Feuds (20 page)

A minute later, a graffitied sign for Dempsey Street appeared—she was lucky to be able to read it through the scrawls that crisscrossed its surface. The street was darker than Ballard, which was broader and seemed like the “main street” from way back when, but she proceeded down it anyway. Another ten yards and she could make out the forms of a bunch of people crowded in front of what looked like an old playhouse or maybe a movie theater. Despite herself, she was interested. She'd always thought old entertainment centers sounded kind of romantic—watching films on a big screen in a room full of strangers instead of the three-dimensional optic technology most homes were equipped with now. She heard the bellowing of cheers and saw the people outside begin to react to something inside—yelling catcalls and stomping their feet. She moved closer, her pulse quickening. Was it some kind of throwback film festival? That seemed off. Why had Cole wanted her to meet him here? She was so close to seeing him. She was furious with him. But she
had
to see him. But what was awaiting her there? Davis tried to push back the memory of their kisses, tried with all her being not to let it affect her.
Focus.
She needed to focus on the questions she planned to ask him. On the disease. Still, she could almost feel his lips on hers. Her hair brushed against her neck and she shivered, for the briefest second remembering his fingers on her neck, her shoulders.…

She was nearly in front of the theater before she started to pick out faces she knew in the crowd. They were standing in a roped-off area drinking flutes of champagne and glasses of whiskey. She recognized a minor celebrity—someone from a sitcom that had been popular a few years ago—and one of the execs who'd guest-lectured for her business class. There was Edward Peterson, a friend of her dad's. She had no idea what they were looking at, but it appeared to be some sort of adults-only, restricted thing, and they were all drunk, and she was pretty sure her dad wouldn't want to hear about her being there.

She reached for the hood of the silk jacket she'd swiped from Vera and tugged it high around her face, letting her hair down as she did, so it would shield her features. She wished desperately that she hadn't worn such an attention-getting outfit or high shoes, but there wasn't a lot she could do about it. If she kept her head down, she should be okay. She walked toward the entrance, palms moist.

“Hey, princess,” came a voice from her left. “Come to bet on some hard bodies? FEUDS isn't a place for little girls, not even little girls with an Imp fetish.” He let out a loud laugh, and the hair on the back of her neck rose, but Davis resisted the urge to turn. She approached the bouncer, who eyed her up and down and finally nodded.

“No free passes for women,” he told her. “Thirty bucks, plus your betting slips.” Davis hesitated. She opened her purse and pretended to rummage around while deciding whether she wanted to charge this to her P-card. Her dad didn't usually check to see where her purchases were made, but she suspected that if he did, this wasn't the type of venue he'd want to see on her bank statement.

“I've got the girl,” the obnoxious guy from behind her said, extending his own P-card toward the bouncer. “You can thank me later, honey.” The bouncer nodded and Davis moved forward without bothering to acknowledge the guy who'd paid, too worried about being recognized as Morrow's daughter.

“I wish more girls would come to this thing,” she heard another man mutter. “It's a total sausage fest in here.”

“Plenty of Imp girls to go around,” Davis heard before allowing the crowd to carry her all the way into the main arena. She cringed, her whole body reacting. Was this really how adult men—friends of her dad's, even—talked when they were hanging out? Because it was crude. And creepy. She shivered, despite the heat radiating from the crush of bodies. Every accidental touch held a threat. What
was
this place? Everything about it was unfamiliar, threatening.

Then she was in, and she got a good look at the arena. A half-dozen floor-to-ceiling, metal cages rose up in front of her, showcasing girls in tiny skirts and tasseled bikini tops. The girls twisted and gyrated in ways Davis would never dare. Every single movement breathed sex. She'd never seen anything like their dancing, which was uninhibited and unchoreographed and wild. She wondered if her own body could move like that, but everything she'd ever learned was about precision and training and a certain studied grace. This looser, more primal swaying made her envious. But her eyes stayed trained on their cages for only a fraction of a minute, because a larger, more imposing cage that rose from the center of the room drew her attention. Beyond the cage was a sign painted in scrawling black lettering.
WELCOME TO THE
FEUDS,
it said. And inside the cage, holding taped fists aloft—half-clothed, covered in sweat, and facing a human monster—was Cole.

