Lost Girls

by Merrie Destefano

  “She can handle it. She’s never lost a fight!”

  “She’s not ready for it—”

  I pushed my way between them. “What are you two arguing about?” I demanded.

  But before either one of them could answer, the announcer started talking from the stage, his voice booming throughout the room. “It’s Open Floor Night and our next contestant is coming up right now. Give up a cheer for Komodo!”

  The crowd roared and I turned back toward the stage, cheering along with them, eager to see another battle. The first fight had just gotten my engine started. I was hoping that the next contestants would fight standing—I wanted to see kicks and spins.

  “You have to get out of here, now!” Dylan said, grabbing my arm and trying to drag me away from the stage area. “Before anyone sees you.”

  “A lot of people have already seen me,” I said, pulling away from him. “By the way, it’s good to see you, too.” My tone was snarky and I kept my attention fixed on the stage, wanting to find out who was up next. A girl rose to the platform, wearing purple shorts and a matching tank top, her hair braided in tight cornrows. Something about her looked familiar, but I didn’t recognize her until she turned around and pointed a finger at me. A purple dragon tattoo covered her right arm. It was Sammy, that bitch from my history class. She glowered at me and I gave her the same look back.

  She leaned toward the announcer’s microphone and said, “I choose Odette, leader of the Swan Team, as my opponent.” She took off the necklace that proclaimed she was a flyweight, the same as me, and for the first time I understood—we were in the same weight class and she wanted to fight me.

  Fear zipped through me, stirring other emotions along the way, primal feelings that couldn’t be expressed in words.

  “No, you can’t!” Dylan yelled, trying to stand in my way, but I walked around him, the crowds parting easily, just like they did when he and I walked through the halls at school. Behind me, my team started the chant, Odette—Odette—Odette, until it echoed through the room, so loud it became a drum that said da-dum, da-dum, da-dum. Not many people were cheering for Komodo, though, and anger flickered in her eyes, as if she knew I’d made a huge mistake by coming here tonight. The expression on her face said she hoped I would be weak, that she would have an easy win and an opportunity to destroy my unbroken title.

  Fear stuttered through me as I stepped onto the stage.

  Every inch of me was praying she was wrong.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Everything changed the moment I stepped onto the stage.

  The cheering crowds faded away. Everything beyond the edge of the platform blurred and became meaningless. I was only vaguely aware of the smoke bombs that proclaimed our rival team colors, billows of white for the Swan Team to my left, clouds of purple for the Dragon Girls to the right. For a brief sliver of time, Komodo and I leaned toward each other, our bare knuckles touching in a short fist bump before the fight actually began. I narrowed my eyes and lowered my chin, hoping that was a defensive stance, but I wasn’t sure. She gave me a threatening look, and maybe to the rest of the world it looked scary, but I could tell a small part of her was worried.

  I needed to bring the worried part of her to the surface. I had to shake her confidence.

  But I had no idea how to do that.

  We started circling each other. She feigned a punch with her left fist; when I dodged it, she gut-punched me with her right. She leaned in for another double jab, a heavy-hitting right-left duo, and I somehow managed to block the first punch, but took the second one square in the chest. I stumbled backward, sucking air through my teeth, knowing I had to keep her away from my ribs.

  She was out for more than blood. I could feel it.

  She wanted me on the ground, her foot on my throat.

  The crowd roared as I staggered away from her, trying to get my balance. Trying to remember what I was supposed to do. Dylan and Lauren were down there yelling fight tactics at me. I wanted to tell them to shut up, to tell them that they were giving away any advantage they might’ve been giving me, but I didn’t.

  Because I didn’t have an advantage. Not without my memory.

  I tried to analyze the scene. I had to beat her standing or this was going to be over too soon and I would end up flat on the mat. Her shoulders were broader than mine, she was shorter and her weight was centered low, all things even I knew would make her better at fighting on the mat. I ducked her next sloppy swing and managed to land a blow to her gut at the same time. She stumbled, then righted herself quickly.

