by C. C. Ekeke
“Shush you two!” the blonde woman chided through gritted teeth.
Rodrigo gave her a frosty onceover. “Mind your business…whoever you are.”
“It’s CJ, asshole,” the woman hissed. “And thanks to me, Scorcher didn’t barbeque your mouthy—”
As the pair continued bickering, Greyson heard a door on the far-right swing open.
Every guard in the room stood at rigid attention. Someone important is here. Greyson twisted his head sharply, reigniting his wounds. “Both of you, quiet,” Greyson ordered.
Rodrigo and CJ went silent. And right on time. Half a dozen well-dressed Amaranthines paraded into the chamber, flanked by a soldiers’ escort in dark-grey and gold armor.
Greyson guessed by the attire and lighter olive complexions that these were members of Dourado’s ruling class.
An older man in front, athletic and handsome, wore a black collared suit with intricate gold patterns threaded into the jacket. A gold scorpion resided on his left breast, House Carneiro’s sigil. Every soldier had the scorpion on their armor.
A younger woman in the group walked beside the man, fashion magazine stunning. Inky black curls spilled down to her waist. Her body-hugging silvery dress revealed effusive bronzed skin. Her curious dark eyes resembled opals, watching Greyson with great interest. Greyson’s loins stirred sharply. The attraction shamed him, a betrayal to Lauren.
Greyson immediately lowered his head.
The older gentleman, with his combed-back salt-and-pepper coif, oozed authority. His cold gaze raked over Greyson and his companions with an edge of contempt. “These are the three, Garvane?” His Amaranthine accent was more sophisticated than Rodrigo’s.
One other noble, thin and balding, nodded.
The leader focused on Greyson, his features revealing no emotion besides disdain. “You, slave, did a number on Skylord and Scorcher,” he announced stiffly. “Ravager was quite popular with teens. Made Dourado lots of money. And you killed him.” He jabbed an accusing finger into Greyson’s bare chest, causing him to step back. “So, what will I do with you…disrupters?”
Greyson already knew the ending. Why bother fighting this fate? “If you’re going kill us…” He sighed. “Go ahead. I’m tired.”
Shock rippled throughout the nobles. Quite a few jabbered angrily in their native tongue. The young woman’s eyes bulged. But an impressed smile tugged on her plump lips.
“No!” CJ yelped from behind Greyson. “Don’t get it over with!”
Rodrigo fell to his knees in subservience. “Forgive his ignorance, my lord,” he pleaded with a meekness that sounded nothing like him, which revealed much more about these new arrivals. “He doesn’t know our ways!”
The older Amaranthine tilted his chin up. “Clearly. That accent suggests you’re a Statesider, so I’ll forgive your coarseness this once.” He inched in to intimidate the shorter Greyson. “Do you know who I am?”
Thanks to Rodrigo’s exhaustive overview of Amarantha’s power players when they’d been in jail, Greyson had a good idea. “Not by face,” he answered evenly. “But given Rodrigo’s reaction, I’m guessing Gaspar of House Carneiro, Lord of the City.”
More surprise from the nobles. The young woman’s smile broadened. For the first time since entering this golden chamber, Gaspar Carneiro’s chiseled features looked close to amused. “You’ve been educated.” He nodded, arms folded behind his back. “You do realize what your ostentation cost me?”
Fear cut through Greyson’s numbness. For Rodrigo and CJ, not for himself. They were desperate for freedom. Greyson stood up straight, meeting the Lord of Dourado’s gaze. “They had nothing to do with Ravager’s death. It was all me." If someone got punished for Ravager’s death, Greyson would bite the bullet.
“We fought off your champions, too!” Rodrigo protested. The idiot…
Shut up! Greyson almost snapped but kept quiet, focused on Gaspar.
Lord Gaspar’s gaze lingered on Rodrigo, cold enough to freeze a bonfire. “You survived my champions.” He smiled at Greyson. “This one defeated all three. His physically placid frame houses such power.” Lord Gaspar’s eyes glittered with greed and possibilities. “Are you a telekinetic or something?”
Greyson was briefly tongue-tied, not expecting such praise. “Something,” he replied tautly.
Lord Gaspar laughed, surprising his entourage. “Whatever you are, your abilities far surpass Skylord’s tactile telekinesis.” He sneered at Greyson’s surprise. “Oh yes, his superstrength and flight come from his telekinetic gifts.”
