by Wilde, Kati
“No! Not Stone! Get Tusk—!”
Cherry’s shout comes a second before agony rips through my shoulders and back.
Fucking tasers.
But shocking a guy’s the wrong thing to do when you want him to let go of something. The muscles in my arms contract, and I sure as fuck don’t let go when the stream stops.
They tase me again.
Again.
I scream through the third one, hear Cherry screaming for them to stop, but I’m not letting go. Not until this fucker is dead.
I’m getting there. He’s limp. Now just got to make sure he doesn’t get up again. I get a grip on his chin, ready to snap his neck.
Pain explodes through the side of my head.
* * *
Stars swirl behind my eyes. I’m lying on the cold ground with my face in the dirt. From somewhere nearby I hear Cherry’s soothing murmur. And Victor ordering someone to check the restraints.
The restraints on Tusk. Because he’s not moving. But he’s still breathing.
Fuck.
With a groan, I sit up. Cherry’s kneeling next to Hatchet, who’s bent over and cradling his arm while she ties a torn strip of that blanket around his neck like a sling. At the sound of my groan, she glances over at me.
“Don’t move yet,” she says.
Not quickly, anyway. My vision swims.
“I’ll be right back,” she tells Hatchet, then scrambles over to me. “Don’t move yet. Let me…”
Put her hands on my face, feel her way around my jaw and up the back of my neck, then forward over my scalp. I suck in a breath through my teeth when a gentle touch above my ear sends pain shooting through my skull.
Shit. I’ve felt this before. “Got a boot to the head?”
“Victor’s.” Her hands slide away. “I don’t think it’s fractured. But it’ll be tender for a while. And we’ll keep an eye out for a concussion.”
Fair enough. “What’s the other damage?”
“Electrical burns on your back.” Her lips tremble. “And Hatchet’s arm is broken pretty bad.”
I don’t give a fuck about any of that. “What damage did Tusk do on his way out?”
“Oh. He killed all three guards on duty, I think.”
Didn’t kill Tusk. But at least that sick fucker’s good for something, and he got a little start burning down the Cage.
“Good,” I say. “Fewer to put down later.”
Her gaze lifts to mine. And there’s that sweet, sweet rage. She doesn’t say anything. Just nods, then goes back to Hatchet.
No longer touching me, no longer near me. I swallow the rot that pushes up through my chest, then look to Victor. The drill sergeant’s mask is there, but he’s pissed.
No need to guess why.
He glances at me, then to one of the guards. “Take him back to the barn.”
No running today, then. I get to my feet. Thanks to Victor’s boot, the change in elevation makes a few stars flash behind my eyes. But I don’t even care about that.
I slow my stride as I’m about to pass by him. “Three men, Vic,” I say quietly. “So maybe you put in a word to your boss about putting me in the ring with Tusk. I’m still an unknown. Papa can make a fuckton of money with a good point spread and everyone betting on this asshole. But you’ve already seen me get close to killing him. You know he’s a bad bet, but a whole lot of suckers will still throw in with him. So Papa’ll get his earnings, and I’ll take out the sick fuck who offed three of your boys.”
He gives no response. Just looks to the guard, who shoves at my shoulder so that I get a move on. But I bet those wheels are turning.
They just need to turn fast enough.
16
It’s two days before the doc arrives and can take a look at Matt’s arm—and with him comes the Iron Blood and three new fighters.
So they found someone else to be bait. I don’t know whether to be relieved that I wasn’t forced to do it or horrified that some other girl got dragged into this. I don’t know who. Probably someone the Iron Blood picked out, because they don’t bring her here to stay like Lissa did.
But maybe it’s like Matt said. Extreme situations cause extreme reactions. Emotions that don’t seem right, but that you can’t help feeling. Because I am relieved. And horrified. And terrified for Matt, because his arm’s a mess. The best I could do was splint the break, then use ice packs for the swelling and aspirin for the pain.
