But for now the kids were heading up to Grouse Mountain on a solar-powered tram. Or, in these dark winter months, more like a people-powered tram. And when Jess had pressed the packet of Starbucks back into my hand, telling me to keep it, I might need it more, I knew I had made the right decision. So why, when I watched them mesh with the crowd and fade into the night, did my heart break all over again?
I stood outside of what looked like the gates of hell and smiled. Our new “little one” had a name. Aubrey. A beautiful name, made even more beautiful when she put her arms around me and whispered it in my ear for the first time. Just before she said good-bye.
I had given her a high five and a kiss and a hug. Welcome to Team Blue, I’d said.
And then they were gone. Off to safety. At least for this wave. After all, it was just a little monster.
As I made my way toward the makeshift arena, my thoughts were of Gabriel and the task before me. I wasn’t sure what that task would entail, only that it seemed daunting and dangerous and, well, most likely impossible. Still, I had to do it. I had to save Gabriel. If not for me, for the boys. Nick and Alec were devastated to learn Gabriel was nowhere to be found. And I hadn’t the stomach to tell them I knew exactly where he was. I hadn’t the stomach to tell them they might never see him again.
I still couldn’t believe the boys had hitched a ride to New Vancouver by junk. The sketchy supply boat that made the rounds in the New San Juans. Sketchy because you never knew for sure where or when it might show. Or better yet, if it would show at all. I’d heard stories that the crew, drunk on absinthe, had lost their bearings, ended up in New Canada, and an entire family of six had starved because they hadn’t gotten supplies. I had always hoped that was just a story.
The timetable might be sketchy, but the fact that sometimes Runners took over the junk was downright scary.
Gabriel would be so furious with the twins for taking such a risk. If he lived to find out.
And little Aubrey? The girl with the amazing whiskey-brown eyes? Still a mystery. But at least I knew her name. At least she was safe.
So here I was in the New World Order of Extreme Cage Fighting. At least, that was what the sign read. And, like I said, it looked like the gates of hell.
Thank God the boys hadn’t come.
Giant torches lit the walkway into the old Capital Arena. Or should I say half the arena. Damaged by floodwaters, the ruins didn’t look anything like an arena. No roof, missing a side, it was like everything else in New Vancouver: damaged. Inside and out.
I traveled a double-wide path that went on forever. I was flanked on either side by light and smoke and flame. The crowd roared from inside and I could smell the taint of too much booze, too much blood, too much sin. This place felt wrong, evil…unholy.
Vendors lined the path. Some stood beside jars of snake wine, trading and bartering for a taste of their nasty brew.
Clear glass containers of varying sizes held the carcasses of some of the most dangerous snakes in the world. Their lifeless, coiled bodies, fermented and rotted in the liquid. People everywhere were drinking once illegal brew, smoking once illegal weed, and chewing old meds like gum.
Some were shooting up with needles so contaminated that they risked dying from the rusted, salt-pocked metal more than the drugs.
Runners were all over.
In all this, how was I ever going to get to Gabriel? Much less get him out of here.
“Hey, you, girly. You need cleaning up real bad. How ’bout you come on over and I’ll hose you off. Looks like you got something on your arm there.”
I stopped midstream, my hand flying to my tattoo. Relief flooded me as I felt the thick ooze, now drying into a shield of camouflage. I got knocked hard from behind by two mean-looking women who pushed me toward the man who had shouted out to me.
“Get your scrawny ass out of the way,” one woman said.
“Stupid bitch,” said the other as they shoved past me.
I glared at them over my shoulder. Man, how I loved the friendly folks of New Vancouver.
“Girly, get your ass over here and let me clean you up. I’ve got just the hose to do it with.”
I turned to face the man, ready to draw a knife if need be, only to see that he was trading what I desperately wanted to buy. Or steal. T-shirts. A long-sleeved one in particular caught my eye. I wanted it. Hell, I needed it. The mud would dry completely and flake off at some point. Yep. I needed that shirt. Now.
