He was doing what now? Pixie cocked a brow at him, but kept her silence this time. It wouldn’t do anyone any good if she royally pissed off the man in charge of all this. Her main priority was to get her friends out of here, at whatever cost. Actually fighting in the ring though hadn’t been on her list of things to do. Her stomach twisted as the corners of his lips lifted. Bastian smiled at her obvious discomfort, and she hated giving him any sort of victory.
“Well, have fun then,” the man said awkwardly. The way Pixie and Bastian locked into each other’s eyes, it was as though they were the only ones there. She got the feeling the other two noticed the same thing, and quickly made their exit.
“I am not to fight,” Pixie said when they were gone.
“You are not to argue,” he replied.
“You’re not my master.”
He tilted his head. “No? I run these fights, and everything here. You’re a fighter. You’re under my roof, therefore you will listen to what I have to say.” He stepped closer, closing the distance between them. Pixie wanted to back up, but the wall was suddenly behind her, leaving her no room to maneuver. Had he been backing her up the whole time? She hadn’t even been aware. He stood now, inches away from her, the smell and heat of him invading her senses in a way she wasn’t exactly comfortable with.
She looked up at him hesitantly, her breath lodging in her throat as he bent his head toward her.
“Do you have nothing more to say?” he asked darkly, his voice just above a whisper.
Pixie shook her head. Even if she’d wanted to speak, she doubted her voice would work. With a grunt of either satisfaction at her muteness, or disappointment that she was no longer putting up a fight, he pulled her along again, reverting back to the silence. Although this time it was a tense silence, and for once Pixie wished someone else was there to fill it.
Bastian didn’t know what to make of the girl. With her tiny stature and her hair pulled tightly back into a bun, she reminded him more of a ballerina than a fighter. She seemed dainty and fragile, if not for the cold, hard stare of her eyes. There was something about her that had him spellbound, and he didn’t understand it.
Bastian had known many women in his life, but none had instantly grabbed his interest the way the girl beside him had. He kept his hold on her, more for the delight of being able to touch her than anything else. It wasn’t as though he was afraid she’d run from him, because she wouldn’t get very far. No, he was making a complete fool of himself, he just didn’t know why.
Secrets lay beneath those blue eyes that seemed to stare right through him. She was withdrawn, yet he knew a deep pool of intelligence resided there. It made him want to keep a closer watch on her than any of the others. Never one to ignore his gut instinct, he decided right then that he’d have to watch his little dancer carefully.
The fact that she had so adamantly denied being his, bugged him more than anything. Women had always vied for his attention. Shit, even the wife of that pompous ass was practically begging him to do whatever he wanted with her, right in front of her husband. But this girl here wanted no association whatsoever. It bothered him more than he’d like to admit.
Bringing them to one of the practice areas, he led her in and directly to the ring, finally letting go of her there. Turning away, he motioned to one of the other girls to get in. This one didn’t hesitate to listen, her eyes clearly showing her fear of him. Whereas his tiny dancer simply stood beside him, not moving.
“What’s your name?” he asked, turning now to her again.
She watched the other woman, her expression giving nothing away, although he swore he could feel the anger radiating from her eyes.
“Does it matter?” she asked, not bothering to look at him.
He pushed down his irritation at being so clearly dismissed. “Would you rather I give you a name?” he asked, challengingly. He knew she would hate him to do anything for her, most of all name her.
She remained silent for another moment before sighing. “Pixie,” she answered.
This surprised him. While the name certainly fit, he doubted it was the one she was born with. “Truly?” he asked.
Finally turning her head, she met his eyes with her own. “It’s what everyone calls me, so yes.”
Why that angered him even more he couldn’t say. He wanted to know her real name, although doubted he’d get it. “Fine,” he said through clenched teeth that he tried to relax but couldn’t seem to. “Get in there, Pixie. Let’s see what you’re made of.”
She looked away again, measuring the opponent now waiting for her. “I don’t see the point,” she finally said with another sigh. “I’m not intended to fight in one of your matches. I’m simply here to watch.”
“Humour me,” he said, as way of an explanation. He didn’t really know why he was pushing this, but he was desperate to see what she could do. It would also let him watch her without having to hide it.
“Why should I do anything for you?” she asked, looking back at him with a raised eyebrow.
He smiled slowly, letting his mirth shine through. When was the last time someone had challenged him so? Red, one of his newest fighters, certainly seemed to like to nettle him. But this girl was different. He had a suspicion she didn’t waste words on too many people, and yet for him she seemed to mince few. “Humour me,” he said again.
Pursing her lips, she hesitated for only a moment more before climbing between the ropes and entering the ring. Bastian stood back as one of his trainers climbed in with the girls, speaking to them both in the middle of the ring. The one girl nodded, while his Pixie simply stood there, still as a statue.
His Pixie?
What the fuck?
He didn’t want to look into that thought too deeply, even though nothing about it felt wrong. His eye never left her lithe form as she made her way to the opposite corner. The trainer followed, helping her to put on sparring equipment before they began. While the real fights were all-out, no holds barred type fights, practices were as safe as he could make them. Despite what the people who came here to bet on his fights thought, he didn’t actually let the fighters kill each other. Of course, no one knew that other than his closest circle.
