The Thriller Collection

by S W Vaughn

Gabriel knew it wouldn’t be him.

  Weary resignation filled him. With effort, he rose to one knee — but before he could gain his feet, Akuma reached him. A powerful hand gripped his forearm, wrenched upward. The rest of his body followed. Bloodied knuckles rushed toward his face.

  Though he’d intended to surrender, instinct removed his head from harm’s way. Only a rush of air connected. In a past sparring bout with Apollo, he’d had the thug in a similar hold — and at once, he knew what he had to do.

  Using his sweat-slicked skin for lubrication, he twisted in Akuma’s grasp. His hand clamped the arm beneath it and gave a tremendous jerk. The other man’s grip relaxed in surprise. At the height of Akuma’s forward motion, he let go and drove one bent leg sharply into his stomach.

  Fingers skittered for purchase on him. Akuma landed on all fours on the mat. Tasting bitter regret, Gabriel raised his arms and formed a two-handed fist over his head. He dropped to his knees beside the dazed fighter and hammered down with every ounce of strength remaining in him, directly into the small of his opponent’s back.

  Akuma’s limbs shot from beneath him. He landed prone with a snarl of pain. His body’s impact with the mat turned on the background noise at full volume, as if a switch had been thrown.

  The announcer began the count. On two, the crowd joined her.

  The chant swelled. Gabriel closed his eyes and remained kneeling beside his fallen opponent as Akuma struggled to rise. His hands scrabbled for purchase on a floor slick with perspiration and blood.

  He had to be standing to win.

  Get up. Whether the command issued from his captor or from within his mind, Gabriel knew it had to be obeyed. He drew on strength he hadn’t known he possessed, managed to stand, and swayed in place while precious, decisive seconds ticked by.

  Seventeen … eighteen … nineteen …

  Twenty disappeared in a colossal roar of cheers. Gabriel allowed the announcer to raise his arm in a victory salute, but couldn’t summon the strength to lift his head and face the crowd. He stared at Akuma instead. The fighter lay motionless on the mat, eyes closed, skin pale and slick with sweat. At least he was still breathing.

  When the purple-costumed girl released him, he limped toward the stairs. A Pandora fighter vaulted into the ring and pushed past him. He glanced back. While the other fighter collected the discarded clothing, Akuma pushed up and onto his knees. Their eyes met, and Akuma bowed his head briefly. A small smile curved his lips when he raised it again.

  Gabriel nodded in return. He reached the stairs, where a scowling Apollo waited with the robe that had been shifted to the sidelines. He snatched the garment, pulled it on and negotiated the steps. Apollo grunted and moved to support him.

  He shoved him away. “Don’t need your help. Fuck off. Thanks.” He made his way to the pen and collapsed on an empty couch. The gazes of the astonished fighters seemed to burn holes through him. He jerked the hood over his head and ignored them.

  No one approached him for the rest of the night.

  No matter how quickly the traffic moved, it would be a long ride back to the hotel.

  Gabriel slumped in the back of Slade’s limo, facing the rear of the vehicle. Sol and Apollo occupied the front, separated by a smoked glass partition. The other Ulysses fighters had gone their own ways after the fight — leaving him alone with Jenner and Slade.

  Jenner, seated beside him, had little to say. Slade had plenty.

  “What in the hell were you trying to prove out there, boy?” Slade sat opposite him, rigid and flushed. “What did you say to Akuma to get him to do that? You must have struck a deal. I saw you talking to him. Best fucking pals now, are you?”

  Gabriel drew a breath and tried not to scream. “I did what you told me to. I fought naked.” He favored Slade with a disgusted glance. “I didn’t know he was going to do that.”

  “Bullshit!” Slade’s eyes narrowed, and shifted to Jenner. “You. Akuma is your fucking flunky. You put him up to this, didn’t you?”

  “Shiro and I do not discuss this ridiculous organization at work. You know that, Marcus.” Though Jenner must have been furious, he spoke in calm, even tones.

  “Ridiculous? Insulting me isn’t a good idea right now, lieutenant. You must have said something to him. Damn it, I want to know what it was. I won’t have you going behind my back!”

  “For Christ’s sake, Slade.” Gabriel straightened and glowered at him, dimly aware that for the moment, it seemed he was on Jenner’s side. “This is stupid. I won, didn’t I? What’s your problem?”