He was a short, stubby excuse of a guy, with a really bad comb-over. He was grabbing his crotch and making gyrating, lewd gestures, which was so not new. I rolled my eyes, drew my knife from the small of my back, and had it pressed to his penis in under a second. Needless to say the gyrating stopped.
His eyes went wide and his face paled.
“Look, Mud Girl—” he started.
“Mud Girl?” I pressed the knife in tighter. “Now is that any way to talk to a lady?”
“Sorry. Sorry. What do you want? I was only kidding.”
“Of course you were.” I pulled back my knife, but only by an inch. “What I want is that black tee over there, the long-sleeved one.”
He paled more. “That’s vintage, man. That’s worth—”
“Your life?” I interrupted.
“Yours. It’s yours.”
He reached back and pulled it off the rusted hanger behind him and shoved it at me. He looked like he was gonna cry. Over a T-shirt? Man, he needed to get into another line of work. I grabbed it and stuffed it under my arm, not making the mistake of pulling it over my head right then and there, giving him a chance to blindside me.
“Hold out your hand.” I pointed the knife at him.
“What are ya gonna do, lady?”
I smiled at the lady part. For a dumb-ass, he was a fast learner.
“Just hold it out.”
“Don’t cut me! I gave you the damn shirt, didn’t I?” He fell to his knees.
I slung the shirt over my shoulder and pressed the knife under his chin. He held out his hand. It was shaking, and I couldn’t blame him. I had caught a glimpse of myself in a cracked mirror strapped to a rotting post over his shoulder. Nick and Alec had painted streaks of mud on my face and forehead like war paint. My hair was a tangled, filthy mess barely contained in a ponytail. My cheek from the black eye was purple, and the shades only added to the overall psycho look.
I looked like shit.
I looked crazy-dangerous.
I did like the crazy-dangerous part, though. It seemed to be working for me. Of course, the knife helped.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out the last packet of Starbucks Christmas Blend. It was smashed and flat, but it was coffee. Damn good coffee. I dropped it in his hand. There. I could officially say I made my first trade.
He looked up, amazement flooding his face, and then joy—pure joy.
I twirled my knife, just to be a show-off. New clothes will do that to a girl. I booted him in the chest, knocking him over in the mud, and I walked away.
I was almost in and the crowd was pulling and pulsating, like a throbbing organ. I’d donned my new long-sleeved tee, which, let’s face it, was so not new. In fact, it smelled. But what was I gonna do? Ask for a refund? What I was pleased about was that not only did it cover my tattoo just fine, but it had writing on the back that said, We Leave Bite Marks. Now I didn’t need the matchbook. I had the T-shirt. Much better.
We moved as one mass, pushing our way in toward…what, exactly?
Then, just like that, I was in.
And that was when I saw it.
The cage.
It was a raised platform shaped like a pentagram and lined with razor wire. Huge vats of burning oil lit the stage at each point. The smells of the rancid oil and human flesh, raw and bleeding, filled my nostrils. It was the smell of death. What was this place?
I pushed through the crowd, fighting for every step. Panic was setting in. It was after midnight and Gabriel was nowhere to be seen.
Please, God, I prayed, let me find him.
It was such slow going, the crowd swallowed me up at times, and once I fell and was almost trampled. Large hands reached down and picked me up. I never even saw my savior to thank him. Incredibly loud metal music rang through my eardrums, while the air tasted hot and sour with too much sweat. Too much sin.
At last I was at the front of the cage.
It looked like a fight had just finished. They were hosing down the floors. The water ran crimson.
Suddenly the music stopped.
The crowd, knowing something I didn’t, hushed. The silence, thick just with breaths being drawn, was eerie, and creeped me out. I didn’t know what to expect. I didn’t want to find out.
Then the drums began.
It sounded like a death march.
I looked around, but I couldn’t see, I couldn’t see, I couldn’t—
My heart stopped. Gabriel. Bound and bloodied, he entered the cage through a hidden door. Pushed to his knees by a shirtless, scarred man, Gabriel had his hands untied and he was kicked to the side of the cage like a dog.
