by G. P. Ching
Korwin says the next through his teeth. “But I am a fighter, and I never lose. I pity anyone who takes what’s mine. I’ll take his life in return.”
With a snort, Alpha lifts his refilled glass over his head as if to toast us. “To Ace! Win tomorrow and I won’t have to put that threat to the test.”
We haven’t finished eating, but Korwin turns me from the table by the shoulders and leads me back to his room.
It’s late and we’ve had a full day, but when I lay down next to Korwin, I can’t sleep. The memory of how Alpha touched me makes my skin crawl. “Why did he do it?” I finally ask. “Does he hate me? Is he trying to humiliate me in front of everyone?”
Korwin snorts. “Hate you? No, he doesn’t hate you. On the contrary, I think Alpha is quite taken with you. I think Alpha would prefer that I lose this time.”
I turn on my side and stare at him in the dark room. “Prefer that you lose ten thousand units?”
“I’ve seen the look in his eyes. He wants you for himself, and by the look of Sophie’s face, I think he’s willing to do just about anything to have you.”
“Are you saying he might kill Sophie and challenge you for me?” I whisper. The thought is too horrific for me to take seriously, but Korwin doesn’t laugh.
“I’m worried about you, Lydia. Maybe…”
“Maybe what?”
He clears his throat and whispers in my ear. “Make it through Friday night. I’ll win my cut of the units and then we can discuss our next move.”
I meet his eyes and my heart leaps. “Really.”
“I have no idea where we’ll go, but yes.”
I throw my arms around his neck and squeeze.
“Okay, okay, don’t get too excited. You need to be careful. Try your best to fly under the radar until I can figure something out. We don’t want anyone to suspect we’re leaving.”
Tucked into his side, I finally drift to sleep, my soul hopeful about the future.
23
Friday’s fight promises to be both a curse and a salvation. I’m not sure how I’ll survive watching Korwin fight, but I’m anxious for the day to come and for us to move beyond it. I keep to myself, rarely leaving Korwin’s room and never without him at my side. Bella comes to see me when I miss dinner, claiming to be ill. She probably thinks Korwin beat me like Alpha beat Sophie. I speak with her briefly and set her fears at ease. Without me saying so, she seems to understand my true goal is to avoid Alpha and she encourages me in that pursuit.
The day of the fight, the main floor of the kennel is transformed. A massive cage constructed of chain link, steel posts, and wire brackets is erected. I take dinner in our room, then dress in what Korwin brings for me.
“Wow,” I say, holding up the emerald green dress. The bodice is a strapless and stiff fan of silky material. It has no discernable back. The cloth gathers over one hip and cascades on either side of a slit to the floor.
“I’m the incumbent champion. Everyone is going to be watching. You have to play the part.”
“I’d like to play it with clothes on.”
A whisper of a smile raises the corner of his mouth. “It covers all the important parts.”
I lower the dress and look at him ruefully. “Korwin Stuart, I think you are enjoying this.”
He shrugs slowly.
My mouth falls open. “You would have me parade around half-naked in front of strangers?”
“No. No. Not if I had a choice.” He steps into me, wrapping his arms around me and sandwiching the dress between us. Lowering his chin, he presses his forehead to mine. “If I had my way, you’d only be half-naked in front of me.” With a slight shift, I meet his lips for a kiss that forces me to hold the dress away from my body for fear of burning it. He pulls away slowly when things get dangerous. “Besides, wait ’til you see the humiliating thing I have to wear in the ring.”
“Looking forward to it,” I say, laughing.
“I’ve got to go. The other clans will arrive soon, and everyone wants to see the fighters before they place their bets.”
I nod. “Good luck. I’ll pray for an easy fight.”
“Thanks, but I don’t need the prayers. If there is a God, I doubt he’s going to want to see this.” He pecks me on the cheek and disappears out the door.
