He spat out a mouthful of sand and clawed his way toward the man, who was now scuttling away on all fours to the other side of the dune. Kane fought harder to buck the weight holding him down. He didn’t recognize the animal noises coming out of him, guttural snarls and howls of fury. His teeth ached in a primal need to sink into flesh. Someone was shouting, but he couldn’t hear anything over the pounding of murder in his ears.
Then a sobering fist struck Kane’s jaw.
“…out of your mind?” Cutter yelled from above him. “You could’ve torn that guy’s head off! The boss will have your ass when he finds out!”
At once, Kane’s senses snapped into place.
Oh god. What had he done?
He’d attacked a guest! The Redshirts would punish him, maybe even change his work assignment. That would mean no more Gold. He didn’t think he could survive going back to the old inhaler. He had to do something to make this right.
“We won’t tell the boss what happened,” Kane said, but then he remembered the guest in blue, who wouldn’t stay quiet for long. He lifted his head and peered over the dunes for the man. “But first we have to kill that guy and hide his body.”
No, wait. That was bad…or was it? He couldn’t tell.
“Calm down,” Cutter ordered. “We’re not killing anyone.”
“But what if they take me out of the pit?”
A new voice, almost too soft to carry over the crashing wave, said, “They won’t take away your Gold.”
Kane craned his neck and found the woman in white peering at him through pupils so wide her eyes looked more like onyx marbles than human tissue. She didn’t seem to notice her guest had left, because she kept the blade suspended above her arm.
“You’re allowed two strikes,” she told him.
“How do you know?”
“Because I said no to this the first time.” She had a faraway look on her face, as if she were talking in her sleep. “I thought my supervisors would take away my Gold, but they gave me more refills, not less. Then they said I could have another chance if I apologized to my guest.”
Kane exhaled a long, hopeful breath. He could do that—apologize to the man in blue. And if the man forgave him, Kane would do better next time. He wouldn’t ask to run on the beach, or anywhere else, ever again.
Freedom wasn’t worth it.
When the Zhangs heard about the attack, they sent a maintenance worker to Kane’s dorm to install special bolts on all the doors and windows that locked from the outside. He didn’t know what happened to the lady in white after her supervisor came to take her away, but she was right. The boss gave him a second chance.
“Now you know why pit fighters and guests don’t mingle. I’m training you to be a warrior, not a socialite.” The boss slapped Kane on the shoulder. “Shake it off, kid. I’m not mad at you.”
“You’re not?”
“You’ve got a big heart,” the man said, shrugging. “That’s not a crime. But try not to feel sorry for the ladies. They’ve got their own special brand of Gold. Yours makes you fierce; theirs makes them numb. I promise those girls didn’t feel a thing. Besides, they’re not dead. They just passed out from blood loss. They’ll be good as new after a plasma shot.”
Kane nodded, though he couldn’t look his boss in the eyes.
“The whole resort’s buzzing about the wild boy who charged Nicky Malone and made him piss his shorts. You even have a nickname. They call you the Wolf.” His boss laughed while beaming with pride. “Did you really growl at Nicky?” Shaking his head, he murmured, “Damn, I wish I could’ve seen that.”
“Nicky Malone,” Kane repeated. That must be the man in blue. He’d offered to apologize, but the boss had forbidden it. He’d said it would make Kane look weak and hurt his reputation in the casino.
“He’s a real monster,” the boss confided behind his hand. “The Enforcers tried popping him for a bunch of murders on Earth, but he’s got the kind of money that makes evidence disappear. Know what I mean?”
Kane believed it.
“Anyway, it’s gonna be a full house tonight. Most of the guests are betting on you, and they haven’t even read the player profiles yet.”
Kane had almost forgotten about the competition. He glanced around the dorm at the other guys. Only ten of them would compete tonight, including Cutter. A few men were working the circuit, but most of them sat on the floor or lay in their bunks, talking strategy and resting up for the games. Maybe he should do the same.