He wore long leather shorts already caked with dried blood. His beautiful hair, now matted and tangled, still shone blue-black under harsh lights of fire. Shirtless, scratched, and bruised, he still looked like my dark angel. An angel in trouble.
I wanted to run to him. Hold him. Cry for him. But I stood frozen. The terror crept through my bones like a ghost at midnight, gripping my heart.
Gabriel stood. His wonderful hands were clenched in rage, and the fury on his face spoke volumes. He might die tonight, but he’d go out fighting. He was battered about the face and bruised on his torso. He looked like he’d already fought.
The restless crowd chanted, “Fight, fight, fight, fight.” They stomped their feet, and soon the arena was wild with noise. Someone threw a bottle, and that started a barrage of objects thrown against the cage. Glass shattered but nothing could penetrate the wire mesh. Gabriel was safe from the crowd.
But surely not from the huge man coming in through the opposite door.
He had to be at least six-foot-seven; I’d never seen anyone so tall. Dressed in the same leathers as Gabriel, barefoot and buff, he bore the most amazing tattoos I’d ever seen.
Every inch of his body was covered by scales, tattooed in iridescent blues and greens and yellows. His ears—and I couldn’t help thinking about Trace—were covered in tiny scales, along with lips, everything, even toes. I strained for a closer look. The tats wove around and down, circling his body.
I could see a pattern.
Snakes. Every tattoo wove one snake into another.
A crowd favorite, Snake Man bowed, deep and low. When he raised his head, I found myself looking into serpent eyes of yellow and gold. He blinked and an opaque filter, a film really, covered his eyes. Spooky.
I had a sick feeling about this. Something told me this fight would be far from fair. Something told me things could go very wrong.
Bells rang and a man with a bullhorn came out to announce the “rules.”
Head butting—good.
Eye gouging—pretty much.
Bare knuckles—of course.
Kicks to the head and spinal cord—encouraged.
Biting, chewing, swallowing. Why not?
Another bell sounded.
This was it. It would start soon. I wanted to cry.
Pushing past the last holdouts of people blocking my way I climbed onto the small platform surrounding the stage. Other people were doing it too, and I tried to blend in like an honest-to-goodness fan. My new tee helped. I was so glad my arm was covered. Flaunting my wave tattoo would have been stupid on every level.
I inched toward Gabriel, and when someone wouldn’t let me pass, I showed them my knife. I had to get as close to him as possible. I wasn’t about to let a snake-lovin’ groupie get in the way.
I had to take care with my weapons. I was down to two blades now.
After giving Aubrey my fleece, I couldn’t stow and stash all the weapons anymore. Plus I didn’t have that many left; I’d used a fair number in the city. Such a warm and fuzzy place, this New Vancouver.
I still had that bright pink duct tape on my wrist holding the switchblade. It wasn’t a question of whether I’d use it, but when.
Catcalls filled the air and I turned to the crowd. Men jeered. Some dropped their pants, making gross motions and sexual gestures. The women booed. I turned back to the ring.
The ring girl was parading in a circle with a sign over her head that read, Runner vs. Cobra. Cobra. Like I didn’t see that name coming.
I looked closer at the sign bearer. A stunning girl, she wore tall platform boots in black leather that laced high on her calves. Black thong, black tank top, black belly ring; at least we liked the same color. Blond hair tumbled over her shoulders, resting on her enormous breasts. I glanced down at my chest. Well, that didn’t make me feel any better.
But there was something else about her.
What? She stopped in front of Gabriel and I wasn’t thrilled about that. She kissed him hard, pulled away, and laughed. It was then that I recognized her.
The grip on the cage turned my knuckles white. I was fantasizing about gripping her neck.
Ring Girl was the woman Gabriel had rowed away with the night of the party. The girl he’d flashed his twin dimples at. She was the woman who didn’t bring him back.
She was with him the night he didn’t come home.
The night I didn’t get a practice session.
The night he broke my heart.
Chapter Twenty-five
I watched the blonde move away from Gabriel with hate in my heart.