I stretch the emerald green material between my hands as my smile fades from my face. Bishop Kauffman’s voice comes to me. I picture him sanding a porch rail, smiling at me, but what he says is from a reading he did once. My mind puts the two together, seamlessly, into an event that has never happened but seems ultimately real. “Do not yoke yourself to an unbeliever. For how can righteousness and lawlessness be partners? What fellowship does light have with darkness?” It’s from Corinthians. The memory, like all of my memories from Hemlock Hollow, is a part of who I am. The Bible is stamped on my heart and the songs of my Ordnung hum in my soul. I cannot separate myself from it like I can separate my body from the physical place of my youth.
As I don the emerald dress, I do pray for Korwin, but not that he will win the fight. I pray that he will find God and in the deepest recesses of my soul, I pray for the strength to do what I’ll have to do if he doesn’t.
I join the other pack leaders front and center in a viewing area on the second floor, the same place where I’d watched Korwin fight Pit for me. This time, they’ve brought in a set of eight thrones with plush red velvet cushions and burnished copper studs. Bella, Sophie, Bailey, and I sit in four low-backed models at floor level, while the men are on a raised platform behind us in more ornate, high-backed versions.
To my right, Sophie shivers in her chair, looking like she could mentally come unhinged at any second. One of her eyes is swollen. Bruises pepper her arms and legs. She’s layered makeup over the damage, an effort that might do the trick for the sea of people below us but does nothing to disguise the swelling and uneven appearance of her face. I’d like to reach out and take her hand as a sign of support, but Alpha is sitting directly behind me and I fear his reaction. To my left, Bella and Bailey sit straight backed and empty, like they forgot their souls in their rooms. Jake and Sting sit directly behind their partners—eyes not vacant but dark, souls not missing but ruined.
It occurs to me that Sting sits behind Bella and Jake sits behind Bailey but Alpha sits behind me. Shouldn’t that spot be Korwin’s? Left empty until he wins the fight? I stand and say to Sophie, “I think we chose the wrong chairs. Will you switch with me?”
Alpha shakes his head. “Sit down.”
I lower myself back into the chair in front of him. Goosebumps break out across my skin. I am in the presence of evil, plain and simple. I stare into the cage and feel my mind blank, my soul recede to a protected place with concrete walls within me. Bella glances at me out of the corner of my eye, almost imperceptibly. I was wrong. She’s in there. She’s just learned to protect herself too.
People swarm the kennel around the cage, their voices an indistinguishable buzz. Flashes of color reach me through the crowd. Armbands. Each clan has its own color. On the wall behind the cage, the clan names hang above glass-paneled cylinders. Red Dogs, Knights, Shadows, Saints, Bears, Dragons. A giant chalkboard below the signs contains boxes and lines that must be used to track the order of fighting.
A man in a red jacket with black lapels enters the cage and strides to the center where a microphone dangles from the ceiling. He raises his arms in a vee above his head. “Welcome, ladies and gentlemen.” His voice echoes across the kennel and every person halts to listen, the buzz of voices blending into silence. “Today, six clans come together to wager on the finest warriors of our communities. The stakes are high. Odds are listed at the counter in the back. You can place your bets up to five minutes before a given fight, but don’t wait too long because once the window closes, there are no exceptions. All payouts will be in units to your mobile device. House cut goes directly to the battery behind me.”
A metal cylinder on the wall in front of us has a bright
green gauge, half lit, that bobs incrementally as people approach the window to place their bets. The men hold devices similar to the one the Green officer had when he pulled me over my first day here. The fights are truly gold to Red Dog. The host clan must make units regardless of the outcome. Then again, the floodlights glowing from each corner of the ring can’t be cheap to run, and every member of the clan is at work below.
“Is the fight always here?” I ask. I don’t direct the question at anyone in particular.
“As long as we keep winning,” Alpha says.
“And now,” the man below bellows over the murmur of the crowd, “allow me to introduce your champions. From Bear clan, Gustof!”
A pale giant enters the ring. Gustof must have some sort of abnormality because his skin is stark white, his eyes are red, and there is no hair on his entire body. I cringe at his odd appearance and Bella whispers, “He’s albino.” As if those two words explain everything.
“From Saints clan, Pope!” The man who waddles into the ring must be four hundred pounds of short, round jiggling flesh. He wears a white bathrobe tied at the waist.
