gestures to his right, where a man is standing behind a podium wearing a slick smile. “Now is your last chance. As soon as the bell rings, bets are locked into place.”

Carson claps his hands together and grins.

“We have three fights on the schedule tonight, the final being one I know you’re all excited to see.” The crowd erupts with salacious whispers. “Our illustrious founder, Hayes Rosewood, will take on the incredible Vincent Havershall in a fight like you’ve never seen before.”

The excitement of those around us is palpable in the air. Carson eats up the attention as though it’s for him, but it’s clear that whoever this Hayes is, he’s the one everyone wants to see. The name feels like one I should recognize, but I can’t quite place it.

“For now, let me introduce you to our opener.” He swings a hand toward one of the men. “Santiago Martinez, an up-and-coming fighter on our roster, but one who’s been trained by none other than Mr. Rosewood.” His arm swings to the opposite corner. “And Byron Edwards, longtime member of the Shadow Ring, with twelve wins under his belt.”

The two men cross to the middle where Carson stands. A referee in black-and-white stripes enters the ring as the fighters shake hands.

Carson smacks both of the guys on the shoulders good-naturedly, then heads out of the ring to a stand with a silver bell. He waits for the fighters to put up their gloves; then he rings the bell, the sound reverberating through the room. What follows it can only be described as a wave of chaos. The once dignified students begin to yell, pushing close to the ring and shouting at each of the fighters directions on what to do.