Question is, which version of me will return to Mayhem—the man I was before Crane took me, or the monster Gomorrah created?
Dread strangles me because of what’s coming next. Crane uses liquid pain to keep us compliant. Grudgingly, I admit it’s diabolically brilliant.
Medical advances were the one good to come out of America’s Second Civil War. Nz822, street name noz, the one everyone calls a miracle drug, lessened a soldier’s downtime after an injury. Got them healed and returned to battle within days. They even found it worked on certain types of cancers if the tumor was caught early enough. The government controls it, and that’s why there’s still cancer. No money in the cure. But Crane knows the right people, and noz flows like water in Gomorrah. He drowns us in it after a fight or torture session. Makes sure we’re good and healed so he can hurt us all over again in an endless cycle of pain.
Fun times, man.
Ketaphrin, better known as ket, is liquid agony. It fucks with the brain’s receptors, sending out empty pain signals. Labeled a crime against humanity, ket was banned after the war. But Crane has a supply chain for that, too, and uses the shit as an added layer of security. As long as he pumps us with it, we’re useless sacks of meat unable to defend ourselves against the sadistic guards.
When the door of the cage flies open, I snap out of my stupor, and my body tenses on instinct. Two handlers storm in brandishing cattle prods. Too battered and exhausted to resist, I lift my arms and offer them my wrists. Compliance doesn’t spare me. Instead of binding me with zip ties, Lyle zaps me. I clench my teeth as electricity seizes my muscles and vibrates my bones. The stink of charred flesh sickens me—and gives me two more burns to add to the growing collection.
I struggle not to vomit as the crowd’s roar of approval shakes the Coliseum. I remind myself to breathe and work to stay awake. I know what Crane does to unconscious men for the mob’s amusement.
It’s not pretty.
Lyle kneels beside me, syringe in hand. “Lookie what I got.”
I bite back a hiss at the jab of the needle into the side of my neck. Liquid heat slides through my vein, easing the cattle prod’s sting. Relief lasts seconds. In its wake comes a flood of knives that rip me apart from the inside out. As always, my dick hardens, pleasure and pain twisting in my mind until I don’t know what my body loves more—agony or bliss.
Goddamn ket. When you’re on it, the drug makes you need the exquisite torture on a cellular level.
See? Diabolical.
Lyle slaps my head. “You ain’t sleeping, are you?”
I fight the urge to kill the prick as I push to my feet. Lyle’s not done having his fun with me. A solid kick to the back of my knee nearly puts me back on my ass. I take his measure through the filthy ropes of hair hanging over my eyes. Purely on instinct, I move to lunge at him, but Thomas stops me.
His hand clamps on my shoulder. “It’s not worth it.”
Bullshit.
Even fucked up, I’m stronger than both guards. I can take their weapons easy and beat them half to death before anyone can charge in and stop me. But I don’t, because Thomas is right, damn him. The consequences I’ll face aren’t worth the momentary satisfaction of breaking Lyle’s jaw.
Or outright killing the asshole. At least not yet.
“He’s a dead man,” I growl.
“But not tonight” Thomas, who’s only a few years older than me, holds out a zip tie. “Hands, Atticus.”
“Not my name.” I shove my arms behind me and give him my back.
“It is in here.” He binds my wrists and ushers me out of the cage.
Thomas takes the lead, sandwiching me between him and Lyle. Nothing good happens when the little asshole is behind me. My muscles tense at the buzz of the cattle prod a fraction of a second before the contact tips fry me.Again.I trip down the three steps of the raised platform as electricity sizzles every cell in my body. My head cracks against a post. Knocked nearly unconscious, I need a second to catch my breath and for my brain to stop vibrating inside my skull.
Laughter resonates around me, but I couldn’t care less. I’m beyond humiliation. Nor can I heft myself to my feet. I stay right where I am, my gaze locked on the woman in the white dress. She’s too damn pretty for this place, and I can’t help thinking I’ve seen her before. Her face is a faded dream teasing the edges of my confused mind. God, I can stare at her all night. Her flawless face fascinates me. But Lyle tugs at me, and I grit my teeth as I heft myself up.
Crane motions to his bodyguard. The diesel henchman takes the lead, and Crane rises from his chair with an air of supremacy. He strolls up the aisle without a backward glance. The woman shoots to her feet and follows him, and she’s so small she has to race to catch up with him. A second bodyguard completes their four-person procession as the mob parts to let them pass.
The arena snaps into focus, and I hear Thomas demand, “Seriously?”
Lyle shrugs. “Next time, he’ll think twice before eyeballing me.”
Thomas rubs his temples in frustration, something he often does around Lyle. The younger guard is a brat who sulks when he’s chastised or doesn’t get his way. “Hit him again with it, and I’m writing up a formal complaint.”
As if that’ll do a good goddamn thing.
“I ain’t making no promises.” Lyle shoves me to get me moving. “Walk, asshole.”
