“I expect nothing less.” Unfazed by the threat, I end the call. Before I delete the number from the call history, I text it to my burner phone, then hand Roger his cell. “It’s done. He’ll be here.”
“Thank God,” Roger says on a relieved sigh.
I throw my arms around his neck. I’m unaffectionate by nature. Or is it by nurture? Whatever the reason, my sudden display is because if something goes wrong, I’ll never see him again. But the moment passes, and I step away. “Thank you.”
Roger tucks the phone in his vest. “After everything you did for me, this is the least I can do for you.”
I give him a curt nod, emotion a lump that sticks to the back of my throat. “I’ll see you after.” Then to Wraith, “We’re doing our part. Now you have to do yours. You stay alive. You hear me?”
His calloused palm skates over my bare leg, sending an unexpected jolt of electricity up my calf. “Always been mine, runt.”
Blinking away the sting of tears, I fight the tightening in my chest at his rasped declaration. “I know.”
Before I leave Elite, I place a feathery kiss on Wraith’s head, then whisper in his ear, “Next time I see you, we’ll be free.”
7
Wraith
“Push, bitch.”
Whatever, asshole.
I dismiss Lyle, who’s an annoying gnat buzzing in my ear. Coward’s standing on the “safe” side of the bars because, of course he is. He’s been trying to get me riled all morning. Hasn’t worked, not after comingthiscloseto death.
Yeah, I stood on the fucking edge. No doubt about it. Can’t say I saw the light or any of that bullshit, but I stared into the abyss. Worse, it stared back at me.
Don’t know how the hell I’m still here after what they did to me in that room, but for whatever reason, I didn’t die. I’m sure the devil’s pissed he didn’t get his due.Oh fucking well. He’ll have to wait a little longer because Roger confirmed I’d heard right. When I was drifting in and out of consciousness, Jamie called Jester. Told him she was getting us out on Fight Night. Today’s Thursday. Took me more than a week to heal from the torture—longer than it’s taken me to recover from the other times they’ve had their fun with me.
But it’s all good because it’s my last night in this goddamn nightmare.
And Jamie’s coming with me.
Heard that shit, too. I might have been half dead, but some things I remember—like Jamie crying when she saw me.
And her cut lip.
Fuck yeah, I saw it. Couldn’t say shit about it thanks to being incapacitated and all, but I saw it. Filed it away as one more reason why I’m going to enjoy murdering Crane.
Once I get her to Mayhem, no one—no-fucking-one—is ever going to hurt that woman again. Jamie’s a badass, no doubt. She didn’t get this far by being weak. But she’s been through enough, and from what Thomas and Roger have been telling me, she’s gone through most of it alone. That shit ends now. I’ve got her back, and with me comes the Unholy. God help anyone suicidal enough to fuck with her with us standing behind her, because we sure as shit won’t take pity on the stupid bastard.
Am I pissed Thomas and Roger didn’t tell me they’re friends of hers? Nah. One slipup, and we’d all be dead. Who the fuck knows what I might have said when the guards had me pumped full of drugs? Jamie made the right call.
And speaking of calls…
When I woke up the morning after the torture, I thought I dreamt the whole thing. But it came crashing back, and Roger filled me in on any blank spots in my memory. Jamiedidcome to my cell. She did call Jester. He also explained how they planned on getting me out. Can’t say I’m thrilled about it, but it’s genius.
Word around the dungeon is that my next fight is supposed to be my last. Only reason Crane’s putting me in the cage is because I was right. Tickets were already sold with me as the main event. Gotta give the crowd what they want or risk his precious reputation getting tarnished. But after that? The bastard plans to torture me to death nice and slow. And once I’m dead, Jamie’s next.Yeah, no.Not happening.
For the last week, Thomas has been in steady contact with Jester. Jamie’s been in self-imposed isolation. She sent Thomas a single text, telling him it’s to keep Crane off her ass.
Jester and Malice have been laying low in Georgia for the last two days. They’re waiting until tomorrow to cross over into Florida, where they’re picking us up at Blessed Souls Crematorium. It’s where Crane burns the bodies of fallen fighters.
No way was Jester coming alone. Nor could he bring an army like I know he and Crow wanted. Malice is one of the meanest motherfuckers in Mayhem. He’s the person you want if bullets start flying. If anyone’s getting Jamie and me over the state line, it’s those two demented sonsofbitches—who also happen to be my best friends.
Dressed in crusty gray sweatpants and black trainers, I grab the towel draped over the rack machine and wipe my sweaty face and chest. All the damage to my body has healed, leaving behind brutal scars that have turned me into an unrecognizable stranger. But, I’m still struggling to get back to my full strength.Perfect. My injuries have to be believable to sell a trizapam-induced “death.”
Pressing 260—half my usual lift—I take advantage of my time in the gym. If I don’t release some of the festering frustration and anger, the monster’s going to start making all sorts of noise in my head. Of course, calling this room a gym is giving it too much credit. It’s a glorified cell with state-of-the-art equipment. No free weights, obviously. Stackable plates and weight machines get the job done. Unfortunately, it’s in the same corridor as the torture chamber. Currently, the wails of some of unlucky bastard are knives stabbing me in the fucking brain.
