by Lucy Smoke
Morgan waves me away and even though I'm irritated, there's not much I can do but to go find the prick who had me run a message for a Tank once. Not that he had told me before I went, otherwise I wouldn’t have gone. The “client” hadn't liked what his "friend" had to say, and I'd worn the bruises on my cheek for weeks. Kida had been livid. Our semi-friendship with Morgan had been the only thing to save the little twerp from Kida’s wrath. As it was, he had remained scarce for several months following the incident.
"Alvin." I find the kid, a tall, skinny teenager, chatting up a prostitute along the furthest wall, away from where the ring is set up. He turns his head and the obviously bored, disinterested hooker takes her chance to escape. When he sees it’s me, he promptly flips back to her, intending to pardon himself. When he sees that she's already gone, I see the flash of indignation and insult slide across his face for a moment before he turns back to me, his cheeks flushed red with anger.
"What?" he all but growls.
"Have you found out anything about the information Morgan gave you for me?" I ask.
He shrugs. "Not much."
"Have you even been looking or were you bothering the hookers again, hoping to get a free lay?"
He scowls at me as I smirk and lift an eyebrow. His gaze flits down to my neck as if he's picturing his hands wrapped around it before his eyes flicker even further, taking in my tight black pants and tank top. The skin on my upper chest is exposed to the rugged heat of so many people crowded into one enclosed space.
"I may have found something out," Alvin hedges, eyes glued to my chest. I step forward and he blinks, looking back to my face.
"Then tell me," I say, "before I shove you into the ring with the Executioner."
"Not gonna do me in yourself?" he taunts, tilting his head back in a way that's both ridiculous and pompous.
"Why do that when I heard the last guy the Executioner killed died slow and painfully. I imagine having spikes shoved through your abdomen isn't a fun way to go. Want to find out?"
I watch with pleasure as his Adam's apple bobs for a moment.
"The Thayer guy, that one rung a few people's bells. They say he used to work in a chop shop of some kind, but he's been MIA lately. Must've gotten a new job from a new boss or something. The name and description made a few people curious, but they didn't know him personally. Most of it was second hand rumor."
"And the other two?" I ask.
"No one recognized the names," he replies, avoiding eye contact. "Besides, most people are only interested in one rumor right now."
I blink, confused. "What rumor?"
Alvin looks back at me, his dark eyes flickering with smugness. He loves knowing something that I don't. Lucky for me, in this moment, his mouth is too big for his damn head and he spills. "Vincent Diamond's been seen around the city."
"The governor?" My words ring hollow in shock. No one's seen the governor for several months. Some had even suggested that he'd been murdered and Arawn, the capital city and home to the Imperator, hadn't yet sent or chosen his replacement.
"Yup," Alvin says, leaning back on the heels of his boots. "There's something brewing with the Tanks. They're getting more aggressive lately. I haven't even heard from Julius."
My eyes flash at the mention of his Tank friend. "Good," I snap angrily. "Maybe he's locked up at the Enforcer Headquarters."
Alvin narrows his eyes at me, but before he can open his stupid mouth I slam my fist into his nose. The cartilage crunches under my knuckles and he gasps in surprise as blood spurts down into his open mouth. Satisfaction curls inside of my chest as he clutches at his face, angry eyes glaring at me.
"That's for sending me to him. Next time you want to try and set me or anyone else up with a Tank client,” I pause, curling my lip in distaste, “don’t.”
He opens his mouth to say something. I don’t know what, and I don’t care. I shoot him one last glare and turn my back on him. It’s a complete and utter insult. On Tartarus, everyone is a threat and for me to turn my back on him simply tells him that he isn’t strong enough to be considered such. I’m not so stupid as to leave my back unprotected though. Out of my periphery I watch him as I stride away. He doesn’t move.
When I make my way through the crowd that has doubled in size in the few short minutes I’ve been away, Morgan is happier than a pig in slop. I should know, since I spent several months on one of the animal breeding farms on the lower sky villages when I was a teen. I had been sent there on a juvenile detention rehabilitation order. If the government really wanted to get rid of thieves in Tartarus, they would do better to just set the whole city on fire.
