Nick sighed heavily. “Tyler, she’s gone. There’s nothing you can do about it now. You need to forget her and let it go.”
I sent him a cold stare then turned away. “Like I could,” I said, more to myself than to Nick. “I don’t know how he even got his hands on her. I bought her a ticket home. Had a car pick her up and take her to the airport.”
“Alexi had someone watching you from the time you left Washington. He never trusted you, Tyler. He told me so. They were going to get her one way or another. I don’t think she ever had a chance. And whatever deal you made concerning me, well, I doubt Dmitri ever intended on honoring it.”
I thumped my head against the wall behind me. “God, I’m so fucking stupid.”
“Ty, you need to put all that out of your mind now. Focus on surviving. If we’re lucky, we might get out of here tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow? Hannah will be God knows where by then. I have to get out tonight, Nick. It’s her only chance.”
He gave me a weak smile of encouragement then laid his head back and shut his eyes.
Chapter Forty-One
Tyler
Late that evening, the thrum of voices grew louder as the gallery began to fill with men and a few garishly dressed women. Their heels clanged and clattered against the metal above our heads. They spoke excitedly about the night’s bouts and their wagers. Four more men were escorted up the long gated corridor and placed in the remaining cages along the perimeter of the arena floor. I studied them closely, trying to determine each man’s possible weakness, as well as his strength.
One of them was just a kid, maybe eighteen or nineteen at most, and scared witless. There was something about him, something oddly familiar, though I couldn’t place it. He was tall, but thin, with lean arms and a hollow beneath his narrow chest. He reminded me of Nick when he first got mixed up with Dmitri’s crew. He paced the floor of his cell with his arms wrapped around his chest, nervously eyeing each of us. The rest of the men appeared to range in age from the late twenties to early forties, and none too happy to be there. They were sizing us up, as well. A couple of them spouted off about how Nick and I both looked the worse for wear. They called us pussies and declared us easy to put down. Except for the kid, they all seemed to purposely pump themselves up for the fight.
The crowd above was getting rowdy, and pushing matches broke out. Alexi and Dmitri joined the mob at the head of the gallery where they both stood up to the railing. Alexi motioned to one of his men, who rang a loud bell, calling everyone to order. With a wave of his hands, he summoned all to be quiet. When the room settled down, Alexi greeted the crowd.
“Good evening, my friends. Thank you all for coming. It should prove to be a most interesting evening, I am sure. As some of you may already know, we have several ways to wager here tonight. You may merely choose to bet on a winner or a loser at the given odds, or you may wager on the length of time you think either opponent might last. You may also bet on whether one man lives or dies.”
Loud cheers erupted at this last point. Alexi raised his hands and quieted everyone down.
“Mr. Chernov, as host and sponsor of tonight’s event, will take his cut off the top of each wager. The balance goes into the pot and the odds are configured. All bets must be made before the fight begins, except for the death wagers which can be made for the duration of the bout, until one fighter falls. After each fight, all accounts must be paid in full before wagering again or leaving for the night. You will be checked at the door, my friends, so please, do not attempt to leave without settling your account.
“The match-ups are determined at random by picking numbers from a hat. Each number corresponds to the number on the outside of the fighter’s cage.” Alexi focused his attention on me, glaring down with malevolence. “There are no exceptions to this rule.”
Nick and I shared worried glances.
“Now for the match-ups,” Alexi called out. He pulled one number out of the hat then another, and held them up to the crowd. “The first bout will be between fighters number three and six.”
The crowd roared anew as Alexi’s men unlocked the gates to the cages, and the two fighters emerged. One of them was the young kid. He walked slowly out of his cell and looked up at the screaming crowd. Loosening his grip around his chest, he lowered his arms to his sides, but the worried frown remained. He turned to look at his opponent, who had already strutted out and was waving his arms up and down to get the mob further excited. He was cocky and sure of himself as he circled the kid standing in the center of the arena floor. The older fighter looked to be in his late twenties and had at least forty pounds on the kid, all corded muscle that rippled beneath the heavily tattooed flesh of his arms, neck, shoulders, and back.