  Komodo moved in for a quick grab and jab, her left arm pinning my right fist against her shoulder, leaving her right hand free to slam me in the side and the back. One punch was all she got, though, before the same instinct that took out Janie roared back to life. I kneed Komodo over and over—groin, abdomen, groin. She crumpled away, tried to catch her breath.

  I leaped at her, surprised when my first kick struck her neat in the jaw, knocking her head sideways and putting a glazed look in her eyes.

  Puffs of white smoke drifted onto the stage, an anthem of my name along with it.

  Odette—Odette—Odette—

  It distracted me and Komodo looped an ankle around my knee, pulling me forward, trying to make me fall. I grabbed her around the waist—imitating a move I saw Dylan make—and when we tumbled to the ground I kept my momentum going, flipping her over me until she was the one who thudded to the floor. Meanwhile, I continued to roll until I was back on my feet. Two swift kicks pushed her far enough away that she couldn’t pull me down again. Then when she finally stood up, I jabbed, punched, and kicked until she wavered, her knees weak, a sick expression on her face.

  My skin tingled, my blood scorched my veins, and I became more than human, I became a Swan Girl, able to fly high above the earth, wings catching the wind and the sun.

  I was back in the game and my opponent was seconds away from kissing the mat good night.

  I did a roundhouse kick, mainly for show, feeling the cheers from the crowd more than I heard them. My heel caught the side of her head and she fell back to the ground, her arms shaking and trembling, her eyes blinking. She wasn’t unconscious, though, and she didn’t say, I give, the words that could end our fight. Still, I knew she could be seriously injured if we continued. Seeing her on the mat bothered me more than I expected; it sounded an alarm inside my skull and the muscles in my arms started to tremble, almost as much as hers. I couldn’t hit her again. I just couldn’t.

  For an instant, I saw Nicole Hernandez on the mat, those pink streaks in her hair drenched in sweat, that Pink Candi logo on her shirt stained red with blood, someone relentlessly pummeling her face. No, this isn’t real, it’s not happening now. I can’t handle a Big Trigger, not here. I shook my head, hard, until Nicole disappeared and I saw Komodo on the ground instead.

  I shot a nervous glance at the announcer—silently asking if I should stop, hoping he would say yes because I couldn’t land another punch or kick, I just couldn’t—and he nodded, quickly ascending back onto the platform, his voice bellowing as he moved.

  “We have another winner! Odette from the Swan Team!”

  Komodo jerked awake on the floor, startled by the announcement. She struggled to get up, arms pressing against the floor, legs moving, but he pushed her back to the mat with his foot. “Stay down,” he warned, his microphone switched off. She grimaced, not ready to stop despite the blood dripping from her mouth, the bruises on her jaw, and the fact that one of her eyes was swelling up. Both of her fists were clenched, although the right one wouldn’t tighten all the way. It looked more like a claw than a weapon. Still, she didn’t want to give up.

  “I wasn’t finished,” she growled, her words slurring.

  “Another word and you’re definitely finished. For good,” the announcer said, still with the microphone off. Then he gestured toward her team members and another masked man. “Get her off the stage before I kick her out of the club.”
<
br />   The stage quickly filled with Dragon Tattoo Girls, all of them sporting matching purple tattoos and outfits, their hair in cornrows. I recognized two of them from history class and I think some part of me expected them to act like we were still in school—to look away nervously, eyes darting left and right, shoulders hunched as they turned aside. Instead, they both glared at me as they gently lifted their teammate, icing her wounds, wiping away her blood, then helping her off the platform.

  It hit me then, although I should have figured it out sooner, and it hurt more than any of the punches or kicks I’d gotten tonight.

  These were the girls who had left the cruel notes on my memorial. Wish you had stayed dead, go back where you came from, hope those kidnappers come back and do the job right this time!

