EVO Nation Series Trilogy Box Set

by K. J. Chapman

  “You saw the detention centres, and look around you, Norms are going to pay money to watch us die,” she adds, desperately trying to justify her cause.

  “They’re just a drop in the ocean. There are many Non-EVO with EVO kids, family members, lovers. They outnumber the rest and are suffering just as much as the EVO. We’re not the only ones chased to the gutters now, and Syndicate wants to unite us all.” I am actually talking myself around to Grayson’s way of thinking. Syndicate needs to be a haven.

  Bo scratches at her head impatiently. “Do you really think Syndicate could do that?” She’s cracking; I can sense the shift in her perspective. “Let’s pretend I’m listening for a minute. Do you honestly believe that Syndicate can unite us?”

  “No.” My reply is blunt, and she looks confused. “The thought is there, but they’re naive. People are scared, and when they’re scared they look for strength not passivism. Syndicate is weak at the moment.”

  “At the moment?”

  I can’t tell her about Shift. “They’d be stronger with people like you behind them.”

  She chuckles to herself, sits back down on the floor, and drums her fingers on her knee. “Well, it is tough shit for them that I’m stuck in here, isn’t it?”

  ***

  I’m woken by hands at the scruff of my top. Goatee thrusts me up against the wall, pushing himself hard against me. I don’t want to anger him because I don’t fully know what is happening. I take a deep breath and clench my fists.

  “You two are the first women to be brought in here in weeks,” he says. “The other fight houses are inundated, but not us.” He backs toward the cell door, dragging me with him. I hear a grunt as Bo kicks out at Sweaty who holds her neck in a vice like grip. She kicks out again, this time, catching him in the groin. He cries out, releasing her from his grip, and grasping at his crotch.

  “That one knows what she’s doing,” Goatee says, laughing. “Help me with this one.”

  Cooper stands, but Sweaty points a gun in his face, so he steps aside, allowing them to pass. Sweaty swings the gun over his shoulder, grabbing me under my arms from behind. I know from the way he gropes at me what is coming and I panic.

  “Cowards,” Bo screams through the bars.

  We’re outside the cell. I kick out at Goatee, but he grabs the area of muscle just above my knees, squeezing painfully, and then wraps my legs around his waist. I can feel the bulge in his jeans. This can’t happen. I can’t let this happen. He fumbles with my buckle as Sweaty’s hands find my breasts. My hands are loose, allowing me to smack Goatee in the side of the head.

  “Hold her arms, Idiot,” he growls at Sweaty.

  My arms are pulled back, and my buckle snaps open. I look passed Goatee to the cell. Cooper is stood with his head bowed. No, I bet you can’t look at me, you coward.

  Bo stands at the bars, unable to take her eyes from me. “I’m sorry,” she mouths.

  Faces watch from the other cells, everyone solemn and silent.

  My zipper slides down, and I throw my head back, smacking Sweaty square in the face. He releases me, my back and head slamming the ground. Goatee still has a hold of my legs, and he drops to his knees, pinning me to the floor. His tongue fills my mouth, making me gag. He gets to his knees, and lifts me by the fabric of my jacket. Then, a fat fist meets the side of my face.

  “The bitch broke my nose,” shrieks Sweaty. “I get a go on her first.”

  I cry out and vomit floods my throat. My telekinesis fizzes inside my skin, but the cuff is enough to stop me using it. I won’t be sedated.

  Sweaty grabs my wrists, lifting my top half as Goatee takes my legs once again. My flies hang open. I can’t let them get my trousers off, but what can I do? I hang between them like a lump of meat. All I can do is struggle and scream.

  Their faces start to fade away, and my mind starts to flutter. No, not now. This can’t happen now. I can sense Adam instantly. It is as if he is waiting for me to come through. I force the sensation and Adam away. I won’t let him in when I’m like this. I won’t be sedated and give them an easy ride.

  “Get her to the back room,” says Goatee. My focus flies back to reality. I scream out again. “Calm down, love. You’re making this harder than it needs to be,” he says, laughing.