 

12

COLE

The buzzer rang. The cage doors were flung open. Several men grabbed Cole and hoisted him onto their shoulders. Brutus was left half-conscious on the floor of the cage, awash in his own sweat and the dregs of spectators' leftover beer. Cole watched one drunk man spit on him and dump the contents of his cup all over Brutus's chest. The FEUDS was no place for losers. A girl rushed to Brutus's side and began to wipe at his wounds, her face creased with worry and dampened by tears. Cole felt a rush of relief at this, relief he couldn't explain.

Then he spotted Davis retreating out the door, and he jumped down from the guys' shoulders, rushing after her. He had no time to celebrate. He had to see her. He hadn't even been sure whether she would actually show. She was nearly gone by the time he managed to fend off the throngs of admirers. He sprinted to the end of Dempsey and caught her arm just before she entered the monorail turnstile.

“Nice fight,” she said in a bitter voice, trying to shake him off. So she had seen the whole thing. “I'd like to go home now, if you don't mind.”

“Davis,” he said. “Stop. Please, let me talk to you.”

“You got what you wanted,” she said. “I get it. You were right all along. We're monsters, too.”

“Too?”

“You should have seen yourself, Cole. They were bad, the Priors. All my dad's friends. Throwing things at you, shouting, wanting blood. But you? You were just as bad. You fought out there like you
wanted
to hurt that guy. Like you enjoyed it.” She was blinking back tears in a clear struggle to maintain composure. Her green eyes were so bright, they burned a hole straight into his heart. Her hair was disheveled but beautiful in its wildness. He wanted to reach out, bury his fingers in it, pull her close to him, and kiss away her tears. “I just can't believe I trusted you. Congratulations. You won your fight and you opened my eyes. Now leave me alone.” She moved toward the turnstile.

“Davis, please.” Cole reached for her, moving to grab her arm, but then he stumbled. For a second he thought he was going to fall. He was overwhelmed by fatigue from the fight, and his muscles were beginning to stiffen and his reflexes were slow. He managed to catch himself, but not before he noticed Davis hesitate and take a step toward him as if to help. His heart lifted at the small gesture.

“Just let me say this one thing,” he continued. “I only do it for the money. For my family. I hate being out there. I hate being that person, the kind of guy who will hurt someone else just for entertainment. For me, it's something else. Please believe that. I would never do this in a million years if I didn't think it was my ticket out. If I win, my mom won't have to work. I can get her medicine for her arthritis. Maybe … maybe we can get away from here. Or I can get them away from here. My family can have a different life. You don't know what it's like,” he finished, his eyes pleading with her, every part of him hoping she'd understand. She hesitated. She still wasn't looking at him, but she was listening. She wasn't leaving.

He wanted her to feel everything he felt pouring from his body, through his touch. “I care about you so much,” he told her softly. “I'm an idiot, and I've fucked up, but I care. I can't lose you. I want to protect you. Please, please let me make it better.” He moved forward, reaching out to her; she let him for a brief second, but then she moved a palm to his chest and pushed him firmly away. Her expression was blank.

“Please let me protect you,” he whispered. “You don't have to like me back. You just have to let me keep you safe. I'll tell you everything I know. This disease, Narxis … It's killing Priors. It doesn't come from the Gens. It's killing Priors because it sprang up from all those crazy treatments you guys get in utero. It's highly contagious, but only for Priors. Something about your genetic enhancements—or at least the process of being enhanced—made you vulnerable to the virus, and now that it's manifest, it's spreading
fast.
The bodies, there are more every day. Priors are dumping them outside the city, in the Slants, where I live. It's happening so quickly, Davis. You
need
to get help. I think maybe I could help you. We still have time. My friend, Tom, he—”

“I have to go.” She cut him off suddenly, her tone firm even as her body shook. She wiped the tears from her eyes and straightened her shoulders, taking a step backward. “I'm sorry. I need to go home now.” She turned and entered the turnstile without looking back, and Cole felt all the energy he'd had from the fight, and from seeing her, leave his body. He didn't have a P-card or any other way of following her.

