“What is it?”
“Melbourne, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, Isabelle has a son, and he spent his teenage years in a boarding school in Melbourne. I think he’s still there.”
“Really?” I ask. “That’s a coincidence.”
“Indeed. His name is, um, Pierce.”
“Oh. Like the James Bond actor?”
“Different spelling, I think. I’ve got a photo of him somewhere. Isabelle sent it to me.”
I watch as he manhandles his phone, punching the on-screen buttons the way he pecks at his keyboard.
“Ah, here we go,” he says.
He turns the phone around and shows it to me. There’s a photograph of Isabelle. She’s looking uptight and well-dressed as usual. And standing next to her is…
“That’s him?” I ask.
“Yeah. Why?”
I say nothing, just shake my head.
The guy is hot as hell.
Chapter Five
I’ve been invited to an illegal underground cage fight, and it’s only my first night in Melbourne.
Some might say I was off to a good start.
I look at Rose, one eyebrow raised. “You can’t be serious?”
She’s distracted, examining her nails. “Still not dry,” she says, looking up at me. “Yes, I’m serious.”
Rose, an old high school friend, has picked up some of the Australian accent since moving out here when she was fifteen. I like her… for the most part, but we’re quite different. Her idea of a fun night is certainly not the same as mine.
“Could we get into trouble?”
“Babe,” she says, rolling her eyes. “They’re not going to arrest five-hundred people.”
“Five-hundred?” I say in surprise. “That many?”
“Oh, for sure. It’s only the biggest fight this month.”
“Are there many fights?”
“Oh, every week. This is the biggest.”
“I don’t know,” I say, rubbing the tops of my thighs. “To be honest, Rose, I’m really not looking to get into trouble while I’m here. I mean, if I get arrested, I have to deal with the embassy, my dad will find—”
“Jesus Christ, girl!” Rose says, charging into the room and sitting on my bed. She crosses her legs. “You won’t be arrested. They’ll just tell everybody to leave, you know? They want the organizers and fighters, not the watchers.”
“Is it just one fight?”
“Yeah, one fight.”
“That’s it? All these people are turning up for one fight?”
“It’s the fight of the month. People are betting big bucks. It’s business.”
“Okay, this is starting to sound shadier and shadier by the minute. I think I’m out.”
She shrugs, and gets up. “Suit yourself. I was just asking if you wanted to come is all, not trying to put pressure on you.”
Rose is about to leave when I call her name, and say, “There’s more, isn’t there? I saw that look. There’s something you’re not telling me.”
She grins. “How could you tell?”
“I can always tell with you.”
“Fine, fine, there is something.”
“What?” I ask, shaking my head. “I mean, it’s just a couple of beefcake jocks beating each other up, right?”
“Well, not just any beefcake jock.”
I blink. “Well?”
“One of them is fine,” she says, drawing out the word.
I laugh, but shake my head. “I’ll need more of a reason than that to go down and risk getting arrested.”
“Okay,” Rose chirps. She turns around again.
“Rose,” I say, sighing. “What else is there?”
“Oh, right,” she says with a smirk, exaggeratedly pointing a finger at me. “You can always tell.”
“I can.”
“Well, it just so happens that you know one of the fighters.”
“I do?” I ask. My brows knit as I think about it, but I can’t imagine knowing any underground fighter. “I don’t think so.”
“Well, you don’t know him know him, but you do know him.”
I stare at Rose. Does she actually expect me to decipher that? “Why don’t you just tell me?”
“Pierce Fletcher.”
I’m about to say I don’t know who that is, and then it hits me.
Fletcher.
Isabelle Fletcher.
She’s dating my dad, and it’s her son. I flashback to the picture that dad showed me. He is fine, that’s for sure.
“You’re not serious,” I say through a half-laugh, half-scoff. I can’t believe it. She’s pulling my leg.
“I am.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about him before?”