Surely the fight was just last night.
“How the hell did you do this?” I demand as I pull her close. Holding her against me.
She shrugs in my grip, her arms around my chest. “I called in a favor. Kaya made sure I’d get a jolt gun, rather than a laser pistol, and she said she could make sure the setting wouldn’t kill you. But I had no idea whether or not it would actually work. Whether or not Kaya or Charles would screw us over. Or whether the warden would have you shot again, just to be sure.”
Now I understand her tears. She had to shoot me with no idea whether she was saving my life or taking it.
“It’s over,” I whisper, burying my face in her hair. Breathing her in. “Holy shit, it’s all over.”
“Yeah.” She smiles up at me. “Let’s get the hell out of here. This place smells worse than the bullpen.”
“Where do you want to go?” I ask as we veer around a bloated, rotting body, heading toward a patch of forest in the distance, and the shade it will bring.
“I don’t know. Everywhere. I saw a gorgeous rust-colored ocean from the shuttle, when they brought me here from Station Alpha. Do you think we can get to it? I’d love to see the beach.”
I have no idea whether or not zone three borders the ocean, but if it doesn’t, I have no doubt she’ll think of a way to get us there. “I can’t wait to see you in a bikini.”
She laughs. “You know I don’t actually own a swimsuit, right?”
“Well then, I guess we’ll just have to make do with your birthday suit. That’s always been my favorite, from your extensive wardrobe.”
“Well then, you’re in for one hell of a fashion show, as soon as we find some place to sleep.”
I laugh as I take her hand. We’re alive. We’re together. That’s more than I could ever have hoped for.
I will never let her go again.
Dear Reader,
Thank you so much for reading Champion!
I’ve wanted to write a female gladiator book for years. Seriously, I plotted this book close to a decade ago, and though it’s changed a bit since then (several times) Sylvie and Graham have been roaming around in the back of my mind ever since.
The idea was that in addition to being asked to kill strangers in order to survive, the hero and heroine would eventually be pitted against each other—one of the most horrifying things I can imagine. And that, along the way, they’d also be stripped of their privacy and dignity, leaving them with truly nothing to cling to except each other.
I’m pretty terrible to my characters. ;)
My inspirations are pretty old-school. Mad Max: Beyond Thunderdome. The Running Man (both the novel and the movie). And, more recently, Spartacus, the Stars series.
I hope you love Sylvie and Graham as much as I do! And if you’re still with me, you have two options for how to continue with the Prison Planet series
Book 4 in the series, Dirty Lies, is actually a 52,000 word novella about characters unconnected to the rest of the series (including Warden Shaw’s daughter Rayla). It’s lighter in tone, but still sexy in nature.
OR, if you’d rather stick with the main cast of characters, Book 5, Hostage continues with Sebastian and Kaya’s story.
Turn the page for a sneak peek at Hostage!
After that is book 6, Traitor, which has the best reviews of the series so far.
Coming in September, look for the first book in my new SFR series, Project Vetus!
If you’d like more information about me or the Prison Planet books, you can find me on in my FB group, my Facebook page, Goodreads, BookBub, and at www.emmychandler.com.
Emmy
Hostage cover
HOSTAGE
Prison Planet book 5
“I have to get my sister off this planet, and you’re the only leverage I have.”
Sebastian Wolfe got himself sentenced to death by combat on the prison planet Rhodon in order to protect his sister, Sylvie. As last season’s champion, she was released into the open population, and if he prevails this season, he’ll be allowed to join her. And at first, that was the plan.
Then, at an airborne afterparty following the first fight of the season, Sebastian seizes a chance to crash the ship into zone three, planning to escape the wreckage and join his sister early—until fate throws Kaya Johnston into his path.
Kaya would have died upon impact if Sebastian hadn’t bailed from the doomed yacht with her in his arms, but that’s no reason to go all weak in the knees. He’s the one who crashed the ship in the first place! Now she’s stranded on a prison planet, barefoot and ill-equipped, with only a gorgeous, protective death row inmate who’s declared her his hostage—yet seems to think of her as much more.
Sebastian drags her deep into zone three in search of Sylvie, so he can demand an escape vehicle in exchange for his captive. But after a few days alone with Kaya, he might be unwilling to ever give his beautiful, compassionate hostage up…
Turn the page for a sneak peek at Hostage!
Hostage
1
SEBASTIAN
“Earth to Sebastian,” Kaya says, and I turn away from the window to find her standing next to me, holding a half-full flute of champagne. Her hair is pulled back into its usual prim bun, but her navy pencil skirt is tight enough that I can see every curve of her ass. The second button of her blouse has come open, which means I can almost see cleavage.
She must not have noticed the button yet. Kaya never intentionally leaves more than one of them undone.
“What did you say about Earth?” I ask, resisting the urge to look down her blouse. The voices and the clinking of glass from the cocktail party are an intrusion, and I’m not sure I heard her right.
