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“Rest assured—he will be planning the same.”

I surged to my feet.

“You’re sick,” I said. “Twisted.”

“Sit down,” she snapped.

“I’m out of here.”

Her smile vanished.

“I have men in Jasper Creek right now,” she said coolly. “One call. One shot. Is that what you want?”

Logically, I knew Chloe and Zoe were protected.

Logically, I knew this couldn’t happen.

But logic meant nothing to the primitive animal roaring awake in my chest.

She turned to the men in the room.

“I believe we have his attention.”

She stepped two steps closer and patted my cheek.

“The fight starts in five minutes.”

There was no referee.

No ropes.

Just steel bars, and harsh overhead lights, and a crowd that smelled blood before it spilled.

She stood outside the cage with a microphone, her heels clicking softly against concrete.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” she purred, “out of respect for your privacy—and mine—and theirs—our fighters will be known as Gentleman A and Gentleman B.”

A ripple of laughter.

“I would ask you to touch gloves,” she went on. “But you’re not wearing any.”

More sick laughter from the crowd.

I sized up the man across from me.

He had maybe twenty pounds on me, most of it packed into his shoulders and chest. His legs were thinner than mine. Wiry. Fast.

An advantage.

If I survived long enough to use it.

“When the bell rings,” she said, “the fight begins. Three-minute rounds. They will continue until one of you dies.”

The crowd leaned forward. I heard their collective intake of breath. Their anticipation.

“If one of you passes out,” she added, “the other man is still responsible for finishing the job.”

My hands curled into fists.