The Race

by Joan De La Haye

  “I get it. Please just get on with it,” I groaned. “You’re starting to sound a little too much like a Bond villain and it’s a little weird.”

  He chuckled. I didn’t realise I was that amusing.

  “What are patrons and what do you get out of this besides getting to jerk off while women kill each other for your sick, psycho perversions?”

  He chuckled again.

  “We play for many things. Sometimes it is for money, sometimes it is for power, and sometimes it is for favours. A favour from a powerful person at the right time is worth more than money. And it is not just men jerking off as you say. There are many powerful women who are part of our organisation. As I have already indicated, Elena’s patron is a woman. She is as diabolical, if not more so, than any of her male counterparts. She is a fascinating creature.” His voice deepened as he spoke about Elena’s patron, tainted by lust.

  “So basically you play with our lives so that someone can do you a favour at some point in some or other business deal?” At this point I would have preferred my circle-jerk theory.

  “That is an over simplification, but close enough. It is not just business but also global politics at play.”

  “That is as fucked up as you can get,” I said, trying to keep my temper under control. “There’s this thing called poker, you should try it. It doesn’t involve innocent women dying so you can make more money.”

  “You, my dear, are anything but an innocent victim. It is also not a term I would use for any of the other women who have participated in this race, or any other of our events. You are all women with interesting histories. Poker is also boring and war is unpopular with the general populace at the moment. These games are played by world leaders from every country in business and politics. The world’s future gets decided by these races.

  The patrons make deals for money, weapons, oil, stocks, power, and control of the world’s resources. All the things that keep the world turning. It is politics and war. It is just the religious fanatics that we cannot control here. Why do you think there has not been a World War in many decades? Wars these days are only fought when a patron reneges on a deal. Saddam was a fool and should just have let the Bush boys have the oil when his runner lost,” he sighed. “I will not bother to discuss Hitler’s issues. He was such a bad loser.” He shook his head. “These women are warriors fighting for the world. Would you prefer all-out war, where more innocent lives are lost? We have simply made it a little more entertaining and challenging than a simple battle to the death in the arena. The winner truly deserves the gold at the end of it.”

  I shook my head as the enormity of what he’d told me sunk in.

  “Politics has always been a bloody game. These races have been run and fought for centuries. Always conducted in secret and they will continue to be run for many centuries to come. It has evolved over the epochs and I must say it is a lot cheaper than all-out war. It is simple economics. If only the religious zealots would cooperate in this, the world would be a far better and safer place.”

  “I see.” I swallowed saliva. “What do I need to do tomorrow?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

  “It is simple,” he said. “You must kill Elena.”

  8

  I wasn’t ready to die.

  Elena was a seasoned killer, and let’s face it, I am definitely not in her league. I may not be a saint, but until a few days before I’d never had blood on my hands. Yes, I was a bad girl, but not a murderer. Did I have criminal leanings? Yes. But the worst anyone who knew me could say was that I’m a thief or a grifter with a bit of a temper. The most violent thing I’ve ever done is what I did to Jake, and he deserved far worse. I’m not an assassin.

  I was so beyond fucked it just wasn’t funny. How that slimy German bastard expected me to win a fight to the death was a mystery I would probably have to solve from the grave, or inside a vulture’s belly. I didn’t even know what they would do to my remains after the fight. Considering what they’d done, or rather what they hadn’t done, with the other runners’ bodies was pretty telling. I’d probably just be left out to feed the island’s wildlife. My blood would soak the ground.

  Nervous sweat drenched my new leather outfit, making it chafe. Von Zimmer had been kind enough to supply me with a warrior outfit. The skirt was incredibly short. If I bent over you’d be able to see right up my birth canal. I had a feeling von Zimmer had a bit of a leather fetish. At least my new boots were comfortable, made from the softest leather I’d ever felt. He’d also supplied me with a new sword that, while it was beautiful, was too damn heavy to lift, so I opted to stick with my lucky cutlass.

  She stood, glaring at me, from the opposite end of the sandy pit of the amphitheatre. The same faces that I’d seen on TV and news stories from across the globe and on the first day in the amphitheatre stared down at me from behind bullet-proof glass. Their faces were disfigured by blood lust and greed. I recognised von Zimmer sitting in his own viewing box. He stood when he noticed I was looking at him and gave me a slight bow in acknowledgement. A handful of the surviving runners, looking exhausted and surprised to see me standing, stood together in a box on the ground level of the arena.

  Elena rolled her head and shoulders, loosening her tensed muscles. She tossed her sword from one hand to the other. Then proceeded to show the crowd just how good she was with her blade. She moved like a dancer. Her sword was an extension of her body. I had trouble determining where she ended and it began.

  I, on the other hand, held my weapon like a clumsy oaf with a wooden club instead of the elegant cutlass it was. My swagger with the blade from the day before was gone. My hands were sweaty and shook like someone with Parkinson’s.