“What are my odds?”
“Thirteen to one. Everyone loves an underdog.”
Kane crunched a few numbers in his head. If enough guests wagered on him at thirteen-to-one odds and he actually won, the casino would have to pay out a fortune. Which meant the Zhang mafia would lose money. He was no idiot. He knew what happened to people who stood between the mafia and their profits.
“Will Ari Zhang think I’m a liability if I win?”
His boss chuckled. “Hell no, kid. Zhang’s a businessman. He’s got a lot invested in you. Do you think he’s going to waste a good fighter by rubbing him out after a win?” He ruffled Kane’s hair. “Zhang wants you to fight hard. He’s coming to see you play.”
That surprised Kane. Ari Zhang still hadn’t made an appearance here, so for him to attend the fight was a huge deal.
“You look tense.” His boss offered the golden inhaler. “This’ll help.”
He was right. One breath later, Kane was invincible again.
“Don’t sweat the numbers.” His boss’s voice seemed to come from above the ceiling, like a distant crack of thunder. It rumbled one last message and then faded into the clouds. “The house always wins in the end.”
As promised, there wasn’t an empty seat in the casino that night.
Kane peered up from the pit courtyard—which, ironically, stood at ground level—and scanned the rows of stadium seating that continued all the way to the ceiling. He hadn’t expected so many spectators. At least five hundred guests of every nationality sat elbow-to-elbow, most of them laughing and talking in animated voices that hinted they’d sipped too much Crystalline with dinner. Their chatter created a steady din that Kane found annoying, but instead of retreating to the locker room, he continued his search until he found Ari Zhang in a private box in the middlemost aisle.
Zhang didn’t exactly resemble his mug shot, but Kane had no trouble picking him out of the crowd. Dark-haired with a neatly trimmed beard accessorizing his face, he relaxed against his seatback and surveyed the arena with the kind of detached arrogance that came with power. Kane had seen that expression on the older generation of royals on Eturia. Tonight Zhang seemed almost bored, as though he couldn’t decide whether the event was worth his time. Necktie Fleece and Nicky Malone flanked him on either side, though he paid them no attention. He must have sensed someone watching, because he met Kane’s gaze and held the connection with cold, unsmiling eyes.
Kane had never challenged a shark to a staring contest, but this was how he imagined it would feel. He couldn’t believe Renny had picked this guy’s pocket. He gave the man a nod of respect and left the courtyard for the privacy of the locker room.
Inside the enclosure, the clamor of nine voices reverberated off the walls, each more frantic than the last. The men sat on long benches, sharing theories and rumors about what to expect in the main arena, which none of them had seen. They’d entered the pit through a pair of doors that led to a small courtyard and the locker room, where they were supposed to wait until their scheduled time to compete. What existed beyond those walls was a mystery.
“I know a guy on the construction crew,” one man said. “He helped build this place, and he said the whole pit’s a maze of death traps.”
“Then who are we supposed to fight?” asked another man.
“The survivors, I guess.”
Kane turned his face toward the glass panels along the ceiling, long windows that allowed them to see the audience’s reactions during the gam
es. He scanned the guests until he found a group of men pointing at the arena. He couldn’t read their lips, but their eyebrows rose high enough to shrink their foreheads.
His palms began to sweat. He wiped them on the stretchy leggings his boss had made him wear, wishing he could take his Gold now instead of before game time. He was slated to compete dead last. He might actually crawl out of his skin by then.
When there were no more rumors to share, silence descended upon the room. Some men stood from the benches and paced the floor. Others closed their eyes and chanted prayers under their breath. Even Cutter seemed shaken, staring at his enormous hands without blinking. The group’s fear struck Kane in an unexpected way. Until now he’d thought of these men as competitors and not real people. But that was what they were—brothers and sons with sweethearts they’d left behind, just like Kane.
They were all ordinary guys.
And he had to fight them? Maybe to the death?