“Don’t be fooled by the excess weight,” Bella whispers. “He was one of the last practitioners of the art of sumo wrestling before it was outlawed. I’ve seen him crush a man’s ribs.”
“Uselessly short arms,” Sting says from behind us. “As long as Ace keeps his distance, Pope’ll be on the mat in no time.”
“From Shadow clan, Merciless!” A lanky but athletic man flips into the ring, springing from hands to feet before rotating in the air and landing next to Gustof. His skin is bright purple, a striking contrast to his jet-black hair.
“He’s purple,” I say.
“They bathe in a type of genetically modified chili pepper that stains their skin. The Shadows become tolerant to it but their sweat is mildly toxic. You punch a Shadow with split knuckles and it’s gonna sting for days,” Jake says.
“From Dragon clan, Torch!” Applause erupts as a short but stocky man enters the ring, his brown skin covered in tribal tattoos. He motions for the crowd to clap in time with him and the roar of appreciation grows louder. When the din in the kennel reaches a fever pitch, he slaps his hands together and a plume of fire explodes from between his palms toward the ceiling. I can feel the heat.
“He’s had flint surgically implanted in the skin of his hands. He can actually ignite his fists. Scary son of bitch, but all show. Ace can take him,” Bella whispers.
“From Knight clan, a new fighter all the way from the heart of Crater City. Let me introduce you to Boulder!”
A giant of a man enters the ring with thinning brown hair and shifty eyes.
“No,” I say, as recognition dawns.
“Relax. He’s big but I’m sure Ace can take him,” Bella assures me.
But it’s not the size of Boulder that concerns me, even though the man is a walking muscle, face distorted by what I can only assume are medical alterations to his size and weight. Under it all, I recognize Brady, the firefighter Jonas introduced me to the night Korwin and I attempted to take down the transformer. What is he doing here? I bite my lip, worried for Korwin. Brady knows who Korwin is. He knows what Korwin can do. I clench my fists, praying that Brady wants to keep his anonymity as much as Korwin.
Bella grunts. “Guy’s been hitting the juice. He might win the fight but he’s going to lose his liver if he keeps that up.”
“What’s the juice?” I ask.
She doesn’t answer but turns back to the ring. “And now, your reigning champion, from Red Dog clan, Ace!”
The crowd goes wild. The people stomp their feet and beat the chain link until my ears hurt. Korwin jogs into the ring wearing nothing but a pair of silky red boxing shorts. There’s a Rottweiler face on his butt with an ace of hearts in its mouth. “I see what you mean about humiliating,” I whisper to myself.
“What?” Bella asks, raising her voice over the din of the crowd.
“He’s intimidating,” I say louder. It’s a lie. He’s noticeably shorter than the competitors from Bear, Shadow, and the Knights, and lankier than the Dragon and Saints fighters. In fact, if I didn’t know Korwin was a Spark, there would be no way I’d put my money on him. No way.
“The best there is,” Bella says encouragingly.
“First bracket, Gustof vs. Boulder. All others, please evacuate the ring.” The man in the red jacket follows the other competitors through the chain-link door. After they leave, an iron bar is lowered into place to block the exit.
“Square off,” the announcer says. The albino man lowers into a crouch and Brady/Boulder takes a step back with his right foot.
“Begin!”
Gustof jabs at Brady’s face. Brady blocks and counters. His fist connects but Gustof retaliates with a hook to Brady’s head. Brady tackles the albino to the concrete. A punch to the nose sprays bright red blood across white skin. I have to look away.
Alpha leans forward into my field of vision. “Wine?” He hands me a glass.
I accept with a curt nod but don’t drink it. Instead, I shift away from him in my chair. My body stiffens and I stare straight ahead, hoping he will lose interest in me.
He doesn’t. “You know, I meant it when I said I’d take care of you if something happens to Ace,” he whispers in my ear. He runs a knuckle down the length of my neck and I grind my teeth to keep from jerking away. “Even if Ace wins, I see a future for you and me, Lydia. Sophie and I have come to an agreement that someone in my position should have more than one woman at his disposal.” His hand brushes down the outside of my arm, making my skin crawl. Thankfully, at that moment the crowd roars and I jump to my feet, breaking contact. I clap, spilling wine over the back of my hand. A mutt dabs at it with a moist towel until I tell her to stop.
