‘I apologise for my boys.’ The biker’s cruel grin split into a blinding smile, the creases at his temples deepening. ‘They can get a bit excited at times. Where are my manners? The name is Mickey-O, and you are?’
‘Here to trade,’ Euan retorted.
Those dark eyes glinted. ‘Well then, let’s get started. Follow me.’
The wall of depravity made room for them and Euan walked forward, holding the gaze of each and every one of the men who were brave enough to return the gesture.
Nick was a silent sculpture of outwardly displayed confidence at his side. He knew the game—show fear and you were dead. Or worse. Euan had given Nick the Glock. Even now, he was likely palming the grip of the weapon inside his pocket, his finger resting on the trigger.
They followed Mickey-O past useless petrol pumps, their rubber piping disintegrated from the harsh summer sunshine, and into a reconditioned station. The door didn’t buzz as it once would have as the grimy frosted glass swung out to accommodate their entry. The posters that would have once coaxed impulse purchases were faded and torn. Their footsteps were loud on the tiled floor, innumerable muddy boot prints marring the once white ceramic squares.
As Euan’s eyes scanned the shelves, he swallowed the bile that clawed up his throat like a serpent, desperate for the light after a long winter of hibernation. They were fucked. So resoundingly fucked he considered just getting it over with by bending at the waist and holding his ankles for support.
The shelves no longer held bags of crisps and candy, but everything from oily engine parts and gardening tools to clothes, shoes and underwear. An entire aisle was dedicated to medication, including antibiotics—penicillin, inhalers for asthma, multiple options for pain relief, needles in their vacuum-sealed plastic coverings, surgical gloves and a fuckload of bedpans, obviously all raided from a nearby hospital.
‘Nirvana ...’ Nick whispered under his breath as he stood by Euan’s side, surveying with a distressed gaze the loot before them.
Nirvana indeed. That was why there had been so many guards stationed at the border.
‘You boys looking for anything in particular?’ Mickey-O asked, taking Euan from his self-flagellating thoughts.
He studied the men in front of him as he felt the eyes of the growing crowd at his back. Nick’s hand in his pocket shifted, likely focusing his grip on the Glock, but the move was a calculated one, which Mickey-O acknowledged with a smirk.
Euan felt Nick’s growing terror. They were outnumbered twenty to one, and there was no way that, with this kind of cake on the shelves, there was not a shitload of assets they were hiding behind closed doors. But Euan knew how to play the game too, so he growled. ‘You gonna tell your men to back off? Don’t feel like sharing with all the eyeballing.’
Mickey-O’s lips hitched up. ‘Boys, fuck off,’ he barked.
Euan didn’t shift his gaze from Mickey-O, so he heard, rather than saw, the shuffling of booted feet and the cursing from being excluded.
Finally, the door to the station closed with a resounding bang. But Euan didn’t for one moment think they were alone, or that the man was unarmed. Moments later, his thoughts were confirmed when two men moved out from the shadows. One was a hard-eyed teenager, his blonde hair pulled back into a top-knot. The other was a clean-shaven dark-eyed powerhouse with broad shoulders and a glare that soured Euan’s gut.
Mickey-O didn’t acknowledge his minions before he moved behind the front counter and nodded towards the heavily laden shelves, his thick eyebrows raising in question. ‘Let’s talk shop. What you need?’
Still holding the biker’s assessing eyes, Euan removed the pack from his shoulders. ‘I need a compass, map, medical supplies—’
The reply was sly. ‘That won’t come cheap.’
Euan tilted his head. ‘Do I look like a fucking idiot?’
Nick hissed behind him and those thin lips stretched into a smile that offered Euan none of the assurance it was intended to portray. He watched as Mickey-O’s eyes flickered to the men who waited in the shadows. His fingers twitched. A message? A warning? Euan’s gaze narrowed before he unzipped his pack as though he’d seen nothing. He held in the flinch as he heard the door lock behind him.
‘I got clothes—’ Euan began.
