Champion

by Emmy Chandler

  “Don’t…fucking…” He closes his eyes and props both hands on his hips, as if he’s fighting for patience. Or trying to unsee whatever mental image is stuck in his head. “She still my little sister, man, and I don’t need to think about her… With you… Like that.”

  “Fair enough. But there’s no privacy in the bullpen, so if you don’t want to know exactly how grown up your little sister is, you might want to sleep anywhere but A block. Because as long as she wants it, I’m damn well going to give it to her.”

  A series of hoots and obscene cheers echo from one of the empty offices across the atrium, and I look up to see several men gathered in the doorway, watching us.

  Sebastian looks like I just tried to serve him slime mold for dinner. “Okay, for fucking real, man. I get it. You’re sticking it to my sister and that’s none of my goddamn business. Message received. But this truce will only work if you stop throwing that shit in my face.”

  I frown when I realize he’s just voiced the real problem between us. “Sebastian this isn’t a truce, because you and I aren’t at war.” I lower my voice, so no one else can hear. “We can’t afford to be. If we’ve both got Sylvie’s back, that makes us allies, not enemies.”

  He thinks about that for a second. Then he nods. And when I stick my hand out he takes it. But instead of shaking it, he squeezes it, meeting my gaze with a stone-cold glare. “The only reason I’m on this shithole planet—the only reason I gave up the rest of my fucking life, and my career, and millions in endorsements—is to get my sister out of here alive. That’s the only thing I give a damn about. As long as you’re willing to help with that, great. But eventually you’re going to start making decisions that benefit you, rather than her, and when that day comes, I will fucking end you.”

  I jerk my hand from his grip. “What the hell are you talking about? Why would I ever do that?”

  “Don’t play dumb with me, man,” he growls, and I’m starting to think we’re having a pretty damn serious miscommunication. “If we keep her alive, eventually they’re going to pit the two of you against each other in the arena, and only one of you is going to walk away from that fight. We both know it won’t be her. Which means I can’t let you take the sand with her.”

  “So, you’re just going to try to kill me before the fight?”

  “Try!” He snorts, as if I’m being ridiculous.

  “Are you going to kill everyone they put up against her?”

  He nods. “Everyone she can’t beat.”

  “So, what, they announce the names, and you just go kill her opponent before he even takes the sand? You do that even once, and she’ll lose every bit of respect she has in here.”

  Sebastian shrugs. “Better no respect than no heartbeat.”

  “That’s not how it works in here!” I lower my voice, when I realize those nosy bastards from the office are still trying to eavesdrop. “If people think she’s entirely dependent upon your protection—or mine—the first time they find her without us, they’ll fucking rip her to shreds. We learned that lesson the morning of her first fight. I’m not sure if you saw the feeds.” But I can tell from his clenched jaw that he did. “They need to fear all three of us.”

  “And how do we make that happen? She’s strong, but she’s still small.”

  “I think you’re underestimating her. She had a bad time out there the other night, but that’s not who she is. That’s not how she fights. You help me train her, and I think she’ll eventually be able to take just about anyone in here.”

  “But not you,” he says. “She’ll never be able to take you.”

  “She won’t have to.” I exhale. Then I bare my fucking soul to the man who just threatened to end my life. “If they put us on the sand together, I’ll kill myself before I’d lay one fucking hand on Sylvie. You have my word.”

  Sebastian stares at me, trying to deduce the truth from whatever he sees in my face. Then he frowns. “You would die for her?”

  “Every day of the week.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I love her. Because I’ve already had to watch everyone else I love die, right in front of me, and I can’t do that again. There is nothing I wouldn’t do for Sylvie, but there are some things she has to do for herself. So why don’t you quit busting my balls out here and help me get her ready to save her own life?”

  20

  SYLVIE

  Graham and Sebastian come back into the cafeteria to help me pick up all the mats, and though they seem to have come to some kind of understanding, they don’t look exactly…friendly.

