by S W Vaughn
The door of the hotel slammed behind Gabriel like the gate of a prison cell. The taste of freedom he’d received mocked him, a drop of water on a shriveled tongue.
Sweating, bruised and torn, he dragged dutifully behind Apollo to be patched up. They neared the closed door of Doc’s office. Clattering sounds, muffled muttering and cursing penetrated into the hall.
He smiled and shook his head. Poor Doc.
Apollo opened the door, and Gabriel entered. Lonzo lay unconscious on the low bed next to the desk. An IV line snaked from the back of the fighter’s hand. Cuts and bruises dotted his face, and his shallow breath strained through swollen lips. He looked worse than Gabriel felt.
Doc burst from the bathroom and strode toward Lonzo, his attention focused on the damp cloth in his hands. Apollo left, and Doc finally glanced in the direction of the door. His scowl deepened when he saw Gabriel.
“Go. Bed. Sit.” He pointed toward the curtained doorway.
Grateful for the quiet Doc’s room would provide, he went. The instant he was out of sight, the doctor started grumbling again. “Damned barbarians … can’t just watch a frigging movie or play chess, no … have to try and kill each other…”
Gabriel perched on the edge of the bed and closed his eyes. The lingering sense of pride at his win shamed him, made him feel dirty. He wasn’t supposed to enjoy any of this. His sole objective was to free himself and Lillith as soon as possible.
He would not become one of these people.
With these thoughts swirling, he allowed his body to relax and dreamed of escape. The sound of Doc clearing his throat drew him back to reality. He glanced toward the curtain. The doctor stood in the doorway, arms crossed, a mixture of amusement, rebuke and relief on his weary face.
“Hi, Doc,” he said slowly. The pain of his injuries had started to surface beneath his draining adrenalin. By tomorrow night, he’d be almost immobile with soreness.
He could see Doc’s mind working, deciding whether to greet him or scold him. At last the man smiled and let his arms drop to his sides. “So, you’re still alive.”
“Last I checked.” He grimaced and tried to stand.
“No. Sit.” Concern colored Doc’s expression. He crossed the room and took a seat beside him. “All right, you’re taking something. What’s it gonna be — the good shit, or Tylenol?”
“What do you think?”
Doc heaved a sigh. “Fine. I’ll go get it. You strip.”
“Yes, Mother.” He smirked. Doc grunted his annoyance and ducked out of the room.
Alone, he battled frustration and pain in silence while the cursed wings burned on his back.
“Congratulations, boy. You’re half a million dollars closer to freedom.”
Gabriel lay on the floor of his room facing the wall, stiff from the fight and oozing latent rage. He didn’t bother responding to the voice from the doorway. Slade, of course. Come to gloat over his victory.
If his lack of reaction disturbed his captor, Slade didn’t show it. “You have three weeks to prepare for your next match,” he told him. “And if you can prove between now and then that you won’t try anything foolish, I’ll allow you more leeway.”
How generous of you. He pressed his lips together to prevent his thoughts from escaping and silently willed the bastard to leave.
“I have something for you. Call it a reward, if you like, for your victory.” Slade’s voice sounded closer now, although he had not heard his movements. From further away, hesitant footfalls told him someone else had entered the room.
Jenner.
But the step was too light and irregular to be the sadistic lieutenant. He pushed himself to his knees and turned his head. His breath caught in his throat.
“Lilly.”
Spoken in an astonished whisper, the single word carried anguish and relief. She trembled in the doorway, her wide green eyes already filling with tears. He stood and looked at Slade with reluctant gratitude, though he couldn’t bring himself to speak the words.
“You’re welcome,” Slade said. He walked to the doorway, motioned Lillith aside and turned to face the two of them. “Five minutes. Don’t try anything she will regret.” He withdrew and closed the door.
Lillith flew across the room and embraced him with a sob. Unprepared for her touch, Gabriel stiffened and winced.
“Oh God, I’m sorry,” she wailed, immediately releasing him.