  I’m taken into a small room with a desk and stacks of what look like bar stools. Goatee drops my legs, grappling at my jeans. My knee meets his chest, but it only slows him for a moment. My trousers start to slide off my hips. I look down at Goatee’s eager face, his eyes wild and hungry. Above me, Sweaty sneers down with blood running over his lips and chin.

  The hard hilt of the blade in my boot digs into my ankle. I had forgotten about it. I need that blade. If Goatee pulls my boots off, he’ll find it. I stop flailing my arms, and in turn, Sweaty’s grip loosens slightly. I pull one arm free, and before he even knows what has happened, I stick my finger deep into his eye.

  Both hands are free now. I throw myself forward into a sitting position, punching at Goatee with one hand and reaching into my boot with the other. I snap the popper on the sheath. The blade is warm in my palm. I can see his jugular and I aim.

  Boss strides in. He is still suited and booted and looking totally out of place in this dive, but he is scum just like the rest of the Taggers.

  Both men have stopped their attack, and I quickly slide the blade up into my sleeve.

  “She’ll have to wait. We’ve got a few more freaks incoming in five,” says Boss. He looks me over, his eyes resting on my pants and legs.

  Goatee sighs and reluctantly gets to his feet. My trousers are at my knees and my sweater ripped, but other than a black eye, I’m unharmed- exhausted, violated, but unharmed.

  Sweaty pulls me to my feet by my hair, spitting a mouthful of blood into my face. “You better sleep with one eye open tonight, Freak,” he whispers, and then shoves me toward Goatee. “I need to go sort my face.”

  Goatee lifts me over his shoulder. His hands on my bare thighs feel like sandpaper. More Taggers head down the stairs. If I use my blade now, I’m as good as dead, and there is no chance of escape. I keep a tight hold of my sleeve to hide the blade as he marches back out into the cells. I hear the clunk of the cell door opening, and then feel the slam as he drops me in a heap at Cooper’s feet. Goatee turns on his heels, and as quickly as the ordeal had started, it has ended.

  “Close call,” says Cooper.

  I clamber to my feet, pulling up my trousers and panting for breath. I point the blade into his face with a shaking hand. “You would have let them rape me. You really don’t give a shit about anyone but yourself, do you? Stay the hell away from me.”

  “How have you still got that? Keep it hidden. You had a chance at surviving,” he says, swatting my hand away. “If I had caused a scene, the chances are we’d all be dead right now.”

  “He’s right,” says Bo, straightening my top.

  “Whatever. Stay the hell away from me, Cooper, or I’ll castrate you where you stand.”

  Cooper laughs. “You couldn’t even fight off that fat bastard, and I’m a lot more skilled than Armpits.”

  I point the blade at him again.

  “You lack basic fighting skill, you panic, and you waste your energy screaming like a girl. You’ll be dead before you get anywhere near my nuts.”

  I swallow hard, my knuckles white from gripping the blade. Cooper studies me for a moment, before sitting back down on the damp floor.

  “Don’t worry, Teddie. Men like that never survive long,” says Bo.

  “That’s where you’re wrong. It’s the cockroaches that always survive,” Cooper says through gritted teeth.

  I don’t reply. I don’t even look at him. Tucking the blade back into my boot, I slump to the floor, fold myself up into a tight ball, and hold back my sobs.

  ***

  The cells are quiet. The only light shines from beyond the stairs; a single strip light that blinks sporadically.

  Bo sleeps curled in the foetal
position, and Cooper lies flat on his back with one arm under his head as a pillow and the other across his chest. They both snore lightly. I envy them. I daren’t close my eyes and leave myself vulnerable again. My attackers haven’t returned, but that doesn’t mean they won’t.

  Someone turns over in the other cell, their boots banging the metal bars. I jump, sliding my hand into my own boot. Feeling the blade in my hand is of little comfort.

  “Have you been to sleep?”

  I jump again at Cooper’s voice. He hasn’t moved, but his head is tilted in my direction.

  “I’m safer awake,” I whisper.

  “How about I stay awake for a bit?” He pushes himself up to sitting.

  Is Cooper being kind to me?

  “I won’t be able to sleep regardless, but I could use the company.”

  “I ain’t much company.”

