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“You’re allowed to pay extra to supply your fighters with weapons. It’s cheaper to pay for them to have a weapon a few minutes into the fight versus the start of,” he explains, jerking his chin toward where the man is now advancing on the woman, his blade extended and his arm steady, despite his obvious injuries. She continues to back away from the blade until she’s flush against the pit wall.
“What else do you guys pay for?” Dominic asks.
How can Harvey not hear the violence in his voice? The threat of pain and death?
“I can’t tell you too much until you become a full-fledged member,” Harvey begins with a chuckle, sounding pleased that Dominic is taking an “interest” in his club. “But there are numerous avenues you can take part in as a member of the Paragons of Prosperity. There are fights like this, for example, that prove time and time again that money decides who lives and who dies. You can place bets as well, though I’m not a fan of that practice. You have too much to lose and not enough control over the outcome.” He laughs outright at that. “I’m a lot of things, but a gambling man isn’t one of them.” He nudges Dom with his elbow. “Isn’t that right, son?”
Dom remains silent.
Cries of excitement pierce the air, and I turn back to the pit just in time to see the man slam his dagger into the woman’s chest. Her arms, which have been flailing, fall limply to her sides. The man remains on top of her, straddling her waist, his head bent and his chest heaving with strained breaths. Blood begins to pool around the dead woman’s naked body.
“Fuck,” Dom breathes as the two POP members from before materialize at the foot of the stairs, opening the door and stepping inside. With eerie synchronization, they each grab one of the man’s arms and haul him up, dangling him between them. His body remains pliant and unresponsive, his chin touching his chest.
In shock?
Nausea churns in my belly, and the threat of vomit makes its presence known.
Dom presses his body even closer to my own.
The naked man is dragged up the staircase and deposited at The Divine One’s feet. The Divine One says something too low for me to hear…and the man pounces.
With an almost blistering speed, the naked man stabs his blade into the nearest POP member’s neck and takes off in a run in the direction of the exit.
In the direction of us.
A few screams—both male and female—echo in the room as the man plows them over like they mean nothing. His frantic eyes are fixed on his final destination.
Some of the guards I noticed earlier step into the room, holding cattle prods and tranquilizer guns. They begin to inch closer, forming a large circle around the man, who’s still running as fast as his weak body will allow him to.
Dom pulls me to the side, but it’s too late.
The man slams into me with the force of a bull, and we both fall to the ground, my head careening off the varnished floorboards.
“Fuck,” I whimper. “That really hurt.”
The man’s eyes snap down toward my face, which is still concealed by my mask. Shock widens his eyes.
“Ellie?” he whispers in disbelief.
And for the first time that night, I’m able to look at him. Truly look at him.
He’s thinner, dirtier, and covered in scars, but now that we’re only a few inches apart, I recognize him.
My heart feels like it’s being squeezed through a straw spiked with nails when I rasp out, “Senator Whipers?”
Reece Whipers opens his mouth to respond but, instead, screams in agony as someone shoves a cattle prod against his bare back. His body begins to convulse and shake, and his eyes roll into the back of his head. At the same time, someone reaches for me and drags me out from underneath the senator's now prone form.
“Princesa, are you okay?” Zane breathes in my ear.
No, I’m not okay.
Not at all.
One of the guards is sitting on Reece, attempting to wrangle his arms into handcuffs, uncaring of his dislocated shoulder. Two more guards stand on either side of the pair, their guns at the ready, trained on Reece’s unconscious form.
“That man…” I can’t say anything else. Words fail me.
“I know, princesa.” Zane’s arms twitch at his sides, as if he yearns to pull me into a hug. “I know.”