Horrified, he reached out and drew her to him, ignoring the pain. “No, no … it’s okay, Lilly. I’m okay. Shh, don’t cry.” He held her and stroked her hair until her cries dwindled to subdued sniffles. She finally looked up at him, and he offered a sad smile.
“It’s good to see you,” he said.
Lillith returned the smile with a watery one of her own. “I’ve missed you,” she said in a small voice. “Oh, Gabriel, what have they done to you? Look at you. Look at your back…” More tears coursed down her stained cheeks, and he cursed himself for not putting a shirt on.
“It’s nothing, Lilly. Just a tattoo, that’s all. It doesn’t even hurt.” Anymore, he almost said, but stopped himself before the words were out. That would only make her feel worse.
“But it did!” she cried. “I know it did. And what about all those bruises, and the blood … oh, Gabe, I’m so sorry. This is all my fault!” She collapsed against him in a torrent of sobs, and his heart constricted.
“Hush, don’t cry. It’s not your fault.” He rubbed her heaving shoulders. “Look at me,” he said. She raised her face, and he cupped her chin gently. “This is not your fault.” He pronounced each soft word deliberately. “It’s Slade’s fault. Please, stop blaming yourself. Promise me you will.”
Lillith hesitated. Her lower lip quivered. At last she drew a shaky breath and said, “Okay. I promise.”
He smiled. “That’s better. Now, tell me how he’s treating you.”
“Slade?” She dropped her gaze for an instant. “He treats me all right, I guess.”
“Are you … working?” He couldn’t bring himself to elaborate.
She paled and looked away. “Actually, I haven’t been since you got here. He … I mean Slade, he told me …” She trailed off, and he laid an encouraging hand on her arm.
“What did he tell you?”
She turned back to him, her face full of discomfort. “He said that as long as you win your fights, I won’t have to work.”
Son of a bitch. He’d bring that bastard down. Somehow. He swallowed his anger for Lillith and presented a reassuring front. “Don’t worry. I won’t lose.”
Lillith shuddered. They stood together in silence until she broke the stillness and said, “Gabriel, can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“Well, I was just wondering…”
“Go on.”
She swallowed and looked away. “How much did you make?”
Confusion washed over him. “What do you mean?”
“On the fight.”
His uncertainty grew at her explanation. Why did Lillith want to know about the money? Had Slade explained the price of freedom to her, too?
“Half a million,” he said slowly. He searched her face for answers to his unspoken questions.
Her eyes took on a faraway cast. “That’s a lot of money.”
“It’s blood money.” He backed away from her. “Lillith, what the hell … ?”
She snapped back abruptly, as though from a trance, and her face fell at the sight of his thunderous expression. “I’m sorry. It’s just when I came here, I tried to get money. For us, you know? I thought maybe…” She shivered and blinked rapidly, and her voice dropped to a whisper. “I didn’t want to go back to him. Father, I mean. And Slade said I would make a lot of money. I thought it wouldn’t be so bad, maybe. Just a few times. And then I could bring you here, with me.”
“Oh God. Lilly, why?”
Tears streamed down her cheeks. “He wouldn’t let me go,” she whispered. “He said I had to earn more, and
it was taking so long. It was never going to be enough. And I didn’t want to tell you, Gabriel, because I’m so ashamed. I thought, for once … maybe I could save you this time. But I made everything worse!”
A torrent of sobs wracked her slender frame. He reached for her, and she buried her face in his chest. He gave her a gentle squeeze and whispered, “I’ll get you out of here, Lilly. No matter what it takes.”
The doorknob rattled, and the soft squeal of hinges announced Slade’s return. Over Lillith’s bent head, Gabriel met his captor’s cool amusement with disgust.
“Time’s up, kiddies,” Slade announced. “Come along, Lillith. Say goodbye.”
Lillith gave a faltering smile. “I don’t deserve you,” she whispered.
He shook his head. “Don’t say that.” He hugged her tight and released her. “I’ll see you soon, and we’ll get out of this place. I love you, Lilly.”
“Love you too, Gabe.”