She shrugs, looking a little embarrassed. “It’s something my dad used to say when I was a kid. I was a bit of a daydreamer, and when he caught me staring into space, he’d say, ‘Earth to Kaya! Come in Kaya!’” She imitates a staticky voice, as if her dad is speaking to her over an archaic shortwave radio. Then she shrugs. “Doesn’t have quite the same ring, here on Rhodon.”
“I guess not.” And I’d had no idea she was from Earth.
I turn back to the window, as much to stop myself from obsessing about that second undone button as to study the ground below. Though I’m doing that too. Unfortunately, we’re cruising too high over the darkened landscape for me to see much.
“Sebastian, you’ve been staring out the window for a while,” Kaya says. “We should probably work the room.”
The “room” is actually the lowest level of a space yacht we prisoners call “the blimp.” It’s a party boat capable of traveling from system to system as well as cruising at low altitude within the atmosphere of a celestial body.
That celestial body, in this case, is the prison planet Rhodon. Also known as the Red Rock because of the crimson tint of its foliage and soil, Rhodon is the armpit of the universe, and an odd choice for a flying cocktail party. Unless you’re one of the sadistic fucks drinking and gossiping behind me, who’re willing to spend a small fortune to fly across the galaxy to watch two people beat each other to death in person, rather than on the feeds.
That’s what happened this afternoon. I beat a man to death in the arena, in front of both a live and a broadcast audience, because that’s what inmates sentenced to death by combat do: kill or be killed. I had no choice. Yet I can still feel the ghost of his throat beneath my hands as they squeeze. I can still see his mouth gaping open, sucking at air, but unable to pull any into his lungs. I can still hear the cheering of the crowd.
And now that the violence is over, the aforementioned sadistic fucks get to relive the event in all its gory splendor by partying on a space yacht with the victor.
“Sebastian? Do you need anything?” Kaya asks. Because that’s part of her job. Technically, as my sponsorship liaison, her chief duty is to secure corporate patronage to pay for my medical care and any weapons provided for me in the arena. Without those, my life expectancy decreases signi
ficantly. But she also decides how miscellaneous sponsorship credits are spent on me off camera. Which is usually in the form of fresh food and various toiletries in the greenroom.
As a civilian fighter, before I was a convicted criminal, my endorsement deals were for personal profit. Wear a sponsor’s workout gear on camera, get two hundred thousand credits deposited into my account. And there were other perks. Clothes. Tech. Women. Travel. My own personal short-range shuttle.
That feels like another life. Like it happened to someone else.
Some days, it’s hard to believe I gave it all up. That I got myself sent here on purpose. For my sister. To protect Sylvie. The reality here is day-to-day survival—fighting for my life, rather than for profit—and most of the time, everything that came before this feels like a half-forgotten dream.
“Water?” Kaya says. “Or juice? I might be able to find orange. Or tomato.”
“I’m fine.” That’s an outright lie, because Kaya can’t get me anything I really need. Freedom. Respect. Hell, she can’t even get me a real drink at a cocktail party supposedly thrown in my honor, without risking her job.
An inmate gladiator makes for tantalizing party entertainment, unless you arm him or give him alcohol.
“Well then, we need to mingle. That’s why you’re here.”
Just once, I wish they’d bring me up on the blimp before sundown, so I could actually see the surface of this miserable planet. My sister’s down there somewhere, in zone three. As last season’s champion, her sentence was commuted from death to life in the open population, and I would give anything for a glimpse of her. Not that I’d be able to tell it was her, from this height. But if I could see the other inmates and the buildings, at least I’d have some idea what she’s up against.
“She’s fine, Sebastian.” Kaya steps closer to peer out the window with me, and the scent of her perfume is so familiar that I’m reaching for her before I even realize my hands have moved. I force my arms back to my sides—I can’t touch her in front of all these people—and my hands curl into fists from the effort to resist. “But I’m not sure that’s zone three.” She points across the large ballroom taking up the entire lower level of the blimp, toward one of the windows on the other side. “I think zone three is that way. We should be flying directly over it in about half an hour.”
When she turns back to me, I get another whiff of her perfume, and I have to fight the urge to lean into her. To breathe deeper. Before this morning, it had been six weeks since I’d smelled that fragrance, because Kaya and the rest of the filming crew don’t come around during the hiatus between broadcast seasons. But her scent triggers a familiar forbidden urge, as if it hasn’t been weeks since I saw her. Since I kissed her and almost got her fired.
“You really think she’s okay?” I ask.
Kaya nods and moves a little closer, as if she’s spotted something intriguing out the window, where we can see nothing but a sea of darkness split by strings of red laser wire running along the tops of the huge metal walls that divide this planet into various zones. To keep the violent populace from forming riotous cities, according to Kaya. “Sylvie’s the strongest woman I ever met.” Her left hand settles softly on my right triceps, and I go as still as I can, to keep from spooking her out of that gentle touch. “I made sure she left the arena with as many supplies as I could sneak into her pack.”