“Listen up, men,” called their boss as he entered through one of the doors leading to the arena. A few guys leaned aside to peer past him, Kane included, but there was nothing to see out there except another wall. “It’s almost game time, and I know you’re feeling the pressure. I’ll give you something to take the edge off”—he shook his inhaler—“but first we need to go over your objective. The pit changes every day, so no two games are ever the same.” He pointed at a different set of doors. “Tonight you’ll compete in pairs. There are two different mazes, one for each of you. Your job is to make it to the battle platform on the other side, where you and your opponent will fight until the master of ceremonies tells you to stop.”
So it was true. The pit was a maze.
The man with a buddy on the construction crew raised his hand. “What’s inside the maze, boss?”
“I’m not allowed to say. All I can tell you is to be on your guard. The pit’s interactive. There’s a control panel on each seat, and the guests will try to sabotage the players they’re betting against.” He glanced at Kane. “The crowd’s favorite will have the easiest maze, but don’t let that fool you. These people didn’t come here to watch an ordinary sport. They can do that at home. They came here to watch you bleed.”
Kane’s stomach lurched.
“Now, bump up, all of you.”
The boss handed his inhaler to the first man, who took a breath and passed it down the line until it came to Kane. He pumped the cartridge two times before giving it to the next guy. Instantly, the Gold washed away all his fear and replaced it with energy. He shot up from the bench and jogged in place, wishing he could be the first player instead of the last. He was going to turn this maze over his knee and spank it.
A booming voice echoed through the speakers, welcoming the guests to the very first Adel Vice Bloodsport Tournament. The master of ceremonies introduced the first pair of fighters, and the men strode out of their respective doors to thunderous applause. When the applause died, a buzzer sounded, and at once, the crowd cheered.
Kane jumped up and down while glancing out the window. He couldn’t see the maze, so he watched the spectators for a sense of what he was missing. Some guests leaned forward in their seats, yelling and pumping their arms into the air. Others punched buttons on their armrests. Every now and then, odd sounds would come from the pit—thunks and thwacks—and the guests would react by cringing and drawing their shoulders to their ears. One person shook his head and stood up to leave, but the rest seemed riveted, even the ones who hid their eyes and peeked through their fingers.
Kane listened for the MC to tell the players to stop fighting, but the announcement never came. There was another buzz, followed by a simultaneous moan of disappointment from the crowd, and then his boss told the next pair of players to step up to the doors.
The next round seemed shorter than the first, and so did the round after that. Each game ended with the same unsatisfied groan from the spectators. Kane was beginning to think the players weren’t making it to the battle platform at all. Then his boss called the fourth-round players, and Cutter strode to the door.
“Good luck,” Kane told him, but Cutter didn’t look back.
The buzzer sounded, and Kane returned his attention to the guests, whose tolerance seemed to have waned. Now they watched the game while cringing and sucking air through their teeth. Even more of them hid their eyes. At one point, there was a scream from the pit, and one man in the stands clapped a palm over his mouth and lurched as if to vomit.
Their reactions broke down Kane’s confidence. He peered at the doors to the maze while sweat slicked his body. The Gold in his system was no match for the adrenaline pumping a steady warning through his veins in time with his heartbeat: Don’t-go, don’t-go, don’t-go.
The MC’s voice called, “And our first champion—Brock Cutter!”
The crowd cheered. Kane was glad to hear Cutter had made it to the other side, though it didn’t escape his notice that the MC hadn’t told the players to stop fighting. Either Cutter was the only man to survive the maze, or he’d killed his opponent.
“Last team, you’re up.”
Kane shared a terrified glance with the other player, a tall guy he vaguely recognized from the dorm. Both of their chests rose and fell too quickly as they made their way to the doors. Their boss clapped his meaty hands as if to motivate them, but then frowned at the sweat stains on Kane’s bodysuit.
“Listen, you two,” the boss said. “It’s a horror show out there tonight, so I’m gonna break the rules and give you some pointers. Your ears are your best defense. Pay attention to the sounds inside the maze. If you hear a pop, get down. Same goes for a sizzle. If you hear a grinding noise, jump high and fast. Understood?”
