Total pages in book: 51
Estimated words: 49215 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 246(@200wpm)___ 197(@250wpm)___ 164(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 49215 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 246(@200wpm)___ 197(@250wpm)___ 164(@300wpm)
“We have movement—hurry the fuck up,” Emerson reported in a rush. “Four guards approaching from the east. Go, go, go, go!”
We sprinted westward and stayed close to the wall, and Elliott pointed toward a cluster of trees with bushes and ferns surrounding it. I nodded and sucked in a breath. Seconds later, we all disappeared into the thicket, and we crouched low and listened.
My heart pounded.
I was soaked to the bone, covered in mud and grime, and I welcomed it. Discomfort was a good tool to push back anxiety.
“Slow and steady,” Emerson said quietly. “Waiting for Willow.”
I took a deep breath as the guards came into view to check the camera lens we’d messed with. They’d find mud and bird feathers smeared across it.
Two gunmen walked real close to where we were. One of them hollered for the four-man team at the wall, asking what was happening.
“Nobody move.” Reese’s voice filtered through in our earpieces. “You have two sicarios to your right.”
So he knew where we were.
I held my breath and waited for the four guys by the wall.
One of them finally turned around and laughed. Just a fucking bird.
I exhaled and checked the time.
Almost midnight.
Shay Tenley
Deep breaths. In, out.
I gnashed my teeth, trying to figure out where we were going. We’d gone up the steps, and we’d passed the fucking panther. We must’ve passed the cage they’d locked me in last time too.
I balled my hands into fists, braced for anything. Even though I could do nothing. See nothing.
We were heading straight for the platform, weren’t we?
Last night, I’d almost cried when they’d stopped me from breaking a young guy’s neck.
I hadn’t wanted to hurt him.
I was glad he lived.
The audience had laughed and cheered…
I heard them now too. I felt their excitement in the humid air.
Would I kill tonight? I’d only used necessary force to stay on top yesterday. Today was different—as Enzo Blanco had promised.
I was pulled to an abrupt stop. One of the men yanked the bag from my head, and the other removed my cuffs. A second later, I was blinded by harsh spotlights that lit up the circular platform.
Shadowy contrasts moved in the stands. Thunder rolled in the distance, and my ears were invaded by a rushing sound. I held up an arm, squinting at the light. The insane glee in their cheers almost knocked the air out of my lungs. I realized I was frozen in some way, unable to move.
You’re not alone, sweetheart.
We’re here, pup.
Fight.
I drew a ragged breath and let my vision adjust.
An older man walked up on the platform, two guards in tow, and he spoke into a microphone.
I swallowed dryly, my attention stolen briefly by the sound of a young child in the stands.
I’d seen more of them last night. Younger ones.
These people were evil. Why would they expose childr—
Enzo Blanco walked up on stage too, the audience treating him like some rock star. He chuckled and cautioned the applause with his hands, as if he didn’t revel in the attention.
He was flanked by two of his own men, and they didn’t act as carefree as he did. Even less so when Enzo approached me. The cocksucker patted me on the cheek.
“Ah, the American boy,” he said. “Tonight, we see how strong you are. We will warm up first, yes?” He turned toward the audience and didn’t bother with a microphone. He spoke in Spanish, and I obviously didn’t understand a word, but when a handful of guys raised their hands, realization dawned on me.
Don’t fucking do it.
He was asking for fucking volunteers.
Young men who wanted to prove themselves.
I rubbed my sore wrists and cracked my knuckles absently as I side-eyed Enzo. I could kill him in two seconds flat. He could be a heap on the ground before he finished his next sentence. And then what? How many guns would I have aimed at my head? How many did I already have aimed at me?
I brushed drying mud from my feet onto my calves. The marble platform was protected by a ceiling from above, but the unyielding material of the floor was still too smooth that the slightest moisture made for a slippery surface.
Fighting my natural instinct to protect myself was as fruitless as it was stupid. I was supposed to fight for my life—I just hated sinking back into the mind-set of the fighter I’d once been. I’d been a fucking idiot to fight in the cages around DC. At the same time, that period of my life was child’s play compared to this.
Now I had no choice.
So I prepared myself.
If River and Reese truly were nearby, I trusted them to intervene as soon as they could. The area was flooded with people who probably didn’t deserve to die, and no target was standing still. I could only imagine what they were up against, based on the shadows I saw in the background. Up there on the patios, in the stands, all over.