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“What about our weapons?” Kite asks, his accent thicker than Deity’s.
“You’ll be given them once you step onto the arena floor.”
He opens the gate leading to the corridors that curve to the left and the right.
When nobody makes an effort to move, I step forward and make my way through the gate and veer to the left, my guys falling in behind me.
A loud metallic sliding noise makes us all turn to see a metal door drop from the ceiling, blocking us from going back.
“Crap. There are no handles or locks on this side.”
“We have Law on the outside still. He’ll come find us soon enough, and I doubt he’ll let something as trivial as a door stop him.”
With no option to go back, we head down the corridor that curves around another bend before there are a set of steps leading down.
We stay quiet as we descend, keeping our senses alert, but all I can hear right now are the faint stirrings of the gathering crowd.
The room we end up in is not designed for comfort. Until now, everything was done to keep us happy and relaxed. It’s jarring that now it’s all about the fight.
The sandstone walls are bare, and the only furniture in the room are four long benches, each with a basket with our names on it.
I walk over to the one with my name and curse.
“I really should have figured it out sooner. Motherfucking perverted asshole.”
“What is it? Oh, fuck!” Blink peers at the costume I lift from my basket.
“So we’ll be fighting with boners. Good to know.” Graves snorts, making me glare at him before I take a look in his basket and smile.
“Laugh it up, buttercup, but have you checked out your costume yet?”
He reaches inside and pulls out what essentially looks like a wide leather belt with tarnished metal rivets. Leather hangs from the belt in four large pieces covering the hips, ass, and groin. As the pieces are separate, they offer ease of movement, but they don’t cover as much as I’m sure he’d like.
“A skirt? I have to fight in a fucking skirt?” I hear Blink complain, which makes me laugh.
“You all found it amusing when I had to fight in a skirt, but it’s not so funny now, huh? Besides, it’s not just a skirt. Look.”
I hold up two thick leather straps.
“What the fuck is that?” Vega tilts his head as if the change in angle might provide him with some answers.
“I believe this is what’s considered a shirt. I guess I should be happy mine covers my nipples.” I grin.
“You’re enjoying this far too much,” Blink complains.
“Oh, I am. I really am.”
A loud horn sounds from outside, which has the crowd going wild.
“Come on, we’d better get changed.”
Without further ado, we all strip and slip into the costumes provided.
My skirt is made of the same rich chocolate leather the guys’ outfits are made from, but mine is one continuous piece and short enough to flash my panties when I bend over. I’ve never been so glad I opted for boy shorts instead of a thong, or the audience would be getting a whole different kind of show.
My upper body is covered by a corset-style top that I have to get Graves to lace up for me. It’s leather too, but thicker, and it melds to my body like a second skin. The area over my chest and navel is reinforced with thick armored plates, not like the kind you see in bulletproof vests but in ones from centuries ago when arrows were a likely way to meet your maker.
Twin leather armbands, with the same studded rivets that run down the seams of the skirt, line the strips. I assumed they were for decorative purposes until I put them on and realized they are to hold knives.