‘That isn’t gonna be enough,’ Mickey-O stated as though bored with the conversation. He clasped the grimy counter that separated them and leaned in, that disconcerting smile playing around the corners of his lips.
Euan was not going to bargain; if they didn’t like what he had, he’d move on. His stomach twisted though; they needed those supplies.
But they were not worth Nick’s life.
‘Let’s go,’ Euan ordered with a lift of his head towards the exit.
Nick grunted in agreement and turned alongside Euan as they moved down the aisle shoulder to shoulder. He knew that exit was locked, saw the shadows of the many men on the other side of that frosted glass. Although his heart began to race from the undeniable terror that was now seeping through his bones at their inevitable predicament, his outward posture remained stalwart and resigned, as though the danger behind that door was nothing more than an inconvenience.
‘Wait,’ Mickey-O called, though there was no urgency to his tone; he knew as well as Euan did that they were only leaving on his terms. ‘We might be able to come to some sort of arrangement.’
Euan paused but didn’t turn or speak, his stillness answer enough. He felt Nick’s gaze burn his skin as the young man tilted his head so he could watch Euan from the corner of his flashing green eyes.
‘We have a pit. A fighting pit. The boys love a bit of blood sport. A fresh fighter is always appreciated,’ Mickey-O propositioned.
Euan kept his focus on the frosted glass door. The silhouette of the horde that milled around the exit was akin to a pack of mindless zombies, waiting until the prey emerged for them to devour.
‘What did I say?’ he rumbled ominously. ‘Do I look like a fucking idiot to you?’
There was a low chuckle behind him, which skittered up Euan’s spine like a spider with a thousand legs. ‘No. But you do look like a man who might take away with him everything he needs.’
Euan finally turned and gave Mickey-O a stoic, deadpan look.
The man threw his head back and laughed, the resounding howl echoing off the marked and pitted plasterboard walls. In the face of the unshared merriment, Euan’s stare remained blank. Nick re-shouldered his pack.
Mickey-O wiped his eyes with the back of a heavily tattooed hand and nodded towards Nick. ‘You get your boy here to pack a bag of whatever you need. You fight tonight and win, then you can take it and its contents with you.’ His creased face split into a sneering grin. ‘No catch.’
Euan couldn’t help the snort of incredulity. ‘No catch?’
That glint of gold could be seen again as Mickey-O’s smile stretched wider. ‘No catch.’
Euan shifted his gaze until he caught Nick’s resolute eyes. Those dark shadows, the gaunt cheeks, the slumped shoulders.
He took a deep breath and met the dark, menacing gaze of the Prince of Thieves before him. ‘If you lie to me, I’ll gut you like a fucking pig.’
Those onyx eyes glinted, that gold tooth sparkled, and the sinister laugh was his only reply.
Chapter 7
Euan watched as Nick wrapped his knuckles in crisp white bandages. They had been supplied by Mickey-O himself, right after he’d locked them in the disabled bathroom inside one of the fast-food outlets. It stank overwhelmingly of piss and shit. The toilet itself was covered in so much crusted filth that he avoided looking at the porcelain in fear he’d lose what little he had in his stomach. The tiled walls were lost behind a host of graffitied profanity, but one line had stood out to him as his eyes scanned the dim interior after the bolt had been secured.
All men will die. But only a special few will be given the honour to die for a cause.
He saw the poignant note as a lonely island surro
unded by a crush of vulgarity. He felt the symbolic gesture of its meaning resonate in his heart. What had caused that man to scrawl such a perturbing line in what Euan could only assume were similar circumstances to his own?
Had he seen something worthy of fighting for? Was he like Euan, watching the love of his life prepare him for what was likely going to be a fight for their survival? Did he hold the weight of making another decision that could get the heart that lived outside of his breast killed?
As he watched Nick’s dexterous fingers glide over his knuckles with a natural grace and beauty, he realised he needed to mark this moment alongside the memory of those before him.