  One of my knees loosened beneath me and I wavered, not even realizing that the announcer had my right arm lifted high or that Lauren had come up onstage and wrapped her arm around my waist. When I started to stumble, she held me up, her expression never changing, never letting the crowd know for a split second that she was keeping me on my feet. Another man joined us, his arms spread wide in a victory stance, his lucha libre mask silver and black.

  He slipped an arm around my waist, and together he and Lauren led me down from the stage, making it look like they were celebrating my triumph, rather than holding me steady. It wasn’t until I cleared the steps that the strength in my legs returned and I pulled away from both of them, my arms raised to the crowds who cheered again. Lauren followed the two of us, until the masked man turned and gestured for her to stop.

  “I need to talk to Odette alone,” he said.

  Lauren started to protest, but I stopped her. “It’s okay, we won’t be long,” I said, then I turned to give the man a look that told him I didn’t remember or trust him.

  “Good to see you back and safe,” he said as we moved away from the stage. We headed toward the corner, away from the crowds. If he tried to take me into another room or outside, I was going to give him the fight of his life. Already the muscles in my legs and arms were tensing and he must have sensed it. “It’s okay, I’m not going to hurt you.”

  I kept my gaze fixed on Dylan who had come around to this side of the stage and now watched the two of us, his arms crossed, his head lowered, looking like he would take this strange masked man down if necessary. Brett and Jim and Mike were with him, too. Just knowing they were there comforted me.

  It wasn’t until we were away from the others, in a corner where our words didn’t carry, that things began to fall into place—although, at that point, I was even more confused.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” the man wearing the mask demanded. “You could have been seriously injured. Are your memories coming back?”

  I stared at him, at his mask, at the unfamiliar eyes that burned inside. After a long moment, I thought I recognized his voice and those eyes, but I wasn’t sure.

  “Who are you and why do you act like I belong to you?” I asked.

  “You don’t even remember how the system works,” he said with a condescending snarl. “I’m your patron. You and I have worked together for about eight months. I’m the one who paid for all your training, but you could have ended both of our careers tonight.”

  “I don’t understand.” I looked around, at my team, at the other fighters. “Everyone here has a patron?”

  “Everyone that fights in Gold Level, yes.”

  “Why are you wearing that mask?”

  “The same reason you have a stage name. This isn’t exactly legal. The system was set up to provide anonymity. Look, you need to stay home until your memories come back. At this point, I’d rather have you quit than get injured in a fight you’re not prepared for.”

  He paused, as if trying to keep emotion out of his voice, but his words had already wavered. I couldn’t tell if he cared about me because I made him money or if he just cared about all the people he supported. “You don’t deserve this, not after taking a risk like that, but here.” He handed me a black box that looked a lot like the one I’d left back on top of my dresser. My hands shook when I held it.

  “I don’t want—I’m not taking any drugs, I don’t care if everyone else is or if you think I should or—”

  He chuckled, a humorless sound. “It’s obvious you’re not taking your Pink Lightning. Just open it, okay? People are watching us. Make sure you act like you love it.”

  It rested on my palm, so light it almost felt empty. I slid a glance toward Dylan. He stood with his back against the wall, about twenty feet away, his attention focused on the current fight. Is this what patrons did? Give black boxes filled with drugs to the teams they supported, sharing in the victory when we won, reprimanding us when we lost? And if so, what were the reprimands like?

  I thought about Janie Deluca, here tonight despite the fact that I’d beaten her pretty badly yesterday. Was she trying to get back in her patron’s good graces, hoping he’d supply her with Pink Lightning again? Was her addiction that bad?

  My thumb flipped the catch on the box and the lid opened slowly, the contents glittering beneath the moving spotlights. It caught my breath, it was so lovely. My eyes widened and my lips froze in a silent O. A delicate chain held a white gold swan, her body crusted with tiny diamonds. She was perfect.

  “Holy wow,” I whispered.