A snort drew attention. The girl with curly hair rolled her eyes. “Finally, someone humbled that braggart.” By her attitude, Greyson guessed she was either Lord Gaspar’s daughter or niece. Or concubine if Amaranthine royals did that.
One of Lord Gaspar’s entourage that wasn’t a guard, a bald and bearded man with thick muscle, eyed Greyson hatefully. He leaned close to his liege, murmuring in terse Amaranthine.
“English, Carlon,” Lord Gaspar scolded, studying Greyson and CJ with greedy eyes. “Two of our guests don’t have the ear for our language.”
The bearded man named Carlon gave a distasteful glower before speaking in accented English. “That Statesider maggot got lucky, milord,” he protested, gesturing at Greyson. “Skylord will prevail in another battle. If it pleases you.”
Lord Gaspar’s face hardened. “That does not please me.” He again gave Greyson a gleeful onceover. “Once my trainers have whittled away your weaknesses, you’ll go from something…to a god of the arena.”
Gasps came from Rodrigo behind him and disapproving advisors before him. The beautiful Amaranthine girl cackled. Greyson hoped that he’d heard a misstatement. “Back to the arena?”
Lord Gaspar nodded, as if beset by a vision of battle only he saw. “You killed Ravager in combat,” the Lord of the City surmised matter-of-factly. “Now you take his place as one of Dourado’s champions. Don’t hold back on that gratitude.”
Greyson tried to force on a smile, which made that callow girl laugh even harder. His head swam processing this twist. Every choice had a price. Greyson’s choice would make him a butcher again for some wannabe royal’s pleasure. I should’ve let Ravager flay me, he mused.
“What about us?” CJ cried.
Lord Gaspar and his entourage turned haughty eyes on Rodrigo and her.
“Excuse you, slave?” Carlon hissed. Greyson could feel the searing disdain in his bones.
“Quiet, woman!” Rodrigo growled at CJ, still kneeling before Lord Gaspar. “We survived your champions today. We deserve a chance to prove ourselves further.”
Lord Gaspar seemed unmoved, which worried Greyson. If he said nothing, Rodrigo could be sent back to the jails…or worse.
“If it pleases the Lord of the City, they could be my sparring partners,” Greyson offered. “A return on the monies you spent for them—”
Lord Gaspar slapped his mouth, dropping him to a knee. Greyson’s vision filled with stars.
The royal gripped Greyson’s throat, forcing him to look up. Lord Gaspar’s features held no warmth. “Never presume to advise me, slave. Or you’ll be erased at my discretion. Understood?”
Rage coursed through every inch of Greyson. Even shackled and powerless, he’d take this bastard down before the guards skewered him.
Then Greyson saw her from the corner of his eyes. Lauren, or the figment-of-his-imagination Lauren, appeared. Worry filled her beautiful face as she mutely waved off such a suicidal move. Greyson closed his eyes a second and sagged in submission. “Understood,” he sighed.
Satisfied at Greyson’s capitulation, Lord Gaspar straightened. Behind him the guards relaxed, lifting their pikes. Greyson shuddered, realizing he wouldn’t have touched Gaspar before these guards skewered him or activated his collar.
The Lord of the City gestured at CJ and Rodrigo. “Those two may have use in the lower gladiator fights.” His suggestion received his advisors’ nods and murmurs of agreement.
“Those fights have always left much to be desired,” the advisor named Garvane stated.
Lord Gaspar nodded decisively. “Assign rooms for all three in Sunbridge’s mid-levels,” he declared.
Greyson, still kneeling, sighed in overwhelming relief. Rodrigo and CJ were safe.
Rodrigo mouthed “Thank you.” CJ said nothing, but her tear-filled eyes conveyed gratitude.
“Dearest Father!” The Amaranthine girl spoke again with concern. “See their dreadful states.” She gestured at Greyson. “You were so eager to meet with them, the doctors never treated their injuries.”
Greyson blinked, feeling a flush of bewilderment. He’d written Lord Gaspar’s daughter off as a shallow brat. With the adrenaline out of his system, Greyson felt wiped. One look at Rodrigo and CJ revealed them weary and covered in bruises.
Lord Gaspar looked annoyed. “Fine, Thuraya,” he acquiesced. “Have your doctors tend to him.” The Lord of Dourado turned to the other woman in the group, who’d been mute the whole time. “Sosanya, address these lesser two.” With that, Lord Gaspar swept from the room flanked by five guards.
