Backs Against the Wall (Survival Series-Book 2)

by Ward, Tracey

  “I think it’s perfect,” Marlow says happily. His happy is freakier than his pissed off. I fight another flinch when he smiles at me. “I’ll tell you what. If you get the Vashons to come up here and help you with your war, we’ll back your play.”

  This feels dangerous. Everything in this place feels dangerous. Especially that smile.

  “And if they won’t help?”

  He shrugs carelessly. “Then nothing. Then you’re on your own. You don’t bring this to me again.”

  “What’s the catch?”

  He chuckles. “Why do you assume there’s a catch?”

  I don’t answer.

  He grins knowingly. Appreciatively. “Let’s just say I’ll be impressed if you get the elitists off their island. So impressed that I’ll be willing to help you in any way I can.”

  “Deal.”

  “Joss,” Ryan murmurs. I can feel him move close beside me.

  “We need a boat to reach the island,” Trent tells Marlow.

  I hear Ryan sigh. We’ve run away from him, sprinting down a hill full steam with no chance of stopping. Not until we’re forced to. Or until we fall.

  “You’re full of needs and wants, aren’t you?” Marlow asks. He nods as he rises, as he makes his way off the platform to stand in front of us. “You can borrow a boat. For a price.”

  I actually feel better talking cost with him. It’s solid. It’s real. It’s not smoke and mirrors, smiles and scowls that pretend to mean one thing but really mean another entirely.

  “What will it cost?” I ask.

  “Dammit,” Ryan mutters.

  I glance at him, unsure. He’s frowning at me.

  “We should have had more Market 101 discussions. That’s not a great way to negotiate.”

  “We can negotiate with him?” I whisper.

  “Everything is negotiable, kid,” Marlow tells me. “You just gotta make sure you know the worth of what you want. How much is getting this boat worth to you?”

  I shake my head, completely at a loss. I don’t have anything, definitely not anything they don’t already have.

  “Not flush at the moment, huh? That’s alright. We can still do business. Tell me, what did Vin value you at?”

  “What?” I ask, stunned and angry at where this conversation is going.

  “The man’s a professional. He can’t help himself. No way he spent any amount of time with you and didn’t slap a price tag on you. So, what was it?”

  I open my mouth to answer, to lie and say he never told me, but Ryan cuts me off.

  “I’ll fight.”

  “No!” I snap at him.

  He ignores me. He locks eyes with Marlow with a cold indifference.

  “I’ll do it. That should be worth a boat.”

  Marlow considers him for a long, painful moment.

  “You’ll fight for me?”

  “No, just one fight. Tonight. That’s it.”

  “How does that benefit me? Everyone bets on you. I’d make pennies off it.”

  “Not if I fight in the Blind.”

  Marlow grins. “Really?”

  “Once. I’ll do it one time.”

  “That’s as often as anyone ever does it.”

  “What’s the Blind?” I ask.

  Again, I’m ignored. I’m reminded of Crenshaw and Ryan in the hut and I worry this is becoming a thing.

  “You’d be the only one to know,” Ryan tells him. “The only person betting high on the Blind.”

  “Won’t that create some suspicion?”

  Ryan shrugs, scowling at Marlow. “It’s your club isn’t it? What do you care what they think? Bet under a different name. Send a lackey down to do it.”

  “Hmmm.” Marlow turns, his head hanging forward as he thinks. Finally he turns to face us again, his hand stretched out to Ryan. “You have yourself a deal.”

  Ryan shakes firmly with him, his face going blank. The guilt I carry like a stone in my stomach grows until it feels like it will break me in two. I hate all of this, myself included.

  “You’ll have a boat on loan. As soon as the fight is done I’ll have the boys bring it around.”

  “Bring it around now,” Ryan says, his voice low. Quiet.

  Marlow raises a surprised eyebrow at him. “And why would I do that?”

  “We agreed you’d lend us a boat if I fight. I’ll fight, I gave my word. But win or lose, these two get the boat. So I’ll go to the Arena from here and you’ll have the boat brought around.”