Squaring her shoulders, Lillith walked away. Slade stood aside to let her pass, and said, “Wait on the steps for me.” She nodded, and with a final glance at him, left.
“If you even think about trying to sell my sister again, you will regret it,” Gabriel snapped.
Slade laughed. “Will I, Mr. Morgan? And how will that come about?” he said. “Do you plan to threaten me to death? Or maybe I should shore up for a serious round of name-calling.”
He seethed in silent rage. The bastard was right — he couldn’t do a damned thing.
“I will remind you once again, Angel.” The contempt he infused the hated name with made Gabriel’s stomach contort. “You belong to me. And until you earn your keep, you will do as I tell you.” Slade’s eyes were crackling shards of ice. “Never threaten me again. Unless you want Jenner to pay both you and your sister a visit.”
Images flashed through his mind. Jenner, in his room, telling him he’d take good care of Lillith. Leering.
Never.
He lowered his eyes, studied the floor, and mumbled, “I’m sorry.”
“Better. Remember, you have three weeks, and the odds on you won’t be as long next time. You had better win.”
Slade locked him in for the night. A wave of exhaustion rolled over him, and he stretched out again on the rigid floor. With Lillith’s face fresh in his mind, he drifted into his first real sleep since she’d disappeared.
Chapter 19
Gabriel stole three nights to recover before he threw himself back into his grueling regimen. Knowing Lillith would be forced to turn tricks if he lost fueled his drive, and he trained with reckless abandon.
He expected the weeks until the upcoming match, which he learned would be hosted by Diego Mendez, to drag on forever. However, the night arrived with the speed of a bullet — and with the promise of temporary freedom from Slade’s watchdogs. He had sworn not to attempt escape, and he’d keep the promise for Lillith’s sake.
They traveled to Brooklyn in a limousine. Sol drove, and another of Slade’s fighters, Lucian, rode shotgun. Apollo had stayed behind to ‘take care of the girls,’ and Lonzo wasn’t fighting this time. Two other participants for Ulysses would arrive separately.
Gabriel sat facing the rear of the car, handcuff-free for the first time outside the walls of the hotel prison. Opposite him, Slade lounged beside an attractive blonde with a smile almost as big as the breasts she displayed in a low-cut snug top with no bra. Her name was Moxie, and she flirted and bubbled the entire trip.
Rose, the red-haired lunch-bringer he remembered from his early training days, sat next to Gabriel. She refrained from saying much and seemed nervous to be so near him.
Gabriel didn’t speak to anyone. His attention stayed riveted to the window, and he watched the city rush past.
They pulled into a sparsely occupied parking garage and circled up the ramps. Graffiti covered many of the scarred walls and chipped pillars, ranging from single-color scrawls to full murals. One pillar bore a crude five-colored star, along with a message in Spanish: Somos las calles.
Though he couldn’t begin to translate, the words chilled him.
Eventually, the car emerged on the roof. The limo stopped and the engine cut off. Sol opened the door nearest Slade, and the occupants filed out.
The car rested close to the edge of the building. Only a double-barred railing separated them from a long drop to the pavement. Gabriel let his gaze wander and took in the surroundings while he filled his lungs with night air.
They were in a warehouse district, abandoned years ago from the looks of it. Enormous boxlike buildings in various stages of disrepair surrounded the garage on three sides. Only a few of the structures showed signs of activity, with an occasional light in a window or the distant whirr of something mechanical. Nests of cracks erupting from volcanic potholes appeared at almost regular intervals along the strip of road below.
He almost jumped over the damned rails.
The impulse for self-destruction faded reluctantly. He followed the group to an ancient elevator cage near the center of the garage. Its metal grate door stood half-open, frozen like the Tin Man in the rain. With a grunt, Sol pushed the frame aside. A metallic groan rose from the depths of the shaft, and the flat rose to meet them. They boarded and started down.
The rusted cable somehow failed to give way on descent, and they reached the ground unscathed. Slade led them out of the garage into narrow, deserted streets, unevenly lit with harsh orange glare from the handful of streetlights that still worked. The place seemed desolate and empty, as though their party represented the first human presence here in decades.