My eyes drift to the ring below where six men are removing Gustof, the albino, on a stretcher. Brady roars in victory. I’m fairly certain the only blood on the man is Gustof’s. Horrified for Korwin, I sip the wine despite myself.
“Next bracket, Merciless and Torch!” the announcer says.
The purple man and the one with all the tattoos enter the ring while a mutt scrambles to mop up layers of sticky blood. He leaves a bright red stain on the concrete, obviously terrified of being caught in the ring with the fighters. I wait until the last possible moment to sit back down.
“You have an appetite for sport,” Alpha whispers in my ear. He has the wine bottle and tops off my wineglass. “I like that about you.”
Fists and feet fly below us, and I focus my attention on the fight. I am a possum playing dead. My body language sends a clear message: I’m not interesting. Turn your attention elsewhere. Inside the ring, Merciless uses his superior height to his advantage, landing kicks to Torch’s head and abdomen. Torch retaliates by slapping his hands together and sending plumes of fire toward his opponent.
A meaty hand grips my shoulder like a vise and turns me in my chair. Wine spills across my bare knee. “I don’t like to be ignored,” Alpha growls.
My eyes flick to Bella for help, but she is statuesque, obviously trying her best to avoid scrutiny. I clear my throat. Survival instinct kicks in and I lie. I lie like I was born to it. “I wasn’t ignoring you,” I say softly. My eyes flick to his and then dart away quickly. “Your attention is overwhelming. I’m completely unworthy of it.” I brush the wine off my skin. It leaves a sticky residue on my hand. I fidget with the slit of my dress, holding the sides together to cover my knees. “I am a simple woman with few words at my disposal. You, Alpha, deserve someone much more sophisticated who can respond more appropriately.”
A roar rises from the crowd and my attention darts to the ring. Merciless has pinned Torch and is dragging the man’s hand across his tattooed abdomen. Torch screams as the flint embedded in his palms shreds his skin. The purple man then spits in the wound. Seconds later, Torch begins to seize, shaking violently and foaming at the mouth. Poisoned.
The man in the red coat proclaims Merc
iless the victor. The six men return with the stretcher for Torch. I use the opportunity to again stand and clap with the others. Bella glances in my direction, her eyes widening before shifting back toward Alpha. Under the guise of taking another sip of wine, I glance at Sophie. But she doesn’t acknowledge me. In fact, her eyes are glazed over. Dead inside. I can’t say I blame her. If I was bound to a man like Alpha, I might become a shell too.
I’m still on my feet when the announcer booms, “Place your bets for the next event, Pope of Saints clan vs. Ace of the Red Dogs.”
The crowd goes wild as Korwin and the overweight fighter slip into the ring.
A large body presses into my back and hot breath on my ear makes my skin crawl. “I think you’re worthy of my attention. I think you’re rather beautiful and you seem very good at following directions.”
I press myself against the railing. My fear ignites the connection between Korwin and me. I don’t mean to do it, but like clockwork, he raises his eyes to me. In an instant, he knows. His eyes narrow at Alpha, and I’ll be damned if the man doesn’t back off a quarter of an inch. I would too if Korwin was looking at me like that.
“Ace is a jealous man,” I say to Alpha. “I have to be careful.”
He laughs through his nose, flipping his long black braid behind his shoulder, and returns to his seat, verbally assaulting some unsuspecting mutt to fill his wineglass.
“Begin!” the announcer yells, and Pope moves in with his arms spread. His strategy seems obvious, even to me. He’s going to try to get in close and pin or crush Korwin under his significant weight. He almost succeeds in backing Korwin up against a wall, but Korwin bobs under Pope’s flabby arm and uses his superior speed to avoid a crushing grip.
My fingernails bite into the palms of my hand, tension tightening the fists in my lap. But Korwin doesn’t need my help or my worry. He darts behind the big man, grabs the Pope’s chin and forehead, and twists—fast.