Thuraya Carneiro snapped her fingers. Two guards seized Greyson by the armpits to drag him away. Another three hauled CJ and Rodrigo after them with the lean Lady Sosanya following them. Greyson’s mind was too flash-fried to protest.
Hours after sunset, Greyson sat in a bedroom with dark-crimson walls covered in vine-like gold patterns. Thuraya had claimed this was one of her many quarters around Sunbridge, with a bed twice the size of the one he shared with Lauren—
Greyson flinched from the recollection. He’d barely cobbled himself together these last few days. Diving back into his old life would shatter him again. He focused on the attentive Amaranthine medics fussing over his wounds. Dressing and balms had been applied to the slashes on his back, easing the sting. Flowery ointments were rubbed over his chest and limbs for the bruising and cuts. Greyson’s collar remained on.
Thuraya watched him while strewn suggestively across a lounge chair. Greyson had no clue why she’d taken such interest, but chose not to inquired further. After a few hours with Thuraya’s doctors, Greyson couldn’t believe how much better he felt. Part of him wondered what Connie would have thought seeing him in the lap of luxury, all for killing someone.
“She’d run like hell,” Lauren’s voice whispered in his ear. She was right. Suddenly Greyson was leaking tears for another woman he’d failed. Try as he might, Greyson couldn’t bottle his grief this time.
Soft, feminine caresses wiped his cheeks. He recoiled. Thuraya knelt before him with sympathetic eyes, her delicate fingers brushing his tears. Greyson hadn’t noticed her leave that lounge chair. Greyson tried not to focus on Lord Gaspar’s alarmingly beautiful daughter, with those pouty lips and ripe breasts.
“Amarantha must be scary, yes?” Thuraya murmured, her accent thick and decadent.
Greyson withdrew from her touch, ashamed of his tears. “Almost drowning in the ocean is scary. This?”—he gestured around the bedroom—“is the most normal I’ve experienced in months.”
Thuraya let out a peal of heady laughter. She dismissed her doctors with a two-finger wave. Like lemmings, they gathered their belongings, bowed, and scurried away.
Greyson felt a tickle in his brain when Thuraya sat beside him, leaving no personal space.
“Part of a champion’s duties…” Thuraya tossed back her curly hair, running a finger down Greyson’s bare chest. “Includes satisfying whichever noble desires them for the night.”
Greyson fought the nausea churning inside his stomach. And there was the ulterior motive. He had no interest, despite Thuraya’s bewitching attractiveness. But Greyson saw no escape to being pimped out besides punishment…
Thuraya pouted, as if sensing the hesitation. “I won’t force myself on you like other royals would. But I will claim you exclusively if I’m kept satisfied.” She batted her long eyelashes expectantly.
Greyson sat there, stewing over his next move. Not getting passed around by these royals was ideal. Which meant betraying Lauren again. His interest in that avenue curdled quickly.
“It’s okay.” Ghost-Lauren appeared beside Thuraya, wearing the same slinky, silvery beaded number. Her features were understanding. “Imagine that she’s me.” Ghost-Lauren gave Thuraya another onceover. “There’s a resemblance from certain angles.”
Greyson gulped, finding zero resemblance. But he couldn’t deny his stiffening loins, or desperation for an escape from the purgatory of his life.
Greyson reached out, drawing Thuraya by the waist into a passionate kiss. She responded with her own appetite while Greyson peeled off that silvery dress…
Chapter 24
Hugo sat in a Beach Bum Burger booth, studying emails to his phone. “They’re all teenagers?”
Quinn Bauer nodded, sitting across from him in a blazer and jeans with horned-rimmed glasses. “The Santa Maria and Lake Nacimiento bombings seemed like test runs,” she explained. “I’m guessing the bombing you disrupted in Oldtown was to be the first in San Miguel proper.”
“But that thing got away.” Hugo kicked himself for letting the culprit escape. He should’ve been quicker, used his strength more wisely.
“Hey.” Quinn touched Hugo’s forearm, regaining his attention. “You saved lives. Take the win.”
Hugo smiled at her cheering-up attempt. “I’ll feel better once this bomber is caught.”
Quinn resumed notetaking on her phone. “You said he looked like a giant tiger?”
