by Stone, Layla
This was the part of the day that he hated most. The times when he had to look at his scars. Disfigured, no longer the clean, sharp-figured male he once was. A tough gladiator now, his body was littered with white, jagged lines from stitches, and he had large pits in his thigh and upper chest.
He was celebrated by his audience. They cheered for him every time he walked into the stone arena. Every time he killed another challenger. But in public, the masses feared him, deeply assuming he was like the other gladiators who used their fame and power to take advantage of those without protectors. Mothers shielded their children, and young females lowered their eyes or, more often, hid.
He inhaled and hissed as he pulled the needle through his skin again.
A hard knock sounded at the door.
“Come in.” He watched the slab open through the mirror. He hadn’t locked the door because he was waiting for the Chancellor’s financier to deliver his winnings. Fifty keleps. It was more than most people made in a season.
Jarr-o held the needle away, turning in surprise as the Chancellor walked in. The Chancellor, an older Angny, had short, thick, grey hair. He maintained his bulky size by lifting daily. His tusks were uneven, one shorter than the other by an inch. He was strict, allowing only clean fights and fighters into the arena. He was the first arena owner to put his warriors in dorms and treat them well, rather than like slaves—contracted to fight until they died. Today, the Chancellor was in his usual loose-fitting cream top with an open neck and no sleeves, dark blue, puffy pants that gave him room to maneuver quickly, a dark brown, braided leather belt that held two daggers in the back, and brown leather boots.
The Chancellor lifted his chin at Jarr-o in greeting. They had a professional acquaintance. Jarr-o was his top-ranked gladiator and brought in the biggest crowds. But the Chancellor was the kind of male who didn’t show favoritism; he treated Jarr-o the same as he did any of his lower-ranked fighters. Jarr-o respected that, but some gladiators demanded more than they earned, and when they did, every single one of them was quickly released from the Chancellor’s employment.
The Chancellor held a thick, silver chain that trailed behind him. He pulled softly at first, then cursed and tugged harder, causing the body on the other end to fall at his feet. When the thing moved against the chain around its neck, the Chancellor put his foot on its back. “Know your place, slave girl.”
Girl? Jarr-o took a better look at the strange, thin-framed alien lump on the ground. She wore a baggy brown jumpsuit that exposed her thin, peach-colored arms, and bare, dainty feet. Her ratty, auburn hair was gnarled with knots. Her breath was strangled, either because she had been struggling for a while with the Chancellor, or because the weight of his foot on her back made it difficult to breathe.
Jarr-o turned to take a better look. With each breath she took, he could see small pebbles blow farther away on the stone ground. Against his better judgment, he remained where he stood instead of going to the girl’s defense. He didn’t like seeing any female in chains.
Jarr-o watched the Chancellor carefully, unsure why he was holding a slave.
The Chancellor removed his foot and watched the female on the ground as if he were waiting for her to put up another fight. When she remained still, the Chancellor turned his attention to Jarr-o.
“Forgive me for not meeting you after your win, I was”—he looked down at the woman with a deep frown—“resolving an employee issue.”
Jarr-o nodded, understanding that the Chancellor was swift to resolve any issues amongst his staff. It was one of the qualities he respected about the old gladiator. Jarr-o gave the Chancellor a slight nod, accepting his apology, and returned to sewing up the last of his wound. Blood was running freely down his face now, dripping into the basin.
“I …” The male cleared his throat. “I wanted to personally deliver your winnings,” the Chancellor said.
“Hm-k.”
“Where do you want me to put—”
“On the table,” Jarr-o answered, before hearing the Chancellor end his statement with “the slave girl.”
“The wha—aahh.” He pulled the string too tightly when he turned to look at the old gladiator holding the chain out in his palm. In shock, Jarr-o stared at the thing as if it were a puzzle. What was this? A gift from the Chancellor? Surely, he’d misunderstood him. He hadn’t won a female. Unsure, he refrained from moving towards the offered chain.