“I didn't mean for any of this to happen,” he called after her. “Please don't go.” Physical exhaustion hit him so hard that he felt on the verge of collapse. But Davis stopped, turning back to him. His heart lifted. He moved toward her, intent on drawing her to him. But her eyes were focused on something else—something just behind him. Cole turned.

There, several feet behind him, stood Michelle, her arms wrapped around her torso, shoulders slumped. She wore only a sequined bra and jeans, but she didn't seem cold, only wilted. Her eyes were bright and her usual confidence had disappeared. Hurt and fear radiated from her body in waves. She turned from him and ran down the dark street. She'd seen everything.

“Michelle!” he shouted. But she didn't respond, and he knew he wouldn't follow. He heard the sound of her footsteps retreating down the road in the direction of the Slants. He'd be fooling himself to think she hadn't seen everything. Now she knew. Now one more person could potentially ruin him if she wanted. The fear he felt was muted; it blended itself with everything else he was thinking and feeling until he couldn't separate his emotions. This thing had spiraled so far out of his control. It should have been one of the best nights of his life—every step he made toward winning FEUDS should have been—but it was turning into one of the worst.

Davis didn't say anything, but her eyes were wide, asking all the questions she couldn't voice. “You're not safe,” Cole told her, grabbing her hands in his. “Go home now. Go fast. You could be caught. Michelle…” He glanced back in the direction Michelle had gone. “She could tell someone you're here. Go back and I'll find a way of contacting you. I promise you, I'll make this right.” Davis nodded, and Cole's heart nearly broke at the sight of her eyes welling with tears. She turned, pulling her hands from his.

“Bye, Cole,” she said.

“I'll find a way to fix this,” he said to her.

He watched her retreating form until he could no longer see her in the dark. Watching her go, wanting with his entire being to run after her, to keep her with him always, he knew—Davis was inside of him now, deeply rooted in his heart. He'd never be without her—it was too late. He couldn't lose her; it would destroy him.

Cole walked back to the arena, not even bothering to quicken his pace. Maybe Parson Abel would still be there, maybe he wouldn't. He was done trying to get what he wanted from that guy. Whatever happened now happened, as far as he was concerned. When he reached the entrance to the old movie theater, he was beginning to feel chills, and his side hurt like hell from where Brutus had broken his rib. But Parson was waiting for him outside, his face stretched into a wide grin, his chin dimpling against it.

“Nice fight,” he said, clapping Cole on the back. “Thought I'd lost you there for a minute, but you sure pulled through.” Cole grunted in response, waiting for Parson to finish whatever speech he wanted to give this time. “Brutus is in pretty bad shape, but man, you've nailed that rare ability for kicking the living shit out of a guy without leaving him for dead. The crowd loves that. Makes you look like a real golden child.” He paused, waiting for Cole's response. Cole stared back at him, gritting his jaw. He didn't want to say anything he'd regret, and he didn't know yet what Parson knew about him and Davis.

“Actually,” Parson continued in a calmer tone, “I should congratulate you on two jobs well done.”

“What are you talking about?” Cole hated himself for taking the bait. “I don't have anything for you.” Cole braced himself, waiting for Parson to lash out at him. He forged ahead, squaring his shoulders and staring Parson directly in the eye. “I didn't get your pictures,” he said, the challenge in his voice clear. “And I'm not going to. I would never betray her like that. I don't care what you do to me. Just don't hurt Davis.” Cole knew he was betraying himself with his words—giving away the truth of his feelings for Davis—but he didn't see any other way. Parson stared at him for a second. Then he burst into laughter.

“I knew you couldn't be trusted not to fall for her. And I knew you were a wild card. Which is why I took extra precautions to be sure you didn't screw everything up.”

“What are you talking about?” Cole's hands tightened into fists. He didn't like the smirk on Parson's face. He should have been furious; instead, he was enjoying this.