Once a man – or woman – was down, they brought them straight to medical aid. That being said, their fighting careers were over, so in some ways they were dead. There would be no chance for anyone to make a comeback once they’d lost. A few times they’d actually lost a fighter or two to their injuries, but for the most part they pulled through.
Why the ruse? Because it made those people betting that much more excited. What bigger stakes were there, but to fight for one’s life? It was the ultimate challenge, and people ate it up. They loved it. There were many times during the main fights that Bastian would simply look around and be disgusted.
Did he make his living off this shit? Hell yeah. Was he proud of it? Not always, but hell, in this world, everyone had to do what they could to survive. Bastian didn’t want to just survive though, he wanted to thrive. He wanted the same luxuries the Uppers had, but on his own terms. He wouldn’t be a puppet for the New World leader, and he certainly wasn’t living in no ghetto. That only left the Outlands, and that is where he’d gone to seek his fortune.
Bastian Black had even more than the stupid Uppers in New Berlin. He had connections to things they didn’t even know about. That made him better than all of them – in his opinion. And really, it was his own opinion that really mattered, no one else’s. Watching Pixie, he couldn’t help but wonder what she must think of him. It irritated him to think she thought badly of him, but of course, why wouldn’t she?
Fuck it, he thought. If some girl he barely knew thought he was a piece of shit, why should he care? She was no one to him. And this strange feeling spreading across his chest that was trying to negate those sentiments could just go to hell too. He did not give a damn what anyone thought.
That was how he’d made it as far as he had. If he’d allowed himself to
actually care, he’d still be living in some run down building, in the middle of a stinking ghetto.
The trainer blew the whistle, and the two girls stepped toward the middle of the ring to meet again. From then on, Bastian questioned whether he was watching a fight or a dance. Pixie moved around the ring like she was born to fight, her lean limbs striking out quickly, and retreating before the other girl even knew what had hit her. She reminded him almost of a hummingbird with her fast movements. She moved in a blur.
His chest swelled with – pride? Why the hell he felt that way was beyond him, but it was there none the less. He was actually proud that this little vixen had that much fight in her. She spun and bounced around as though it were completely natural. She didn’t seem the least bit phased, her face still that calm mask she wore, expect for a slight furrow of concentration between her brows.
Bastian kept score of the hits, and she was far outnumbering the other woman. He couldn’t remember the other fighter’s name, but he really didn’t care anymore. It was clear who the champion here was. It was too bad she wasn’t actually there to fight. The thought of her entering one of his infamous fights didn’t sit well with him anyway. For some odd reason, he didn’t want everyone watching the way she moved, the way he was right now.
He had the sudden urge to jump in there, and take her in his arms, releasing her hair from that tight knot, and seeing what she was like when she really just let go. Or did she ever? Something told him probably not. She was the epitome of reserved calm. There weren’t many people like that in this world. It just made him want to ruffle her feathers even more.
The trainer finally blew the whistle three times, ending the fight. Looking to Bastian, he took both women to the middle, holding each of their arms. To no one’s surprise, he raised Pixie’s hand as the victor. Bastian gave him a subtle nod, before he released them both. He gave Pixie a pat on the back, murmuring something to her, before turning to exit the ring. Pixie walked toward Bastian, revealing nothing in those blue eyes. Pulling off the gloves and helmet, she simply lifted an eyebrow as she leaned over the ropes looking down at him.
“Well?” she asked.
He loved her voice. Taking a moment to appreciate the soft, smooth sound of it, he smiled up at her with genuine admiration. “I’m impressed,” he finally said.
She nodded once, as though she’d expected just that. God she was a puzzle to him, one that he couldn’t wait to figure out. Her skills were beyond what he’d expected. Everything came so naturally to her. Which begged the question, just who was Pixie? She wasn’t the usual sort that came through here. Nor did she come across as the type of girl who would have let herself be caught by a head hunter. So what was the deal with her and her “owners”?
One thing was for certain, he was going to have to keep a close eye on his new guests.
CHAPTER THREE
Why did she care if he was impressed or not? She didn’t, of course. She just wanted to make sure he knew she wasn’t as helpless as most people seemed to think. That was it. Pixie could handle herself, and she didn’t want anyone – especially someone like Bastian Black – thinking otherwise.
The fight had actually been quite easy. The other girl clearly wasn’t a real fighter, her skill level far beneath what it should be. That wasn’t really a surprise, considering they’d just been taking people off the streets for these fights. As far as Pixie was concerned, Bastian was just as bad as Douglas Hatcher. Sure, he didn’t pump them full of experimental drugs in order to enhance their abilities like the General had with Tyler, but they still took people from their homes and forced them to do things they didn’t want to.
Bastian led her out of the practice area and back into the hall. This time he didn’t hold onto her arm, for which she was grateful. Pixie wasn’t use to being handled by anyone, least of all men. Following behind him, they didn’t speak as he maneuvered his way through the underground passages, finally stopping outside a room. Without a word, he opened the door, motioning her inside.
