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ChapterTwenty-Six
One month later…
A helicopter and a limo ride later, we find ourselves standing in the restaurant portion of the Colosseum. It’s so much more than I thought it would be. I don’t know what I was expecting. Maybe something seedier, a dark face to match the violence inflicted here. But it’s not like that at all. It’s rich and opulent, bright and airy, and filled with golds and creams instead of blacks and reds like I had imagined. A pretty face to hide the horror. I have to wonder what the arena itself looks like.
“This is not what I was expecting,” Law says from beside me, making me snort.
“I was just thinking the same thing. It’s just so…”
“Clean,” Vega adds.
“Yeah. I almost feel like we’ve been dropped off at the wrong address.”
“Wait until the crowds get here. It will change from calm to chaos in a heartbeat,” Blink warns.
I look over at Graves, who stands quietly, taking everything in.
“You okay, Graves?”
He looks at me and nods before turning back to look at the room.
I follow his lead and absorb it all. A large, glossy, sleek cream bar runs down the left-hand side of the room. The opposite wall is lined with booths, giving off a more intimate vibe than the circular tables scattered around the center of the room.
Each table is covered with cream linens, and a gold tabletop fireplace sits in the center. Why have candles if you can have a fire, right?
Looking up reveals the second floor, aka the VIP area. The balconies give the patrons the ability to look down on the peasants without having to mingle with them. If it’s this fancy down here, I can only imagine what it looks like up there.
“Hey, you can’t be in here.”
We turn collectively at the sound of a harried voice and see a slim man with elfish features and a cut marring the side of his face. He glares at us and I’ve got to give the man props, he looks like he wouldn’t last a second in a fight. And yet he’s facing off against the five of us with zero fear in his expression.
There is something familiar about his face, but I can’t place where I might have seen him before. If he’s here, it’s likely from one of the fights.
“We’re here for the fight,” Law tells him, holding out his hand for the guy to shake. The man looks at Law’s hand as if it’s green and oozing puss before sniffing and stepping away without shaking it.
“The doors do not open for another two hours. I don’t know how you got in here, but—”
“We’re not here to watch. We’re competing,” Vega growls, clearly liking this guy as much as I do.
“Then what are you doing up here? Fighters are supposed to use the sublevel entrance.” He shakes his head as if he is dealing with toddlers. Kind of makes me want to prove him right by leaning over and biting the fucker.
“Well, nobody told us that, so if you just point us in the right direction, we’ll be on our way,” Law tells him smoothly, but I can hear the bite in his tone.
The man pulls out a walkie-talkie, of all things, and barks into it. “Rory? Yes, I need you to come up to the bar area and collect some lost fighters.”
“Yes, sir,” the voice replies without hesitation.
“Rory shall escort you to your designated area. You’ll be expected to stay there until you are called to fight.”
“No problem. That’s what we’re here for, after all. One question, if we win and the Colosseum becomes ours, will you be looking for a reference for future jobs?” I ask
He sputters out an incoherent answer as the door opens behind us, revealing a man in his early twenties wearing black pants and a white shirt with a black bow tie.
“Rory, right?”
He nods, looking from me to the rude guy before frowning. “If you’ll all follow me, I’ll take you where you need to go.”
He gestures for us to follow him, so we do, each of us moving away from the asshat before one of us loses our cool and punches him.