He was not a clever man, or a highly educated one. As Nick paused before wrapping the second hand, Euan turned to fish through the bottom of the pack they’d been allowed to retain, until he found and pulled out a single red Sharpie. His bold, scrolling script was in stark contrast to the birdlike scratches of obscenity that accompanied the original unnamed quotation.
Cowards die many times before their deaths; the valiant never taste of death but once.
Nick had watched his actions with a narrowed gaze until he read what Euan had written.
‘Shakespeare?’ he asked as he raised his blonde eyebrows in surprise.
‘Read it on a poster somewhere,’ Euan muttered, suddenly self-conscious as he held out his hand for Nick to continue wrapping his knuckles.
It was partly true. He had read it in ink. But it had been on the skin of a woman he’d dated not long before the outbreak of the plague. She had jet-black hair and piercings to match the multitude of colourful designs that covered every limb. She wore red lipstick that always got him messy after he’d had his way with her mouth. He’d loved the heavy-lidded look of satisfaction in her whisky-coloured eyes after he’d smeared that crimson gloss down her torso and over the soft skin between her thighs.
She’d been the mirror image to his outwardly brash countenance, all confidence and girly swagger.
And now, due to the plague, she was dead.
Euan swallowed through the painful ache that gripped his throat like a vice, stealing his voice.
He continued to watch Nick in silence, with memories of that woman dancing like feathers caught in the wind through his mind. He thought about how, even though he’d loved and cherished women before the plague, once he’d met Nick they’d all become inconsequential. When he had faced a lifetime of loneliness, a lifetime without tenderness, care, affection or love from a woman—there were none left to be had—he had reassessed his baser instincts. It hadn’t been a hard shift for him, which made him think that maybe his needs had always subconsciously swung that way. After he met Nicky, and particularly after their friendship had turned sexual, he’d thought about why Nick’s touches ignited an inferno inside his soul. At first, he wasn’t sure if he was just elated he was experiencing orgasms that were not from his own hand, or that he was possibly just so desperate for physical touch that didn’t come in the form of violence that he was comfortable with the switch. But when he began enjoying not just the sex but the intimacy he experienced with Nick, he knew it wasn’t just his cock driving his emotions. It was then he realised that love wasn’t defined by someone’s genitals. Nick was it for him, dick and all.
‘Can hear your brain grinding and clunking from here. What are you thinking?’ Nick asked as he tucked the end of the binding inside the layers surrounding Euan’s fist.
‘How much you mean to me. How sorry I am that I got you in this fucking mess,’ Euan murmured as he lifted his gaze to meet Nick’s in the limited light.
‘Not your fault.’ Nick offered him a wan smile. ‘When we get outta this, when you win and we have everything we need, we’ll never have to worry about places like this again.’
Euan didn’t share Nick’s enthusiasm. He grasped the shorter man’s nape in a firm hold, despite his bound hands that restricted his flexibility. ‘If anything happens, Nick, you get yourself outta here. Don’t look back, don’t try anything noble, and don’t give a damn about my body. You just get out, yeah?’
Nick held his gaze and lifted his hand up to wrap his fingers around the wrist that held him still.
Christ, how he loved this man. He cherished him more than the breath in his lungs that sustained him. He adored Nicky, worshipped him, and would pay homage to his effigy with his own beating heart should anything happen to him.
He was an idiot to risk his life like this.
Nick held his gaze. His look was bleak, so desolate, destroyed. The jade green glistened with resolve and conviction as he spoke. ‘If you go, I go. I got nothing to live for without you.’
‘Fuck me ... Nicky,’ Euan implored, knowing any plea that left his lips was futile.
‘And I’ll make sure I take down as many as I can,’ Nick vowed.
‘Christ …’
Euan desperately wanted to kiss the man before him, wanted to lick every inch of his tanned skin. He yearned to feel the granite-like muscles under his fingertips ripple with every brush of his tongue. He was desperate to hear Nick moan with pleasure as he took his body in passion and adoration. But the hopelessness that emanated from his dull eyes held Euan back, and his heart shattered because of it.