The Chancellor didn’t look pleased by Jarr-o’s taciturn response. He took another step in his direction. “I was informed by my financier that the fight you agreed to was approved and verified by the yardmaster,” the Chancellor said, pausing as if he weren’t sure he wanted to confess the whole story. The old male continued, “When the financier went to retrieve your earnings, he found that the yardmaster had been poisoned and the fifty keleps were gone. That’s when he came to get me. After speaking to several employees, I was told the gladiators you fought cheated by using illegal dust on you.” The old male looked him over as if proud of him. “And yet, you won.”
Jarr-o didn’t like where this was going. Further still, what did the woman have to do with any of this? “If the money is gone,”—he pointed at the female on the ground—“why are you trying to pay me in flesh?”
Something dark passed over the Chancellor’s eyes, but Jarr-o had no idea what it meant. The old gladiator answered, “If any of my other fighters had won, I wouldn’t have offered this female. I would have told them they should have verified the money through my scheduler and not assumed that the fight was an in-kit.” Jarr-o felt the censure, but it was deserved.
The Chancellor continued, “Through my connections, I discovered they didn’t live in the city but had arrived on a stolen Federation ship.”
Angny pirates? It wasn’t often that Jarr-o was surprised by his race’s career choices, but his race was primarily made up of proud ground walkers.
“I found their ship and hoped to find your money or something of monetary value. But the only things there were spoiled food and this female in a cage.”
Jarr-o narrowed his eyes, repulsed by the idea that he would accept a slave female. He didn’t believe in subjugating the weaker sex, and more upsetting was that the Chancellor never, ever allowed slaves to be used as payment. “And you assumed I would accept this payment? I don’t fight for slaves. You should know this.” He didn’t hide his disapproval.
Shaking his head, the Chancellor said, “I do know you, Jarr-o. And I know that you have two options: either take her now or take how much I sell her for.” The Chancellor waited patiently for Jarr-o’s answer.
It was unacceptable. This small female would be more punishment than prize. If he took her, he would have to care for her, feed her, and keep her alive. All of a sudden, he was assaulted by memories of taking care of Garr-n…all the whining, complaining, and endless chattering about what the neighbors were doing.
No way was he going to be responsible for another person. No way would he accept this slave. He was unnerved by the thought of it. “Neither,” Jarr-o said firmly.
“You fought for free?” The Chancellor sounded amused.
That grated on Jarr-o’s nerves. Promptly, Jarr-o returned his attention to his wound, giving him time to think of a counteroffer as he tied off the thread and dropped the bloody needle in the cleaning solution. He realized that the Chancellor was out of options. Using a caged female as payment was beneath the Chancellor. Jarr-o wondered if he would be willing to negotiate. Jarr-o was the one being cheated out of his due gain. He should be the one to stipulate what his new payment should be.
Jarr-o dabbed cinder oil—a powerful healing reduction that stimulated the muscles and sinews to rebuild—over the wound, fighting the urge to wince from the burn of the salve.
He left the utensils in the sink and addressed the shrewd arena owner thoughtfully. “This is your arena. It’s not my fault that your employees cheated you and me, but you are responsible for them,
regardless.”
The Chancellor’s grey eyes narrowed slightly. Jarr-o knew the Chancellor was following what he said, and it would anger him.
Jarr-o looked at the female on the ground and noticed something even more peculiar. Her eyes were open and alert. She peered at him as if she understood everything he said. He had never seen this kind of alien before. He was curious whether she genuinely understood him. “What are you?”
Keeping her body firmly flat on the ground, she was able to turn her head slightly to answer. “I’m human, and if you killed the two ugly bastards who kidnapped me, I’m grateful. But not enough to be your slave. You want money or whatever you call your coins, then sell the stolen ship.”
The older male looked down and tilted his head. Pursing his lips. “It’s a Federation ship. I’ve already alerted them to come and retrieve it.”
