One of the rumors about this place is that the cafeteria is where the boys would start fights with each other. This was the one time that they were all crammed into one room at the same time. So they had the staff walk around the upper levels, giving them a better visual of trouble below—a bird’s-eye view. The skylights above give us the best lighting. Kids have flashlights, glow sticks, and some even bring homemade torches.
It makes me think this place was once ran like a prison. But now, imagine a prison with no guards, no order whatsoever to control the prisoners—that is what Death Valley is. I’ve seen kids as young as twelve here partying, and I’ve seen men in their thirties snorting coke off high school girls. There are no lines that aren’t crossed here.
“What’s going on?” Lacey yells over the music and roar of the crowd.
“He’s about to fight,” I answer, leaning over so she can hear me better. “That’s the only reason we come here. To fuck, fight, or get high.”
Matthew raises the microphone, smiling as he spins around in a circle. “Welcome to the GRAVEYARD!” He throws his head back and screams the last part.
“Graveyard?” Lacey whisper-yells in my ear.
“It’s where they fight,” I answer. “Where the fallen bodies are laid to rest.”
Illegal fighting at its finest. Bored rich kids or desperate poor kids—your wealth doesn’t matter here at the Graveyard; you fight like your life depends on it. I’ve seen kids even bet pink slips to their cars parked out in the fields. As long as the fighters agree beforehand, then it’s up for grabs.
Another kid that I’ve never seen before jumps into the center as well. Kids come here from all around, some even from out of state, to make their bets and fight their asses off.
The song changes to “The Devil In I” by Slipknot, and both of the guys raise their fisted hands and start circling the makeshift ring.
Scout throws a punch first. Like always. The guy is never afraid to beat the shit out of someone. His fist hits the guy so hard that he’s shoved back into the crowd. They pick him up and practically throw him back in. Scout kicks his leg out, knocking the guy to his back, then he straddles him, both of his fists flying as he pounds on the guy’s face.
It only takes a few seconds, and the guy lies there, bloodied face and passed out cold.
Everyone explodes even louder in cheering him on over the thundering music as Law yanks him off the guy. He lifts Scout’s bloody right hand into the air. The floor under my feet shakes with how hard people are stomping and slapping whatever they can find against the concrete walls. Scout never does disappoint when it comes to pleasing the crowd. My eyes sweep over his toned abs and undeniably perfect V even though blood from his opponent covers most of it. It shouldn’t turn me on, but it does. I should be disgusted by the very sight of him. After what he’s done to me. After what he allowed the others to do to me.
I used to be his biggest cheerleader, standing off to the side and cheering him on. I’d watch him destroy others, and then I’d jump into his arms and kiss him. Fuck him at the end of the night. Even now, after everything, my pussy is wet and my nipples are hard.
It’s fucking pathetic.
The crowd begins to chant his last name. He turns and looks up at me like he feels my stare. And he smirks.
I step back and look at Lacey. “Let’s go.” I’ve had enough of memory lane tonight. Coming here wasn’t going to accomplish anything except for them playing with me like a toy and me getting turned on like a complete idiot.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
RYAN SCOUT
I WATCH HENLEY turn and walk away. My smile widens. Our little doll thinks she can take us on. I know what she’s doing. It’s not going to work, but I’ll give her time. I’ll let her think she has a chance at beating me.
My eyes slide to the right, and I spot two guys I know. Everyone knows of them—the Great White Sharks. Cole Reynolds and Deke Biggs moved here from Oregon. A lot of kids at Westbrook High have older brothers and sisters who attend UT, so word of them spread like wildfire when they started at the University of Texas last year.
There are several rumors about them, and their story sounds similar to the one Henley fabricated. The only difference is Dax really is innocent. He didn’t rape Brenda, and he sure as hell didn’t kill her. I have a feeling that the Sharks did exactly what they were accused of but were smart about it. I know if I ever kill someone, no evidence would be left behind to convict me. No. I’d bury that body deeper than a man could dig. And I’d frame someone else to take the fall. Because I’ve seen my father do it a hundred times in his business.