Only the Strong

by Ethan Cross

“Please,” she whimpered. “Spare this man. You have the power to show him mercy. You’re our universal ruler. Do it for me. I can make it worth your while.”

  “And how would you do that? What could you give me that I don’t already possess?”

  “I could start being a good wife to you.”

  Corin glanced over her shoulder at Sonnequa, whose face was curled up in a hateful snarl, and then her gaze returned to Derrick. She said, “I could be your number one wife. Your First Lady. Your Empress.”

  “I’m fully aware of your potential, my dear, but I still don’t see how letting this man live helps you realize that destiny.”

  “Consider it a wedding gift to me.”

  With a wistful and almost compassionate expression, Derrick paused and seemed to consider her offer. Then, turning to his brother beyond the viewing glass, Dr. Derrick Gladstone, like a tyrant of old, held out his arm with the thumb pointing down.

  The giant in the mask nodded and walked past the salivating but patient canines.

  Corin said, “Please, Derrick. Please, you can save that man.”

  “Yes, I could, darling. But this is business. Our clients have paid a lot of money to see a show. I can’t simply pull the plug. Especially not when the Diamond Room’s big finale is coming up tomorrow night.” Rotating his chair toward Sonnequa, Derrick said, “Turn on the red lights, and ring the dinner bell. The boys have earned their supper.”

  “No!”

  Ignoring her, Derrick turned back to the glass, waiting for the show.

  With a reverent nod, Sonnequa touched the surface of her iPad. A distinct buzzer sounded, and all the lights in the Diamond Room changed to a nightmarish shade of red. The hellhounds came alive, flowing toward the center of the room like a tidal wave of sinew and teeth.

  Corin closed her eyes against the tears. She didn’t want to see what was about to happen. Unfortunately, covering her ears wasn’t enough to block out the snarling and the screams of torment.

  Over her own sobbing, she heard Derrick say, with a gleeful edge to his voice, “Dogs are actually red-green colorblind, so the hellhounds can’t perceive the change in the color of the lights. But I think it adds something, and the viewers love it.”

  ~~*~~

  Chapter One Hundred One

  Marcus, as always, had started systematically by searching the room for any structural flaws, anything that could be used as a weapon, and any abnormalities. He came up empty on all accounts. Then he dropped to his mattress and listened, scanning for any clue to their surroundings, any information that could give them the upper hand.

  A part of him was just glad that they didn’t have electric shock collars around their necks.

  The only items in the room that he considered using were a flat-screen television mounted to one wall and a small security camera screwed to another. But the destruction of either item would draw a lot of attention from their captors, and a homemade shiv made of broken electronic parts was of little help against a man with a gun.

  The flat-screen television abruptly came to life, and Marcus shot to his feet, ready for an attack. Ackerman didn’t even budge from his yoga pose. A man in a grotesque skull mask filled the large LED display.

  The Gladiator, in an undistorted baritone, said, “Welcome, Agent Williams and Mr. Ackerman.”

  Marcus glanced over at his brother, but he hadn’t even opened his eyes yet. There was no way their captors could have known Frank’s true identity. To ensure that, Ackerman had undergone extensive facial reconstruction surgery, and the SO had faked his demise. Unless Frank had told them himself . . .

  The Gladiator continued, “That’s right, gentlemen. We know who you are, and why you’re really here. We of the Legion go deeper than you can possibly imagine. And just so we’re clear, Mr. Demon set you up from the very beginning. He learned of the FBI informant and used the mole to send a message to you. To draw you here. So that my brother and I could kill you.”

  Not even sure that the killer could hear him, Marcus said, “You know where to find us, pretty boy.”

  The Gladiator continued, “Here’s a small preview of what’s in store for you tomorrow night. You should be honored. You will be featured as the main event in the series finale of the Diamond Room.”

