“You should stay behind me, Your Honor,” Nix says.
Nix steps slightly in front of the judge in case Hayes breaks free. The bigger man huffs in surprise, probably because he has a hundred pounds on Nix and is at least ten inches taller.
“Thank you, Nix. Are you ready?”
“Yes, sir. Thank you.”
With a pat on Nix’s shoulder, he nods. “Then let’s begin.”
As Judge Jones approaches Hayes, the wind swirls through the enclosed arena, carrying the putrid scent of decay down the field.
Nix doesn’t waste another second on the icy wind raising goosebumps on his arms or the bright sun just clearing the high walls. Instead, he turns inward, focusing on his breath. He lets the energy he’s felt since they arrived in the mountains rise through the soles of his feet, filling every cell.
His soul knows this place.
When he opens his eyes, he meets Hayes’s gaze head-on. It’s just the two of them now—his tormentor and him.
Time to take back what was stolen.
A guttural “bitch” floats to him on the wind a split second before Hayes slams him into the grass.
“Hello,Austin.Couldn’t wait to get you on your back again, in front of Rhodes. Been thinking about me?”
His breath is fetid, thick with decay, and when spittle lands on Nix’s face, it burns like acid. The scent alone is rancid enough to curdle Nix’s stomach—like Hayes is rotting from the inside out.
Settling into the place Gideon showed him—where he doesn’t think, doesn’t feel, just lets instinct guide him. Nix tunes out Hayes’s poisonous words as time slows. Flashes of memories from the past five years flicker behind his eyes as Hayes sits on his chest, knees pressed to the tops of his arms, preventing Nix from digging his claws in.
But Nix wasn’t a victim anymore, and Gideon made sure he had other tools in his arsenal.
Lifting his legs, Nix hooks them around Hayes’s shoulders and yanks himbackward, sending him sprawling onto the grass—and more importantly, off him.
Hayes staggers to his feet, wildly swiping his clawed hands out, and it’s clear he’s had no training. Even knowing he would behere,his team had done nothing to prepare him for this fight.
It’s surprising negligence on their part, given that the law would allow for him to walk away if he won.
Best to make this quick, then.
Nix swipes out a clawed hand and grasps Hayes’s wrist, twisting it hard. He hears a snap and moves his hand up, squeezing again until both bones in his forearm follow suit.
Crack-crack.
Hayes howls in agony and stumbles back. Nix uses the momentum to pull—hard enough that his arm dislocates with a pop—and is rewarded with another scream.
“You fucking cunt! Do they take turns bending you over every night, or do you just beg for it? No wonder they sent you out here to do their dirty work—Rhodes always was a fucking coward.”
Despite his words, Hayes staggers, swiping his good arm out wildly, groaning with the pain.
Nix knows that agony too well—still feels it burning in his own gut. He blinks, just for a second—and it’s long enough for Hayes to slam a fist into his face, cracking Nix’s nose so that blood gushes down his face.
There’s a shout and a scuffle behind him, and Nix doesn’t need to turn around to know someone has had to hold Jamie back from entering the field. Even with their bonds closed off, Jamie’s anger at the sight of Nix’s blood hurts his heart.
“Ah, there it is,” Hayes moans, as if the sight of his pack’s suffering gives him pleasure.
“You don’t look at them,” Nix growls.
“Oh, Austin, that’s why I’m here. Look at them—crying and—ooh, Rhodes looks like he’s going to—”
Nix cuts the words off with a punch to Hayes’s mouth. His head is thrownback, and his lips split as his jaw crumples under the impact.