  “What did you say to him?” I whisper as I hand Sebastian’s bag back to him.

  “I’m just looking out for you, sis.”

  “So is he. We’ve been looking out for each other for weeks.”

  “And as long as he continues to put you first, I have no beef with him. Seriously, Sylvie. He seems like a good guy.”

  “Then why do you still look like you want to beat the snot out of him?”

  “Because he’s all over the feeds fucking my little sister in a filthy prison cell,” Sebastian hisses. “How the hell do you expect me to react to that?”

  “Why would you watch that?” I demand softly, as Graham heads for the dispenser at the other end of the room, to get some food.

  “I didn’t. But everyone else in the whole damn galaxy has, and they all seemed to feel the need to tell me about it.”

  “That’s not our fault. We had no idea they were filming us.”

  “I know. Look, I don’t have to like him. All that matters is that he wants the same thing I want—to keep you safe and help you train. So you’ll at least have a fair shot at getting out of here alive.”

  “You guys ready?” Graham is heading back across the room, and though he couldn’t have heard us, I can tell from the too-casual cadence of his steps that he knows we were talking about him. “Let’s eat outside.”

  “Sounds good.” My brother takes the stack of mats I’m holding and steps out into the hall, leaving us to follow him.

  We return the mats to D block, then we head into the yard.

  “Uh oh,” I whisper as we cross the edge of the pavement, headed for the picnic tables in the back. “They’re looking right at us.”

  Graham follows my gaze to see that our usual table is occupied—a rarity on its own—and rather than getting up for us, as has been the custom since we killed Cohen Roth, the four men sitting there are making blatant and aggressive eye contact.

  “What’s wrong?” Sebastian asks softly.

  “Looks like a new alliance,” Graham explains. “The table on the far right is ours. Refusal to get up when we approach is basically a challenge to our authority.”

  My brother shrugs. “Looks like I got here just in time.”

  “Actually you’re probably the reason for this,” I tell him. “A new threat in the bullpen, who’s already made friends.” There isn’t much that could make a bunch of psychotic murderers band together, but the addition of my brother to our alliance might just do it. Especially if they know who he is and what he’s capable of.

  As we approach, the biggest of the men at the table stands, eyeing Sebastian. “You’re Havoc?” he says, bulging arms crossed over his thick chest.

  “Not anymore,” the second man says as he rises, and I slide my hand into my pocket, gripping my knife in preparation. “In here, he’s just like the rest of us. Only newer.”

  “If you’re picking a fight, you should have brought more friends,” Sebastian says, and I stifle a groan, as well as an urge to tell him not to poke the bears.

  “Oh, we brought plenty.” A third man stands, and when his focus settles on something behind me, I start to turn, alarm racing through me like lightning. Then arms wrap around me from behind, pinning mine to my sides, and as I scream, I realize that the men at our table aren’t actually the problem—they’re the distraction.

  The man holding me spins me around, and as Graham and Sebastian turn, fists
already raised to defend me, I see that there are four more men behind us. The men from the table jump my brother, while the latecomers converge on Graham, but it seems that the only function of the man holding me is to stop me from jumping into the fray. Or reaching my knife. Which means they’re saving me for last.

  I scream at them as fists fly, and though Graham and my brother are far better fighters than most of the other men, they’re badly outnumbered.

  I need to even the odds.

  The grip around my arms is too strong for me to break, so I slam my head back, hoping to hit my abductor’s nose. Unfortunately, he’s much taller than I am, and my skull connects with his collarbone instead, in a blow hard enough to bruise him and stun me. But his grip doesn’t loosen.

  So, I start fighting him with everything I have. I kick his shins. I twist in his grip. I slam my head into his collarbone again. None of that will make him let me go. Fortunately, my goal is actually the opposite of that.

