Scum (Book 2)

113. V.I.P.

Chey’s POV

I was invited to watch Elijah’s fight with Noah and a few of their pack members, and while it wasn’t weird at first, as soon as the other girls arrived, everything became something else.

I complimented someone on her eyes, and she asked what I meant by it. I complimented another on her dress, and she vowed never to wear it again.

However, the oddest was when I reached out to shake someone’s hand, but his girlfriend literally intercepted it and shook it on his behalf.

That means I only have Noah to talk to, but he’s a terrible mediator, and at this point, I want to leave the arena.

“Just ignore them, Chey. This is the first time we’ve been anywhere non-work-related. We should enjoy ourselves.”

“I’m really trying, but-”

“Please?” the man interjects, holding his hands in front of his face like he’s begging.

“Okay, but let’s switch seats.” Someone scoffs, which almost makes me throw a punch, but I’m better than that now… or so I thought.

It was literally fifteen paces between where I wanted to go and where we were already sitting, but in that short distance, someone bumps into, yells at, and tries to embarrass me by pointing out how cheap my dress looks.

Already at the edge of my patience, I can’t just walk away from what I could only describe as a challenge.

“Let it go, Chey.”

“Let it go? You’ve been asking me to let things go since I walked into this place, but I’m tired of letting things go.”

“Noah…” I turn to see one of the people we’re ‘here’ with shaking his head, probably warning the man not to get involved.

“Cheyenne, this woman is-”

“I don’t care who she is. I came here to watch your brother’s fight, but if she’d rather become a spectacle, I won’t stop her.”

“Do you know who you’re talking to?”

“Someone who’s about to have their nose-” The woman swings, and that's all the permission I needed to beat the taste out of her mouth.

At least, that's what I thought I would do, but the sheer number of people who came to pull us apart has made that impossible.

“You b*tches need to calm down.” Where I’m from, that term is used literally, but in the city, it’s demeaning, and now I want to fight the person who said it. “This isn’t a place for petty squabbles. If you want into the ring, I’ll give it to you, but not right now; not when my main event is minutes away from starting.

“That's fine by me,” the woman says, flaring her nostrils as she tries to calm down.

“And you?”

“Do I look like I’m backing out?” I can tell the person speaking is friendly with or at least close to the woman who tried to attack me, so it doesn’t shock me when he approaches the man holding her and whispers in his ear.

“Your name?”

“Alpha Cheyenne Lively.” I swear I could hear everyone within hearing distance suck in a deep breath, and now, people are whispering. “What?”

“Chey, Let’s go…”

“No… Tell me why everyone is-”

“Can you just trust me? Let’s just go sit down over there.” A random man points to what looks like a restricted area, and it becomes apparent that I’ve now become V.I.P.

As soon as we sit, Noah starts whisper-shouting in my ear.

“Do you know where we are, Chey?”

“No; and why did everyone react to my name like that?”

“Remember when I told you ‘Just Chey’ was good enough?”

“Yeah… but I thought you were trying to keep your friends from feeling intimidated by me.”

“That’s part of it, but… Chey…” Noah looks like he doesn’t know what to say or doesn’t know how to say it, and as if on cue, Elijah comes out, seemingly pissed.

“Why the f*ck am I being called out here instead of warming up twenty minutes before my fight?”

“Cheyenne used her title,” Noah dryly replies, making me scrunch up my nose.

“Just tell me why that’s a problem.”

“Chey… curators aren’t a myth. Even if we gave our all, Noah and I can’t protect you from some of the sick f*cks who come to these events. You need to keep a low profile in this area.”

“She agreed to a damn fight, bro.”

“She what?” I don’t enjoy being talked around in this way, but I also acknowledge that I’m ignorant of many things, so I don’t complain. “Against whom?”

“Martha frickin’ Mcgregory.” Elijah's eyes go so wide that it looks painful, and then, the men go back and forth about what ‘we’ are going to do.

“You’re going to go back to warmups, someone else is going to get me clothes to fight in, and I'm going to sit right here and wait for-”

“Chey! This isn't your average girl. She-”

“Don't talk down to me,” I growl… “Just place your bet wisely.” I can tell that I've given the men a command, which is why Elijah just walked away from us.

“My brother says to stay here. He just mind-linked someone to get everything you'll need.” I'm angry, but not so much with Noah, so instead of giving him the silent treatment, I ask…

“Why do so many people know my name?”

