But not today.
As Crane’s current champion, I’ve become the perfect monster. The reigning fan favorite. The main attraction who draws a prestigious crowd. Shit, even Marion County’s mayor turned out for tonight’s event. Corrupt prick was waiting for me when the handlers brought me up from the dungeon. Claimed he wanted to meet me.Bullshit.His actual motive was to warn me that I’d better win because he has a fortune riding on my match.
Politicians. Gotta love the worthless douchebags.
I raise my arm to deliver the killing blow that will put a shitload of money in Mayor Dickhead’s pocket.
The mob chants the name Crane gave me, and it makes my skin crawl.
Atticus. Atticus. Atticus.
The noise disorients me as I tower over Felix. With my fist hovering in midair, I pause. Waiting… Felix gives me a barely perceptible nod. A silent plea to end his agony. The steel links of the octagon close in on me. My heart hammers a punishing beat. I lick chapped lips and taste Felix’s defeat mingled with the coppery tang of blood.
I’m fucking sorry, man.
This isn’t me.
You sure?
I quiet my conscience with the fact that I’ve never murdered an innocent man until I was brought to Gomorrah and forced into the cage.
Two hundred twenty pounds drives my fist. The punch nails Felix square in the temple. The unstoppable force colliding with a solid object cracks skull. Felix’s head snaps to the side. His torso twists at the waist. He hangs there, suspended, then tips forward. He hits the mat with a heavy thud.
He twitches.
His body stills.
Blood pools under his head.
Fight’s over.
Rage and regret collide when I spin to face Crane. The object of my fury sits front row with his slicked-back blond hair and expensive gray suit. A false idol among mortals. I gnash my teeth and snarl at the crowd, giving them the animal they demand. Politicians and law enforcement pepper the crush of bodies. Greedy bastards are on Crane’s payroll, relishing the violence as they applaud my ignoble victory.
I may be the weapon, but the crowd crammed inside the Coliseum is equally responsible for Felix’s death.
I’m about to turn away, the sight of them repulsive, but a face catches my attention. The world tunnels, and all I see isher, sitting beside Crane with an expression as blank as Felix’s. She’s an understated spectacle in a white dress among the garish mob. A cloud of wavy brown hair tumbles over her shoulders. Angular features remind me of a grown version of someone I forced myself to forget. Someone I can’t afford to remember. Not here, because she’s my one weakness, and if there’s one thing I can’t be in Gomorrah, it’s vulnerable.
With hands clasped on her lap, the woman watches me, and I swear she can see straight to my fucking soul. Right down to the filth festering inside me. To the monster clawing at my skull, fighting to break free. But there’s no judgment in her striking eyes. Those eyes that weave a spell and, bizarrely, calms the rage sizzling through my veins.
Maybe Felix isn’t the only man who died in the cage. Maybe she’s an angel come to usher me out of this hell.
Nah. I’m in too much pain to be dead.
And I’m sure as shit not bound for heaven.
I earned a place in hell on my eighteenth birthday. The day I became an Unholy.
Spell’s broken. I tear my gaze from her and swipe my arm across my eyes to clear away the blood and sweat before flipping Crane the middle finger. Satisfaction is its own reward when the gesture wipes the cocky grin off his tanned face.
Gratification lasts seconds. Exhaustion gets the better of me, and my legs buckle. I land in a heaving heap, with my head slamming against the mat. I’m less than a foot from Felix’s corpse. His eyes are glossed over as they stare at me in frozen serenity.
I flip on my back. The movement takes almost more effort than I have left in me. I blink against the glow of the lights as visions of my life flood my mind. Of nights raising hell with Jester—who was known as Luke before he became Unholy. We’re more brothers than friends and spent too many drunken weekends at the Unholy’s clubhouse, Sanctum. We stood shoulder to shoulder the day we joined the gang and bled together more times than I can count whenever trouble came knocking on Mayhem’s door.
The Unholy may not share DNA, but we’re a family, and I know they’re tearing the world apart looking for me.
Loyalty. Devotion. That’s the only language the Unholy speak. Fuck with one of us, fuck with all of us. Ambush, abduct, and torture one of us… Yeah, you’re asking for a special kind of revenge. And when I get out of here, I’m coming back with an army of Unholy to burn this fucking place to the ground.
And Iamgoing home.