  “Win or lose, as in live or die?” I ask him. Sick of being ignored, I get into his space, forcing him to look at me.

  He glances down at me. His normally warm eyes are hard. Empty.

  “Yes.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” Marlow agrees. I can feel his eyes on me. I can feel him thinking. “Just as a point of curiosity, what did Vin price you as?”

  I shouldn’t tell him. I should shut up. I should lock it down. I should lie and tell him I’m a dime. Nothing better than blank-faced Breanne. But I’m pissed. I’m mad that Ryan is going into a fight for my sake. I’m mad that I’ve been put into this position, that I’ve been forced out of hiding and thrust into this world of killers and douchebags. That I’m ruining Ryan and I’m passively watching it happen. So I do something stupid. Something emotional.

  “He called me a Benjamin,” I tell him fiercely, looking him hard in the eyes.

  He grins, his face openly surprised. “Really? Wow.” He looks me up and down, appraising me in new light. I can feel Ryan’s eyes on me too. I don’t know what they hold. I can only handle the weight of Marlow’s stare at the moment. “Well, he is the professional. I never would have seen it but… he would know, I suppose. Interesting.”

  No one asks him why it’s interesting. I have a feeling everyone else already knows.

  “Rex,” Marlow calls out, still looking at me with a luminous grin. “Get the maps. They’ll need to take a look at them before they go. We wouldn’t want them getting lost. Not with my boat.”

  Rex brings in a large roll that he spreads out on a table. It’s an old map of the Sound and Seattle from back when streets had names and places had purpose beyond shelter from the storm. It looks nothing like Crenshaw’s and I miss the naked mermaid happily telling me hello. This map feels cold in comparison.

  “We have so many maps here. Of the entire world, what’s left of it,” Marlow muses, pouring over the paper. “Every corner mapped out, every story told. It’s a shame really. No matter how exotic a locale, it’s made almost boring. Mundane.” He looks up at me with that creepy grin again. “There are so few uncharted territories left. So few untouched lands. They’re a gem when you can find them.”

  I stare at him blankly, silently. I don’t want to encourage this conversation any further. Partly because I don’t understand it, but also because I think I’m beginning to.

  Chapter Eleven

  Ryan is led away by two of the guards, ushered out flanked on each side by them as though he were a flight risk. I watch him go, my stomach dropping out, my heart pinching in my chest. He doesn’t look back and I haven’t decided yet if that makes it better or worse.

  Trent and I are given the rundown with the maps. We’re instructed on where exactly the Vashon’s island is and the best way to get there. Apparently everyone and their mother knows where this thing is but no one attacks it. No one bothers them. That’s very telling right there. Like this aquarium and the stadiums. Who are these people? What are we getting ourselves into by going to them? By going somewhere The Hive doesn’t dare to go.

  I let Trent examine the maps, his crazy eyes absorbing every detail and committing it all to memory. I’m too distracted to deal with it. I keep thinking about Ryan, about where they’ve taken him, about what exactly this Blind business is. I really hope it’s not what it sounds like.

  Finally, Trent and I are released. That’s it, just shoved out the door. Thanks for stopping by, get the hell out. They tell us the boat will be waiting
at the end of the pier and we’re welcome to take it at any time. I’m relieved when Trent leads me through the entryway toward the shoe filled fish tank. I was worried he’d take me out of here, that Ryan told him not to let me see him fight. It would have killed me and I would have fought him tooth and nail to stay. No part of me believes that I could win in a fight with Trent, though. Even if I was fully healed and armed, he’d lay me on my ass.

  He silently takes me back behind the tank, down another long, dark hallway, down a cramped flight of stairs lit with emergency red lights and straight into the freak show.

  The Arena is my worst nightmares made real.

  It’s a large dark room full of makeshift risers that creak and groan as people walk on them. They form a circle around a dome in the middle made of concrete with squares punched out to see inside. And what’s inside is what’s horrifying. Risen. Several Risen tethered to benches around the outside rim of the dome.