  “You keep your mouth shut. I fucking own you.” Slade shot Jenner a scathing look. “Come to think of it, I own you, too.”

  “Is that a fact.”

  Gabriel shivered at the undiluted hatred in Jenner’s voice. But if Slade noticed, he didn’t show it. “Yes. It is. I’m tired of your fucking games, old man.”

  “And I am tired of your feeble attempts at discipline, Marcus. Watching my work does not make you me, any more than you staring at your precious paintings makes you an artist.”

  This time, Slade noticed. He sputtered incoherently, and finally spat, “Your work with the boy is through. I’ll handle it from here.”

  “Oh, I am certain you will.” Jenner almost smiled, but the expression on his face failed to convey anything pleasant. He raised a hand and rapped the glass partition. It slid down with a droning hum. “Sol. Stop here for a moment. I believe I will walk back.”

  “Yes, sir.” The glass lifted back into place. The limo slowed and drifted to the right as Sol changed lanes.

  “Damn it, Jenner, don’t you dare get out of this car. I’m not finished with you.” Slade’s commanding tone wavered a bit. He punched a button on the side wall and barked, “Sol, we’re not stopping. Keep driving.”

  The limo slowed further and halted at the curb.

  Jenner smirked. “We are quite finished, Marcus. You have set the terms yourself, and you cannot take them back. You are a … businessman, after all.” He gripped the door handle and faced him. “Sumimasen, angel. I must take my leave, and allow Marcus his tantrum.” A soft click sounded, and light filled the interior of the car as Jenner opened the door.

  “You son of a bitch.” Fury leached the color from Slade’s features. “If you set one foot outside—”

  “What will you do, Marcus? Dismiss me?” Jenner said with a sneer. “You cannot subject me to my own devices. However, if you wish, I will tender my resignation immediately.”

  “No you won’t! You work for me, you sadistic freak.”

  “Very well. I would bid you good evening, but the sentiment is rather pointless. Baka.” With a final, inscrutable glance in Gabriel’s direction, Jenner exited in a whisper of silk. The door snicked shut, trapping leaden silence inside the limo.

  “One word,” Slade said through clenched teeth. “One sound out of you, boy, and your sister is finished. I’ll slit her fucking throat myself.”

  Gabriel stiffened, closed his eyes and leaned back against the seat, not sure whether the tightness in his throat stifled a sob, or a laugh.

  Chapter 27

  Three days after the humiliating nude fight, Slade released Gabriel from Doc’s care under terse instructions to continue training. He made his way slowly to the basement, and to his relief saw no sign of Apollo or Sol.

  But the room wasn’t empty. Lonzo lay on one of the weight benches, lifting what looked like a few hundred pounds. Hoping the fighter had somehow missed his latest spectacle, Gabriel crossed the room and took a seat on the bench beside him.

  Lonzo replaced the bar on its brace, sat up, and grinned. “Hey, Angel. I see you’re going for the modest look today.”

  He shrugged, attempting to appear lighter than he felt. So much for missing the show. “Yeah. I figured I’d save my modeling skills for special occasions,” he said.

  Laughing, Lonzo clapped him on the back and rose to stretch. “Well, mijo, I still don’t know what that was all about. But if you’re
trying to make a name for yourself, you succeeded.”

  “I did?”

  “Oh yeah.” Still smiling, Lonzo plucked a towel from a nearby bench and mopped his face. “Everybody’s talking about the crazy kid from Manhattan who likes to fight in the buff. Akuma too — they figure he’s just as loco as you.”

  Akuma. A spasm of guilt wound through him at the name. Beating him was the hardest thing he’d done since his arrival here, and he hoped he’d never have to do it again.

  “So, you gonna enter the tournament?”

  He looked up. “Tournament?”

  “There an echo in here?” Lonzo shook his head. “How do you fight so well and still know so little? We have an all-House tourney every year. This one’ll be in Staten Island, at Pandora.”

  “Oh.”

  “First prize is five mil.”

  “Five million dollars?” Christ, that was half of Slade’s ridiculous price of freedom, all in one shot. “When is it?”

  “Three weeks from Friday.”