  The arena was strangely silent. Only a slight breeze sighed through the ancient building. The audience sat in silent expectation. I don’t know what I’d expected, but I guess I’d expected them to cheer their champion on or make some kind of noise. The one thing I had not expected was silence.

  Elena ran at me, her broad sword poised to strike. It was yet another thing I hadn’t expected. She was clearly in a hurry to finish me off. Her blade, if it found its mark, would slice through me like a butcher’s cleaver. It whistled past my ear as I dodged in the nick of time.

  My heart palpitated in my chest.

  The cutlass rattled in my shaking hand as I tried to slice her arm, but she easily parried my clumsy move. I stumbled forward and felt the flat side of her sword smack my arse. The crowd laughed, and so did Elena. My cheeks burned with indignation. Wasn’t it bad enough that she was going to kill me? Did she have to enjoy it quite so much?

  Elena looked far more relaxed as she circled me like a predator stalking its prey. She was clearly enjoying the laughter still rippling through the crowd. My gluts were on fire from the blow they’d received. All I could do was wait for her to strike again.

  It didn’t take long.

  She lunged.

  The crowd sucked in air as one organism in anticipation of the expected kill.

  The blade cut into my thigh muscle before I could move. It was just deep enough to bleed, and stung like a motherfucker.

  She was toying with me and clearly had no intention of killing me quick. She was planning to take her time and enjoy every moment of it.

  The audience exhaled.

  A palpable ripple of excitement went through the crowd as they realised they were in for a treat.

  Fucking bastards!

  I wanted to scream at them. I wanted to make them fight their own battles, but I realised how futile it was when Elena came at me again. She was so fast I barely noticed her move before her fist collided with my cheek. My teeth rattled in my jaw. I tasted blood.

  The mob oohed as I spat out a glob of blood along with a tooth.

  I swung my cutlass and missed.

  The fucking bitch laughed.

  If there was ever a sure-fire way to piss me off, it’s laughing at me.

  The anger that had been bubbling bene
ath my fear rocketed to the surface and shattered my control.

  I screamed.

  It wasn’t from pain or fear, but pure, bloody frustration. I’d had enough. The release of everything that had been pent up over the last few days calmed me down and I was able to focus on the job at hand. I gripped my sword tighter. My knuckles turned white. If I was going to die, I would go down fighting.

  I looked up at von Zimmer, who despite trying to look calm, had his fingers steepled under his chin and leaned forward in his chair. I nodded at him. He leaned back in his chair and rested his hands comfortably on the arms of the chair. I could almost hear him sigh.

  I was still looking up at von Zimmer when Elena tried to bulldoze me again, but this time I was ready. I simply stepped out of her way. I couldn’t help the grin that spread across my face as I watched her stumble past me. I also couldn’t help that my foot collided with her arse. I laughed as Elena ploughed face first into the sand.

  “Oh! I’m sorry. Was I supposed to just stand still and let you kill me?” I asked.

  What can I say? I’m a cocky bitch.

  “That would have been boring,” Elena said as she stood and dusted herself off. “We would not want to disappoint our audience.” She gestured towards the crowd.

  The look on her face reminded me of a cat playing with its food.

  Shit!

  “Come my little novice,” Elena said as she took one of those classic sword fighting stances that you always see in the movies and made one of those annoying come and get me gestures with her fingers. It was all so fucking predictable and just way too cliché for my liking. “Let me give you a final lesson.”

  “Okay,” I sighed as I walked over to her. She looked a little startled when I pushed her sword out of the way with my left forearm. Her blade sliced through muscle, straight to the bone. I bit back the pain. “Fuck that shit,” I said instead of screaming. I thrust my cutlass into her stomach. Apparently she had expected me to take one of those fancy fencing positions instead of getting in her face. Judging by the silence that followed, the crowd had expected that I would play and die according to their rules.

  I’ve always been a bit of a contrarian.

  I’d decided that the risk of losing an arm was far better than losing my life.

  I looked up at von Zimmer as I pulled my sword out of Elena’s gut. It made a weird sucking sound. Then there was the sound of her body hitting the ground. He smiled and clapped. A middle-aged blonde woman in the booth next to his stood, without so much as a glance in Elena’s direction, and walked out.

  It all seemed to happen in slow motion.

  Guards with machine guns surrounded me. I was ordered to drop my sword. Von Zimmer kept clapping. The rest of the audience remained silent. The status quo had been broken, and no one was ever happy when the future looked uncertain. I couldn’t imagine what von Zimmer had wagered. World politics had never been my forte.

  Looking up at the world leaders who stared down at me, their faces were disfigured by shock and anger.

  I had a feeling the world would never be the same.

  Thank you for taking the time out of your busy day to read my words.

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  Keep reading for a sneak peek of The Race - Training Days (the second book in The Race Series).