  “It used to be a huge fish tank,” Trent tells me. He has to pull me gently along because my feet have frozen to the floor. I do not want to enter this room. “The part we’re in, the outside, is actually the tank. There used to be glass in those squares between the concrete so people inside the dome could look out at the fish.”

  “Now we’re doing the opposite,” I mutter, staring at the Risen that shuffle and groan down on the main floor.

  “No,” Trent says darkly. “Now we’re just fools dancing with Death, begging to die.”

  I look up at him in surprise. I’ve never heard his feathers ruffled before, but he’s angry. He hates this. But he’s done it before.

  “Why did you do it if—“

  “Is it true?” Freedom asks me, coming out of nowhere and scaring the crap out of me.

  “Whoa,” I say, convincing myself not to hit her when she rolls up on me, getting in close.

  “Is it true?” she insists in a sharp whisper.

  “Is what true?”

  “About Vin. Is he alive?”

  Word gets around fast in the shark tanks.

  “Yeah,” I tell her, trying to back up. “Last I saw.”

  She swears on a sigh. “I knew he was too evil to die.”

  Before I can react to that, before I can wrap my head around the insult that sounds like a sweet compliment on her southern tongue, she’s gone. Trent pulls me to the top of the risers, though I wish he wouldn’t. I don’t trust these things. They’re shaking side to side every time someone new comes to stand on them. It’s like the overpass – I can just see it giving way, crushing us all. I can see the Risen getting loose. Attacking the crowd. The low lights reflecting the blood as it sprays over every surface. The screams echoing, pulsing with panic as people scramble over each other. The bites. The growling. The sickly slurps. My mother’s eyes.

  “Joss,” Trent says impatiently, bumping me with his shoulder. “What’s the matter with you?”

  “Nothing,” I snap, blinking rapidly. Asking my eyes to swallow back the moisture brimming around them. “What happens now?”

  He leans in close to speak in my ear. I tense from my toes to my tonsils.

  “Because there’s a volunteer for the Blind,” he murmurs low and deep, “that’ll be the main event. The only event for the night. That’s what everyone is betting on right now. They don’t know who has volunteered, it’s kept secret, but they’re betting on whether or not he’ll survive.”

  “Is it barehanded?” I ask, not understanding the huge risk, aside from the obvious. I’ve seen Ryan fight off a Risen. I’ve seen him fight off a lot of Risen. He’s unstoppable. This doesn’t sound like the lost cause I worried it would be.

  Trent nods his head solemnly. “And blindfolded.”

  “What?!” I shriek.

  He looks at me pointedly. Doesn’t say anything, just stares at me.

  “Why?” I whisper.

  “It makes it a challenge.”

  “It’s suicide. Has he ever done this before?”

  “No,” Trent says, looking away. But not fast enough. He’s worried.

  And now I’m over here growing ulcers on top of my ulcers.

  “If he runs into trouble,” I ask, my voice breathy and frail, “what will happen if I run in there and help him?”

  “They’ll kill you both on the spot. They don’t abide cheating here.”

  “They’re cheating now,” I hiss indignantly.

  Trent shrugs.

  “This is crap,” I grumble.

  “This is The Hive.”

  By the time some idiot in a sleeveless muscle T saunters into the center of the Arena, my leg is twitching like I’m having a seizure. Trent looks at me, at my leg, then back at me again. I stare at him, begging him to say something. To give me a reason. He smirks and looks away.

  “Welcome to the Arena!” muscle man shouts.

  He spins in a circle to address the entire crowd. They go insane. My eyes dart around nervously as people shoot to their feet, cheering and shouting. They’re a bloodthirsty bunch.

  “In this Blind,” I ask Trent, leaning in to shout in his ear over the din of the crowd, “are the Risen blinded too?”

  He frowns at me. “That wouldn’t be very sporting.”

  “Are you freakin’ kidding me right now?”

  “I rarely kid. Pay attention, Joss. Your boy is about to make his entrance.”

  I’m on my feet before I even think about it. I have to stand to see over the crowd in front of me pressing in on the dome. People have climbed the cement exterior to look down inside from the top. I’m sure it’s a great view but one false move and you’re inside the Arena. I doubt they pause the games to safely remove the fallen.

