Page 2

Thirteen Months Later

Kael

T he screams of a few thousand people thirsty for blood sends a biting jolt of adrenaline straight to my heart. It’s already racing in my chest, jackhammering my ribs into dust.

The man across from me is a beast, a giant with one eye. The other one is just an empty socket, gaping like a cavern that’s half caved in. His face is more scar than skin. A fresh line of jagged black stitches runs across what’s left of a shaggy dark eyebrow.

Don’t get me wrong. I’d normally feel terrible about beating down a one-eyed man, but this guy outweighs me by at least a hundred pounds and he’s a good foot taller.

Giant? No. Juggernaut more like. He’s just about as wide as I am tall.

I bounce from side to side, though I’ve already warmed up before that long walk down the cement tunnel into the cage.

This place bears zero resemblance to the trappings of a professional fight.

The cage is made of chain link fencing. Razor wire glistens silver in the spotlights.

Of course the floor is bloodstained. The smells of piss, sweat, and metal are just as choking and cloying as the screams of the crowd are eager and violent.

This is the kind of fighting that people make or lose their fortunes on.

It’s the seediest of the seedy, and anything goes.

My opponent doesn’t move. He’s big, but probably not slow. In this place, slow equals dead.

I have no one in my corner. No trainer. No coach. That’s a laughable notion. I came alone. Alvaloe would kill me if he knew I was doing this. He’s been training me for the past year, but he’d tell me it certainly wasn’t so I could throw my life away here.

The giant opens his arms wide before he rips off his shirt, revealing a whole lot of mismatched, badly done ink.

Some of those tattoos get cut off by more scars.

He’s not lean, and he certainly doesn’t have a fighter’s toned body, not like I do, but that doesn’t make him any less dangerous.

He probably grows that paunch just so people underestimate him.

I’ve been coming here for ten months, secretly, watching, learning, studying, always pushing harder and harder.

Tonight is my chance.

It’s my night.

After this fight, I’ll have enough money to go someplace where even he won’t find me.

A foghorn blast sounds once, and then twice. The big bastard across from me starts to pace in his corner. One more blast and it’s go time. There aren’t any referees here because there aren’t any rules.

I guess the only one that matters to me is don’t die. Although, if I do, the crowd certainly wouldn’t be disappointed.

They’re a wild, seething, disgusting mass. They’re no better than the mobs of old, and this is the new colosseum.

Before that third blast rips through the place, bouncing off concrete walls as thick as any bunker’s, the behemoth I’m about to fight punches himself in his own face, breaking open the skin near where his hairline would be.

His shiny bald head, glistening with sweat from the heat of all the bodies jam packed around us, breathing their need for blood and gore into the air until it’s thick enough to choke on, runs red.

He swipes his taped hands through the mess, coating them and bringing them to his mouth to lick it off.

My stomach twists.

I’m going to survive. I’m going to win this. It doesn’t matter that he’s fucking huge or that he’s stronger and likes the taste of his own blood. Fuck him.

Fuck. Him.

I’m walking out of here tonight the victor.

I’ll have enough money to live the life I always wanted.

It just took me a little bit of extra time, determination, and creative thinking to get there after my whole world imploded.

I thought that my brother’s death was the end.

It was the end of me , but only my identity.

It took me months to realize that I could go on living, just not as Kael Downey.

I lift my eyes briefly to where the bright lights illuminate a caged podium.

Malcolm Knight hovers high above the frenzied crowd, foghorn in hand, a suit that’s crisp perfection and a thousand dollar haircut, posed like a god.

In this place, maybe he is. He rules these fights.

He owns this place. For all intents and purposes, he owns every single person here right now.

I watch his hand clench around the horn, his fingers moving in slow motion.

I tense, getting down into a fighter’s crouch.

I might not have made myself bleed for this mob, I might look small and fragile, I might very obviously be a woman and have both my eyes and a decided lack of scars, but that doesn’t make me any less deadly.

My body is a weapon and I’m ready .

Before that third blast can sound, the door at the side of the cage is wrenched open. There are three huge men who stand guard, night after night, fight after fight, but they’re no longer there.