  Less than a month away. How much training could he get in before then? Giving up the scraps of freedom Slade allowed him, and taking minimal time to rest and recover, he could make twelve to fourteen hours every day.

  He would win this tournament.

  The thought evoked a rueful smile. Determination had never been his strong suit. Most of his life he’d taken a passive stance in just about everything — school, work, leisure activities, such as they were. He’d even taken the punishments his father meted out with fearsome regularity as a matter of course. The only active steps he’d taken were on Lillith’s behalf.

  Now the cycle had begun again. Only the names had changed.

  This time he looked forward to the fight, relished the opportunity to prove himself once more. The fragile flicker of interest worried him. If he enjoyed the fights, did that make him one of them?

  Dismissing his concerns, he turned a grin to Lonzo. “Let’s spar.”

  “What the fuck is he doing here?”

  Diego Mendez, the last of the House leaders to arrive at the meeting in the lobby of the Marquis-Grant, folded his arms and glared at Gabriel. Nails slipped in behind Mendez and mirrored his leader’s fierce expression.

  “Funny you should ask, Mendez.” Slade stood and pointed to the far end of the conference table he’d had set up for the occasion. “He’s here for you. Sit down. You’ve kept us waiting long enough.”

  Gabriel stayed in place against the far wall by the bathroom. He tracked the drug lord across the room and refused to drop his gaze. His report would have to be convincing. If he let Mendez intimidate him, he’d probably get himself killed.

  Mendez reached his designated seat, settled in and shook his head. A languid smirk crossed his lips. “This ain’t like you, Chief. We’re supposed to be talking tournament. What’s the deal with the fish?”

  One of the others, a man Gabriel hadn’t seen before tonight, shifted to face Mendez. A gun and a badge were clipped to his waistband. That had to be Captain Wolff of House Orion. “Before we get to the tournament, there’s something we need to discuss.” Wolff looked pointedly at Mendez. “Slade. Go on.”

  Slade motioned for Gabriel to approach. “Angel here tells me one of your fighters cheated during the last match at your place.”

  “Is that right?” Diego smiled, but his gaze hardened. “You’re a sore fucking loser, aren’t you? There are no rules, kid. Maybe somebody should’ve explained that to you before you went up against my boy.”

  Gabriel stopped just behind Slade and Jenner. “He brought a weapon into the ring.”

  Mendez’s smile froze and fell away. He stood slowly, put his hands on the table, and leaned forward. “You’re so full of shit, I can smell you from here.”

  “He had a weight. I saw it.”

  “You fucking pussy! Duke didn’t need a weapon to kick your scrawny ass.”

  “I guess we’ll never know for sure, because he sure as hell used one.”

  Mendez loosed a rapid stream of Spanish, caught a breath and fixed him with a lethal, glittering stare. “You’d better be able to prove it, little fish. You have no idea who you’re fucking with. I will end you.”

  “That’s enough, Mendez.” Wolff rose and strode to Mendez’s side of the table. “We’ve all seen how big your balls are. Now tuck them back in, before I blow ’em the fuck off.”

  “Aw, c’mon, Wolfie. You’re not buying this cocksucker’s line, are you?”

  “He has the right to bring it up.” Wolff’s scowl fell on him. “But he’d better be able to back it. This is a serious accusation, boy. If you’re lying, you can drop it right now and I won’t arrest your sorry ass. You get one free fuck-up.”

  “Jesus. I’m not lying. But how the hell am I supposed to prove it?”

  “I will.” Slade turned to Jenner and nodded. The lieutenant stood without a word and left the room. He returned a moment later with Doc in tow. “Seth,” Slade said. “You’re all familiar with Dr. Stephens, I assume.”

  While the leaders and their respective seconds nodded, or grunted assent, Gabriel sent Doc a look of disbelief. He’d expected to be the only one incurring Mendez’s wrath — and the last thing he wanted was to see Doc burn by association with him.

  “Wait. I … never mind. Forget I said anything.” He glanced at Doc and shook his head. “Just drop it, all right?”

  “So you were lying.” Mendez grinned at Slade. “You ought to exercise a little more control over your lapdogs, there, Chief. Somebody could get hurt.”

  “He’s telling the truth.” Doc moved closer to him. “Don’t worry about me, kid,” he said quietly. “Mendez can’t touch me.”