“You have ten minutes to place your bets,” Alexi yelled aloud.
Suddenly, the gallery looked like the floor of the stock exchange as the gamblers, with slips of paper shaking in their raised hands, screamed, while bookies snatched eagerly at their orders. Below the chaos of the mob, the two fighters circled each other around the arena floor, wary of the guards who shouted orders to keep their distance. The tattooed man raised both fists in the air, opening and closing them three times.
Nick turned to me and said, “That’s the signal. He just bet his entire balance.”
I snickered. “Guess I would, too, if I were him. That kid won’t last thirty seconds.”
Nick agreed with a solemn nod and glanced up at the timer on the wall. It counted down the minutes until the fight was to begin while the crowd grew louder and more rambunctious.
As soon as the timer hit zero, the bell rang out. The older, larger fighter ran toward the kid, who backed up defensively, his hands raised up and one leg bent to protect himself. The tattooed man tackled the kid and pummeled his head and body with his meaty fists. When the man slowed to catch his breath, the kid lashed out and landed a solid hit to the man’s throat, knocking him away with a sickening croak.
In a quick flash, the boy jumped up and turned his body at an angle. His arms flexed, lean muscle rippled, and his hands shaped into blades near his hips. When Tattoo charged at him again, the boy threw a forward kick, followed by an undercut punch—martial arts style. The man went down hard, falling into his own blood splattered on the floor. The kid stood over him for a moment, until he was satisfied the man wasn’t going to get up, then he moved away and looked up into the gallery. The crowd erupted into a clamorous roar of unexpected enthusiasm.
Tattoo pulled himself up onto his hands and knees, but not for long. With a running start, the kid launched a savage kick into his ribcage. The man rose a foot off the floor before rolling across it, his blood spiraling outward as he spun like a top. Cheers from the audience rose in a deafening roar. Early on, the odds seemed stacked against the kid, so those few who had wagered for him stood to make a lot of money should he win, while most of the crowd would likely lose a large sum.
After nearly a full minute, Tattoo staggered to his feet. He planted them wide with his knees pulled inward so he wouldn’t fall over. The boy allowed him to hold steady for only ten seconds then hurled himself into a rapid roundhouse kick. The man’s head snapped back on his neck, and he fell to the arena floor, limp as a child’s ragdoll. His eyes rolled back into his head, and blood poured from his mouth and nose. The assembly bellowed all at once, and brawls broke out. Down below, the boy paraded around his victim with his arms held high. He raised his face to the crowd and screamed as the bell rang, ending the short-lived match. Then the kid turned to Alexi and Dmitri and, with both hands, pointed at them with a devilish smile.
“Damn,” Nick swore, his eyes wide and his brow shooting upward.
“Don’t kid yourself, Nick. That boy’s a hustler,” I offered bitterly. “Dmitri’s pawn, no doubt.”
Nick’s mouth hung open as he stared at the kid, his brow gathered with intense concentration. “Huh. Yeah, maybe,” he said, a spark igniting in his eye. “I know that asshole. And so does Dmitri.” He
shook his head with something akin to a grudging respect, like he’d been proven less clever, less devious. “Maybe nothing’s what it seems after all, huh?” Then he dropped his chin to his chest. “Dmitri. Fucking bastard.”
I looked at him, puzzled by his comment. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
He shook his head. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”
“How do you know him then? Who is he?”
“Just a nobody who thinks he’s going to be somebody someday,” he replied, pressing his lips together and waving me off.
But something had changed in him. I just didn’t know what it was.
Meanwhile, on the catwalk above, markers were distributed to those few who had won. There were angry jeers leveled at the boy who still circled around the floor in a victory lap while Alexi’s henchmen dragged the battered, still form of the beaten tattooed man away. With a final yelp in conquest, the boy was escorted off the arena floor.