  The image on the video monitor changed from the horrifying mask to a grid of video feeds. Marcus stepped closer to get a better look, and Ackerman was right beside him before he even realized his brother had stood. They both watched as Jerrell Fuller was easily bested by the Gladiator and then devoured by the pack of dogs.

  After it was over and the screen had faded to black, Ackerman said, “My previous estimates of a ten percent survival rating may have been a bit high.”

  ~~*~~

  Chapter One Hundred Two

  Corin Campbell wept for the man who had just been torn apart. His screams had died away, but she could still hear the gnawing, the snarls, and the sound of teeth against bone. Part of her was relieved that she hadn’t been the one on the other side of the glass, but then she felt guilty for that temporary reprieve. She certainly didn’t deserve to live over that FBI agent. Derrick was right about one thing. At her core, she was a murderer.

  She didn’t open her eyes, but she heard Derrick say, “They are such magnificent creatures. Did you know . . . Well, of course, you don’t, but the Rottweiler can, thanks to their large head, exert more biting power than German shepherds and pit bulls with a force of 328 pounds—that’s about half of a shark’s, but still pretty damn impressive.”

  She said nothing.

  “Evolution nearly claimed the Rottweiler at one time in history. The breed had been used mainly as herding dogs, but when the railroad invaded the land, the Rotties were out of a job. They’re normally gentle giants, but they are also very malleable animals. I find it fitting that a species that fought its way back from the brink of extinction will aid me in doing the same for humankind.”

  She finally opened her eyes and saw Dr. Derrick’s flawlessly handsome face and million-dollar smile. He said, “What do you say we switch gears? I think we’ve had enough of the Discovery Channel. Let’s flip the station to one of those cheesy talk shows with a long-lost reunion episode. Watch the monitors carefully, Corin.”

  “I don’t want to see it. Whatever it is. I don’t want to see.”

  “Trust me. You’ll want to see this.”

  “Just kill me. But please, make it quick. Don’t feed me to the dogs.”

  He said, “I wouldn’t feed you to the hellhounds, my dear. You’ve earned the right to at least become a lady of the lake. But it would be a shame to leave poor helpless Sammy here all alone.”

  The video monitors changed all at once to the grainy image of a cell much like the one she had occupied for the past two weeks. Sammy sat in the corner, rocking back and forth, knees to chest. Her younger sibling looked pale and thin.

  He continued, “I was so very enthusiastic when I discovered your genetic code. In your case, a trait coupled with the desire to survive, an ability to adapt and overcome most any circumstance. Sammy, I don’t believe, has your drive to live, but I’m willing to bet her genes are actually in pretty good shape. I think I may collect a sample and run some tests.”

  Her voice was low and trembled with fear and rage as she asked, “Please tell me that she hasn’t been . . .”

  “What? Raped? Is that even possible with a prostitute? I mean, in reality, isn’t that merely an equivalent crime to running out of the restaurant without paying your bill.”

  “If you or your little brother have so much as—”

  “Don’t worry. Sweet Sammy has been well taken care of. She is unharmed and unmolested. And she will remain that way. In fact, in a couple of days, she can go free.”

  “What happens in a couple of days?”

  “We’ll be free. Present circumstances have mov
ed up my timeline a bit, but—with profits from the Diamond Room at an all-time high and my other businesses flourishing—it hasn’t been a problem in the least. I’ve already secured the purchase of my own private island, which is part of the beautiful Marshall Islands chain. The Marshalls are also a non-extradition territory. Two days from now, we’ll all be sitting on the beach of our new nation. One big happy family. And once we’re safe on the island, then things will loosen up. You might even start to enjoy it.”

  She was about to say something she shouldn’t have when he turned the corner and was coming toward her. It was the man who had haunted her nightmares and repeatedly violated her in every way—mind, body, and soul.

  The father of her unborn bastard child.

  A wave of protective instinct washed over her, and she hoped that the overdose of sedatives Sonnequa had given her wouldn’t affect the baby.