In the medical stall, Victor watches over us while Matt sits up on the examination table. There the doc confirms what I feared. “It’ll need surgery.”
Which they don’t do here. One of the other fighters needed surgery, too, for a fracture in his lower leg. Then they brought him back, he healed up—and died the next time in the Cage.
Because they give the guys time to heal, but not a lot of time to strengthen up again. Still. It’s better than the alternative. And Matt won’t have to fight again for a while.
“Okay.” I grip Matt’s good hand in mine. Both the doc and Victor know he’s my brother, so I don’t have to pretend anything in here. “So that’ll be a few weeks he’s gone?”
“More or less,” the doc says, strapping the splint back on. “He’ll be at my private clinic. Sedated and restrained, of course. And when I’m confident the arm is healing as it should, I’ll send him back.” He looks to Victor. “You’ll take him? I understand that you are about to leave for your holiday. If you can make a detour to the clinic, that will make arranging transportation simpler.”
Victor nods. “I’ll do that. And you won’t give us any trouble, Mr. Miller, because your sister’s safety depends on your cooperation. Understand? You’ll go real quiet and won’t put up a fight.”
Mr. Miller. Because they still don’t know his real name. So he’s Billy Miller.
Jaw hard, Matt nods. “Understood. I’ll go quiet.”
Both worry and relief fill my chest. Worry because I’ll be alone. Relief because he’ll be okay.
And the sick realization that Tusk’s next fight will probably come before he’s back. Before we can escape.
But I smile up at him. Because there’s nothing else to do. “Be good, okay?”
His throat works but he smiles, then pulls me into a tight hug. Against my ear, he whispers urgently, “Don’t wait for me to come back. Use the scalpel, then get out, contact my boss.”
So the FBI can track down the doc’s clinic and free Matt, too. I nod, hold him tight.
“Let’s go, then,” Victor says. “I want to get a move on.”
Reluctantly, I let him go.
“You’ll be all right, sis.” Matt slides down from the examination table, cups my cheek. “Just keep on loving me, okay?”
Tears blur my eyes. “Always,” I swear to him.
17
Stone
Another day, still the same—except with Hatchet injured, my exercise group is down to one. And since Cherry’s helping the doctor with the new guys, there are just two guards watching me.
And Victor, walking Hatchet out behind the barn. I see them as I head into the backstretch of the track, slowing as I realize where they’re going. Why they’re going.
Fuck.
Cherry said Hatchet’s arm was broken bad. I’ve got no love for any of the Eighty-Eight, but the asshole went to the mat for her. Now they’re putting him down like a horse with a broken leg. So this is some fucking bullshit.
Hatchet’s trying to talk Vic out of it. I can’t hear a word he’s saying but the body language is clear enough. Maybe the asshole doesn’t know that the Eighty-Eight is everything Victor says he hates about motorcycle clubs. Maybe Hatchet’s so desperate he’d say anything.
He’s still talking even as Victor urges him onto his knees and points a pistol at his head. I round the curve that’ll take me into the final stretch, and lose sight of them behind the barn. Then there’s a long fucking delay. Maybe Victor is feeling generous enough to let the guy say his last words. But in the end, whatever
Hatchet told him must not have made any difference.
The gunshot comes just as I hit five miles. Both of us crossing the finish line at the same time. But there’s no winning here.
Only losing.
* * *
I’m wondering where they keep the guns when Cherry checks in on me, like she has each night before bed ever since I got kicked in the head. A guard stands a few paces behind her, but not paying close attention like they do when Victor’s around. Their whole operation went slack as soon as he went on leave.
I’ll take advantage of that, if I can. Either to get to Tusk or to get the fuck out—and take Cherry with me.
She asks her questions about whether I’m sleepy or dizzy or any of that shit. I’m not. And I’ve got my own questions.
“How much new blood came in?” There’s someone over in Handlebar’s stall. I haven’t seen him yet, but he’s spent most of the day crying.
A shadow moves through her eyes. “Three,” she says quietly.