"What'd he say?" Morgan peeks over at me as if judging my mood.
I grunt and cross my arms across my chest. "Tell me about this Ghost Fighter," I say instead of answering.
Morgan pauses a moment and coughs into his palm before pulling a joint from his pocket and lighting up. I grimace. There's already several like him, smoking their worries and lives away in the basement. Soon enough the whole room will be filled with the smell of their various poisons of choice. I'd seen enough of that and had promised myself to never touch the stuff but knowing how hard Morgan had it—experiences I had seen with my own two eyes—I couldn't begrudge him for his habits.
"Guy’s a fuck'n machine," Morgan says as he inhales, his voice lowering with the smoke filling his lungs. "Faster than any I've ever seen."
"He's new," I say. "If he's as fast as you say, do you think he's got a chance against the Executioner?"
"He's relatively new to these rounds, but he's not new to fighting," Morgan corrects me. "He's been in other fight circles, but with younger fighters and under a different name. They used to call him Midas."
I laugh. "The king who turned people to gold?" I shake my head. "Wow, they really dredged up some old Earthian myths for that name."
Morgan smirks, the closest to a smile he ever gets. "They named him that because they say that whatever he touched turned to money. At least in the fight circles. He never lost a fight in the younger rings."
"I highly doubt that," I scoff. "He must've lost at least one."
Morgan inhales his smoke once more before shaking his head as he holds the cloudy substance in his throat before slowly releasing it. "Not once," he repeats.
I turn my gaze to the side of the ring, where Morgan has had his assistants draw lines of chalk in a circle. It's a crude ring, hastily set up and easily erased by a storm of people's feet across it which is what will happen if enforcers show up to break up the entertainment. Fight rings are illegal if they haven't obtained a permit but permits for anything these days have to come directly from Arawn and they don't give two shits about Tartarus. Plus, the cost is incredibly inflated. Everyone knows there's no money to be had in legal fight rings.
"How old is he?" I ask. If he's just come from the younger rings, he can't be much younger than me.
"Twenty, I think," he says.
My age. "Hmm," I hum before I reply. "Well, I hope you're right about him because I laid a hundred down on him."
Morgan looks at me as I lean against the wall at our backs. The room is heating up as more and more people arrive. The early birds have already placed their bets and are itching for the fighting to begin. Morgan's assistants, including a bruised Alvin, are all taking care of the late comers and the last bets being placed.
"You're in trouble, aren't you?" he asks.
I snap my head towards him in surprise. "Aren't I always?" the reply slips out of my mouth, but I frown at his extra serious expression.
"You should be up in your pod, packing and getting the hell outta dodge," he says.
I lower my eyes. "If I were to tuck my tail and run every time I got into trouble, I'd never be still a second in my life."
He barks out a rough laugh that's less humorous and more condescending, though it doesn't sound directed at me, but towards himself. "You're never still a day in your life anyway." Morgan stabs out the end of his joint
against the wall before dropping the butt on the dirty floor of the basement. "Still, you shouldn't be here."
Confused by his sudden change in mood, I stay where I am as he moves away. He disappears into the crowd, aiming for the fight ring where he'll make the first announcement. I can't leave. My last hundred is in this fight and if I can get away or at least go under the radar, I'm going to need the money. There's something in Morgan's warning, though, that makes the hairs on my arms stand up.
The basement lights go out, encasing the room in pure darkness. My breath catches in my throat and I freeze, feeling people anxiously begin to move about, trying to find their friends. It's been so long since I've been to a fight, I've forgotten how they start. This is normal. That's why there are no screams or gasps of shock and fear.