She had set Gabriel up.
I watched her move and smile and wave. After she met me—and I’d make sure she did—she wouldn’t be smiling anymore.
So she was working with Trace. He had to be here. He wouldn’t miss Gabriel’s death. Hell, he’d want to stick around just to collect the ears.
I didn’t know what the man looked like, but I wanted to find out. Maybe I’d just look for a necklace made of ears.
If Gabriel died tonight and I lived, I’d find Trace and kill him. And yes, I knew there was no real logic in that—after all, Gabriel was working for the wrong side too. Still, I had business to finish with Gabriel. If Trace took away my only chance to find out why this Indigo and the entire Runner nation were looking for me now, all these years after Seamus’s death, and if he took away my chance to say good-bye…?
My throat closed and I willed tears to stay put. To stay hidden and secret.
Say good-bye? How?
How could I say good-bye to this man I knew well enough to fall in love with, yet not nearly as well as I thought? He was such a dark enigma, a mystery man. Maybe I didn’t know him at all.
I looked at Gabriel up there: so proud, so ready to fight, ready to defend. I don’t share. His words floated back to me. Well, Trace. Whoever you are—I scanned the crowd—I don’t share either.
The bell rang three times, and the fight was on.
There wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it. It was the most helpless feeling in the entire New World.
The men began to circle each other, slowly. So slowly. Soon the speed began to change. And my heart rate increased.
Gabriel went on the offensive, rushing Cobra first. Dropping to the floor, he took out the large man’s legs from under him. All six feet, seven inches of Cobra crashed on what should have been a mat, but instead was made of stainless steel. The unforgiving steel of diamond-plated metal was designed to draw more blood, make it a better spectator sport. Plus it was easier to hose off the blood.
The big man didn’t get up. Blood ran over the diamond plate and pooled in little silver pockets. I was close enough to get a whiff of its coppery scent. I looked down at the spray of scarlet droplets that had splattered through the wire mesh and landed on my hands.
Blood on my hands. I couldn’t deny it. My eyesight blurred as
visions of all the men I’d stabbed and maimed and killed passed through my mind. I saw the Runner when I was thirteen, dead at my feet, and last I saw Seamus, whom I’d vowed not to care about, but did, lying on a beach surrounded by crimson.
My stomach twisted and a wave of nausea hit me.
The roar of the crowd brought me back to the fight at hand. A fight I wasn’t in physically, yet, but a fight that was about me. If Gabriel Black hadn’t hunted me, found me, hadn’t kept me for a trade with Indigo, none of us would be here.
And I never would have met him.
Or the boys. Or little Aubrey. Or my Max. And I sure as hell wouldn’t have Christmas Blend.
Coffee? I shook my head. Whatever happened to my priorities? I covered my eyes as Gabriel landed a particularly nasty punch. Still, coffee was important.
I chewed my bottom lip as Gabriel smashed a flat palm on Cobra’s nose. I heard a sickening crunch. Gabriel and I had both done enough fighting to know that could have been a death blow. He could have sent the Cobra’s nose straight into his skull, lodging it in the brain.
But he’d chosen not to. Why?
Gabriel, on top now, put a knee to Cobra’s impossibly thin throat. Gagging, the man shot his tongue out, lapping and licking at the air. His long, snakelike tongue had been altered, sliced, really. Now in two parts, with a split down the middle, it forked and flailed as Cobra hissed and tried to spit.
The tongue looked every inch like a serpent’s. I shivered. It gave me the creeps.
With the right amount of weight, Gabriel could crush the throat immediately. But again, he chose not to do it. Why?
It was a bad decision.
Gabriel couldn’t see the scissor move behind him. But I could.
“Gabriel. Behind you!” I screamed.
Mistake. I had made a terrible mistake. Gabriel, clearly confused by my voice, paused. And it was the pause that got him.
Cobra locked his legs around Gabriel’s throat. Gabriel flipped backward and landed hard on the floor. He didn’t move.
Tsunami Blue Page 18