  “Oh, I don’t know, you can be a half decent human being when you want to be,” I say. “About before. I know you couldn’t have done anything. I was just shaken up.”

  A fight breaks out in one of the other cells; the dull thud of head on concrete echoes around me, followed by a gargling sound. I know what that sound means, and I close my eyes against my own vivid imagination. When I open them again, Cooper is watching me.

  About five Taggers swarm toward the far cell.

  “They can’t wait to start killing each other,” laughs one Tagger.

  “You laugh, but we’re going to need to find more for the fights if this keeps up. Did you know the other fight houses are full to bursting? That’s even after they’ve delivered the kids. You think they’d send a couple our way,” adds another, whilst dragging the lifeless body of a middle aged man passed our cell.

  His skull is caved in, and his eyes that are wide and dull, have a strange red film over them. A single, bloody tear escapes and trickles down his cheek.

  Cooper steps up to the bars beside me. “It doesn’t take much to turn people into murderers, eh?”

  “We should know.”

  “Don’t get all deep on me,” he says, scrunching his nose. At least he isn’t scowling.

  I rest my forehead against the bars and cry. I don’t care anymore. What does crying matter in the scheme of things? An arm wraps around me, and I turn my face into Cooper’s hot shoulder.

  “I’m going to count to ten, and you’re going to stop crying and get your head back in the game.” He counts, and I wipe my face in my sleeve, taking a few deep, gulping breaths. Cooper moves away, his display of affection clearly done.

  “I want to be more like you. I want to not care.”

  “Nah, you don’t. You’re good as you are.”

  “How do you do it, though? How do you desensitise yourself?”

  “I distance myself. Fabian was the last genuine mate I had. He knew my history. I know I can be an asshole, you think I don’t, but I do. You remind me enough.”

  “Yeah, you have your moments, but I can’t figure you out. There is something that keeps you helping me- at the beach, at the detention centre.”

  “Six years ago, my sister, Leah, died of a heroin overdose. I’ve always felt responsible. There, now, you know the story of what screwed up Dom Cooper.”

  I try to mask my shock at Cooper finally opening up to someone, and that someone being me. “How old was she?”

  He shifts uncomfortably. “Nineteen.”

  Bingo. I get it now.

  “Why do you feel responsible?”

  “Because she was my twin and I should have done more. Our old man was a drunk and used to beat on us regular. As we got older, I shouldered the worst of it. Living with that waste of oxygen, and then me going to prison for three months took its toll on her. When I got out, she was already using. She never did fully forgive me for leaving her with him.” He hangs his head in shame. “When I got out, I took her away. I started making money, got a flat, but she was proper messed up and hanging out with dealers and crack heads. One night, I found her unconscious on the bathroom floor with a needle hanging out of her arm. I took her supply, she went crazy, and we had a huge bust up. The next morning, I went to wake her before I went to work, but she was dead. She had hidden a stash from me in a glasses case.”

  “I’m so sorry, Cooper.”

  “Yeah, me too.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Cooper pees into the bucket. He stands with his back to me and his legs spread. The man pees like an elephant. He shakes and tucks himself in. I’m desperate to go, and although Boss said we could use the toilet stall, I won’t purposely put myself in a confined space with a Tagger.

  “Look away because I need to go,” I say to him.

  He turns sideways, picking at a scab on his knuckles. Bo lies on the floor with her cardigan over her face.

  I pull down my trousers and pants to squat over the bucket. I can perch on it comfortably, although my pee tinkles off the plastic.

  “They said you can use the toilet,” he says, keeping his eyes on his hands.

  “Do you think I’m stupid? I’m not having one of those guys escort me into a small space and wait for me to save them the job of taking my knickers down.”

  “But you’re happy to take them down for me?”

  I sit back down. “Happy is a strong word,” I say.

  Footsteps draw our attention to the stairs. Bo shoots to her feet, standing firmly with a look of aggression on her face. Goatee and Sweaty, or Armpits as he is now known, come down with the two Taggers who moved the dead guy last night. Instinctively, I bring my knees up to my chest and slide my hand into my boot.

  “Don’t draw attention to it,” Cooper whispers from across the cage, shaking his head seriously. He stands and positions himself between me and the bars, making himself look as big as possible.