One of Morgan's assistants has carted in a self-charged, wide spotlight. It flickers on and we can all see again. The poor kid is sitting atop a rickety metal ladder propped against a corner away from everyone, holding the thing. For now, his hands are steady, and the light shines directly on top of Morgan's head. The man standing under the glare tilts his head back and the crowd rumbles with excitement. I watch as Morgan smiles and to the average onlooker, it looks full of relish and anticipation. No one else can see the exhaustion in his face, the lines that bag under each eye. The stylish, darkening growth of hair forming the shadow of a beard isn't there for a trend, it's there out of laziness. Still, like the rest of us, he opens his mouth and lies.
"I have never been so ready for a fight! Have you?"
The crowd goes wild at his prompt. Screams of "Yes!" and jeers abound, and I wait towards the back still leaning against the wall, watching. Waiting. His eyes find mine above their heads and his smile slips for a moment as if he's disappointed I haven't yet walked away.
His gaze flickers back to the masses surrounding him. "First up, I present to you, ladies and gentlemen—from the darkest gutters of hell itself, a man so foul, we question if he really is a man at all. The one! The only! The Executioner!"
The double doors of the basement slam open amidst the yelling. I flinch at the noise, glancing up at the ceiling above us. Hopefully, Morgan has paid off enough of the nearby residents or, at least the ones that aren't in the room with us that we won't have to scram if the enforcers are tipped off. My eyes snap down to my scanner and I press a button along the side so that the screen lights up. No alerts or warnings flash over the screen.
As I breathe a small sigh of relief and start to move through the crowd, Morgan’s already on to his next announcement. I catch the end of his spiel as he declares the entrance of the Ghost Fighter. When a familiar head of copper hair pops into the ring, a look of hard concentration on the face I had seen not but a few hours before when he and his friends had kidnapped me, I trip over my feet and stumble, slamming my shoulder into the wall.
My arm throbs with the dull pain as I watch, dumbstruck. Morgan’s lips are moving and he’s talking to the crowd, drawing cheers and laughs. Despite the darkness surrounding his soul, the obvious track marks on his arms, and the dark circles under his eyes, he’s good at pretending. Was this what he meant when he said I shouldn’t be here? Did he know that his Ghost Fighter was Levi? Did he know that Levi was after me, or technically, after Kida?
I can’t seem to drag air into my lungs. All of my money is sunk into this fight. If I just up and leave, I forfeit everything. What should I do?
Hide. I can stay if I disguise my identity. Just my features should be enough, I think. My eyes scan the people around me, looking for a target. Morgan will certainly notice when he gets done with his announcements if I disappear. I need to be quick.
My eyes lock on a man standing towards the front. More importantly, I lock on the jacket tied around his waist. I slowly move through the crowd, careful not to push or shove and cause anyone to pay me any extra attention. Levi’s in the ring, he can spot me at any moment. I gently bump into my target, mumbling an apology before striding away, his jacket gone from his waist and clutched in my hands. He doesn’t even notice its disappearance.
Sliding my arms through the sleeves, I shove the fabric up to my elbows and bring the hood up to shield my facial features. The heat in the room is suffocating, and now even more so with the jacket. The crowd is riled, and I wait, shuffled back towards the thinner section of the crowd. A bell dings just as Morgan pushes through and finds me.
“What’s with the jacket?” he asks.
I shrug. “Cold,” I lie smoothly.
He arches an eyebrow, but he doesn’t call me out as he turns to watch the fight that’s now started. People jeer and cheer excitedly in front of us. Levi and the Executioner circle each other, Levi’s arms relaxed at his sides while the Executioner watches him and licks his scarred lips, revealing chipped and missing teeth. The bigger man lunges at Levi and I blink when I realize he’s no longer where he was. The Executioner stumbles and almost face plants on the hard floor while Levi sways, as if to a tune in his own head, behind him.
For a moment, I let myself assess him in other ways that I hadn’t before. Though Levi’s features are, for the most part, relaxed, his eyes are hyper-focused. My gaze trails over the way a small smile plays at his lips, tightening for barely a second when the Executioner attacks once more. Before the fight began, I was convinced it was an unfair fight. I still think it is, only now, the advantage lies with who I had originally thought to be the underdog.
“Incredible, isn’t he?” I was so focused on Levi’s movements that when Morgan speaks, it startles me.
