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It had been settled that just tying me up for the night wasn’t secure enough and that if I left ‘the old man’ behind then I could move fast enough to get away and never be seen again. (If they’d known who I was, and more importantly who that ‘oldman’was, then they would have known that he was worth far more than I was, but they’d been paid for us both and would deliver us both.) The upshot was that someone had to spend the night ‘taking care’ of me, which could entail whatever that person liked, as long as I was still alive and in the camp in the morning.
I looked from face to face of the mercenary line-up. Buck would certainly not give himself this plum task for fear of trouble in the ranks. Of the rest of them, I thought most would try to take advantage of this uninterrupted alone time to some extent, even if young Chico only did it to prove he was a man.
Would I be able to fight off their advances with my hands tied? Not all night, and the harder I resisted, the worse I would be knocked around before the inevitable. I would still try, of course, because that was who I was.
“You can settle it with a wrestling match,” suggested Buck, boldly side-stepping the actual decision.
The men agreed and stamped out a makeshift ring in the grass. Vorst took Chico out of the running quickly and cruelly, twisting the kid’s arm till he screamed. Bronson leveled Kimmel and Vassek in quick succession. I couldn’t see anyone beating the man mountain and was already trying hard not to think about being pinned under that musclebound weight. But then Devon surprised everyone (including me because I hadn’t imagined he was going to try for his right to spend the night with me), sending the big man tumbling simply by using himself as a pivot and letting Bronson’s bulk do all the work.
“Born lucky,” shrugged Devon as the others stared.
In the end, it came down to Devon, with his ‘luck’ and Vorst, who would try anything to win.
I watched as Devon stripped off his loose jacket, his body gleaming in the flickering firelight, the shadows making it seem as if each muscle was a living thing. Vorst followed suit, displaying his own, impressive musculature, though his body was more wiry and compact. He had youth on his side by a few years, but Devon’s experience might count for more. If the scars on his body were anything to go by, then Devon had seen more action—Vorst gave the impression of a man good at avoiding action.
“Aaaand… Fight!” Buck started the match.
Vorst jumped the gun by a few seconds, but Devon seemed to be expecting it (I certainly had been) and caught Vorst’s weight as it hit him. He spun with the impact, sending Vorst flying.
As he scrambled up from the flattened grass, it occurred to me that the one thing more dangerous than Vorst the victor was Vorst the loser. Humiliating someone like Vorst only made him more dangerous.
Maybe Devon knew as much, but if he did, he didn’t show it. Everything was so casual to Devon, as if this was all no effort at all. When Vorst hit him again, Devon broke the other man’s hold, spun, and flipped Vorst over his shoulder so he landed heavily in the grass.
This time, Vorst stayed down and grabbed Devon’s foot, biting at his ankle (definitely against the rules!) but Devon snatched up Vorst’s arm and twisted until he let go.
One more clash, and this time Vorst was cagey, letting Devon make the first move. Their bodies met again, the muscles straining and flexing under a sheen of sweat.
“Look out!” I found myself yelping as I saw the gleam in the dark.
Maybe it was my shout or maybe he saw it himself, but Devon grabbed Vorst’s wrist and gave it a twist so the little blade dropped from his hand. His muscles seemed to suddenly swell, almost impossibly beyond their natural size, busting Vorst’s grip. Vorst stumbled backwards and had no time to react as Devon punched him, knocking the bastard down.
“Well… that’s technically against the rules,” observed Buck, uncertainly.
“That’s true,” nodded Devon, stooping to pick up the dropped blade which he tossed contemptuously at Vorst. “Rematch?”
The look on Vorst’s face was a picture; a trapped animal, filled with hatred and the desire to fight but all the while knowing he wouldn’t win. He said nothing but eventually gave a snarl of decline.
“She’s yours for the night,” said Buck, smiling to Devon.
“Nights,” corrected Devon. “And days. That’s what I understood I was playing for.”
“Now wait just a minute,” Vorst started, but Devon didn’t pull his attention from Buck.
“No sense us fighting every evening. Someone might get hurt. I can take care of her from here on in. I don’t mind.”
“Well…” Buck hesitated and then must have realized this was a way out for him too, because he nodded. “That might be best then. Bad for squad unity if we’re all arguing. Unless anyone wants to challenge Devon?”
He probably hadn’t made any friends, but no one was challenging him.
Now I just had to worry about what Devon might choose to do with me. He was still a man, after all.
***
What he did was to tie me up more securely still, then tie my hands to his ankle with a taut line so that if I moved it would tug at his leg.
“I like a good night’s sleep, so keep still,” he instructed, then rolled over, dragging me by my tether so I spooned up behind him. “Sleep well.”
He was asleep in seconds. But I had no doubt that he would be awake even quicker if I tried anything.