  “Wanna bet, Doctor Dead Man?”

  “Mendez, if you don’t shut the hell up, I swear to Christ I’ll shoot your ass right now.” Wolff gestured to Doc. “All right, let’s hear it.”

  “I examined Angel after the fight. His injuries were inconsistent with reasonable force. The breaks were too clean for blunt force trauma without enhanced weight and a corresponding increase in velocity. He exhibited localized contusions and hematoma within constricted areas, absent the typical spread caused by repetitive applications.”

  Wolff grunted. “Any chance you could repeat that in English?”

  “He was seriously fucked up.” Doc’s jaw clenched for an instant. “Medically, the pattern of damage couldn’t have been caused by one person’s strength alone. The worst injuries he sustained were the results of single, concentrated blows. Whoever beat him down had help, something heavy and small.” He paused and sent Mendez a cold stare. “Is that plain enough for you, or should I use smaller words?”

  Nails growled and lurched forward. Mendez put a hand on his arm. “Easy, ’mano,” he said. “They ain’t got jack. Tell me somethin’, Doc, how does this prove anything other than Duke hit him really fuckin’ hard? Because I’m just not following you here.”

  “I told you, it’s not possible to cause that level of damage in one hit without augmentation. If it were from multiple blows, the injuries from the breaks would have spread further, created larger, uneven areas of bruising. He either used a weight or a goddamned baseball bat. And since no one saw him bring a bat into the ring, it must have been a weight.”

  “Oh, give me a break. This is pure speculation.” Mendez’s eternal smile had fled. “Just let me know if you need me to use smaller words, like this — I’m calling your bluff. You can’t prove a damned thing. Your evidence is long gone, ese.”

  “How about a demonstration?” Gabriel strode the length of the table and stopped in front of Mendez. No turning back now. Determined to see this through, and to protect Doc with the meager means available to him, he peeled his shirt off and spread his arms. “Pick a side and hit me a bunch of times. Then get yourself a weight — if you don’t have one, I’m sure Duke will let you borrow his — and try the other side. Slade has cameras everywhere in here. I’m sure we can find some footage to compare with the results.”


  Mendez flashed him a look capable of crushing diamonds. “If I hit you right now, maricon, you ain’t gonna get back up.”

  “So does that mean you’re confessing?”

  “You little—”

  “Enough!” The Pandora leader, a stone-faced Japanese man who looked older than Jenner, punctuated his statement with a fist on the table. The tall, pale red-haired man standing behind him, who Gabriel assumed was his lieutenant even though he wasn’t Japanese, displayed no reaction. “Mr. Mendez, your childish behavior only adds to your guilt. The boy has demonstrated his willingness to back his accusations. It is sufficient proof for me.”

  “Same here, sugar.” Dell frowned at Mendez. “You and yours slip outta trouble too often. We can’t let it go this time.”

  The Pandora leader nodded. “Indeed. I am tempted to disallow your House from the tournament.”

  “Harada-san.” The mocking rebuke in Jenner’s voice commanded the attention of the room. “Though your suggestion may have merit, surely you do not believe the authority to decide Mendez’s fate rests with you?”

  Deep crimson suffused Harada’s features. He spat a mouthful of harsh syllables.

  Jenner smirked and bowed slightly. “Sumimasen. I would, but I am afraid that is not physically possible. Tomi.” He drew out the name like a curse, and Harada whitened with fury. Jenner ignored his outrage. “Since all but Orion have agreed, we need not pursue the question of guilt. However, Captain Wolff, if you would care to offer your opinion for decorum’s sake?”

  “Wait just a goddamned minute.” Mendez glanced at Jenner before his gaze settled on Gabriel again. “You all aren’t doing shit to me. Especially not because of this little scrap. Something’s not right with this kid. Why don’t you tell ’em how much you paid me to bring him in, Chief?”

  “You did what?” This time, Slade received the weight of Wolff’s stare. “Slade, what the hell is the deal here?”

  “Angel and I have an agreement, which is none of your business, and not what we’re discussing. Don’t try and change the subject, you worm.” Slade drew himself to full height. “We’re dealing with whether or not your man cheated. He did. Now we’re deciding what to do about it.”