“Not lured in by your pussy this time.”
She doesn’t say anything to that. Just shines her little penlight into my eyes.
“Still pretty empty in this barn,” I say. “And I saw another stall already opened up.”
“Hatchet’s?” She shakes her head. “He’ll be coming back. They sent him out for surgery.”
Surgery? Is that what they told her?
And she believed it?
But…hell. The asshole broke his arm helping save her from Tusk. So I won’t lay that guilt on her. If she wants to believe he’s out for surgery, I’ll let her go on believing it.
“They put the third one in the other barn?”
“Yes.”
“How’s Handlebar holding up?” I know the answer, but I ask anyway.
Her gaze meets mine, worry darkening that emerald. “He’s giving the guards a lot of trouble. And says he won’t fight in the Cage again.”
Of course he won’t. Crash is dead, so he doesn’t give a fuck anymore.
I don’t either. Except for two things.
“When’s the next fight?”
Her lips tremble. “Four days.”
Four days until Tusk’s tenth win. “What are the chances they’ll put me up against him?”
The look in her eyes says it all. Zero chance.
“On the benches, then.”
They unchain us before we’re ushered into the Cage. But Tusk will still be chained. I’ll do it quick.
Alarm sparks in her eyes. After a quick glance back at the guard, she whispers tautly, “You can’t. The guards will shoot you.”
They probably will. Not that it makes any difference. I was a dead man the second that I laid eyes on this woman.
Urgently she leans in closer to the bars. “I can’t let you do this for me.”
“You think it’s for you?” It’s not. Not all for her. “I promised Crash that I’d do this.”
And the days are going by so fucking fast, I’m running out of time to keep it.
18
I didn’t want to do this alone. But Matt isn’t back yet. And I’m out of time.
Either I kill someone tonight…or Stone dies tomorrow. Whether he manages to save me and kill Tusk doesn’t matter. If he attacks Tusk, the guards will shoot him. I might survive a rape. But Stone won’t survive a barrage of bullets.
I tried to save him once, and failed. I can’t fail again.
I won’t fail again.
But oh my god, Matt was right. All the horrible things I’ve done so far are nothing compared to psyching myself up so that I can murder a man. I’m not even sure who is on duty tonight. But I’ve got to crawl across the top of the stalls, persuade him that I’m terrified and want to lose my virginity before Tusk rapes me, then while we’re making out…slice his throat.
A part of me knows that it’s not wrong. Not right, but not wrong. In some ways, it’s no different than the men in the Cage—and I don’t blame any of them for killing someone to save their families or to survive. I’ve been tossed into a cage, and killing someone else is my only way out, the only way I can save people I care about.
So I slide out of bed around midnight and change into my nurse’s uniform, complete with stockings and heels—partly because I need to look sexy and partly because I might end up walking across the desert tonight. But I can’t stop gagging on the vomit that climbs up my throat. My hands won’t stop shaking. I don’t know how I’m going to look sexy and lure the guard in. Instead I feel like I’m dissolving into bloody chunks from the inside out.
But I can’t wait any longer.
Carefully, I clamp the handle of the scalpel between my teeth. When I’m at the control booth, I’ll hide the scalpel in my dress, but don’t dare crawl around with a razor-sharp blade against my skin.
Standing on the bed, I jump up and catch the bar overhead—and my hands are so clammy, I slide right off. I barely muffle my scream before hitting the mattress and knocking the wind from my chest.
Oh god, that hurts. Oh god.
At least I didn’t land on the scalpel. Because it would be just my luck to have another plan go to shit and accidentally stab my own face.
Trying not to laugh hysterically, I lie there until I can breathe again. This time I wipe my hands on my skirt first.
I wince as my heels click against the bars when I swing my feet up. Heart pounding, I listen for any reaction. Nothing.