  Armpits has two black eyes and a nose that looks like he is trying to sniff his ear. He stops outside the cage and sneers at me before turning to Cooper. “Ugly, you’re fighting tonight,” he says to Cooper.

  Cooper scoffs. “Ugly? That’s rich coming from you.”

  Armpits ignores him. “And you’re up after,” he says to me.

  “Who am I fighting?”

  The Tagger from last night looks to the blood smear on the floor. “It was supposed to be the guy who got himself killed last night, so now, it’s the guy who killed that guy. I bet he’s regretting it now, eh?”

  They walk away laughing. A cold sweat graces my skin, and I’m suddenly very protective of Cooper. I stand shoulder to shoulder with him and take his hand. There isn’t anything between us in that way, but he is my friend in here.

  He squeezes my hand in reply. “I can’t help you win your fight, but in case I don’t come back tonight, I’m going to teach you how to protect yourself from those guys,” he says.

  He lunges at me. I spring away, clattering into the bars.

  “So, that’s your lead foot,” he says, tapping my left leg with his boot. “Your back foot is your power foot. Stay on the ball of that back foot. Now, get your hands up.” I tilt my head in confusion. “Let me do this for you. It’ll take my mind off of things.”

  I do as I’m told, clenching my fists and holding them up to my face.

  “If you throw a punch like that you’ll break your thumbs. Get them on the outside and curl them under.”

  I readjust my fists just as he says. Bo takes a seat at the edge of the cell, making the most of the entertainment. She seems sad that she isn’t fighting tonight, or it could be the possibility of being left behind with no one if Cooper and I die.

  Grabbing my right wrist, he positions it at my cheek level, and then moves my left fist forward slightly. “Keep your elbows down and in, and lower your chin. This is the stance you want to be in to deliver most power in a swing. Don’t square your body to me; it leaves your gut open.” He squeezes my left fist. “This is your jab hand and your right hand is your power hand. If you’re hitting with one, you need to defend with the other. Come on, jab at me,” he says, tapping at
his chest.

  I throw my left hand against his chest, but he just laughs.

  “That was shit,” Bo says, chuckling. “Tilt your wrist down slightly, so you impact with the flat of your first two fingers. You’ll notice the difference.”

  I try again, this time, feeling more power as my fist hits into him, but Cooper swats me around the face with the flat of his hand. I stagger away, holding my face.

  “Oh, did I hurt you?” he asks, sarcastically. “That was better, but you dropped your right hand. Do it again, but this time, remember to keep your hand up.”

  I shake the ache out of my head and get back into position again. I jab at him again, keeping my right hand in position, and again, he hits me. This time, in the stomach. I know he’s not using his full strength, but it’s enough to knock the wind out of me.

  “What did I say about not squaring up to me?” he snaps.

  I don’t reply. I just nod and position myself for the third time.

  “If you’re squaring up, you’re not using your hips properly, and if you’re not using your hips properly, you won’t get maximum power in your swing and I can crack you in the guts. Okay, let’s try a basic one- two: a jab- cross.”

  “So, I jab with this hand, and then cross with this one?” I ask.

  He smiles and nods. “If you remember your stance, and to keep your chin down, you’ll throw a true punch. Try again. Not so hard with the jab, but let me feel the cross. One- two, remember: nice and quick.”

  I nail it. Cooper rubs his chest where my cross caught him with a satisfying thud.

  “Nice one. You’re enjoying this, ain’t you?”

  I shrug. “It’s nice to not feel useless.”

  “Can I have a go? I’d really really enjoy it,” Bo says. Cooper flips her the bird.

  “It is fun now, but you need to remember everything I’ve taught you when the time comes. You panic, and panicking won’t help you. Don’t let fear affect your skill. I know a head blow seems like the most effective, but heads are made of bone and bone is hard. You’ll end up hurting yourself more than them. You’d do better to swing for the chest and ribs, and if you aim at the throat, they’ll instinctively lower their heads and leave their chins exposed. If you get knocked down, make sure to aim for the groin or the inner thighs. First, take them by surprise, and then, and only then, use your blade.”