As soon as I see him , I know what’s happened to them. He tossed them aside like they weren’t scary, lethal soldiers themselves. He made them look like nothing, like water breaking up on his jagged rocks.

“Hey!” The brute across from me shouts, waving his fists wildly and gesturing at Dravin. He’s an imbecile and I clearly could have taken him, because only a real dumbass would be stupid enough to challenge death itself.

One Eye charges, fists up, a murderous sneer curling up his meaty lips and twisting the scars on his face into an ugly mask.

Dravin doesn’t even move. He lets One Eye smash himself apart.

The giant tries to swing, but that only opens up his face.

Dravin’s hand shoots out and curls around his throat.

He walks One Eye back, step by step, choking him so fiercely that by the time they’ve made it across the cage, all he has to do is release his hand and the beast crumples in a pile of scars, flesh, and mess.

The crowd is silent for a single, collective breath, and then they’re roaring, screaming because half of them love seeing unscripted shit like this and the other half know that they’re not going to get the gruesome fight they were promised.

No one in this place is angrier than me.

I’ve been carefully crafting this plan for ten months, training religiously for at least six hours a day, controlling my diet with the discipline of a gold medal Olympian, and working. Working, sleeping, saving, scraping, training.

This was my out.

This is my life .

Dravin’s hand curls around my wrist. I know better than to so much as attempt to fight him.

He’d never hurt me, but I know what he’s capable of.

He told me himself. Laid it bare for me a year ago when he told me that my brother was going to die before it even happened.

He wouldn’t harm me, but he’s not above pressing on something vital until I black out and he can carry me out of here easily.

“This is not keeping a low goddamn profile you stupid, foolish, idiotic girl .”

Girl? No. Fuck no . Fuck him and this shit and his attitude.

He drags me out of the cage, even the pissed off members of the crowd parting for him like he’s Biblical. He stomps down the long tunnel towards the exit. We go unpursued, which is a minor miracle because he’s just caused one hell of a clusterfuck as far as betting is concerned.

My bet being one of them.

I know it’s messed up to disguise myself and use one fake ID to bet against myself when my whole life is already a lie, but I needed a large amount of cash, and I needed it fast.

As soon as we clear the cement steps leading down into the underground maze beneath the seedy casino, I try to peel Dravin’s fingers from my wrist. He ignores me as if I’m nothing more bothersome than a mosquito.

He still hasn’t released me as we clear one of the casino’s exits and emerge in the overflowing back parking lot.

“Do you want to tell me why you have a fucking death wish when you promised me that you wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize everything I was working on, namely a plan to keep you safe, happy, and alive ?”

“Why I have a death wish?” I scoff, trying to dig in, but I’m wearing boxing shoes and the leather skids over the dirty asphalt without finding any traction.

I’m muscular, I’m strong, my body is like a machine, but I’m still tiny in comparison to this man.

I’m trained. He’s lethal . I’m a fox. He’s a bear .

At heart, I’m just a regular person desperate enough to do just about anything.

At heart… I’m pretty sure he has no heart. “You’re the hitman.”

“I’m not a hitman.”

“No, you just find people and deliver them unto their fate.”

“Yes, exactly.”

“So you can keep your precious hands clean.”

Unlike most of the I’m not a hitman hitmen types, Dravin has zero chill. He’s not into masks or hiding his emotions or keeping his pulse at a bland rate of blah, blah, whatever. He’s crazed.

“Stop it. Just stop .” His no chill is devolving into the state where he loses his temper completely.

If he could shake me, he happily would. “You’ve blown your cover and that means you’re done here.

I wish I could say we’re done, but sadly, no.

I made a promise, and I intend to carry it out, however difficult you might make it.

” He jabs his finger into the middle of his chest. I’ll admit the tight black Henley he’s sporting, outlines his muscles nicely.

Black is supposed to be slimming, but it only highlights Dravin’s massive shoulders.

“I’ve spent a lot of time, effort, and money giving you this life.

” I wish I could tear my eyes away from his cut abs, but now that I’ve noticed them silhouetted by his shirt, it’s a difficult thing to do.

Now is a bad time for my mouth to go dry, especially because it’s him .

“Since you’ve seen fit to shit all over it, we’re doing this my way. You’re coming with me.”