As silently as I can, I wriggle my way through the bars and lie flat across them. None of the guards are walking the aisle, though ever since Lissa was killed, three are assigned to night duty instead of two. But I don’t see any of them. Light spills from the control booth and onto the opposite wall—which means the door’s open. Maybe all three of them are in there. Or maybe two are in the break room.
I hope two are in the break room. If not, I’ll be begging for a threesome.
But I bet they’re in the break room. Victor returns tomorrow. And since he’s been gone, Charlie’s been in charge. None of the other guards respect his authority as much, and the continual grumblings from the ones who didn’t go home over the holiday have sowed tension between them all since the others came back.
Crossing over to Matt’s stall is old hat by now. But as soon as I’m there, I hesitate. Soft snoring comes from up ahead.
If the fighters are all sleeping, and aren’t ready to rush the remaining two guards when I open the doors, this might all be for nothing.
One of the new guys is in the next stall, where Flack used to be. I don’t know him well. As it is, I’m a little freaked out that this plan will fall apart when I try to cross his cell. I think he’s the one I hear snoring, though. Airbag’s in the next stall after that, and I’ll be okay with him. But he’s injured, so he can’t be the one to lead the charge against the guards.
I need to get Stone’s attention. I can do that from the stall across from his. Another new guy is in there. But when I went to check on Stone’s head injury earlier tonight, the new fighter was already asleep. Hopefully he still is.
On my hands and knees, I carefully move forward. I’m just about to reach the new guy’s cell when a distant thunk freezes me in place.
Pulse pounding, I wait. My panicked breaths sound so loud, rushing wetly past the scalpel clamped between my teeth. The metal against my tongue is making my mouth water, but I can’t completely close my lips and so I’m drooling. Another hysterical, silent giggle shakes through me when I imagine my drool dripping onto the new guy and waking him up. Or trying to seduce a guard with spit all over my chin.
No other sounds. Just the rustle of a blanket and the creak of a bunk. And—
A thunderous BOOM! shakes the entire building. My muffled shriek is lost in the rattle of the roofing overhead and the shouts suddenly coming from each of the stalls, echoing through the stables. Oh my god, oh my god. I flatten myself to the bars, desperately trying to see what happened.
Did a truck hit the barn? Or was it an explosion? Whatever it was, i
t came from outside.
The guards don’t know what it was, either. At the far end of the barn, Hotel and Tango burst out of the break room and into the aisle. I still can’t see who’s in the control booth but a shadow tells me he’s standing at the entrance to it, shaking his head as if to tell the others that he doesn’t have a clue what happened. One of their radios squawks but it’s impossible to hear what’s coming out of it over the noise the fighters are making. Most of them calling out, a few of them laughing. Tusk’s banging on his bars and Stone—
—is staring at me. Though everything else in the barn has descended into chaos, it’s as if he doesn’t hear it. He’s standing at the door to his stall and staring straight at me, eyes narrowed and jaw clenched.
Ice slips down my spine. Because I’ve seen that look before. Cold. Lethal.
Let’s be clear, girl. Now I’m mad.
But why this time? Does he think I was trying to escape without taking the rest of them? Saving my own skin?
My throat tightens, then a splintering crash jerks my gaze back toward the guards and my heart nearly rockets out of my chest.
A man strides through the barn’s open door—that he just kicked open. Light glints on a weapon. The guards pivot toward him.
What happens next is so fast that it’s over before I can comprehend what happened. The three flashes from the muzzle. The sharp, snapping reports of gunfire. The guards falling to the ground.
Dead.
They’re dead.
I lie atop the stall, shock and horror wiping every coherent thought from my brain. Still trying to understand everything I’m seeing. The orange glow of a fire outside silhouettes the gunman at the door. The light inside is too dim to make out his features but he can’t be a cop or FBI. Law enforcement would have yelled out what they were before shooting the guards. Now someone else is coming in after him. A woman, her blond hair in a buzzcut. For an instant, she steps into the light spilling from the control booth, then heads inside that room. The first gunman starts down the aisle, glancing into each of the stalls.