When Nothing Is All You've Got

by Kirsty Dallas

  Her opponent lunged for her, and I squeezed the bars, willing Nada to climb the fucking wall and grab the blade. She made it halfway before a large hand wrapped around her leg and pulled. She held on to the wire, letting out an audible cry as her hands began to slip.

  She was dragged to the floor, and the sudden urgency for air reminded me to breathe. Nada rolled to her back and let out a kick that connected with the big man’s nuts. He roared as he clutched his groin. He might have been a half crazed beast, but he was still a man. Nada rolled away and scampered to her feet. Now, the massive beast was once again between her and the katana.

  Beast recovered quickly. Spittle sprayed from his mouth as he bellowed, taking a clumsy step toward Nada. Just as my lips parted to remind her of the machete, she turned and ran for the weapon.

  27

  NADA

  Damn, he was big . . . and wide. There were few men in the Underworld who would rival his size, but the thing about really big men: they fell really hard. But I needed a weapon; otherwise, I wasn’t going to last another minute in this cage. Pumping my legs with all I had, I ran toward the cage wall and took a running leap up the wire, using my fingers to pull me up. I felt a big, strong hand wrap around my calf, and I growled with frustration as he tried to pull me back down again.

  Raising my other leg, I kicked, hitting the big bastard in the face. He released me long enough for one hand to wrap around the machete’s blade before I was wrenched from the wall. Hitting the ground hard enough to force the air from my lungs, I blinked once, then twice, before I realized Beast was lumbering toward me. My fingers felt as though they had been torn to shreds from the wire, but I didn’t have time to check. Instead, I scrambled backwards, the machete wrapped tight in my hand as I found my feet and swung the deadly weapon. One of Beast’s mighty fists flew my way, but I ducked; his fist breezed over my head, and I felt a jolt of relief as the blade found purchase and sunk into his thigh. It didn’t fucking stop him, though. His hand snapped out, and his fingers wrapped around my delicate throat. Just as he began to squeeze, I used my free hand to reach his face and dig my thumb deep into his eye socket. I briefly noted blood dripping from my fingers, but I had no idea whom it belonged to and no time to think about it. One moment I was suspended in mid-air with a hand around my throat, the next I was rolling across the floor, away from the deadly man. Pushing to my feet once more, I clutched the machete a little tighter.

  “Come on, Beastie,” I growled, anger pushing the words from my lips.

  His gaze left the deep wound in his thigh, and his eyes rose to meet mine. One was messed up from the eye gouge I just gave him, which only made him look more menacing. “I’m going to fuck you until you bleed,” he growled in a deep, gravelly voice that came from a place of nightmares and darkness. That broken, rough voice complemented the crazed man before me, with black eyes, deeply pitted, scarred skin, and dark, indistinguishable tattoos covering every inch of his arms, torso, and neck. His muscles were thick, making his neck seem short under his bulging trapezius muscles.

  As the big man moved forward, I shifted my weight and did a roundhouse kick, my booted foot landing in the center of his wide chest. It didn’t send him to the floor like it would do most people; he didn’t even stumble. Instead, he latched on to my ankle and pulled, toppling my balance and sending me sprawling to the floor. The thump as my body hit the mat forced the machete from my hand. Avoiding a kick to my stomach, I rolled away, putting more distance between me and my weapon.

  Once I'd clambered to my feet, I made a fatal mistake: I turned my back on my opponent for a split second. Keep your eyes on your target, one of Dejohn’s cardinal rules. It was all the advantage Beast needed. He grabbed what little hair I had and pulled me to my feet. With my back turned to my opponent, my body was ruthlessly forced against the wire cage; it made it virtually impossible to fight. Big, clumsy hands grabbed at my body in a frantic effort to find a way into my leathers. I sent a quick, silent prayer of thanks to Regan for my skintight outfit and the thick, leather armor that wrapped around my chest and back. With disbelief, I watched the crowd root for the man who groped helplessly at my body, trying to find a way to my flesh. He slammed my head forward, and my gaze was forced to Shadow’s. Beaten and bloody, he was still as beautiful as ever, and since he was in such a state, and hanging from a cage, I assumed he hadn’t turned on me, after all.

