I struggle to catch my breath as Lyle pushes me toward the back of the arena. Thomas files in behind me as we cut a slow path through the chaotic horde. My bare feet crunch down on cigar and cigarette butts, spit, spilled drinks, and God knows what else. People don’t part for us as they did for Crane. Instead, they close in. Grope me. Pull at my hair. A woman launches herself at me in a blur of too much makeup and not enough clothing. She wraps herself around me, drenching my face with sloppy kisses.
I try to pry her off, but she grips me tighter. Her nails, sharpened to friggin’ claws, scratch across my shoulder blades, digging trenches in the skin.
It takes Thomas and Lyle to drag her away.
“No touching,” Thomas yells over the noise as he sets her on her feet.
Then we’re moving again, with Lyle yanking me along.
“You gotta walk faster,” Thomas urges from behind.
The fuck?
Does he think I’m moseying for the fun of it? My legs can barely support my weight.
By the time we finally make it through the crush, a guard, dressed head to foot in black tactical gear and wielding an AK-47, opens the steel door at our approach. Beyond the threshold is a corridor leading down to the dungeon. The air in here is thinner, cooler, the noise of the arena muffled. When the door closes, the click of the lock sliding into place is a harsh reality check of the insurmountable obstacles between me and freedom. Impossible hurdles I’ll need to navigate to escape this waking nightmare.
Harsh fluorescent bulbs hum overhead as we trek the decline that ends in the building’s bowels. Cameras, affixed to the low ceiling, are eyes in the sky watching us as we near the dungeon. The distant slap of leather against flesh mingles with a symphony of cries that grow louder the closer we get to our destination. I can’t block out those wails.
Mine, I know, will join the chorus in due time.
I’ve spent my first twenty-four years believing I was invincible.
This place cured me of my delusion real quick.
My arrogance was astounding. I thought Crane couldn’t break me. Hell, I’d even scorned the prisoners who’d whimpered into the dark long after the dungeon quieted for the night. Naively thought those men were pussies. But Crane and his men are artists when it comes to pain, and our bodies are their canvases.
At the gate, Lyle blows a kiss at the camera. The door slides open, the groan and grind of metal echoing throughout the interwoven corridors.
Once we’re past the first barrier, the door bangs closed behind us, sealing us inside the Hub. Two guards man the control booth, protected behind shatterproof glass. One jailer backs away from the window. Does he think I’m stupid enough to try to bust my way in, and what...? Kill them with my hands zip tied behind me? I mean, shit, I’m good, but notthatgood.
“Look who’s still with us.” Adam’s voice sounds from a speaker fastened above the glass. The ballsy bastard gives me a thumbs-up.
“Yep. Atticus done won himself another fight.” Lyle claps me on the back over the spot where the woman scratched me. “What’s this make, five wins?”
Eight.
“Congratu-fucking-lations. You get extra chow tomorrow,” Pete announces.
Outstanding. Two helpings of slop. Can’t wait.
“Come on.” Thomas grabs me by the upper arm and hauls my half-crippled ass across the large, open area.
“Easy,” I hiss.
“Geez, we’re just congratulating the man,” Adam grouches.
The ket’s kicking in hard. The air is hot and stale, and despite the oppressive heat, I shiver as I stumble over my feet. Agony slices at my nerves with a surgeon’s precision. I double over, gagging.
Lyle yanks me upright and continues through the dungeon’s main chamber. “Ain’t got all day.”
I straighten and shuffle through the Hub, which branches off into four sections. Three corridors are blocked by steel doors. Lightweights and welterweights are kept together down one unit. Middleweights and heavyweights are housed in another. After I defeated the previous champion, they moved me from there to Elite, and I’m still deciding if the only single-celled unit’s solitude is a blessing or a curse.
A gym and a disgusting, sad excuse for a shower is in the fourth corridor. And at the very end of that hallway is the torture room. It’s nasty as fuck in there, with every instrument imaginable to inflict massive damage to a human body.
Can’t count how many times I’ve seen inside that room, but it’s too damn many.
Thomas unlocks the steel door and kicks it open.