It took nearly twenty minutes for the gallery to settle down, but my anxiety blossomed while we waited for more names to be called. The bell rang again, signaling the start of the next match-up. Alexi selected two more numbers from the hat. This time, Nick was chosen to fight. My heart tumbled, and nausea rolled through me.
I weaved my fingers through the chain-link between our cells. “Nick?”
He looked over at me, his forehead wrinkled in doubt. With a weak smile, he raised his chin, trying to be brave for my benefit. “No worries. I got this. I know what I have to do now. I’m going to take care of things for once in my life. My last gift to you, brother.”
“What are you talking about? What do you mean, last gift?” I pointed my finger at him. “Don’t you do anything stupid, Nick, you hear me? You made me a promise.”
With a soft chuckle, he smirked, another one of his crooked smiles. But his eyes were different somehow. Resigned. Like the day he and Alexi had made their deal at the hospital.
“I’ve made a lot of promises, Tyler, but there’s only one I need to keep now.”
“And which one is that, Nick? Huh? You tell me. Which one?” I trailed after him as he meandered through his cage.
He ignored me and took a deep breath, releasing it in a loud whoosh as his shoulders sagged.
“Nick, you fight, you hear me? Don’t you give up. You do this for me, okay? You promised.”
He looked me in the eye, calm and composed. “Someone has to appease the gods.”
“Not you, Nick! Not you!” I beat my fist against the fence, making it sway and quiver. “You promised, Nick! You promised!”
But he turned away and walked to the gate.
“Godammit!” I spun around and slammed my foot into the concrete floor.
Nick waited as a guard worked the lock, facing his opponent across the arena floor, the oldest of the remaining two. As they were both released, I got a good look at his adversary. He was an old Joe, but well-muscled, and he seemed too eager. Nick, though young and strong, was weary from fighting the last two nights, and his injuries made him more vulnerable.
The timer was reset, counting down as the crowd made their wagers. His opponent circled Nick around the floor. Nick threw me an anxious glance. A foreboding darkness lingered in his eyes. My stomach was already tied in knots at the thought of having to watch my little brother take a beating. Now I worried about whatever Nick was planning, and I thought for sure I would puke. Appease the gods? What the fuck does that mean? I tried to take strength from the knowledge that he had won his last two bouts, but that hope was only a glimmer.
The bell rang, and the fight began. Nick’s opponent ran toward him at full speed. He swung his fists with animated ferocity. Nick took evasive action and avoided the initial throws. But that only worked for a few seconds until he was bowled over by a head butt to his stomach. He flew backwards five feet. His head slammed hard against the concrete floor. While Nick lay stunned, Old Joe straddled his chest. He threw blow after blow to Nick’s head.
I pulled hard on the chain-link fence, calling out to Nick, over and over. He couldn’t hear me above the crowd. I screamed names and insults at his opponent in a frantic attempt to distract him. He heard me and turned my way. A scowl distorted his face. He climbed off Nick and trudged over to my cell, threatening me and kicking at the barrier between us. I stepped back, but continued to taunt him, hoping to give Nick enough time to recover and stand up. Nick slowly shook off his disorientation, stood up, and stumbled around the arena.
My attention flashed to Nick for a split second, breaking the tenuous spell I had over his opponent. Old Joe turned back toward Nick and tried again to head butt him at his midsection, but Nick saw it coming and side-stepped at the last moment. The man ran headfirst into one of the galvanized steel poles that framed the cages. Stunned, he fell onto his hands and knees.
“Go, Nick, go! Get him,” I yelled as I slapped at the fence. “Tear him apart! This is your chance. Lay him out! Do it, Nick! Do it now!”
Still dazed, he stumbled over to the man. Old Joe lay bleeding profusely from the top of his head. He kicked the man in the chin, rocketing him over and onto his side. Nick stepped after him and kicked him again, this time in the ribs. Joe doubled over in pain and tried to roll away. Nick slowly regained his senses, the roaring crowd motivating him, urging him on. He pulled his leg back once more, aiming for his adversary’s face, but Joe reached out and grabbed Nick’s foot. He bent his ankle around over 180 degrees. Nick twisted over his opponent and fell to the floor, but Joe held on firmly. He continued to twist Nick’s foot, using his momentum to snap his ankle. Nick’s shrill scream reverberated over the roar of the stunned crowd. I froze in helpless agony and watched Old Joe take advantage. He stomped on Nick’s ribs then kicked his head repeatedly, as if punting a football.