  “We have a treat tonight!” muscle man cries. “As you know, we have a volunteer for the Blind!”

  The crowd loses its mind again. The noise is deafening and I wonder how I’ve never heard it before, even all the way across town in my loft. They quiet down instantly as the announcer raises his hand, calling for order.

  “You’ve placed your bets. You’ve weighed the odds. You’ve seen the Risen that will fight tonight. But you don’t know who your champion will be. Are you excited to find out?”

  “Yes!!!” the crowd cries in unison.

  “Did you vote for them to live?”

  “Booo!!!” is the nearly unanimous reply.

  The announcer grins maliciously. “Some of you are going to go home angry tonight. I give you your champion in the Blind…. Ryan Hyperion!!!”

  There are moans, more boos, curses and exclamations of outrage. Ryan steps out into the middle of the ring wearing nothing but a pair of ratty cut off shorts. His skin is everywhere, open to the air, to our eyes. To their hands. To their mouths. It makes me feel dizzy with how wrong it is. How dangerous. But the crowd is still hissing at him, some people throwing things inside the Arena in their rage. The crowd, in a word, is angry.

  “What’s happening? Do they hate him?”

  “No,” Trent says with a smug smile. “They usually love him. But they all bet against him not knowing who it was. They’re mad because they know he can win.”

  “And they’ll all lose.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Do you think he can win?”

  “If you don’t screw it up, yeah.”

  I scowl at him. “How would I screw it up?”

  He turns to me with serious eyes. “Keep silent. Don’t distract him. He knows you’re out here watching and that’s pressure enough. If he thinks you’re in trouble or upset, he’ll make a mistake. Let him keep his head in the game. Whatever you see, whatever you hear, keep silent. Don’t you dare call out or scream.”

  “I never scream,” I tell him hotly, feeling insulted.

  “Well, don’t start now. It’s about to get ugly.”

  He’s not joking.

  The low lights are dimmed further as Ryan is blindfolded with a thick, black cloth. Then a black bag is draped over his head and tied off at the neck. There’s no way he can see anything in
that cage ringed with Risen. It is the dumbest thing I have ever seen anyone do in my life.

  The announcer backs away. The crowd begins to chant.

  “Five!”

  Men rush in, grab hold of the shackles holding the Risen in place.

  “Four!”

  The Risen snap at the men, eager for fresh meat.

  “Three!”

  A Risen stumbles toward Ryan, reaching for him where he stands in the center of the ring.

  “Two!”

  He’s blind. Defenseless. Surrounded by death and danger.

  “One!”

  The shackles are released.

  The crowd goes insane. They’re screaming at the tops of their lungs, banging on the boards beneath us, shaking the ground. I’m terrified by it, but not because I think we’ll fall. Not anymore. I’m scared because Ryan is not only blind, he’s deaf. No way he can hear the Risen over this chaos echoing throughout the room.

  He’s going to die. And I’m going to watch.

  When the countdown ends, Ryan drops to the ground. He rolls forward across the ground, past the Risen on his right and comes to a stop just shy of the edge of the Arena. People reach in, arms trying to grab him. Probably trying to hold him in place so the Risen can get to him and they can get their drugs, whores, favors or whatever it is they’ve gambled to gain. Trent says they love him but they’d rather watch him die than lose this game. Even after all these years, with every part of me I’ve shut down and everything I’ve lost, I still know what love this. And this isn’t it.

  “He knows the barriers by heart,” Trent leans down to tell me.

  He stands so tall above me, I’m sure he has no trouble seeing inside the Arena. There are areas I can’t see that are blocked by people’s heads. By the shifting, writhing mass around me. I can see two of the three Risen and that third one being a mystery makes me anxious. I can’t imagine how Ryan feels not seeing any of them but knowing they’re there.

  “He knows to stay away from the edges. He’s paced that Arena so many times that he has it mapped in his head. He’ll never let the living touch him.”

  “It’s the non-living I’m worried about,” I grumble.

  “It shouldn’t be.”