They both flinched as the intense moment was broken by a resounding banging on the door to the stall, before the sinister click of the bolt being released rang through the small room.
‘Nick—’ Euan beseeched. A futile attempt, but one he had to try.
‘Let’s just get this over with. You won’t lose, big man,’ Nick reiterated with resolve he didn’t sound like he believed.
The door swung open, and with it came their impending doom in the shape of a goateed biker in black leathers who stepped into the shadows.
‘Ready, boys?’ Mickey-O questioned with a smirk.
No, Euan was not ready. He’d never be ready to leave Nick, in this life or the next.
Chapter 8
Euan and Nick followed Mickey-O stoically out of their temporary prison, his two silent lieutenants flanking them. Euan’s horror grew as he watched the doors open to a storage warehouse; he knew he was facing Hell. A roar of applause as well as the stench of innumerable squalid and lousy bodies confronted them. Nick vigorously coughed at his side from the fetid odour that bombarded their senses.
They were both propelled forward by a thousand slaps on the back, a million cheers of approval, an infinite amount of well wishes and demands to win. It would seem that Fight Night was an extraordinary celebration of brutal conquest that rivaled the bloody barbarity and sadism of the gladiator fights of old.
He had the urge to reach out and take Nick’s hand. He wanted to hold the young man close, keep him safe, in reach and in sight. The bag Nick had packed under both Euan’s and Mickey-O’s watchful eyes had everything they needed, from a compass to dental floss. They were set if they could make it out of here alive. But as his gaze scanned the bloodthirsty mob, Euan knew they were set up to lose.
They halted and before them, an enormous lever was cranked until two plates of iron parted, leaving nothing but a deep, square pit in the ground. The earth-packed walls were spattered in darkened modernist paintings formed with the blood of the conquered. Human teeth littered the dusty floor along with various dried and shriveled body parts. Fingers, toes and even the whirly cartilage of an ear could be seen in the dirt.
Euan stood on the edge of the gaping maw, listening in growing horror as the crowd around him bellowed and clamoured like angry locusts in anticipation of what was to come.
They stood at the edge of an abyss. It would take everything inside him to see them come out of this alive. Euan swallowed before he turned to Nick and spoke, keeping his voice low so the crush of madmen surrounding them couldn’t overhear. ‘I want you where I can see you. Ringside. No arguments.’
Nick’s gaze remained on the accumulation of body parts scattered on the floor of the pit before them as he nodded slowly.
When Euan wen
t to turn his attention back to Mickey-O, who only moments before had been at their side, he saw her.
Christ have mercy. No. Fuck no.
The biker had moved to a raised dais against the far wall where he sat on a dark leather wingback chair he used as his throne. His faded-denim-clad legs were crossed, his ankle resting on the opposite knee. His posture was relaxed; he was the king of his domain. But the woman seated on nothing more than a stained wooden stool beside him was not his queen. A queen should be revered, loved and cherished.
Euan would argue she was not even his whore, kept fed and clothed to please his baser desires.
No, this poor creature was his prop. His living doll who would ensure the fight went to her master’s favour.
No man in his right mind would not give his life to save her.
She sat naked, every bruise, abrasion and laceration she had recently sustained visible to the hungry eyes of the crowd. Her wrists were held in iron chains hooked above her, pulling her arms taut over her head. Her hands hung listless in the metal cuffs, the skin on her wrists raw and scabbing from the constant chafing of the steel. One forearm was at an odd angle, giving Euan the sickening impression that she’d sustained a break that had never been allowed to heal correctly.
Her head hung sluggishly on her shoulders, one eye swollen shut and her lips split and bloody. Her fragile body, a figure that was meant to be adored and cosseted, was emaciated beyond comprehension. Euan had to swallow against his emotions, knowing the horror she must have endured for this.
Among the hundreds of hands that had pounded his flesh as he’d been marched to the pit, he knew the moment Nick’s fingers gripped his bicep. Turning, he was blindsided by the anger and distress blazing through the jewels of jade.
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