Her touch is feather-light, her fingers skimming over the skin on the back of my arm, and I move into the touch, wordlessly demanding more for a second, before what she’s saying actually sinks in. “So, what? You gave her some extra food? A book of matches? A bottle of lotion from the greenroom? I appreciate the fact that you wanted to help her, but those won’t do her much good if they were stolen the second she stepped into zone three. She’s alone out there. And no matter how strong she is, she can’t take on an entire zone full of men by herself.”
Especially in her traumatized state.
Less than an hour before she was dropped off in zone three, Universal Authority—Kaya’s employer—made my sister shoot Graham, the love of her life, in the arena. That’s how she became champion. I saw the agony on her face when she had to pull the trigger, to save them both from being ripped apart by a pack of metal hounds. To at least give Graham a quick death.
She’s been out there alone and in mourning for a month and a half. I can fight in the arena for the next nineteen weeks and wait for them to release me as this season’s champion. Or I can take my fate into my own hands and speed up the clock.
I spent the entire hiatus planning my move.
Kaya looks like she wants to say something. Like some confession is burning the tip of her tongue. But then she only lets go of my arm and sips from her champagne flute. Whatever’s on her mind, she can’t say it in front of this many potential eavesdroppers.
“Thank you, Kaya,” I whisper. “For at least trying to help Sylvie.”
She looks up at me. Her gaze connects with mine, and her smile…changes. It’s no longer the dazzling camera-ready light beam she shines at CEOs and sponsors. Now her smile is smaller and warmer. It’s real and it’s personal.
It’s just for me.
“I wish I could have done more.” She glances at her shoes for a second before meeting my gaze again. “I…um… I’m not coming back next season. I told Charles—” The producer she works with. “—after the finale. After we filmed them releasing Sylvie into zone three. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t keep sending people to their deaths, murderers or not.”
I blink at her. “Why next season? Why would you come back this season?”
“For you.” She clears her throat, as if the admission makes her uncomfortable. “I don’t trust anyone else to get what you need out of your sponsors. To give you the best possible shot at walking away from the arena. But after this, I’m done.”
She came back for me. To dress me, and arm me, and get me medical care. To take care of me.
I want to kiss her so badly that resisting the impulse makes me ache all the way into my bones. Maybe we could sneak off somewhere. Maybe…
No. That might have worked last season, when Sylvie and Graham were here to engage with the investors, but now there’s no one but me to keep the guests entertained, and I’ve already been staring out this window for too long. I can feel the crowd growing restless. Any second, someone will—
“Kaya!” The high-pitched voice startles me out of my thoughts, and I turn to find a woman in a snug blue dress holding a bright pink cocktail in a stemmed glass. As she talks to Kaya, her gaze crawls over me like flies on a corpse.
A very attractive corpse.
While they chat, the ladies draw me into the crowd again. I ignore the hands of strangers trailing up my arms and down my back because tonight I’m the entertainment. The women—and a few of the men—flew halfway across the galaxy not just to see me fight, but for this. For an after-party on a space-yacht, where they can look through the transparent floor—an energy field the thickness of just a few atoms—at the prison planet beneath us, while they feel up the convict mingling among them as if they own me.
And really, I guess they do.
When Kaya wanders a few feet away to take another flute of champagne from a floating tray, the woman in the blue dress snuggles up to me and runs her hand down my bare stomach onto my crotch, over the tight athletic pants they’ve dressed me in, like an X-rated action figure. I grit my teeth, and she frowns at me, evidently disappointed that I’m not getting hard for her.
Sorry, but entitled and demanding is not my type. I’d rather pursue than be pursued.
She squeezes, and when her grip grows too tight, I finally give her what she wants: eye contact. “Find something you like?” I try to pretend I’m somewhere else—with someone else—so I can get hard. To keep from insulting the bitch whose sponsorship could save my life.
Kaya, with three undone buttons.
Kaya, bent over, her tight little skirt riding up to reveal slim, firm thig
hs.
Kaya, with her hair down and her lips wet, practically begging for another kiss.
Now I’m hard. And I’m starting to see a pattern in my mental porn collection.
“There’s something I like,” the woman in blue whispers, petting my erection through my pants.
I force my jaw to unclench, so I can play my part. This is the opportunity I’ve been waiting for. “Then maybe you’d like to arrange something private?” I think about Kaya—about the time I had my tongue in her mouth, her curves pressed against me—and my cock swells even larger beneath the woman’s hand.
Her pupils dilate and she licks her lips as her gaze roams down from my bare chest. She’s going to take the bait.
“Yelena,” Kaya scolds, rejoining us with two fresh flutes. For a second, I hope one of those is for me. Champagne is a little delicate for my taste, but I’ll take anything with alcohol in it right now. Yet Kaya hands the second flute to Yelena, despite the jealousy crawling all over her features.
She doesn’t want this woman to touch me.
That makes two of us.
Yelena accepts the champagne and sets her empty stemmed glass on another floating tray. “Can you blame me?” She turns to Kaya with a naughty smile. “He’s sex on a fucking stick. Like…a sex-sicle. I just want a little lick.” Her hand roams down my bare chest, and I clench my fists to keep from smacking it away. “I’m willing to pay…”
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