  At first, the thickly muscled man merely stood there, breathing hard, the thick cords of his body pulsing, his whole nearly naked form speckled with blood. Unlike his opponent, the man in the skull mask seemed to have come from the fight with nothing that a shower couldn’t cure.

  Her mind raced for a way to end him right there, but she quickly dismissed the thought. She had seen the way he had effortlessly dispatched the FBI agent, and that man had been trained to fight. What could she do against such a behemoth of a man, especially in her half-coherent state?

  Then he pulled back the metal mask to reveal his true face.

  She gasped and clamped a hand over her mouth. Part of her had expected there to be nothing beneath the mask, and she definitely didn’t expect him to seem so . . . ordinary. He didn’t necessarily have an innocent face, and yet it was somehow childlike, due to a round jaw that gave him the look of the Cupid off a Valentine’s Day card. She also noticed cauliflower ears and a nose that had been broken more than once. Beneath his jaw were signs of surgical scars where doctors had apparently operated on his lower mandible.

  He glanced down at her once but seemed hesitant to make eye contact. Derrick wheeled over and said, “I know the two of you have bumped into one another on multiple occasions, but I don’t believe you’ve been formally introduced. Go on, say hello, little brother.”

  “Hello, Corin, I’m Stefan Granger.”

  Derrick snapped, “Your name is Simon Gladstone! That was the name you were born with. That was the name that our father gave to you. While I understand why you had to forsake that name in the past, it doesn’t have to be that way anymore. You can reclaim your true name.”

  “I’ve been Stefan Granger for decades now. I’ve been Stefan Granger for a lot longer than I was Simon Gladstone.”

  “Now’s not the time to discuss this, dear brother. Right now, I have business to attend to. Can you please be a sweetheart and see Corin back to the common room.” Then, in his nonchalant manner, the whack-job doctor and the Good Wife headed down the hall, conversing in hushed tones.

  The massive, blood-covered man looked at her but then quickly diverted his gaze. He ran a hand through his short hair, appearing nervous, like a kid about to ask a girl to the prom. He said, “So . . . did you enjoy the fight?”

  “I’ve seen some horrible things in my life, but that was hands down the worst.”

  He seemed genuinely hurt by her statements. “Well, I guess you better be getting back. But I did have something I wanted to tell you. It’s something I tell all the women who’ve been chosen to carry my seed. I just want to say that I’m truly sorry for having to do that to you. Derrick insists on the insemination being natural. I always try to be as quick as possible, if it makes a difference. But either way, I’m sorry to put you through all that.”

  Corin wanted to laugh in his face. And she didn’t think that desire stemmed solely from the presence of the psychotropic drugs pumping through her bloodstream. The whole situation seemed so absurd. A man like this, acting shy and offering an apology.

  Instead of laughing, Corin heard herself say, “My face is going to be the last one you see before you die. The anticipation of that moment is all that’s keeping me alive. Your apology is not accepted, and in fact, you can consider this to be a formal declaration that I intend to cut your heart out and feed it to your little monsters.”

  He leaned down into her face, cocked his head to the side, and slapped her so hard that she nearly toppled over. In a whisper, he said, “I better get you back now. But once all this is over, and we get to the island, I intend for you and I to be spending a lot more time together.”

  ~~*~~

  Chapter One Hundred Three

  ~~Monday~~

  Baxter Kincaid pulled his newly acquired Harley Davidson CVO Street Glide to the curb and killed the powerful High Output Twin Cam 103 engine. The afternoon sun warmly caressed the glass-and-brick facade of Unser’s Gym. The beautiful Agent Morgan hopped off the back and headed directly toward the newly renovated building. Detective Ferrara stopped her halfway and said, “You don’t want to go in there. It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before. It’s a bloodbath, a massacre.”

  Baxter hopped off the bike and hurried to catch up. He heard Emily say, “Have you identified the bodies? Who’s in there? Is it . . .”