I yelled for Nick to move, to get out of the way, but he was hardly able to cover himself between blows. I glanced up at Alexi and Dmitri. They returned my look with smug grins. I begged them to stop this madness. I banged against the chain-link in frustration as the man relentlessly punched, kicked, and stomped on my baby brother, until Nick stopped moving altogether.
While Old Joe raised his arms above his head in victory, I kept my eyes pinned on my brother. Nick jerked a few times then lay still on the cold floor, alone in a growing puddle of his own blood. My body shook in absolute terror. As the crowd roared, aroused beyond reason, Alexi motioned to his men. One removed Nick’s bloodied opponent from the floor while the other checked on my brother.
The guard stepped over his back, careful of the large pool of blood. He pulled Nick’s head up by the hair with no response. He rolled him over, and though Nick’s eyelids appeared already open, he pulled them back even farther, one at a time. Then he felt for a pulse, first at Nick’s wrist, and then at his neck. The guard looked up at Alexi and shook his head before he turned to stare over his shoulder at me with a look akin to pity.
I stared back, frozen in place, unable to breathe. I whispered, “No...Nick...no, no, no.” I looked up at Alexi and Dmitri in the gallery above. “Let me out...please!”
With a flick of his wrist, Alexi motioned to his man standing over Nick. He walked over and unlocked the gate to my cage. I scrambled out, ran over to Nick, and knelt down beside him. I removed my t-shirt and gently scooped his body into my arms, wiping away the blood that covered his face. His sightless eyes stared past me. The fear was gone; they were finally at peace. My eyes brimmed over with tears as I spoke quietly to my fallen brother. I pulled his head up under my chin and held him tight as I rocked him back and forth.
I had failed him. Nick was dead because of my poor decisions. Because I needed revenge. Because I was selfish. I’d traded my soul for the chance to get even, bartering with the Devil with a life that was not my own. Two lives, in fact. Both forfeit for my own base satisfaction. It was incomprehensible. I had lost everything. My entire family was wiped out: my parents and sister, my wife and unborn child, and now my brother. Even Hannah was lost to me. And I was res
ponsible for each one of them. A shrill scream escaped from the very deepest part of me, a wail of utter desperation, of annihilating failure. I was no longer a man simply broken.
I was destroyed.
Chapter Forty-Two
Tyler
The crowd quieted down as they watched me cradle the body of my dead brother in my arms. They moved in unison up to the railing and wrapped their hands around the metal bars. Those behind them leaned over their shoulders, craning their necks for a better look. I scanned their faces one at a time, searching for a shred of humanity among them, but there was none, not one ounce. As the once rowdy audience stared silently at us on the bloody arena floor below, Dmitri directed two of his men to see to me. They loomed over my shoulder and requested that I move away from Nick.
I pulled Nick’s body in even closer. “No! Back off! Keep the fuck away!”
They glanced back up at Dmitri who nodded. I struggled against them, twisting my body from side to side as I held tight onto Nick with all the strength I could muster, but they grabbed me by the arms, pinning one behind by back as they peeled me away from Nick. Two others dragged his lifeless body away, a bloody trail in its wake. I labored to break the binds that held me back until I caught Alexi and Dmitri chuckling above. Then I composed myself and stared murderously in return.
“So help me God, I will fucking kill you both,” I said calmly.
Dmitri cocked an eyebrow and snapped his fingers, directing Alexi to let the last fighter out of his cage. I tore my eyes from Dmitri and turned to the fighter approaching me. We were of similar size and weight, evenly matched. I felt him sizing me up as he paced around.
The Mistaken Page 28