Pixie eyed him, pausing just outside, before finally walking past him. She stopped, surveying her surroundings with surprise. The room was similar to the one Garrett and Missy were sharing, although this one was slightly smaller. Another door decorated a wall. She wasn’t sure what it led to, but decided she’d investigate when she was alone.
She did a slow turn, finally meeting his gaze, knowing Bastian was watching her closely the entire time.
“What are you thinking?” he asked.
She debated about whether or not to answer him. “This doesn’t really seem like a cell,” she finally said, keeping her face blank.
He smirked slightly. “That’s because it’s not.”
“So why am I here?”
“I decided to keep you closer to me than the other fighters.”
She couldn’t stop the surprise from flitting across her face. His eyes went to the door she had wondered about, and without any words, she knew this led to his own room. He was keeping her as close as possible, it would seem, and that didn’t bode well for her. He stood there, watching her, probably waiting for her to ask why he was keeping her here, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. There was no way she’d let him see the unease in the pit of her stomach.
Nor did she need to ask why, because some part of her knew. Whether he was aware of just what they were doing there or not, something had set off his warning bells and made him suspicious of her. She needed to tell the others quickly. Now it was just a matter of getting out of this room on her own. Something she didn’t think would be as easy as it sounded.
He watched her for only a moment more, their eyes meeting in some silent exchange, before he turned and left her standing there in the middle of the room. Like a trapped animal, Pixie looked at the four walls caging her in and wondered what her next move would be. She’d gotten herself out of far worse situations than this. Although something told her she’d never faced a foe quite like Sebastian Black before now.
***
Blinking, Pixie waited for her eyes to adjust to the light, taking a moment to remember just where she was. At some point she must have fallen asleep, although she couldn’t remember even lying down on the bed to begin with. After searching the room for any bugs or cameras, she must have finally succumbed to her exhaustion after travelling for so many days.
Sitting up slowly, her eyes hesitated on the neatly folded clothes that sat on the corner of the bed. She immediately looked around, as though she’d catch Bastian in the act. There was no question in her mind it was he that had left them there. For whatever reason, Pixie doubted he’d let anyone else in here. Perhaps it was the possessive way he watched her, or knowing that keeping her here wasn’t the norm, but her gut told her he wouldn’t want any of the other guards walking in on her.
Looking down at the rumpled covers where she’d just been sleeping, her head slowly turned back to the clothes thoughtfully. He’d snuck in here while she slept. Did he stay to watch her? She wondered. Why didn’t the thought of that creep her out the way it should? Instead it was as though knowing he’d been here with her lit some sort of fire within her veins.
Shaking her head in disgust, she stood and held up each piece to see what he’d left. They were just plain tights and a black tank top. Workout clothes, she guessed. Suited her just fine. Pixie wasn’t one to wear colourful, pretty clothes anyway. A small scrap of red fell to the ground as she picked up the pants. Reaching for them, she lifted a lace thong, her mouth dropping at the sight of it.
Really? Was this some sort of joke? He’d picked out underwear for her? A blush stole across her cheeks, and she was infinitely grateful that no one else was around to witness her mortification. Why a guy leaving her under garments was so humiliating, she wasn’t sure, but it made her not want to wear them.
Leaving the offending apparel on the corner of the bed, Pixie headed into the small bathroom, intent on having a nice, long shower. The fact that this underground network had electricity shoc
ked her, but what it also meant was that she could finally have a really hot shower. It was just the thing to help ease her anxiety over being locked up the way she was.
Turning on the showerhead, she turned to lock the door, just to be safe. She didn’t know what time it was, or when Bastian had been there, but she wasn’t taking any chances that he might return while she was naked and vulnerable. Stepping into the rising steam, she sighed loudly as the raining water hit her back, heating her to the bone. God, it was heaven.
Taking the tie out of her hair, she let the water soak it through, feeling the weight of it grow heavier as it straightened down her back., hitting just above her butt. Spending more time than she probably should have in there, she finally stepped back out onto the cool tile floor, her fingers wrinkly, and her skin a deep pink.
Wiping off the mirror, she looked at her reflection, her eyes taking in the woman staring back at her. She looked paler than normal, tired, despite the fact that she’d slept for a bit already. Her skin was smooth and unmarred by wrinkles. She poked at the area around her mouth, wondering if that was because she rarely smiled these days.
Sighing, she pulled on the sports bar she’d already worn, before adding the tank top over it. Then she simply pulled on the tights, forgoing any underwear. If she needed to go commando in order to avoid wearing lingerie given to her by Bastian, then so be it. It made her feel more comfortable anyway.
Combing through the long strands of her hair, she swept it off her face, twisting the locks into her usual bun, securing it tightly to her head. There were puffy circles beneath her pale eyes, she now noticed. She looked like shit, in her opinion. Not that there was much she could do about it now.
With another sigh, she exited the bathroom, ready to wait for someone to come and get her. However long that might take. Except as soon as she stepped foot into the bedroom, she froze, unable to look away from the man that stood there. He stared back, his blue eyes darker than usual, a visible tick in his jaw, making her think he was either pissed or frustrated. She wasn’t sure which, but he definitely seemed to be struggling for some kind of control.
Silence, A New World Series Novella Page 2
