AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Standing on the opposite end of the room, with an entire pit separating us, is none other than The Divine One. I would recognize his golden, ridiculously ostentatious mask and blood red robe anywhere.
He’s talking to two masked figures, and then he nods, and the two of them move toward the staircase leading down to the pit. They stalk forward like graceful shadows, their black cloaks swishing around their ankles.
Once they reach the door leading to the pit, the taller of the two procures a key and places it in the lock. A second later, they’re standing in the pit, one at either door.
“Oh, fuck.” Dom’s voice is rife with horror. “Fuck. Fuck.”
“You know what this is?”
“I have a feeling.” He sounds as if he’s going to be sick, and that only amplifies my own unease. The snakes in my stomach turn into a hissing, snapping nest, all of them coiling around each other and writhing like mad.
I half expect for The Divine One to give a grand speech announcing his evil intentions. Isn’t that how they do it in movies? The bad guy declares his aspirations, then the good guys use what they know to take him down?
That doesn’t happen.
Instead, in eerie unison, the two POP members open a door on either side of the cage. Then they move back toward the staircase, relock the door, and join The Divine One once more at the top of the pit.
A woman steps out of the first door, shielding her eyes, as if the dappled candlelight is burning her retinas. Scratches and bruises cover most of her skin, and there are smears of dirt on both of her cheeks. Her ratty brown hair has been pulled back into a high, messy ponytail, accentuating her sharp features.
She’s also completely naked.
“What is this—?” My voice trembles.
“You don’t have to look, sweetheart,” Dom replies, his tone just as soft, despite the undercurrent of anger saturating each word he says. “You don’t have to look.”
But god help me, I can’t look away. It’s like I’m watching a car crash in slow motion, knowing that the two vehicles are going to collide but helpless to stop it.
The audience doesn’t jeer or shout or hoot at the naked woman. No, I imagine they’re too “dignified” for that. Even still, I spot multiple robed figures attempting to rearrange themselves when the woman scrubs at a streak of blood near her nipple.
Sick fucks.
The second person is much slower to enter the arena—and make no mistake, that’s what it is. I’m shocked I didn’t figure it out sooner.
My breath catches in my throat when I take in the newcomer’s sickly, emaciated appearance. He, too, is naked, but unlike the girl, who appears relatively healthy with full breasts, a plump stomach, and puffy cheeks, he looks…awful. Worse than awful.
Even from where I stand above him, I can see how thin he is. Each of his ribs protrudes from beneath white, papery skin. His cheeks are hollow, noticeable even with his scraggly beard. Dark purple shadows underscore each of his eyes. There are so many bruises, cuts, and patches of dried blood all over his body, I’m surprised he’s still standing. I’m pretty sure his shoulder is dislocated, if the way it hangs is any indication.
The man and woman begin to circle each other, sizing each other up, and all I can hear are their stuttered breaths far below. The room is utterly silent.
I wonder where Zane is right now, if he’s nearby, if he’s watching this, if he’s as horrified as I am…
The woman lunges at the man with a cry of unbridled fury, and the man just barely stumbles out of the way.
It appears as if the woman is limping—that would explain why her surprise attack didn’t meet its mark. The man seems to notice it too and kicks out at her leg. She screams but doesn’t fall, turning to throw a punch at his face.
The two of them are evenly matched, surprisingly. He’s larger but weaker. She’s stronger but injured. They both appear intelligent, though, their eyes constantly gauging the other, assessing their weak points.
“This… This is what I think the painting was trying to depict.” Harvey’s voice is soft, just barely heard over the grunts of the man and woman down below. The pompous prick takes a delicate sip from his flute before continuing. “Do you see that man? He comes from wealth and power, unlike the woman, who was plucked off the street. He has the advantage in this fight. He’ll live.”
“How the fuck does he have the advantage?” Dominic sounds as if he’s speaking through clenched teeth. “He’s injured and looks to have been starved. She may have a sprained ankle, but at least she’s not withering away.”
Harvey leans toward Dom, as if sharing a secret. “You want to know how he’ll live? How he’ll survive the fight?”
Dominic doesn’t dignify that with a response, keeping his attention trained on the fighters. I, however, don’t pull my gaze away from Harvey. I don’t want to see them fight each other. Not anymore.
“Because someone paid for him to survive,” Harvey says, answering his previous question. He returns his focus to the pit just as the man—bleeding profusely from claw marks on his shoulder—grabs a dagger that someone threw down to him.
I turn toward Dominic in alarm, but it’s Harvey who responds, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction at being proven right.