  When the man holding me gets annoyed by my struggle, he squeezes me tighter. So I fight harder. In turn, he squeezes even harder. I take a few gasping breaths, then I go completely limp in his grip. Eyes closed. Head hanging with hair in my face. Arms and legs dangling. The hard part is holding my breath.

  When he realizes I’m no longer moving, his grip loosens. He turns me around and drops me on the ground, either to make sure I’m still alive or to start ripping my clothes off.

  My eyes are closed, but I know he’s squatting over me when the daylight shining through my eyelids darkens. While the chorus of grunts and the repeated thunks of flesh against flesh continue in the background, he pushes my hair back, and I feel his breath on my face. Slowly, I slide my knife from my pocket.

  I open my eyes and release the blade as I swing the weapon up. The knife sinks into his arm, which is all I can hit because of the angle. He falls backward, shouting, and I pounce on him, swinging my knife again.

  The blade sinks between his ribs, then I hop up and wrench the knife free, leaving him grasping at the wound as blood wells from it.

  Behind me, one of the men who attacked Graham is rolling on the ground with a dislocated knee. A second has a bloody nose and what appears to be a broken jaw. But the two remaining men have him on the ground and are kicking him.

  A crowd has formed, but the spectators don’t seem willing to jump into the fray, so I race toward Graham and drive my knife into the right side of one of the men kicking him.

  He never even saw me coming.

  As he stumbles back, clutching his wound, I head for my brother, leaving Graham to finish off the fourth man in a much more even match.

  One of my brother’s attackers lies unconscious on the ground, a huge purple swelling puffed up on the side of his head. The wound is strangely…straight. As if there’s a line drawn through it. I don’t understand what I’m seeing until I notice blood dripping from the edge of the picnic table and realize that Sebastian must have slammed the man’s head into it.

  Seb is still on his feet, alternating kicks and blows to keep his remaining three attackers mostly at bay. With his back to the wall, they can’t surround him. But he can’t last like that forever.

  I’m trying to decide which of the assailants to stab—there’s no good angle with them dancing around him, looking for an opportunity—when Graham appears at my side. “You go right, I’ll go left,” he whispers.

  I nod, and he leaps into motion, pulling the man on the left away from my brother by the back of his shirt. I drive my knife up under the ribcage of the man on the right, from behind. I’m aiming for his kidney.

  I can’t tell whether or not I hit my target, but he stumbles backward, shouting, out of the fight for good. Struggling to reach his own wound, as if that would make any difference. If he doesn’t have antibiotics and someone to watch his back while he recovers, he’s as good as dead, even if I missed all major organs.

  I put my back to the wall, still wielding my bloody knife—the grip is starting to feel way too damn familiar—while Graham and Sebastian finish off the last two assailants.

  When they both lie unconscious and bleeding on the rust-colored grass, Graham holds his hand out for my knife. This time I only hesitate a second before slapping it into his palm, and I don’t even flinch when he slits the throat of the asshole lying in front of him.

  “We weren’t looking for a fight!” Graham shouts as he stands. “But if you bring one, we will damn well finish it.” He hands the knife to Sebastian, and my brother kneels on the ground, his dark-eyed gaze as cold and hard as I’ve ever seen it. “You come at one of us, you get all three,” Graham continues, his voice carrying over the silent throng. “And you better be damn sure you can kill us all.”

  The crowd splits to let us through, and on our way into the building, my brother whispers, “So…how often will we have to do that?”

  “If they’re smart, they’ll have learned something,” Graham tells him.

  “But they’re not, so they didn’t.” I shrug. “They have nothing to lose. Most of them—most of us—don’t stand a chance of leaving this place alive, and it doesn’t really matter to most of them whether they die in here or out there on the sand.”

  “Sylvie, you’re going to get out of here,” Sebastian says. “Graham and I are going to make damn fucking sure of that.”

  But we all know that once I step into the arena, it’s out of their hands.

  “So, what did he say?” I ask as Graham slams the cell door behind me.