“He’s fast,” I agree.
“The fastest I’ve ever seen,” Morgan says.
I glance at him out of the corner of my eye. “Think I’ll get my money’s worth out of him tonight?”
Morgan turns towards me, lips pinched as if he’s holding back his amusement. “There’s no doubt in my mind.”
A roar from the crowd distracts me and we focus back on the ring and the fight. The Executioner is down, a bloodied lump forming on the side of his head. Levi stands above him, the same blood on his knuckles and a jittery energy rolling off his body. He bounces slightly in place, a frown marring his face as though he’s disappointed. Morgan leaves me at the back of the crowd to enter the ring, leaning down to press fingers to the Executioner’s neck.
He motions to a few of his assistants and they enter the ring, lifting the man’s unconscious body and carrying him away as Morgan announces the Ghost Fighter as the champion. Groans of disappointment mix with cheers of celebration and I stop one of Morgan’s assistants as they return from wherever they left the loser. Luckily, it’s the same kid I placed my bet with. I offer him a small portion of the winnings, which should be enough for me to go into hiding for at least a month or two, if he’ll bring the winnings to me directly. Sensing an easy and decent profit, he agrees readily and scurries away.
Within moments, he’s back with my wad of cash. I hand over more than I’m truly comfortable with for the favor and for his hastiness. With his help, I’m able to avoid the betters that are all now crowding around the betting table where the remainder of Morgan’s assistants hand out winnings.
“Going somewhere?” Morgan’s voice reaches my ears as I head for the door.
I pause, turning towards him. “Don’t worry, I’ll see you around sometime,” I promise.
"I doubt that." His face doesn't change, his lips don't quirk, his eyes remain fixed on me. "And truly, I'm sorry, but I did tell you that you shouldn't be here."
I frown in confusion. "What the hell are you talking about?"
Morgan reaches into his pocket and pulls out another joint, lighting it and takes a long drag as he keeps staring at me. I notice a few taller heads in the crowd behind him making their way towards the door, towards us.
"I gotta go, Morgan. I'll see you later."
I turn around and reach for the door handle when his next words stop me cold. Sweat trickles down the middle of my back beneath my shirt and stolen jacket. "They
don't know who you are, and I didn't tell them."
I shove against the doors, realizing exactly what he's talking about. They know I'm here. The smell of Morgan's burning joint follows me into the long, narrow hallway that leads down to the end of the basement. I take off for the door at the very end, shoving through that too as I hear footsteps following behind. Chased twice in one day; Kida would be disappointed in me. Or she'd be running right beside me, laughing her ass off. Twisted sense of humor, that girl.
It's dark outside on the streets and, in this part of town, no one is out and about. There's a moon hovering somewhere overhead, blocked out by all the metal and glass buildings. The zipcars have stopped running for the day. Can't get out of this the same way twice.
The second doors bang open behind me as I take a right down an alley. I hunch my shoulders inward, trying to blend in with the shadows. Street lights flicker and buzz. Most are dead, the remaining working ones spaced strangely making the whole area seem more dangerous than it might be considered since it's so close to the Enforcement Headquarters.
A side door on a shop, attached to a building next to the pod complex, slaps open in front of me, nearly hitting me in the face. Levi strides out with a tattooed giant shadowing him. I freeze, quickly turning the opposite direction and sprinting back down the alley. Thayer and Haze's familiar faces round the corner at the end, stopping me once more, trapping me between them and Levi and the tattooed giant.
"Hey, Troublemaker," Levi calls out behind me, amusement plain in his voice. "Look who's a step behind now."
I grit my teeth and slowly turn to face him, shoving my hood back. Deliciously cool air rushes over my heated cheeks as I glare daggers at him. "What," I snap, "do you fucking want from me?"
The tattooed giant's eyes catch mine, a dark rage resonating from deep within. I blink and almost take a step back in response. They're so intense and the shadows thrown by the flickering street lights make him look like a demon waiting to take me to hell. I have to mentally push myself not to back down and straighten my spine to show I'm not afraid.