The group walked through a complicated maze of passageways, occasionally leaving the narrow streets to cut through the shells of buildings long deserted. Soon, other people turned up around them — alone, in pairs or groups, all headed in the same general direction. They arrived at one of the buildings with lights, passed through a room that might have once been a prep area for deliveries, and entered chaos.
Hundreds swarmed the cavernous arena, filling the air with a cicada buzz of sound. Here, the ring was roped, not caged. Gabriel caught glimpses of the dull gray mat through the shifting crowd. The scarred surface bore concentric stains, layer upon layer of splotched sweat and blood, ground in by feet and rolling bodies. Tonight he would add his own stains to the collection.
Thoughts of the impending fight triggered an avalanche of nerves. What if he forgot something? What if he didn't draw the fight out long enough to make Slade happy?
What if he lost?
Slade indicated a cordoned area along the far wall furnished with benches. “You’ll wait there when the matches begin. You’re up third, and I expect you to stick around until the last fight is over. You’ll never find your way back to the car without me, so don’t try.”
Gabriel nodded. He would avoid asking questions.
“You have your freedom for the moment, Mr. Morgan. Just remember — if you try to escape, I will find you. I did it once, and I can do it again.” His gaze bored into his skull, and a sly grin crossed his lips. “And your sister will suffer the entire time it takes to relocate you. At my hands … or Jenner’s.”
His body trembled with rage, but he held his ground until Slade took his leave. Once his captor blended into the masses, he whirled and plunged away from the madness, toward the open door and the outside.
He had no choice but to go back. For now, though, these precious minutes spent in the open air — free, with no one lurking around the corner waiting for him to make a mistake — were heaven after months of hell.
From his pocket he pulled a worn, half-empty pack of cigarettes and a plastic lighter, gifts from Doc. He stuck one in his mouth and lit it, taking what pleasure he could in leaning against a streetlamp pole, inhaling the bittersweet burn. Doing nothing, being no one. He tipped his head back and released a slow plume of swirling smoke into the night-slicing streams of light above.
The sounds of the night washed over him. The ever-present rumble of New York traf
fic in the distance, the intermittent blasts of taxi horns, the occasional stutter of flickering lights. The heartbeat of the city that never sleeps pulsed through its streets, unseen blood through concrete veins.
Then, over it all, a troubled scream sounded somewhere close.
He took off in the general direction of the sound, turned a corner. It came again. Harsh laughter joined the cries. He ran down an alley and out into a fenced parking lot, where four people were having a tense disagreement.
It was three against one, and he didn’t like the odds. Especially since the ‘one’ was a woman. Two of the others were also female. Pretty ornaments, obviously hookers, flanked a tough-looking man clad in denim and metal.
The lone woman wore a conglomeration of tatters — a worn tee shirt with cutoff sleeves, battered calf-length vinyl boots, a skirt so short it screamed desperation. Her thin frame flirted with emaciation, and the collection of bangles and earrings she sported seemed to weigh her down. Her collarbones showed through the threadbare material covering them.
Gabriel quickened his pace.
“You don’t own the street!” the thin girl half-shouted to the other three. “So unless you’re cops, piss off. I’ll work where I want.” The weak bravado in her voice barely covered her terror. Her burning eyes flicked to Gabriel as he approached.
While she was distracted, one of the other girls reached out and shoved her. She tumbled to the sidewalk and landed on her ass with a jingle of cheap jewelry.
“Hey!” Gabriel ran the last few feet between them. “What the hell is your problem?”
“She’s on our turf.” The pusher looked him up and down, and licked her lips. “Wanna join us, handsome? We’re short a man.”
He glared at her, then turned and offered a hand to the woman on the ground, who flashed him a look of wary distrust and extended an arm hesitantly. She pulled herself to her feet, using him for leverage, and he was horrified to discover she weighed next to nothing.
“Don’t help that dried-up little skank.” The command came from the brute behind him.