  “Who?” He drops his pack next to mine and pulls his shirt off over his head.

  “You know who. What did you and Sebastian talk about while I was in the cafeteria?”

  Graham heaves a dramatic sigh as he sinks onto the edge of the bed. “Sylvie, there’s something I have to tell you.” His hands land on my hips and he pulls me close, between his knees, looking up at me with a grave expression. “And it’s important for you to truly consider the information I’m giving you.”

  My heart thumps too hard. “What’s wrong?”

  “Your brother is a complete jackass.”

  I laugh. “He’s definitely an acquired taste. You didn’t figure that out back when he was kicking your ass eight years ago?”

  Graham slides his hand beneath the waistband of my pants, then lets them fall. Leaving my panties in place. “I won that fight.”

  “Not according to Sebastian.”

  “His memory is flawed. And his ego is drastically inflated.”

  “He’s arrogant; I’ll give you that. But he’s nearly undefeated in the arena.”

  “Whereas I’m just a big loser kept alive out of pity?”

  I sit next to him to run my fingers through hair still wet from my shower. Which I had to take alone, because Graham turned down a chance to lather me up in order to stand guard with my brother outside the bathroom. Which is how I know Sebastian stuck his nose in where it doesn’t belong. “Are you jealous?”

  “No.” Graham leans in and nibbles the end of my earlobe. “He’s a jackass, but he’s only trying to protect you. I’m glad he’s here. You should be too.”

  “Well, I’m not,” I tell him, and Graham lifts one brow at me. “He should be out there living his life. Free. Taking care of our parents. Having one of us in here was bad enough for them.”

  “He put every credit he had in their names before he left for Rhodon.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “He told me while you were in the shower. You were right, Sylvie. He was never planning to leave. And you’re safer with him here. With both of us having your back.”

  “I know.” I climb onto his lap, straddling him. “And I am grateful. If only my brother weren’t such a huge cock block…”

  Graham laughs—until I slide my hand into his pants. He grows hard beneath my fingers, and I stroke him boldly. “You’re not going to let my brother scare you off, are you?”

  He frowns. “Can you please not talk about your brother while you have my cock in
your hand?”

  I throw my head back and laugh, then I squeal in surprise when Graham lifts me. A second later, I’m beneath him on the mattress pad and he’s pulling my shirt off, careful to block me from the camera’s view, until he drapes the material over my breasts.

  “You know he thought you were a virgin until I ‘got hold’ of you?”

  “Now who’s talking about my brother?”

  “I’m actually talking about us, Sylvie.” Graham goes still over me, his gaze serious. “You’re as important to him as he is to you, and he thinks I deflowered his sister in prison, when she was vulnerable and out of options.”

  “It’s none of his business. I love him. I really do. But he still treats me like a kid. We’re on death row, for fuck’s sake. He’s going to have to stop pretending I’m twelve years old.”

  “You look very, very grown up from where I’m standing. I can’t wait until this is all over, so we can…” His voice fades, but in the silence, I can hear the ghost of what he’s left unsaid, and suddenly sex is the last thing on my mind.

  “We’re going to have to talk about it eventually,” I whisper.

  “I know.” Graham rolls off of me, onto his right side, and I turn onto my left to face him, my arm folded beneath my head in lieu of a pillow. “But we don’t really have to worry about that until your sixth fight. That’s at least a month away.”

  “Assuming I survive long enough to reach tier four.”

  “You will,” he insists.

  “Either way, we should have a plan. Any ideas?”

  “It depends on the scenario. I don’t think there’s any use in even pretending any of this is random pairing by an algorithm. This is engineered drama, for ratings. Which means that if they have a chance to pair us against each other, they will.”

  I run one finger down his stubbly cheek, while I stare at his mouth. Wishing it were on me, rather than saying things I really don’t want to hear. “So, if we refuse to fight…what would happen?”