“Come on Chey… You know how rumors work. People think you're collecting men to get pregnant.”

“WHAT?!” That's crazy, especially since my pack is mostly composed of women.

“I know. I know, but you have to look at it from an outsider's perspective. You're always with a man.”

“Yes, because they're my friends. Noah, I'm not even…” I pause, not sure if I should admit this to the man where anyone could overhear me. “I don’t want children, and I’ve never even gone into season,” I whisper. The man doesn't reply, but I start to smell something that embarrasses us both. “Sorry, I didn't mean for that to happen.” Noah has become aroused, teaching me that I need to be careful with what I say from now on.

Just because I don’t have the desire for s*x right now doesn’t mean that other people around me feel the same. “I’ll try not to say things like that again, okay?” We go back to being silent, but the damage is done. I will never be able to forget the way Noah’s arousal smells, and truthfully speaking, it’s pleasant. “So… What’s so special about Martha Mcgregory?” I ask, desperate to change the subject because I need to distract myself.

“She’s from a family of sports fighters. She’s probably been in the ring longer than anyone I know, and…” The man takes out his phone and shows it to me. “She’s professional, and dangerous.” I’m also dangerous, but I take the phone anyway, wanting to see if I can study the woman’s fighting style.

“She won’t fight you that way. You’re not human.”

“Is she rich?” An advertisement just popped up, and I’m curious about how much she makes now…

“She’s got a lot of endorsements; so, I’m sure she’s doing well.”

“Is it too late for me to get on board?” Noah explains that the process is easy, but rather than using my old social media account, we create a new one, and Noah helps me tag myself in some of the modeling pictures on Miguel's profile.”

“That’s it?”

“No… We need to talk some sh*t.” The man starts typing, periodically stopping to show me what he’s doing. “Now, we post this, and I’ll record the fight. If it’s any good, we’ll post clips.”

“And then I’ll make money?”

“Not immediately. Did my brother offer you anything before?”

“He needed a ring girl, but I didn’t want to walk around half naked.” Again, Noah becomes aroused, but this time he excuses himself.

I’m confused, so I text Marissa, wanting to know what words I shouldn’t use.

I can’t confidently say that I won’t go to bed with Noah if he asks right now, but I can’t leave because I don’t have my car, plus I don’t want to look like a coward.

Somehow, the conversation gets moved into a group chat where my worries are explained.

[Just be careful. You know how I feel about those men. I really wish you would have taken someone with you. I have a bad feeling about you being out there all alone.] I know that everyone feels that way, so I haven’t told them about my fight because I don’t want to panic them.

“I’m back.” Noah is holding a bag filled with clothes. “These are for you, and I’ve been asked to escort you to the back.” I follow the man to where someone from the G.A. is waiting, immediately making me cringe.

I’m supposed to inform my mentor if I engage in a fight, but I didn’t think this would get back to her.

I quickly text her, explaining the situation in as few words as possible.

[Cheyenne Lively. Do you want to be the death of me?]

[Are you implying that I’ll lose?] I hoped to turn the conversation against the woman, but it was a total failure.

[Nice try. I know who Martha is. She’s strong and she’s smart, so she only takes fights she knows she can easily win. Who’s overseeing things there?]

“Sir, what’s your name again? I have a mentor.” I shake my phone, making the man shake his head as though he pities the person looking after me before answering.

[His name is Craig Gibson.]

[Hmm… I don’t know him, and I’m too far from the location you sent me.]

[I don’t plan to lose. So, it’s okay. Oh, I forgot to tell you, I started a marketing profile.] My phone immediately rings, making me flinch.

“Chey, you better not be planning to drop out of school.”

“No way, but that Martha lady tried to hit me, and I don’t see a reason why I shouldn't profit off her rudeness.”

“Send me the link. I’m going to get it formally acknowledged. Call me if you need me, and Chey… Don’t kill anyone.” That's a fair warning, so I make a promise, and hang up just in time to read what appears to be a contract.

“A waiver?”

“We can’t guarantee your safety. This isn’t a title challenge, so it’s not to the death, but that’s not a given, so you’ll need to sign this too,” he says while handing me a beneficiary form. There’s no figure because this is an impromptu fight, but I’m guaranteed a payout which’ll go to Jett because my family practically abandoned me. “Good. Now go change and get ready to be called.”