  As Beast brought his hand around my front and fumbled with the custom, inch-thick, leather armor, I bit down, sinking my teeth deep into the flesh of his hand. He didn’t release me, but his grip loosened enough for me to slam my head back, cracking hard enough against the cartilage of his nose that he let me go with an audible groan.

  Tripping over Beast’s big feet, I scrambled across the mat and reached for the machete, only to be brought up short by a swift, powerful kick to my stomach that made me want to vomit. There was no time to recover, though, as a second kick connected with my face. Blackness almost stole the world from me, but I fought it back. To lose consciousness was to die, and I wasn’t ready to die yet.

  With another quick glance in Shadow’s direction, I realized he was screaming. Although I had no idea what he was saying, the panic in his beautiful, dark eyes propelled me forward.

  My hand landed on the machete, and when another explosive kick tore the breath from my lungs, I swung with what little strength I had left. The blade struck, burying deeply into Beast’s flank. He roared but didn’t go down. I staggered to my feet, breathing heavy. Blood dripped into my eyes, blocking my vision. I frantically wiped it away as I took a few wary steps back.

  My opponent’s gaze dropped to the weapon that hung from his bleeding, gaping flesh, and I turned, staggering to the cage wall behind me. Looking up, I found the katana, and through burning pain, I pulled myself up the wire. When my left hand reached up for purchase, I realized the mess my fingers were in. Two fingers were missing from the knuckle up; the others were ripped to shreds and bleeding profusely. I needed the weapon, though, so ignoring the injury, I reached up and pulled myself higher. A scream ripped from my chest, and the pain sent black dots dancing across my vision.

  The crowd roared, but I could barely hear them over my heart beat thundering loudly in my ears. Just as my hand wrapped around the katana’s cool handle, a thump on my back forced the breath, once again, from my lungs. I had no idea what had hit me, but from the startled faces of the crowd, I figured it couldn’t be good. I sent another silent thank you to Regan for the leather armor and allowed myself to drop to the cage floor.

  Turning, I took in Beast, who was a seething mass of bloody fury, standing before me. The machete was missing from his hand, and I grinned as I swung the katana. I barely noticed the stinging ache between my shoulder blades as I stepped forward and carved the katana in an elegant loop through the air. My target raised his arm, as if to block my attack, and I allowed the blade to slice cleanly through it, taking his limb from the elbow down. The animal roared, and I swung again, this time across his neck, the blade slicing through the flesh and tendons there. The gaping wound immediately silenced him, as a slow trickle of blood became a torrent. Finally, the mountain of a man fell, and with a thundering boom, he hit the mat . . . hard.

  For a moment, the arena was silent, until a frantic voice yelled from somewhere outside the cage, “We’re being attacked!”

  The arena felt strangely empty as the noise was sucked right out of the air. I was surrounded by people, but felt strangely alone as I stared at the fallen man. Even as chaos erupted, my eyes never left my target. He was still, his chest no longer rising and falling, and the puddle of blood he lay in grew bigger and bigger.

  Taking an unsteady step forward, I locked my knees and held myself upright, my hand gripping the katana with unrelenting strength. Even as my breath sawed unevenly in and out of my lungs and shock began to set in, my body was still ready to fight.

  I stood over Beast and considered how human his face appeared in that moment. His eyes we
re closed as if asleep, and his face was relaxed. He looked younger, less tormented. I wondered what his story was, what made him into the crazed man he was today . . . or at least had been until I took his life.

  Satisfied he wasn’t going to lurch up into action, I finally let the katana loosen in my grip, and as my weapon hand relaxed, it seemed my entire body followed suit.

  My knees gave out, and I fell with a thud to the mat, beside my dead opponent. As the adrenaline began to wear off, pain began to seep in. Deep, throbbing pain that went further than muscle and tissue. Pain that bled into my bones and made my body shake with a terrific force. Cold, so cold. The icy feeling wrapped around my body, seeping through my leathers and into my flesh.

