Page 7 of Sons of Hellfire (Hellfire Society #1)

seven

Ali

I stare after the gorgeous man named Arsen.

Honestly, it’s kind of a fitting name. The guy was built under his dress shirt and slacks.

I tried to make my staring not super obvious while he stood outside my cage.

I figured he was just like every other asshole I’ve come across over the last week.

Talking about what they wanted to do to me or what was in store for me.

I’ve even overheard a few of them making bets on who might survive these so-called games.

They were betting that I would die in the first hour.

Jokes on them. This is what I’ve trained for.

The man, Arsen? with his good looks? was different.

He even explained what the fuck I’m even doing here.

I knew it wasn’t going to be good the moment I awoke in a fucking cage.

The thought of being kidnapped for ransom was a joke.

No one cared enough to pay. Then realization hit: human or sex trafficking.

They did find me at the back of a strip club.

Whenever someone has asked for information, I’ve consistently refused to share.

Even though I wanted to reject meals, I knew it would be stupid to do so.

I really did need my strength, and refusing food could hurt me more.

Briefly, I entertained the idea of attacking the guard, but common sense prevailed, and I abandoned the thought.

I didn’t know where I was, and making a run for it could lead me to getting caught, and since they switched out guards, there was no telling how many guys they had at the top of the stairs.

Then Arsen came along. I could tell he was tall when I first saw him.

With his dark brown hair tipped red, long on the top and shorter on the side.

His gunmetal gray eyes watched me with interest as I watched him back.

Then he explained the games. Telling me I would have to fight for my life.

I almost wanted to laugh in his face. I’ve been fighting for my life since I was born.

He mentioned how he would be in the games as well.

That made me pause. Thinking about why I had to be in a cage and he didn’t, the only thing that came to mind was a game of cat and mouse.

He was entering the game to hunt, while we, the people in cages, were the mice.

The moment I could no longer see Arsen, I grabbed my plate.

I knew he was right, especially after hearing what I was about to endure.

I need all the energy I can get. Quickly I devour the food, not bothering with manners as I do.

Once I finish, I spot the black box that Arsen had brought with him.

He said it was what I had to wear tomorrow, and, being the stupid, curious cat that I am, I grab it.

The guard watches me from the corner, but I ignore him.

He’s the shithead that bet I would be dead in the first hour. Asshole.

I take the box back to my nasty, threadbare cot and take a seat.

Taking a deep breath, I pull off the lid and set it next to me.

Black tissue paper greets me with a black envelope tucked just underneath.

I glare at it, not wanting to read it, but knowing I need to.

Grabbing the envelope, I rip up the glued flap and pull out the? would you guess it?

? black folded paper. Fancy print in a metallic gold greets me.

Welcome to the Hellfire Trials.

Tomorrow you will join us for fun and games, but first some rules to follow .

One: You must wear the outfit and mask provided to you. Masks must be worn at all times, or you will be disqualified.

Two: You must survive three full days in the arena. Survive or die are your only options.

Three: In order to qualify for monetary payout, you must kill at least once. But killing often increases your payout. The more you kill, the more you win.

Four: Once you enter the arena, there are no rules. Everything goes.

Weapons and supplies will be provided on a limited basis and will be first come, first serve.

Good Luck and Happy Hunting.

I have to read over the words a few times to really comprehend them because this is like some twisted version of the horror movie Saw.

I’m almost frozen in shock. Do these people really think it is fun and games?

My guess is they are sick, rich fucks who like seeing people destroy themselves.

They probably get off on it, thinking they are untouchable.

As I rip away the tissue paper, my annoyance and anger rises.

I’m not sure what I was expecting when they mentioned I would have to wear a special outfit.

I figured something like combat or camo, but that is not what greets me at all.

No, what I’m looking at is something the girls wear at the club.

I pinch the thin lace material between my fingers and lift.

It’s black, another big surprise. Using both my hands, I hold up the offending piece.

It’s a lacy top that looks a little small.

The cup of the top is a sheer material that I’m not sure will hide anything.

Two cross straps hang at the bottom like they will wrap around my stomach, and I cringe at the thought of having to run around basically naked.

The fuck are these people thinking? Moving on, I pick up a pair of black jean shorts that provide a momentary sense of ease, although minimal.

I’m pretty sure my ass will still hang out.

I add them to my dreadful pile and grab a pair of fishnets next.

At least it will give me some small coverage.

Last, a mask sits at the bottom, making me frown.

I pull it out and glare. It’s a fucking half-face bunny mask with long ears. The fuck?

I find it ironic that they want me to resemble a bunny. Wolves hunt bunnies.

I don’t see any shoes, so I’m assuming I can wear my boots I came with. Thank God for small mercies because these are my ass-kicking boots.

I feel like I’ve barely closed my eyes when the loud shrill of a speaker echoes off the walls, causing me to jerk awake, ready to fight. Then a voice speaks.

“Attention volunteers. This is your ten-minute warning. You have ten minutes to shower and be dressed in your chosen outfits before we leave. If you are not ready, you will forfeit your spot in the trials.” Somehow, I don’t think forfeit means you can just go home instead.

The speaker cuts out as two guards start making their way down the small hall, unlocking cages as they go.

Volunteers waste no time in hustling to the bathroom and shower areas, stripping off clothes as they go.

The sight is a bit bizarre, but who am I to judge when I know I’m about to have to do the same thing.

One of the guards makes it to my cage. It’s the last one to be unlocked, and I reach down to grab the black box that holds my outfit and mask.

The guard is grinning down at me, a glimmer of excitement in his eye as I approach the now-unlocked cage door.

I sneer in his direction, knowing exactly what his thoughts probably are before he even speaks. “After you, sweetheart.”

