“It was a mistake to include a female with the rest,” someone muttered.
Another voice chuckled as they hefted me off the ground. “Well, we’re eliminating that factor now—and I hear we got a good price for her.”
I groped for any remaining shred of control over my body, but everything went black.
One
Riva
It’s been four years, eight days, and I don’t know how many hours since I last saw my guys.
One of my current jailers cracks open the door to my room just wide enough to toss a bottle of water my way. The din of the growing crowd in the arena down the hall rises and then ebbs when he shuts the door again.
The bottle lands with a sloshy thump by my feet. I reach for it, the heavy shackles dragging at my wrists, and pop the cap immediately.
My throat is parched. Normally my keepers leave me with a few bottles on hand, but I finished my last one this morning, and the pricks didn’t even bother to deliver a beverage with my dinner.
But obviously they expect me to be properly hydrated for this week’s cage fight. Wouldn’t want the star of the show giving a sub-optimal performance.
The lukewarm liquid slides down my throat, not half as refreshing as I’d like it to be. When I’ve finished chugging, I toss the empty bottle back toward the closed door with a grimace.
I roll my shoulders and glance toward the workout area of my room, but I usually give my body a break the day of a match. I only did a light round of stretches and cardio on the mat this morning.
I need to preserve my energy—both to win the fight and to make sure I win itmyway.
In the past several months, the boss who runs this place has been arranging increasingly volatile opponents. If I’m going to meet whatever unpredictable moves they’ll throw into the mix, I have to be fresh and sharp.
My gaze veers to the TV mounted on the concrete wall, the only entertainment I’m given in my new prison. I don’t get to pick the content. From breakfast time until lights out, it broadcasts a steady stream of different shows that I assume my keepers chose.
All I get to decide is how much I tune in.
I don’t want to watch the gaggle of friends on the screen right now laughing and clinking glasses, even with the sound diluted by the voices filtering through the wall from the arena. The image makes my stomach twist with the thought of how much I’ve lost.
I close my eyes, and for a moment, Zian is here with me. His dark brown eyes glint fiercely as he cuffs me lightly in the ear.You’re going to take these assholes down, even if you’re a shrimp.
I haven’t managed it yet,I say to my imagined version of him.
I picture Dominic standing nearby, watching us with his usual pensive gaze.You’ve done everything you can,he says in that careful way of his as if he’s measured out every word.They haven’t given you many options.
They haven’t. Except for the fights, I’m restricted to this room and these cuffs. I’ve seen enough guards march me to and from the arena to know the boss keeps a large force.
I could tear through five, maybe ten of them, sure—but then what? I’d end up riddled with bullets, with no chance at all of getting back to my guys.
Or worse, these bastards might report back to the facility that the property they sold is failing to meet expectations, and the guys would end up bleeding on my behalf too.
One of them has already died because of my failures.
The memory of Griffin’s crumpled, bloody body flashes through my mind, and all my muscles tense against the prickle of tears. I don’t want my keepers seeing the slightest vulnerability in me.
But not even the imagined figures in my head know what to say about my horrible mistake.
What if the other guysaren’tstill alive? What if—
My chest constricts. Without further thought, I flick out a claw and scratch it across the inside of my arm, just below the armpit, where dozens of matching scars crisscross my pale skin.
I’ve done this test before, so many times, but I need the visible confirmation.
A tiny trickle of blood spills out—and so does a wisp of black smoke. As I stare at it, my left hand drops to my upper thigh, where a tattoo marks my skin beneath my sweatpants.