  Blood continued to fall down my face and drip to the floor. I would have raised a hand to wipe it away were it not for the exhaustion that seemed to consume me. My arms felt like lead weights and lifting them was an enormous task that I couldn’t be bothered with right now.

  He was dead; I’d killed him, another human life taken by my hands. I’d walked into the cage prepared to take his life, wanting to take his life. I wanted vengeance for Regan, and though this man wasn’t responsible, I was happy to take my anger and hurt out on him. This man, who was born into the world an innocent, had somewhere during his journey become a killer . . . just like me.

  A hand on my shoulder jolted my body back into action, and pulling the katana back into a tight grip, I struggled to get to my feet, only to be held down on the mat by the heavy, masculine hand.

  “Be still,” the male voice growled angrily, and my body instantly obeyed. “Be still,” he said again, this time in a gentler tone.

  “Shadow?” I whispered through bruised, bloody lips.

  Holding my shoulder in an unyielding grip, he wrenched at something on my back, and if he hadn’t held me in place, I would have been dragged backwards with the force.

  “Fuck me, Nada. I need to see under this thing.”

  I glanced to my right as a thud landed beside me, and with a foggy brain I recognized the machete now lying on the floor, fresh blood on its blade. Oh, shit. As black dots swarmed before my eyes, I pushed them away and allowed Shadow to unlace my armor.

  28

  SHADOW

  Fuck me. She’d been fighting with a fucking machete stuck in her back. I ripped at the leather ties that held her chest and back armor in place, desperate to see the damage the weapon had inflicted. The moment the arena had burst into chaos, I’d slid my picked padlock out of the steel cage door and thrown myself into the panicked crowd. I wasn’t sure if the fall broke any more bones, or if the pain that wracked my body was from Kingsley’s earlier torture.

  Two of the inmates I’d fallen on didn’t get back up, but I didn’t care. All that mattered was getting to Nada. As the news broke about a possible infiltration and attack, the place quickly cleared, and the cage door had been left abandoned. A swift kick broke the lock, and I entered the cage, watching Nada sway on her knees beside the dead beast, who’d done a darn good job of trying to kill her. In that moment, I realized I could have lost her, still might if the knife in her back was buried deep enough. Even though Nada had won the fight, she looked completely and utterly defeated.

  Finally, the leather pulled away from her body, and I examined the cut through the back of her tight, leather jumpsuit. Carefully, I pried it apart, ready for the worst, and breathed a heavy sigh of relief at the shallow cut in her skin. It was deep enough to scar, and probably warranted a few stitches, but it wasn’t the death blow I thought she had received.

  “We have to move.” Grabbing her elbow, I forced her to her feet. She rose, a little unsteady, her dilated pupils darting around in confusion.

  “What happened?” she murmured as I pulled her towards the cage door.

  Glancing in the direction Kingsley and his men had been seated, I noted, with some relief, that the seats were empty. When we had discovered the Underworld was under the scrutiny of rebels, Kingsley had developed a plan of action in case of attack. The soldiers would be scrambling to assemble and distribute weapons following a breach.

  “Rebels,” I explained.

  She stumbled down the stairs, and I had to fight to keep her on her feet. My own were probably not much steadier than hers. Right now, as adrenaline pumped through our systems, our bodies would be fighting the effects of shock. We needed to take advantage of the adrenaline before it wore off.

  I needed a weapon, but there was no way in hell I was heading for my room, which was positioned a stone’s throw from Kingsley and even closer to the armory, where the men would be assembling right now. Our best bet would be picking up a weapon on the way. We had to get to the grill in the floor that led deeper into the bowels of the ground. There the journey to freedom began. There was no fucking way I was sticking around in this shithole. I had no desire to be the king of the Underworld. I was a simple man with simple dreams. A small home in the mountains, a woman, and freedom; that was my idea of perfection.

  “Where are we going?” Nada asked as I dragged her down corridors bustling with people who were caught in a frenzied panic.

  “Out of here.” She tugged on my arm, and I ignored her. When she tugged hard enough to almost topple both of us, I cast an irritated glance over my shoulder. “We gotta keep movin’, baby. Kingsley will be lookin’ for us.”

