by J. L. Wilder
Several of the men who were out of contention stepped up now and handed bags of corn to each competitor. The bags were not strapped down, and they were open at the top.
“You have five minutes,” Robert said. “You must ride to mile marker forty-seven, remove one of the red strips of fabric tied there, and bring it back. Whoever accomplishes this with the most corn still remaining in his bag will be the winner. Return outside the time limit and you’ll automatically be given zero points.”
Engines revved. Izzy’s hands knit together.
“Go!”
Two bikes tore out of the driveway, while the other took a more conservative speed. One of those, she saw, was Wyatt. He had wrapped an arm around his corn and was holding it the way he held her, cradled close to his chest. He rode easily, his bike stable beneath him. Go! she wanted to yell—if he took too long, he’d miss the time, and she had no idea how far away that mile marker was—but she held back. He knew what he was doing. He had to.
And he did. Four minutes had passed when Wyatt returned to the clearing, red cotton between his teeth, full bag of corn clutched in his arms. He was not the first one back—in fact, everyone but Lionel had beaten him—but when the bags were arranged side by side and compared, Wyatt had finished in first place.
Gunner’s second to last place finish wasn’t enough to take him out of the running. Thirteen points was still a lot to be reckoned with. But Wyatt had now moved up to eleven, which was good enough for second place.
He caught Izzy’s eye as they headed inside for the evening, and though she didn’t dare speak to him, her heart felt lighter than it had in days.
Chapter Fifteen
Wyatt awoke early, the scores still running through his head. Gunner was in the lead with thirteen points, but he hadn’t been careful in the last challenge. He had worried too much about going fast. Wyatt figured he’d probably wanted to impress the rest of the pack by being the first to return. I hope coming in first was worth it, Wyatt couldn’t help thinking. Gunner had lost most of his lead on that event alone.
He couldn’t believe he had managed to come out of the first day of competition in second place. Although part of him was certain he had it in him to win the Games, another part of him couldn’t help acknowledging how farfetched that really was. But this morning, it didn’t seem so impossible. Gunner hadn’t broken away from him in the standings yet. Maybe it could be done.
Van was close behind him, one point back in third place, and if Wyatt was honest with himself, he had to admit that Van winning wouldn’t be such a bad thing. He could trust his younger friend to treat Izzy kindly, he thought. Better Van than Gunner, if it came down to it. But I still need to do my best to beat him. Izzy was carrying his children. HIs only hope was to win today, if they were going to be a family.
And then there were James and Lionel. He knew them, of course, as he knew all the members of his pack, but he didn’t know what they would do if they won the rights to Izzy. He couldn’t trust them the way he could trust Van. They were probably better options than Gunner. But they were also so far back in the standings at this point that it seemed unlikely they would win.
It’s me, Gunner or Van, he thought, and hoped he wasn’t jinxing himself by permitting the thought. Put that way, his odds seemed good—or, at least, not overwhelming. Van or I can beat him. I know one of us can. And as long as we do, Izzy will be safe. Van could raise the babies as his own. It would eat Wyatt up inside to have to watch someone else raise his children, to know that someone else was taking Izzy to bed every night. But at least it wouldn’t be Gunner.
God, please don’t let it be Gunner.
He got to his feet and dressed for the day in loose fitting clothes, not knowing what he would be required to do during today’s competitions. He hoped for more biking challenges. He hadn’t anticipated that, but he knew that on a bike he was Gunner’s equal. It might be the only type of competition in which he could hope to keep up.
Izzy was already in the kitchen when he got downstairs, surrounded by what looked like every woman in the pack. They were smiling and laughing as if sharing some amusing secret, but Izzy looked pale and somber. She met his eyes briefly and then looked away, and Wyatt could see that she was afraid. He wished he could go to her and reassure her that today was going to go fine, that his odds were good. By the end of the day it will be over, he thought. Nothing to do now but to go out there and win.
