Dominic blanches, going whiter than he did when I knocked him on his ass. For some reason I take pity on him. “Go with something on theme with what you are.”
He grunts, then grins, knocking his shoulder into mine in a move that’s supposed to be friendly but nearly knocks me flat. “Thanks.”
“Okay, time’s up,” Resker says. “Let’s hear them.” She looks first at Dominic, her lips twitching. “Something tells me this will be good.”
“Hell yeah.” He flexes one enormous arm and kisses the bulging muscle. “You can call me Tusker.”
Resker’s eyes dip closed. “Only if you absolutely insist. What about you, Lyss?”
“Well, I thought about Silka or Widowmaker, maybe even Chelicerae—for educational purposes, you know?”
“Less process more decision, please.” Resker sighs.
“The Recluse,” Lyss says proudly.
I give her a thumbs-up. It’s a strong name, and she’s got the skills to back it up.
Resker writes it down, then looks at the silent guy expectantly.
“Thorn,” he hisses in a voice that sounds like glass scraping against ice. I blink a few times. He’s a creepy guy. As for the name, it’s simple, and there’s nothing overtly embarrassing about it. Until I see him fight, I’m reserving judgment.
Resker turns to me last, assessing me with the same greedy eagerness from before. “What about you, angel?”
I’m expecting the nickname, but it still sets my teeth on edge. Now that Alistair has shown it gets to him, I expect her to use it at every opportunity. She’s carved out a solid place for herself in the Fringes, which tells me she knows how to use every piece of leverage she can get her hands on. I shouldn’t forget that.
“Verity,” I say, holding her stare with a “don’t fuck with me” look of my own. “You can call me Verity.”
“Okay, Verity—you’ll be fighting Thorn, and you’re up first.”
ELEVEN
Unspoken rule of the Fringes #16:
Carve respect for yourself or
carve your own coffin.
LUCA
Nerves buzzing, I shove through the crowd until Malach and I are inches from the cage. Close enough to see and hear anything Celine gets hit with.
Don’t kill anyone, I beg my basilisk. It’s rattling inside my chest at a low frequency. Not pissed yet, but on guard, and eager to see Celine fight.
It enjoyed watching her beat the spider, although it also wanted to turn the arachne shifter to stone and keep her as a souvenir. I squashed that idea, knowing good and godsdamned well Celine doesn’t want a massive, half-shifted spider made of rock in her apartment.
“The fight is crowded,” Malach says, his green eyes rolling over the stacks before stopping on the cage. “She will win, Luca.”
I nod, not sure if he’s trying to convince me or himself.
Alistair materializes at my side—a six-foot-four battering ram with murder in his eyes. He shoves two guys flat and takes their spot. They protest loudly, but their angry shouts die off as soon as they spot his narrowed ruby eyes.
“I see you’re calm,” I mutter sarcastically without bothering to raise my voice. He’ll hear me no matter how loud the crowd gets.
“Perfectly at ease,” he says.
I nudge him with my shoulder and shake my head. He’s as stiff as Roscoe...afterI killed him. Nothing about that says “at ease” to me. And the look he’s giving Malach would make most people piss their pants.
I suck in a breath for patience, and a fresh wave of sweat and beer hits my nose.