“Liger,” Hugo corrected, vividly recalling the furry behemoth. “He was as strong as me…and intelligent.” He frowned, another realization surfacing. “But I don’t think he was working alone.” He glanced at his watch. Four minutes till lunch ended. “Gotta get to class.” Hugo stood, slipping on his backpack. “Thanks for lunch and the info.”
Quinn smiled. “I’ll keep factfinding and tell you if there’s anything new.”
Hugo’s gratitude soared. He should’ve contacted her sooner. “Thanks.”
Hugo went to his usual alleyway behind Beach Bum Burger and raced back to Paso High campus in about a minute. His English Lit class met in the library to research their literary analysis papers.
While his teacher, the tempting Ms. Plaza, returned to class, his classmates sat throughout the library. Some shaggy-haired kid walked around checking the doors. Hugo sat in a far corner booth, pouring over his and Quinn’s compiled notes about the bombings. With one student found, that left Kerry Winston and Mckenna Phillips.
Hugo decided to start searching where both girls had last been seen. He just needed to check out some Jack London wolf book for class. Leaving his table, Hugo headed for the fiction aisles. After locating the book, he turned—and stood face to face with Briseis El-Saden.
She glared up at Hugo like he was some peasant in the rich side of town.
Anger scorched through Hugo. So steeped in his own head, he hadn’t heard Brie approach.
Still, Hugo couldn’t deny Brie’s beauty, the sculpted bone structure, and those piercing, pale-green eyes. Glossy sheets of stick-straight auburn spilled past Brie’s shoulders. The crisscross top of her electric-violet, short-skirted dress fit like a jacket, hugging Brie’s slender frame. That beauty once blinded Hugo from Brie’s awfulness. Now she leaned into that mean-girl persona with heavy eyeshadow and dark lipstick, the latter hiding a bruised lip. That confirmed gossip of Brie and Jodie’s physical brawl last night.
Hugo moved around her in the tight aisle. Brie stepped in his path.
Scowling, he sidestepped to the other side. She blocked him again.
She wants something. Wonderful. Hugo bucked his teeth in distaste. “What?” he snapped.
Brie tilted her head sideways. “Stay away from Jordana, Bogie.” The demand was flat and terse.
Hugo laughed at her threat. “Only friends call me Bogie. Which you’re certainly not.”
The retort visibly flustered Brie. A p
lay on something she’d told Simon months ago. Hugo smirked, striding around her.
She wasn’t done. “I can ruin you.” An edge of menace laced her words. “Beyond just gossip.”
Hugo wheeled back around, several dots connecting. “I knew it!” He whisper-yelled. “You spread that Abby Dunleavy STD rumor!” He closed the distance between them with angry strides. “You’re just jealous that I’ve moved on.”
Brie scoffed. “Jealous of you dumpster-diving with Taylor von Stratton?” She gave her hair a dismissive toss. “That’s delusional, even for you.” Brie’s disdain sliced through the quiet library.
Hugo couldn’t even be mad. In light of the teen suicide bombers and missing Paso High kids, Brie’s cyberbullying had him quaking with laughter. That drew irate shushing from the surrounding aisles.
“What is so funny?” Brie snapped, stamping her foot.
“You,” Hugo gasped after regaining his composure. “With your boyfriend, tennis championships, your squad of ass-kissers.” He shook his head with faint pity. “Yet you’re still unhappy.”
Brie’s features hardened. “How should I feel after someone I thought mattered abandons our friendship?” she answered bitterly. “Then fucks my best friend out of spite.”
The pain beneath Brie’s malice knifed into Hugo’s chest with startling guilt. This was why he’d originally wanted to avoid getting with Jordana…until hormones had taken over. He gulped. “You think I seduced Jordana to get back at you?”
Brie gave him a smug sort of nod. “You’ve been obsessed with me since sixth grade, Bogie.” She sneered. “Adding another friend of mine into your slut harem proves it.”
Shock wiped away Hugo’s guilt. How did she know about—? He kept his angered exterior, refusing to take her bait. “Now who’s delusional? Hugo scratched his head, all but forgetting what he’d seen in Brie besides that face. “You really don’t know me.”
Brie ignored a louder shush from the next book aisle, jabbing a finger at his chest. “I know you too well. Jordana will see through whatever this bullshit bravado is.” She gestured up and down his strapping frame. “Think she’ll stay after meeting the real Hugo Malalou?”