Rolling slightly to look at the Chancellor, she chuffed disrespectfully, reminding him of Garr-n’s inability to show reverence. “I’m sure they will reward you with a finder’s fee.” Turning back to Jarr-o she said, “And you can split the money. What do you say?”
The Chancellor accessed the woman quietly before adding, “I’ve never heard an alien speak our language so well. How long were you enslaved?”
Jarr-o was pleased by the change in the Chancellor’s tone with regards to the slave who was clearly not a girl but a woman. Shorter and thinner than Angny females, but still an adult. It might be easier to sway the Chancellor to keep her for himself, allowing Jarr-o to negotiate a different payment option.
The woman said, “A year.”
“Impossible, there is no way you could have learned our language that fast. If you are willing to lie so easily, what would make me believe that you were kidnapped and not an actual slave?”
Glaring at the Chancellor, she said, “Your language is a broken one based on the universal language. It wasn’t hard to learn.”
Jarr-o attempted to smooth the tension between the two. “What’s your name?”
Intriguing blue eyes moved up to him, accompanied by high cheekbones and full, sensuous lips. Alarmed by his observation, he forced himself to look away from her. He checked his emotions and reminded himself to treat her like an opponent. Distant. Objective.
“I’m Cara. And you’re Jarr-o.” Cara turned her attention to speak to the Chancellor, and Jarr-o felt something akin to displeasure. “And you’re his boss, who can’t tell the difference between a slave and a captive.”
The Chancellor didn’t speak for several moments, as if he were sizing her up, looking for her weaknesses. Something Jarr-o was also doing, but seeing the Chancellor do it brought up uncomfortable feelings. Deep-rooted protectiveness. His perceptive eyes turned to Jarr-o. “She’s going to be a handful, but from what I hear, you can handle her.”
From what he heard? From who? What was he alluding to?
Holding out the chain once more, he said, “You know what will happen to a female like this in our city. Take her and save her from herself.”
And for the first time in his adult life, Jarr-o’s heart beat in excitement and hopefulness. “I want to retire from all this. The battles. I want to train the fighters here. I can do better than the old arena master. And I want it now, not tomorrow or in a few months.”
The Chancellor hissed. “Don’t insult me. My word is law.”
His eyebrows slowly rose, and Jarr-o said, “Not today it wasn’t.”
The Chancellor’s grey eyes flashed lethal for a second. “It’s not…smart to ask for my indulgence and then offend me.”
The old warrior’s words were threaded with warning, but Jarr-o knew the male respected strength and boldness. He wouldn’t back down, and he wouldn’t retract his words. Jarr-o stayed silent.
The males were at an impasse, neither willing to give up their positions. Both broke eye contact when Cara said, “Your arena master is already dead, Chancellor. Sounds like Jarr-o’s offer solves the problem of finding another trainer and relinquishing payment for his last fight.” Sitting up confidently, she peered up at Jarr-o with a relieved smile and coyly winked at him. Instantly, he felt a stirring in his lower body. It was sudden and unnerving.
***
Cara kept her eyes on the younger male’s warm, brown eyes, hoping he didn’t notice that she had been ogling his uncovered upper body. He may have the face of a boar with two tusks jetting out of his lower jaw, but he did have a remarkable, muscular body. Even his scars looked sexy, in a dark hero kind of way. Jarr-o’s battle scars were clear and all over his body. The male had a fresh wound on his face that had been sewn unevenly. He had a bandage around his shoulder, holding something that was probably an ice pack in place, and another wrap around his right wrist. It wasn’t just his body that captured her attention, though, it was something in his eyes. They weren’t cold or distant. He saw her. And the best part was he didn’t want to own her, he wanted a better job opportunity.
She winked at him and noticed that he looked surprised by it, but she wanted him to know that she was on his side of the argument. It couldn’t hurt to have two against one, right?
She had a long history of being around men who didn’t value human life—or any life but their own.
Not more than thirty minutes ago, Cara had thought the old guy in blue would free her from her cell. She’d been illegally sold from Earth and had assumed that once someone realized that, she would be released. She’d learned the hard way that no one cared one way or another how she’d become a slave. All they wanted to know was how much she cost, and how much trouble she would be.
