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He glanced down at the picture reduced in size near the bottom. The girl lay curled on her side in the cage, her eyes closed, hands tucked between her knees. She’d rolled into a small ball, and though it almost appeared she was sleeping, the Collector knew very well she was not. He was quickly learning her tells, each and every one—the ones she was aware of and the ones she was not. Her hair streamed over one shoulder, and he could see one delicate ear. The picture above showed the boy taking a strong blow to his gut, paying the price for the fact that her pretty little ear was currently still attached to her head.
The Collector had entered a chat room connected to the sport a few days before. He hadn’t participated in the conversation, but he’d listened in. He’d heard chatter about past games, the players reminiscing about other contestants who had opted to see each other chopped to bits. Apparently, once it got started, it was gory indeed, each unwilling to have mercy on the other. The Collector wasn’t surprised in the least by this information. Even the most civilized could become savage under the right circumstances. And sometimes, like now, the most unlikely contestants—two people with a bone to pick with the other, enemies, one might say—took pain on themselves rather than hand it off to the other.Fascinating.
He rubbed his thumb over the chocolate-brown wristband of his watch. It was a Patek Philippe Reference 530 time-only watch. He’d found it at an auction house a year ago for close to a half million dollars. He supposed, now that he thought about it, he was no strangerto making bets, after all. But he’d never bet before when his chances of winning weren’t all but guaranteed. This situation ... it most definitely added an edge. Did it mean he was one of them? No. His motives were different. Very different. He glanced down at his prized possession. He loved it because it was deceptively simplistic. All the best things were, to his mind. He wasn’t a man who appreciated bells and whistles. Showy. Unnecessary. He’d heard the watch he was wearing called a wolf in sheep’s clothing. He liked that. Yes, he liked that very much.
The skinny beak-nosed man was done beating on the boy. He looked exhilarated as he pumped his sticklike arms in the air in triumph. The boy’s head hung limply as blood dripped from his lip and a cut on his cheek. He’d receive no medical care, the same way he’d have received no medical care had his fingers been sawed off. Things that might bring medical relief were off the table of items that players could gift the contestants, as was outright weaponry and a short list of other objects. There was nothing anyone could do to ease his pain. He’d have to live with his injuries, at least as long as he lasted.
The Collector wondered if he’d look at that rope differently when he was thrown back in his cage. But even as he thought it, his lips curved in a smile. Something told him the boy would not.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“How do you feel?” Noelle asked softly, her face pressed between the bars.
His eyes flickered, and he became aware of the pain, first the screaming of his ribs, then the ache in his eye, the one that had just begun healing and was now swollen shut once again. His other eye hadn’t fared much better, but at least he could open it a slit. His head pounded, and his jaw hurt. He brought his hand to his mouth, assessing his teeth. “Like I was tied up and beaten half to death,” he finally rasped.
Her face was blurry, and he blinked to bring it into focus, sorry he had once he saw her bleak expression. She looked like she’d been crying. Neither of them could afford that. It was a waste of bodily fluids. Of course it didn’t help that he’d lost what looked like a pint of blood. “I don’t think my ribs are broken, though,” he said, as much to her as to himself, pulling his body up and grimacing as he leaned against the bars, scooting over so his spine was between two of them rather than being supported by one. “The guy who did this weighed all of ninety pounds soaking wet. It’s probably why I’m not worse off than I am,” he said, attempting to make her smile. His effort failed. Just like the asshole who’d used Noelle, his guy had donned a mask, so the top of his face was unrecognizable.Coward. All fucking cowards.
“Listen, I need to mop up some of this blood, and about all I’ve got to do that with is my underwear, so ...”
She stared at him for a moment as if waiting for him to go on before her face registered understanding. “Oh,” she said, pushing herself away and turning around. “Right. That’s a good idea.”
He groaned as he sat up, and he saw her shoulders rise right before she started singing.
“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy when skies are gray.”
Evan removed his pants with effort, attempting to hold in his groans of pain, but damn, he hurt. He hurt everywhere. He didn’t think he had any broken bones, but he had at least two lacerations that probably needed stitches, one on his cheekbone, and one he felt gaping open along his jaw. He pressed the flap of skin closed, grimacing against the sting, doing what he could to get himself back in order. His body would have to do the rest.
His father had hit him over the years when he’d been displeased with him. And he’d often been displeased with Evan. They were so different. Evan had this sense that his father considered him weak, and the physical abuse was his way of “toughening him up.” But he’d been careful not to leave marks, careful not to hit his face. Evan almost laughed. Maybe his father had done him a favor after all, because he’d learned how to take some hits.
“You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you. Please don’t take my sunshine away. Hey!”
As he began removing his underwear, he paused for a heartbeat at her overly exuberant added lyric, smiling slightly despite his present state, then continued undressing.
“The other night, dear. As we lay sleeping, I dreamed I needed you in my arms. When I awoke, dear, I was mistaken. So I hung my head and a plan.”
He let out a small huff of breath, what would have been a chuckle if it hadn’t been swallowed up by a grunt of agony as he dabbed at the cuts on his bruised ribs, wiping the mostly dried blood away. Noelleobviously didn’t know all the lyrics to that song, even though it was simple.
She sang softly as he completed his cleanup tasks to the best of his ability. The song died away, and she turned, sitting across from where he was. “Better?” she asked.
“A little, yeah. Do Ilookbetter?”
Her eyes washed over his face, and she gave him a sad smile. “Not much.”
He let out a pained laugh, squinting over at her.
She gave a slight wince. “I don’t know that my ear was worth all that.”
“I meant what I said, Noelle. We leave here whole. It’s a promise. It belongs to us.”
She bit at her lip, and he had the idea that she was thinking what he’d thought earlier: that appearing “whole” from the outside could be misleading.
“Can I tell you about my mom?” she asked.
He tilted his head, surprised. Her mom was the very last topic of conversation he’d expected Noelle to bring up. They’d agreed to leave all that aside so they could work together. Why was she willing to talk about this now? Was it because she felt indebted to him for taking a beating rather than allowing her to be physically hurt again? She shouldn’t. She’d endured a rape, for Christ’s sake, so that his fingers remained attached to his hand. She’d had her virginity stolen by a disgusting predator.
“Noelle, you don’t have to—”
“I want to,” she said, flaring her eyes slightly as though communicating some message. “I want you to hear who she was from me. Not from your father, or some court transcripts, or a news story, or whatever else you might have read about her. I want you to know who she was to me.”