  “We got to go back. I need to go to my room.”

  “Sorry, sweets. We ain’t got time for nostalgic sightseein’.”

  “I need to go to my room!” she demanded with a little anger behind her tired words.

  “It’s too dangerous,” I countered. “If Kingsley isn’t lookin’ for us himself, he’ll have soldiers doing it.”

  “He’ll be distracted with the rebels.”

  She leaned against the wall as the inmates surrounding us thinned to nothing but the occasional passerby.

  “Do you understand what he’ll do if he catches you?” I asked, disbelief coloring my tone. “He won’t just kill you. He’ll play with you first, Nada. He’ll let his soldiers play with you, then he’ll make you hurt until you finally fuckin’ scream. It’s the one thing he’s always wanted from you that you were too fuckin’ stubborn to give up.”

  “I’m not going anywhere without my knife.”

  I couldn’t believe what she was asking, and my irritation quickly spiked from subtle anger to all-out rage.

  “I’ll get you a new fuckin’ knife!” I growled.

  “I need that one,” she calmly whispered. “It’s mine; it’s all I’ve ever had. Dejohn gave it to me.” She looked me right in the eye, and the tear that slipped down her cheek fractured my heart, probably the only part of my body that, up until that point, hadn’t been broken. I understood what it felt like to have something precious taken away from you, and there was no way I could ignore Nada’s pleading eyes and rare tears.

  “Fuck!” I roared as I pulled her in the opposite direction, towards her goddamn room and her goddamn knife. I didn’t doubt for a second she was going to have to use that knife before we reached the tunnel that would lead us to our salvation.

  By the time we reached the bend in the corridor that led to Nada’s room, the electricity had been cut. Inmates had scattered so fast that no one had bothered to light any of sconces that lined the walls. It was pitch black, the darkness so thick I could barely see my hand in front of my face. The dull glow of a flickering candle at the bend in the corridor indicated someone had taken the time to illuminate Nada’s doorway. Peeking around the corner, I quickly ducked back and took a long, deep breath.

  “Who is it?” Nada asked, exhaustion weighing heavily on her words.

  “Locky, and neither of us have a weapon.”

  “We don’t need one.”

  When Nada would have brushed past me to take care of the lone soldier, I grabbed her arm and pulled her back.

  “He’s mine.”

  Ignoring her whispered protest, and the throbbing pain in my body, I glance
d around the corner again. Noting that Locky’s back was to me, I crept forward with the skillful silence that had gained me my job as Kingsley’s assassin. Just as Locky’s studious gaze swept back to Nada’s closed door, I ducked down low and ran at him.

  As expected, Locky’s startled expression didn’t last more than the blink of an eye. Raising his gun, he fired, the bullet going too high as I tackled him around the waist.

  The clatter of the gun rebounded off the stone walls as pain burst through my chest, almost rendering me unconscious. Fighting back the darkness, I pushed myself off Locky, my heart willing me to fight even as my body protested. Straddling the soldier, I stilled when it occurred to me he wasn’t moving. Kneeling over him I waited, expecting him to come at me any moment. When pooling blood seeped into the dark stone floor around his head, I grimaced and pushed myself to stand. Remembering the stray bullet that had flown over my head, I spun around in search of Nada. She was leaning against the far wall, a small smile on her face.

  “The bigger they are—”

  “The harder they fall,” I finished for her. It was a lesson in fighting Dejohn had taught her long ago, and I had heard it from the man’s lips often enough to embrace the wisdom. “Thank fuck the stone floor is harder than his ugly head.”

  “Is he alive?”

  With a grimace, I knelt down and felt for a pulse. Satisfied he was dead, I stood and nodded.

  Nada brushed past me, pushing open the heavy steel door to her room. I nearly toppled into her unmoving back when I turned to follow. Peering over her shoulder, I took in the destruction before me. Her pallet and mattress were upended, and her clothes were strewn around the room. The wooden box that served as her bedside table was smashed apart, its contents destroyed or likely missing.