The Chancellor, who she’d just learned owned this fighting arena, had no intention of freeing her, so she had to do it herself—by backing the other Angny’s offer.
Jarr-o waited for a response. When the Chancellor remained quiet, he probed. “Your answer, Chancellor. What is it?”
The Chancellor, if possible, looked even more irritated. Addressing Jarr-o, he said, “I’m not sure why you think you can speak to me as if I answer to you when it’s I who employs you to fight. And remember, you came to me, requesting to be on my fighting squad. I make a lot of money from those who pay to watch you fight. You are in your prime. I see no reason to downgrade your position to field trainer.”
At his words, it felt like someone had reached into Cara’s chest and squeezed her heart. The effects were distressing. This was not the response she’d expected.
He wasn’t done. The Chancellor addressed Cara next. “And you, human, are from the Terra world, correct? The planet that was laughably overtaken in hours? I don’t understand how you think you have any sway in matters of my business.”
Cara knew that tone. She had grossly overstepped a line. She was used to speaking back and being annoying to her captors. But she should have remembered that, sometimes, it was in her best interests to be respectful…or at the very least, quiet.
The Chancellor threw the chain on the ground. “Your payment is here. You don’t want her, then sell her, but that’s all you’re getting from me. You weren’t the only one who suffered a loss by this.”
Cara quickly turned to Jarr-o, worried that he would pick up the chain. At the same time, she was hopeful he would because there was a lot of raw power in him, an indication of prowess that spoke to her on levels even she didn’t understand. But her body did, and it watched how Jarr-o’s fists rolled into orbs the size of cannonballs as he stood his ground with confidence. And that sureness was fascinating.
Jarr-o didn’t acknowledge the chain on the ground. His breath grew deeper. The Chancellor squared his stance, eyeing Jarr-o up and down then provoked him with, “Is my top-ranked fighter afraid of a Terran? Or have you lost your edge in the arena?”
There was a tick in Jarr-o’s eye. Cara didn’t consider that a good sign.
***
Jarr-o knew the Chancellor had sized him up. In turn, he did the same. The old male was proud, and the only reason he’d rejected Jar
r-o’s offer was because he hadn’t asked nicely. That idea was beneath him. He wasn’t going to beg to work for the Chancellor.
He also knew the Chancellor was poking him with the comment about being afraid of the woman. He was not scared of her, she was too small to harm him. But he was concerned about her effect on him. There was an unmistakable urge to take her, touch her, experience her, but he didn’t want to own her. His conscience wouldn’t allow it. The crux of the situation was this: either bow and ask forgiveness to stay in the Chancellor’s good graces or leave empty-handed, hoping the Chancellor didn’t sell the woman to an abusive gladiator.
“Let me make this easy for you Jarr-o. Accept the woman and apologize to me, and I’ll let her live here with you. Or get out and take the Terran with you. I have things to take care of today, this, not being one of them.”
Jarr-o knew when he was being played. He had seen it too many times in the arena when his opponents poked at him to get him to lose his composure. But Jarr-o was a honed and expert fighter. He wouldn’t lose his cool.
The Chancellor chuckled and stood up, assuming that Jarr-o wouldn’t fight him. “I didn’t hear an apology.” He paused expectantly.
Jarr-o remained silent. Internally, he grew more anxious about the future that was unfolding in front of him. He didn’t want to leave, but he also wouldn’t apologize. And, mostly, he didn’t want to go home to all those memories.
The Chancellor picked up the chain and pulled so Cara had to stand up. Then he dropped the end and told Cara, “Be thankful you’re not my slave. I’d have you—”
In a flash, Jarr-o watched in horror as Cara reached back and slapped the Chancellor. Or, at least, she attempted to, but he moved too quickly. Reacting on instinct, Jarr-o rushed forward, pushed Cara out of the way with one hand, and with the other…he swung.