  Training Days

  It was fucking cold and my arm was killing me. Using it as a shield from Elena’s sword may not have been the smartest move, but I was alive and she wasn’t. Her blood soaked the sand of the arena, not mine. Apparently Graff Von Zimmer had transferred my winnings into a numbered Swiss bank account for me. I vaguely remembered him telling me on the plane just after leaving the island, but my memory was a little hazy to say the least. The money would, of course, only be mine if I survived another two races. My chances were slim to none, but I’d survived the first one with absolutely no training, so maybe, just maybe, with some real training, I stood a chance. A small chance, but one I had to take. It wasn’t like I had a choice.

  My room in the Graff’s castle was bigger than my entire flat back in Johannesburg. It also had considerably fewer rats, I hoped. My new bed was larger and much more comfortable. My suite was the epitome of opulence. Thankfully it was relatively modern in style and not classical baroque like some parts of the fortress’ interior or a throwback to the dark ages. Not that I’d seen much of the place. The sword I’d won was propped up against the wall on the other side of the room—discarded. Just looking at the damn thing made me want to hurl chunks.

  I’d slept most of the way from the island, thanks to the pain meds, exhaustion, and dehydration, which had made consciousness impossible. I’d only been in the drafty Schloss a few hours and I already wasn’t a fan of German weather. The sleet hadn’t stopped since our arrival. The fire in the hearth and the blankets I snuggled under did little to warm me up. I was frozen to my very core.

  Shock will do that to you.

  The snow and the impenetrable walls formed a silent cocoon around me. The stillness isolated and unnerved me. I longed for the sounds of the city. To hear kids screaming as they played, or my neighbour’s crap music, which he always played way too loud. I wondered what would happen to all my stuff back home. I didn’t have much but it was mine. Or at least it had been. One of my neighbours would probably help themselves to everything when I didn’t come home. They wouldn’t wait long, if they hadn’t already done so.

  I tried getting up, but my head spun, and pain shattered my resolve. Plus the moment my bare feet touched the marble floor my brain barely had time to register the temperature before my feet were tucked back underneath the blankets. Too fucking cold.

  Thankfully, the dead quiet was interrupted by the sound of voices drifting through my bedroom door. I recognised Von Zimmer’s voice barking orders at someone. He opened the door and grunted some more in German at someone I couldn’t see from my bed. I heard rapidly retreating footsteps pounding down the passage. Clearly the man inspired enough fear in whoever he’d been speaking to, to result in such fast obedience.

  He and I were going to have a lot of issues with each other. I wasn’t the obedient sort.

  “Ah! You are awake,” Von Zimmer smiled as he strode into the room.

  I simply snuggled deeper into the blankets, and stole a glance at my sword.

  “My dear girl, you have no need to fear me. You are perfectly safe,” Von Zimmer said as he plonked down on the bed next to me. “We are going to be great friends, you and I, and to prove this I have brought another friend of mine to take a look at your wounds. He is a genius. The best in his field. You will be up and ready to fight in no time.” The bastard smiled again.

  And with those words I realised that I’d be running and fighting for my life sooner than I’d thought.

  Fuck!

  I wanted to scream at him. I wanted to rip his goddam throat out. But I didn’t. Instead I plastered a smile on my aching face and glanced over Von Zimmer’s shoulder, at the man standing in the doorway. Glasses perched on a slender nose. Unlike Von Zimmer his was a face that had known real laughter, laugh lines danced from his hazel eyes to his cheeks. He had an old, but kind face. It was the sort of face you would probably find yourself confessing your greatest sins to over a few glasses of wine—or in my case a few shots of tequila.

  “May I present Herr Doctor Ernst Mannheim,” Von Zimmer said as he gestured at the old dude who smiled and did one of those old fashioned German bows. He even clicked his heels. I almost expected him to do a full on Hitler salute, but he didn’t. Thankfully.

  I tr
ied to smile again. It didn’t work.

  My face felt as though it was contorted in a weird mask and the nerves in my cheeks felt like they were twitching. The pain meds I’d been given had well and truly worn off and my facial contortions were simply my body’s way of letting my incredibly stubborn brain know that I was not coping. After the twitching, numbness descended, and nausea joined in the fun as the room spun.

  The old guy’s face loomed over me. A bright pinprick of light flashed across my vision, hurting my eyes. Then a slight slap stung each of my cheeks in turn, followed by a sharp stinging in the crook of my right arm. I floated. It was bliss. No more pain.

  “She will sleep now, I think,” I heard a voice say from the other side of the void.

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  Did you love The Race? Then you should read Training Days by Joan De La Haye!

  After winning The Race, Joanna Parypinski's journey takes her from a castle in Germany to the wilds of Siberia, plunging her ever deeper into a world of political games and deadly intrigue.

  Once again she must fight to survive, but how can she be victorious against an opponent she didn't see coming?

  Read more at Joan De La Haye’s site.

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