  Baxter explained, “Special Agent Williams and Mr. Dantonio went missing last night. Agent Morgan and I paid a visit to Mr. Oban this morning, but he claims they never showed up.”

  Natalie said, “Why haven’t you told me this before now?”

  Through gritted teeth, Emily said, “Who’s in there? Is it them or not?”

  Natalie shook her head. “No, just Mr. Unser and several of his fighters.”

  Emily shoved Nat aside, saying, “I need to see.”

  Baxter followed closely behind. If Natalie told him not to go in there, he would normally take her word for it. He had never been great with all the blood and guts, a younger Baxter having done more than his fair share of yakking into the bushes. But the gentleman in him wouldn’t allow Emily to face this alone.

  Once he saw the horrors within, part of him wished he had heeded Nat’s warnings. Unser’s Gym would likely haunt him for years to come. The victims hadn’t simply been killed; they had been slaughtered. They had been laid to waste, Old Testament style. Many of their skulls had been caved in. Bones were torn from their sockets and snapped like twigs. Blood was everywhere.

  Emily held her composure for a moment before she started crying and ran outside. Baxter followed close on her heels. He did so for two reasons. One: he wanted to console her, that being the way he was built. And two: he was definitely going to throw up.

  He followed her up the block a ways until she dropped onto a bench in front of a BUILT Custom Burgers restaurant.

  Giving her a moment to calm down, Baxter took the opportunity to puke off the curb. Then he popped five Tic Tacs, chewed them up, and slid onto the bench beside his new friend.

  Pulling out a joint, he said, “You know your partners are much tougher than that pack of street fighters.”

  Wiping away the tears, she said, “The man who did that, who broke those men like they were nothing—that same man is now doing Lord knows what to the most important men in my life.”

  He rubbed her shoulder with his left hand, while sticking the joint in his mouth with the right and flicking his Zippo to spark the fire.

  He had taken a couple of puffs when Emily looked over at him, cocked her head to the side, and then snatched the joint from his mouth. He thought at first she was going to stomp it out, but instead, she placed it between her lips and inhaled deeply.

  Blowing out the smoke and passing the joint back to him without a cough, Emily said, “I’m not a detective. I’m a counselor. A psychologist. I’m not cut out for this.”

  “Detective work is a lot about trying to get inside people’s heads and figure out what they’re thinking. Sounds like you’re perfectly suited for the job.”


  She asked, “Are my friends already dead?”

  “This Gladiator . . . seems to me that he never makes it quick for his victims.”

  “Is that supposed to make mqe feel better?”

  Baxter thought about that a moment before he responded. “No, it’s not supposed to make you feel better. There’s nothing that will do that right now. You’re in the valley. But your best path out is to have a clear picture of the world and the challenges we face. I have faith that if we play our parts well, then things will turn out for the good.”

  She said, “Faith is a funny thing.”

  Baxter passed her back the joint, and she took another puff, just a small one this time. He replied, “I once heard a preacher tell a story about a class he had in seminary. The professor in charge of the class took all the students down to a pond in the middle of the campus. Then he challenged them to have the faith to walk out onto the water. None of this taking your shoes off or nothing. Just run, and God will handle the rest.”

  “Referencing the story of Peter stepping out of the boat to go to Jesus.”

  “Exactly, so the professor tells the students that, if they really had faith, then they should be able to stroll across the water just like Peter did.”

  With a small smile, Emily said, “I’m betting this professor’s office had a clear view of the pond.”

  He chuckled and continued, “Don’t get ahead of me. But, yes, his office window overlooked the pond. The preacher telling the story went on to say that he had personally considered taking a run at it, but he had ultimately decided that his faith couldn’t compare to that of Peter. The old professor had also told the students that if they did succeed in this task, then they shouldn’t make a big deal out of it or even feel the need to share their success with their peers. He said, ‘What happens here is between you and God. Just run, and let Him handle the rest.’”

  Emily asked, “So the guy telling the story never even tried it?”