“THE FIRST COMPETITION of the day,” Robert announced, “will be hand to hand combat.”
Wyatt tried not to betray his feelings on his face, tried to keep a neutral expression, but inside he was suddenly fighting hopelessness. How could he be expected to beat the others in hand to hand combat? He was easily the weakest man in the lineup, physically. He was just too old. The others had the strength and resilience of youth on their side...and then there was Gunner.
“The fights will be seeded,” Robert continued, “so in the first round, our second place contestant will take on our last place contestant and our third and fourth place contestants will also fight. The first place competitor will receive a bye and move straight to round two, where he will fight against the lower ranked of the two still in. The final round will consist of our last two competitors fighting for the title. Points will be awarded for the order in which the competitors are eliminated—one point for round one, three for round two, four points for the runner up, and five points for the winner.”
Wyatt stretched his arms over his head, trying to limber up. He would face James in the first round, and that might not be so bad. James hadn’t been performing well in the Games so far. And there was no risk that he might have to meet Gunner in round two either, since Gunner would by default be facing the competitor with the lowest score and every other competitor had a lower score than Wyatt.
He would have to defeat James, then, and unless Van or Lionel could do it, he would have to defeat Gunner in the end.
The first round of combat turned out to be much easier than expected. The rules called for the victor of each fight to pin his opponent for a count of five. James was taller than Wyatt, and broader, but he approached the battle weakly. Maybe he was worried about harming a man much older than himself, Wyatt thought. If so, that was his weakness. He knew Gunner wouldn’t show the same hesitation. After a few moments of wrestling, he managed to get James to the ground. The crowd around them counted down eagerly from five and Wyatt got to his feet, barely winded.
He sat to the side for the next fight, which Van won easily. The younger man strutted around the perimeter of the clearing, flexing for the assembled spectators. Lionel did not take his loss as good-naturedly as James had—his lip curled in a half snarl, and for a moment he looked as if he might attack Van anew. But after a moment, he calmed himself down and went to sit beside James.
They’re both out of it now. There’s no way they can make up enough points. It’ll be me or Van or Gunner, for sure.
He sidled over to stand beside Robert as the third fight began. “Do you think Van stands a chance here?” he asked in a low voice.
“Anything could happen,” Robert said.
“You think?” Wyatt couldn’t help letting the doubt creep into his voice. He had felt confident—or, at least, reasonably confident—going into every competition so far, but this one was stacked against him. It was even stacked against Van, who was younger and fitter than he was, but couldn’t match Gunner for size or brute strength.
Robert gave him a side eye. “Are you worried?”
“Sure,” Wyatt said. “I don’t want the kid to get hurt.”
No sooner had the words left his mouth than Gunner dealt Van a vicious blow, knocking him to the ground. Van regained his feet, but he was staggering and bleeding from a cut just above the eye. Gunner’s next hit drove him backward into a tree, and he crumpled at its base, unconscious.
“Van!” Heather was at his side, on her knees, examining him. She glared up at Gunner. “What did you do!”
“That can’t be a fair hit,” Wyatt protested to Robert.
Robert frowned. “He didn’t violate any rules. Van hit a tree.”
“Gunner pushed him into the tree on purpose.”
Robert shook his head. “That’s a serious accusation, Wyatt. I’m sure it was an accident.”
Wyatt didn’t answer. He looked over Robert’s shoulder. Van had opened his eyes, and a couple of men were helping him off the field.
“He did well,” Robert said quietly.
But it wouldn’t be enough. Gunner had made it to the final round, and now Wyatt would have to face him. And if what had just happened to Van was anything to go by, he didn’t stand a chance.
He strode out into the field, trying to keep his head high for Izzy’s sake. He couldn’t make himself look at her. The hope he knew he’d see in her eyes would destroy him. I can do it, he told himself, over and over, with every step. I can do it. I can. The odds aren’t on my side, but it’s not impossible.
Gunner stood opposite him, across the field, waiting.
