Unwritten Rules (Rules 1)

“Can’t I just stay here? Do I absolutely have to witness this act of violence?”

Alex shakes his head. “The prize has to be present during the fight. I’m sorry. That’s the rule.”

“Who made up that rule? Is it written in stone? I’d like to see it stated somewhere, or I’m not going.”

Will grins, getting out of the car.

“Call it an unwritten rule.”

I try to swallow the lump in my throat and fail. When I finally gather the courage to get out of the car, I’m welcomed by utter and complete darkness. The tunnel hovers in front of us, reminding me of every horror movie where the girl dies ever.

They want me to go in there?

If I wasn’t surrounded by extremely well-trained fighters right now, I’d have peed my pants already.

“So where is the fight happening? Are we the first ones here?”

Will scoffs. “Cute. You think because we’re called street fighters that we actually fight in the street?” His gaze shift to the boys. “The Downside, huh? I thought we’d moved on from that.”

Blake shrugs. “The fighter responsible for the deal gets to pick, you know that.”

I assume it means whoever challenged the enemy into the fight gets to choose the place and time. Well, I guess I have Haze to thank for giving me nightmares for the rest of my life.

Blake speaks again. “Plus, it’s the safest place right now. They’ll never find us here.”

I know that by they he means the authorities. Kendrick said that they heard about the fights from whispers on the street and rumors running around town. But it’s like a unicorn. Hearing of it and actually finding one are two different things.

The fights constantly changing location make it near impossible to track the “show.” That’s what they call it. You need to be in the inner circle to know when or where they happen, and from what I’ve heard, that’s not an easy circle to get into. That makes me wonder how Blake, who was the first one to get into it, did it.

“Okay.” Kendrick steps in my way and looks deeply into my eyes. “We need to go over the basics before we go down there. One wrong move and everything could turn to shit. First, don’t interfere with the fight—never. Even if Haze is beating the shit out of me, you don’t say anything. Whatever happens, he won’t kill me. He can’t. Not if I surrender. Do you understand?”

I nod halfheartedly.

“Second, you have to be willing to surrender. Ten seconds on the floor marks the end of the fight. If you don’t accept defeat when you can barely stand, your opponent will not be held responsible if the last punch kills you, whether it’s voluntary or not.”

In other words, he has the right to kill you.

Goose bumps creep onto my skin.

“Just like when betting on anything such as horses, car races, you only have one chance to bet and there are no refunds. You’re responsible for losing your money. So in conclusion, keep your head down, don’t draw attention to yourself, and everything should be fine, okay?”

Only then do I realize my eyes are flooded. Kendrick stares at me in shock. I can’t handle the guilt. He’s in this mess because of me. If I hadn’t followed him, I wouldn’t have to look over my shoulder every step I take. If I’d just stayed home, he wouldn’t have to worry about what’s going to happen to me if he loses.

When a tear rolls down my face, the coldhearted fighter standing in front of me comes apart and turns back into the little boy I grew up with, the boy who stood up to my bullies when we were six, the Kendrick I ate entire boxes of cookies with in secret.

“I’m so sorry you got dragged into this, cousin.” He pulls me into a hug. “It’s going to be fine, I promise. It’ll all be over soon.”

I should feel better, but I don’t. It’ll all be over soon, he says.

But for who?

As we get closer to the tunnel, I try and assemble the million pieces scattered in my mind. What’s the Downside? And how the hell do we get there? Kendrick leads the way toward the unknown. When he activates the flashlight on his phone, the cement walls hovering over and around us reveal graffiti of all sorts. One graffiti tag in particular catches my eyes.

WS.

“We’re in West Side territory,” Alex explains when he notices the way I peer at the bold letters.

Of course we are.