The guards watching us are both dressed in black tactical pants and a tight black t-shirt.

Both look like they could be in a gang or part of a militia group, tattoos covering their arms. I despise all of them and secretly hope they might be part of the “games” so I can kick their asses for being perverted douches.

By the time I reach the shower area, half of the other volunteers are already dressed.

So, I quickly start to undress. I force myself to stare straight ahead as I set my box down on a vacant chair.

I set my socks and boots next to it as well before stepping forward under the spray.

Icy cold water hits my flesh, causing me to yelp out.

The sound of chuckles following from behind me.

Biting my tongue, I quickly rinse, not bothering with any shampoo or soap.

It’s not like anyone will really care if I smell like a garbage can wherever we are going.

With nothing else to wash and hating the cold-ass water, I step back, not reaching for a towel.

Once again, I don’t care. I want to get this all over with.

Quickly, I dress. I can feel eyes watching me as I do, the creepy crawling feeling skating up my bare skin, but I pay them no mind.

I need to stay focused. From what I read from the note in my box and what Arsen told me, I will be fighting for my life.

That’s all that matters, me making it out alive.

Squeezing into the top was a feat since my boobs don’t exactly fit the too-small-sized top.

Somehow, I think that was on purpose. Dickwads.

It wasn’t like the top was going to hide anything, anyway.

The material covering my tits is a sheer lace.

Also, intentional. I pull up the fishnets next, sans underwear, because none were provided, and I’m not desperate enough to pull back on the ones I’ve been wearing.

Gross. Weeklong underwear is disgusting, and I need to make an appointment with my gyno doctor as soon as I make it out.

Also, maybe get tested for everything under the sun.

This place doesn’t have housekeeping. One out of five stars.

Not recommended. I have to jump to get the jean shorts up over my ass; these, luckily, are my size.

Small mercies. Not knowing how much time I have left, I quickly put on my socks and lace up my combat boots.

I am so glad I wore these to work that night and not my regular Converse.

Finally, I pick up the thick black plastic bunny mask.

Looking up, I glance around to see everyone is already wearing theirs.

Everyone is wearing different masks and outfits.

The few women I spot aren’t even as naked as I am.

Dressed in shorts or combat pants with crop tops or tanks.

None of them are wearing see-through clothes.

What. The. Fuck? Who did I piss off to get the short end of the stick?

I don’t have much time to be angry as the guards start moving everyone towards the stairs.

Taking a deep breath to calm myself, because getting angry and lashing out won’t do me any good right now, I place the bunny mask on.

Luckily, the strap that holds it to my head is thick and adjustable, so I tighten it and fix my wet hair in a high ponytail to help keep the mask on.

You know, because rule number one says to.

I mentally roll my eyes. I’ve never been good at following rules.

With all that done, I step forward, making sure I’m the last one in line.

If I’m going to be attacked, I want to see it coming.

The guards lead us up the stairs, my heart pounding in my chest with every step.

Every thought of what could be waiting for us floods my mind, and none of them are good.

But as we reach the landing, I see a large open room, men standing all around, dressed just like our guard escort.

A bad feeling creeps up my spine as I watch the man in front of me step forward.

Somewhere from the side of the doorway, just out of view, someone reaches forward, a needle in hand, and proceeds to stab the man.

Seconds later, he drops like dead weight.

Ahh, fuck. It’s going to be the same shit from when I was kidnapped.

Two men step forward, grabbing the limp form and drag him out of view.

I start to panic. I don’t want to be knocked out again .

Hesitating, I debate my options. One I could fight and hopefully make a run for it.

I’m fast, and these guys all look huge. So my size may give me an advantage.

Two, let them knock me out and hope they don’t get handsy or something.

This feels like one of those movies where they knock out the person they are kidnapping so they can’t scream or see where they are taking them.

My bet is it’s exactly that, but I think I’ll go with option three and meet in the middle.

Realistically, the odds of me escaping don’t lean in my favor, so I’ll accept I’m going to get knocked out, but I’m definitely going to put up a fight.

“Don’t worry, baby, it’s just a little pinch.

” The guy holding the needle says, glancing over my body and all the exposed skin.

“It looks like you like a little pain, anyway.” I glare, wanting to cover my chest to protect it from the asshole’s leering gaze.

Chuckles sound from a few of the guards standing around waiting for me to drop.

First off, he’s right, a little pain never hurt someone, but I know he’s referring to my tattoos that cover my body.

I barely have any room for new art, but that’s not the point.

The point is the guy is being an obvious perv.

So I paint on a small, seductive smirk and nod my head coyly.

Stepping forward, I tilt my head, allowing him access to my neck, showing him I’m doing this the easy way.

His own lips tip up in an arrogant way, like he thinks he is so charming, so handsome, so irresistible.

Like he knew I would be submissive for him.

He steps forward, the hand with the needle coming up on one side while his other reaches for my chest. That’s when I make my move, quick as lightning.

I bring my leg back and let loose. I swing it forward with force and grin like a damn madwoman when my foot connects with the asshole’s balls.

It’s him who drops like a sack of potatoes, crying out like a little bitch.

I laugh even harder when he reaches to cover his crotch but forgets he was holding a full needle of sedative.

The needle slides into his thigh right as the guard behind me rushes forward, arms wrapping around my chest and lifting me off the ground.

Suddenly, a sharp pain in my neck shatters my joy.

The fuckers got me. I laugh as men shout around the room.

But the haze of the sedative is starting to kick in.

“God damn it. Hold her still.”

“Fucking crazy bitch.”

“Hurry up and put her with the others. Take him too.”

“Fuck, I think I’m changing my bet.”

“This is going to be one hell of a trial.”

“She really is fucking feral. ”

Then it all fades to black, a grin still marring my face.

Take that, fuckers.