Someone, one of the spectators, howled support. It was impossible to know who the howler was, or who they were supporting.
I can’t move against him first, Wyatt thought. The one thing I have over him is intellect, and if I let him see how I fight, if I let him have even a moment to respond to me, it might be game over. No, he would wait and let Gunner come to him.
But, for what felt like an eternity, Gunner did not move.
He was used to being attacked, Wyatt thought. His size and his muscles threw off his opponents, caused them to panic and go for him quickly. He wasn’t used to measured, careful opponents. He was confused. It was written on his face.
Score one for me, Wyatt thought grimly.
They circled each other, round and round, establishing a path in the clearing, flattening the earth. As they circled, Wyatt’s eyes flicked involuntarily to Izzy.
And Gunner pounced.
Wyatt let himself fall backward as the bigger man dove on top of him, feeling the heat of Gunner’s breath on his face and the places that would later bear bruises. He rolled as he hit the ground, not sideways as instinct might have dictated, but backward, over his shoulder, knees over head, kicking the weight of Gunner over with him. It wouldn’t have worked, he knew, except that Gunner had expected him to stay upright. Gunner would never have thought Wyatt would work with the motion of his attack.
And now he had the upper hand. He came up with his knees pressed on Gunner’s biceps, well out of reach of Gunner’s flailing legs, and lifted a hand quickly, his heart pounding.
“One—two—three—four—FIVE!”
Wyatt rolled away and scrambled to his feet.
“That was a fluke!” Gunner roared. “That wasn’t a real hold! Cheap shot! Trick!”
Wyatt couldn’t believe his nerve, after he’d just pushed Van into a tree. His own move had been no more unconventional than that, and significantly less harmful. Rather than argue, he just looked to Robert.
Robert shook his head. “Fair play,” he announced. “Wyatt wins the round and takes five points. Gunner receives four.”
He couldn’t believe it. Not only had he won—beaten Gunner in hand to hand combat, the competition he’d pegged himself least likely to win—he’d also increased his score to sixteen. That put him only a single point behind Gunner. All I have to do is beat him in the next event, he thought. It doesn’t even matter what place we finish in, as long as I’m ahead of him.
Now, he looked at Izzy. He was careful not to look too long, not to let it be obvious to those around them that he was making eye contact with her. We’re almost there, he tried to convey to her through his gaze alone. One more event, baby, and then we’ll be a family. You and me and those pups. And nothing will ever come between us again.
She looked back at him, eyes shining with pride and admiration and joy, and he felt certain that even though they couldn’t speak to each other aloud, she had understood every word.
THEY WENT INSIDE FOR lunch. Lena assembled sandwiches at the counter while the others stood around eating quickly, eager to bring the competition to a close.
“I’m dropping out,” James said good-naturedly, draining a beer. “No way I can catch up to you two now.” He winked at Wyatt, who wished he could tell whether the gesture was a sign that James wanted to see him win or if he was being mocked. “Might as well enjoy watching the last event of the Games, right?”
“What about you, Lionel?” Paul asked.
Lionel didn’t answer, just gripped the neck of his own beer tightly and scowled. He wouldn’t be so easily gotten rid of, Wyatt knew...but he was too far behind to pose a serious threat at this point.
He sidled over toward Izzy, on the pretense of getting mustard for his sandwich, and allowed his hand to brush hers on the counter. He lingered for just a moment, putting everything he could into the gesture. I love you and are you okay? and we’ve almost made it and I’m going to win it, Izzy, I’m going to do it for you and for the pups, everything is for you.
So, so briefly, she turned her hand over beneath his and squeezed.
“‘Scuse me!” Gunner reached between them, grabbing a handful of potato chips in his hand rather than using the scoop Lena had placed there. He paused, Izzy pinned between his massive body and the counter. “Well, girl? You about ready for tonight?” He certainly seemed to have recovered his confidence after being beaten in combat.
Izzy looked down at her shoes. Her eyes never flickered to Wyatt. Good girl.