  “Here, let me put it on you. You won’t be fighting anymore tonight and everyone needs to see that you’ve done a good job.” He took the chain and fastened it around my neck, his fingers warm against my skin for a moment, his breath close to my ear. “Be careful,” he warned in a low whisper. “Don’t get separated from your team tonight. Okay? Last thing I need is for you to go missing again.”

  I nodded, a chill running over me. Was this what he had really wanted to tell me? That I was still in danger? I swept a cautious glance over the crowds, pretending that his words hadn’t put me on edge. “Thank you,” I said.

  He bowed his head, then he silently led me back to Dylan. Once my hand was in Dylan’s, my patron took a position against the wall, watching the crowd, his gaze returning to me from time to time. He stayed there for the rest of the evening, quiet and stoic, like a sentry on a high wall, watching the horizon for an approaching army.

  ...

  Dylan’s hand was in mine, his lips brushing my cheek and neck, his breath hot against my skin. The fingers of his left hand toyed with my new necklace, causing it to cast tiny rainbows when the lights flickered overhead. Another fight, the fourth since I’d walked through the door, raged in the center of the steamy room, blow after blow feeding the hungry crowd, all of us getting a surge of excitement from the chanting. I had the surreal feeling we were warriors, ready for battle.

  “You shouldn’t be here tonight,” he murmured in my ear.

  “I know.” I sighed. I couldn’t tell him that I’d just gotten the same lecture from my patron or that I’d had some sort of meltdown on the stage, seeing Komodo turn into Nicole Hernandez. A sick feeling wormed through my gut. I’d never fought against Nicole, I was certain of it. She was taller than I was and she had to be in a different weight class. But I must have seen her fight before—that had to be where that memory came from.

  “You’ve never lost a fight. Did you know that?” Dylan asked.

  “Lauren told me.” My gaze kept drifting back to the stage and the unending battles that both repulsed and attracted me.

  “Your opponents would love to get you when you’re weak, so promise me you won’t come back here if you’re injured or not feeling well.”

  “I promise,” I said. I thought that once I came to a Phase Two rave, I’d know what I’d been doing this past year and that I’d be able to walk away from it. I’d be able to close that chapter and move on. But I could tell by the way Dylan was talking that we both knew I wasn’t going to be able to do that.

  Unless my memory of the kidnapping came back.

  Then I probably wouldn’t want to leave the house.
/>
  “Do you think the people who kidnapped me might be here?” I asked, keeping my voice low.

  “I don’t know.” He turned to face me, wrapping his arms around my waist. “I’ve been trying to figure that out. You don’t remember who it was, do you?”

  I shook my head.

  “Well, it’s no secret you lost your memory,” he said. “Whoever took you probably doesn’t want to take a chance on you seeing them again. You might recognize them.”

  “That’s true,” I said. Already some of my memories had been triggered by meeting Janie and seeing Nicole’s photo. And then there was that creepy vision I had of Nicole getting the crap beaten out of her. I fought the shudder that crept over my shoulders, making my arms shake.

  “So, they might be laying low,” Dylan said. “Or maybe they never planned on coming back.”

  I remembered those photos Bennet had placed on the table in front of me, the other girls who had gone missing. Nicole had been left in a ditch, just like me. “They’re not finished,” I confessed. “There are other girls missing and there will probably be more. Unless—” I paused, thinking.

  “Unless what?” he asked, his gray eyes searching mine.

  “Unless we can find a way to stop them.”

  His skin turned pale and his eyes widened. “No. Definitely not. You are not going after the scumbags who kidnapped you. Promise me you’ll forget about that idea—”

  I bit my lip and gave him a half-nod, then fixed my attention back on the stage. I couldn’t talk to him about this. He wasn’t going to change his mind and neither was I. I didn’t really like the idea, but it looked like I might have to go after my kidnappers by myself.

  ...

  “What an epic adventure!”

  “Every night should be like this!”