Kane tried to say yes, but his mouth was too dry.
The door swung open before he was ready, revealing a short, walled-in passage that ended in a ninety-degree turn to the left. The floors and walls were painted glossy black, and here they were clean. He didn’t expect that to last long.
The MC announced the tall man’s name and then Kane’s alias, Jude Warren. “But you might know Jude by another name,” the MC said in a voice to build the crowd’s excitement. “Let’s give an extra-loud Vice Den welcome to our very own Wooooolf!”
Manic applause roared from the arena, and as much as Kane hated it, he was grateful for the crowd’s favor. It meant less sabotage in the pit. A push from behind set his feet in motion, and the door slammed shut behind him. He kept his gaze fixed straight ahead as he strode to the end wall. He peeked around the corner and found a similar passageway, so he crossed that, too, and then darted a glance at the next leg of the maze.
A smear of blood on the floor warned him into a slow creep down the corridor. When he reached the crimson stain, he heard something grinding beneath the floor, and he leaped up barely in time to avoid a trio of whirling circular saws that rose through the floor and retracted just as quickly. Heart pounding, he took two steps and detected the scent of burnt hair. A fizz emitted from the left wall, and he dove for the floor, feeling the heat of open flames crackling above him. Pain seared the back of his neck, and he reached behind him to smother any live embers on his collar.
He stayed low after that, crawling on his belly and praying that the next threat would come from overhead. At the following stretch, a bubble popped, followed by a spray of pellets that burst into acid upon contact. They didn’t strike Kane directly, but the acid dripping down the walls made his eyes burn, temporarily blinding him as he pushed to his feet and stumbled around the next corner to face an electrified grate.
Before long, he noticed a pattern in each corridor—one death trap from below and then two from above. He made it through three more stretches by repeating the same jump-dive-dive sequence, then he picked up the pace in the next passageway, hoping to outrun the spectators trying to kill him from the stands.
Their controls were faster than his boots. New horrors faced him around every turn, each designed for maximum gore. The fans cheered him o
n, and he hated them for it—for taking pleasure in his pain. He fantasized about forcing them through the maze and barricading the end so they could never escape. Then he would sit in the stands with the ladies in white and let them press as many torture buttons as they wanted.
The daydream was sweet, but it distracted Kane from the next pop. He dove too late, feeling a stab at the top of his right arm. When he hit the floor, he found six inches of razor protruding from his flesh. He glanced ahead and saw the battle platform at the end of the corridor, so he left the blade in place and half crawled, half ran toward the finish line.
He crossed it with a sob of relief, bracing himself for a riotous cheer. But the applause didn’t come. Panting, he climbed the steps to the platform and raised his face to the stands, wondering why the crowd wasn’t celebrating. His opponent hadn’t emerged from the maze, and the sick twist in his gut told him that wouldn’t change. He’d just won these sadists a lot of money.
Why weren’t they clapping?
“Our very own Wolf has made it to the championship round!” called the MC. “Now one final battle will determine tonight’s winner!”
One final battle?
Kane glanced around. There was no one to fight.
Two Redshirts appeared at the base of the stairs, holding a man between them who was so weak he couldn’t support his own head. One side of his bodysuit was scorched, the other side crusted in blood. When the Redshirts reached the platform, they carried the man to center stage and dropped him there. Then he rolled onto his back, and Kane saw his face.
It was Cutter. Or what was left of him.
“Now for the final task,” the master of ceremonies said in a dark tone Kane knew was intended for him. “Finish your opponent.”
Kane couldn’t move. He stared at Cutter and noticed two fingers were missing from his right hand. Fresh blood pooled beneath his thighs, but in a slow trickle that indicated how much he’d already lost. This man was broken. Even for the perverts in the stands, what enjoyment could they gain from a fight as unfair as this?
Starfall Page 25