“I think I’ll take you right in the clearing, in front of everyone,” Gunner said thoughtfully. “Let them all be a part of it. We’ll make it our Closing Ceremonies, what do you say? I’ll have you pregnant within the week.”
Izzy bit her lip. Wyatt wanted to walk away, didn’t want to listen to any more of this talk, but he couldn’t leave her to face it alone. He made a production of choosing onions for his sandwich, one by one, so he could stay near her, so he could lean into her space and let her feel the warmth coming from his body and know that she had someone on her side.
The sound of Robert clearing his throat immediately grabbed the attention of everyone in the room. As Gunner turned to face him, Wyatt caught Izzy’s hand and pulled her away, propelling her over to where Heather was standing before melting back into the crowd of men.
“Your bikes wait for you in the garage,” Robert said. “The final trial is this: the first man to ride his bike out of the garage and into the clearing will be the winner.”
A long pause.
“That’s it?” Van asked suspiciously. “We just have to go get our bikes and ride to the clearing?” It was a stupid test, a nothing test, something every one of them could have done in their sleep. The distance wasn’t even significant enough to be considered a race.
“Go now,” Robert said. “Everyone else, with me. We’ll be waiting for you there.”
The kitchen emptied. Most of the pack went through the yard and toward the forest, leaving Wyatt, Lionel, Van, and Gunner to walk in solemn silence to the garage.
Wyatt saw the real test immediately.
His bike had been tampered with.
Robert must have done it while they were having lunch. The sparkplug wire had been loosened and the battery had been disconnected. One of his tires was also flat, the air having been let out of it. They were all easy fixes. He grabbed a pump and began to re-inflate his tire.
Slowly, the others set to work. Van had noticed the damage to his own bike right after Wyatt, but Wyatt thought maybe he hadn’t seen the problem with the sparkplug—he seemed to be moving around it when he could have taken a moment to fix it. Gunner, meanwhile, was behind Wyatt, so it would have been impossible to see what he was doing without stopping to turn around and sacrificing momentum.
The others were still at work when Wyatt finished everything he had to do. Heart pounding, he threw a leg over his bike and started it up. I’m coming, Izzy—
But something
was wrong. The bike gave way beneath him, lowering him farther than it should have to the ground. He hopped off, to check again, to make sure.
The tire was flat again.
The cap had been removed, and when he’d gotten on, air had leaked out. But I know I put it back on, he thought wildly, looking around the floor of the garage and patting his pockets. Where could it have gone? I don’t understand.
Van’s motorcycle kicked to life and pulled out of the garage. Wyatt spared a second to watch him go. Van will win this round, then. But it still won’t be enough unless I beat Gunner.
Where was the tire cap? It had to be here somewhere!
“Looking for something?” Gunner asked.
Wyatt whirled around. Gunner had gotten to his feet and was dusting his hands on his knees. An evil smile had spread across his face.
And with dawning horror, Wyatt understood. “You took it,” he breathed.
If it were possible, Gunner’s grin got even wider. “Prove it.”
“Give it back, you fuck,” Wyatt snarled. Never in his life had he felt the wolf so close to the surface, but he couldn’t shift now. He had to stay in control.
“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Gunner said, one hand moving protectively to his pocket. It’s there. Wyatt wanted to fight him, wanted to take it back, but he had only won that wrestling contest in the clearing by a combination of luck and the element of surprise. If they fought here, Gunner would know his goal and hold him off.
And there were a lot of heavy tools around.
He could do nothing but stand helplessly and watch as Gunner engaged his own motorcycle and rode out of the garage, toward the field, where he would claim the Omega Games victory and Izzy.
It was over.
Wyatt had lost.
Chapter Sixteen
IZZY
She had kept track of the points carefully in her head from one round to the next, so she was actually slightly relieved to see Van come riding into the clearing. Wyatt could still beat him easily, she thought, as long as he’s one of the next two to arrive.