I reinforced my fighting stance, instincts heightened, assessing his upcoming assault. “Who do you work for?”
He mirrored my position. “You will get nothing out of me, not even if you torture me within an inch of my life. I will answer none of your questions,” he smirked, cocking his head in a predatory fashion. “Cute that you think you'd be able to, though.”
“What about this upcoming meeting with Vice? Will someone talk there?”
Recognition sparked in his gaze, the realisation that I’d overheard his previous statement. Oscar’s features transitioned, unhinged and bestial, finishing with a hiss. “She may not know you survived, but she will destroy you in the end.”
“Let her try,” I replied. He realised his fuck up too late, his emotions overriding his reason, unintentionally handing over valuable intel.
I sneered at his expense and he attacked.
Oscar landed shots over my open flesh, the impact ricocheting into my bones. I delivered the same in kind, his surprised grunts providing the sustenance I craved. We presented a coordinated dance, my Uncle and I, postures never wavering. I’d go on forever if I had to.
Oscar panted. “Now that I think on it, this is a special month, right?” His statement rocked me, my guard crashing for the split second it took my brain to process his words. It was enough. He slammed my skull against the tabletop, the impact vibrating with a monstrous crack. My legs buckled as I slumped to the ground, head buzzing and mind in disarray as I tried to recollect my composure.
Although my vision was blurred, I could make out his silhouette as he circled my collapsed form, his outward hatred flowing like an inescapable shadow.
“A shame Chase didn’t quite reach her seventeenth birthday,” Oscar snickered unkindly. “A day for celebration, turned into a day of disaster. You lost your father, your sisters.”
Each one of his taunting words tore at my insides, and my body trembled from their harsh delivery.
“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” I managed to roar, the brutal cadence painfully ripping into my fractured mind.
“You still haven’t conquered your emotions, young Micah, haven’t conquered your Variant. Your father would be disappointed. You’ll say hello to him for me, won’t you?”
My jaw flexed and adrenaline spiked my bloodstream. “I’ll let you do the honours. I’ll send you to him myself.” I lunged with all my last remaining strength, toppling his bulk to the ground. My knees dug heavily into his chest as my hands raised to bracket his head, repeatedly smashing his skull into the stone floor.
He fought with intensity, fists pummelling into my sides, nails parting my flesh—and still I did not relent.
A desperate shriek ripped from my lungs, one primal need clawing from my brain.
Destroy. Destroy. Destroy.
“Who is she? Who do you work for?” I repeated, undeniably lost.
I didn’t know what I was doing, didn’t know it was a possibility as I poured my Variant into him. All my hate. All my despair. All my hopelessness.
I gave it all over to saturate his very core, his entire fucking being.
I screamed. He screamed. We screamed together until his trembling form stilled beneath my hands, his features permanently fixated in a mask of horror and pain, perfecting the expression forever ingrained on my soul.
He was true to his word. He never gave me an answer.
A relentless ringing sounded in my ears, my head thrumming against the continuous beat. My fingers scraped against the rough textured walls, wavering legs dragging me down endless tunnels.
“I’ve found a stray!” sounded a male voice from afar. I refused to turn. Instead I bolted.
I didn’t get far, instincts and senses lost within a thick foggy haze. I was tackled to the ground.
“Her last patron was a rough one,” the stranger sniggered. “Let’s put her with the rest.”
My body was dragged upright, the abrupt motion churning my stomach. I immediately vomited, then sweet oblivion engulfed me whole.
Chapter 28Micah
Covered in stale champagne, darkening bruises and whining battle scars, my mind thumped with each small movement, a minor fog still lingering from the depths of my concussion.
I refused to think about Oscar. Refused to think about my Variant. Refused to think about August, my sisters and their homicidal tendencies. All my energy was needed to escape this fucking dungeon.
I’d awoken hours before, sweet, soft breaths fanning my face as my head was cushioned in the bust of my newfound friend, Lily. We now sat shoulder to shoulder, our backs leaning against the far wall, perusing the underground warehouse that had been converted into a makeshift gym.
A large group of Forbidden Garden flower girls huddled amongst the state-of-the-art fitness equipment. Some of them, like me, had their wrists bound by cheap rope.
There were ten guards in total—all lowly foot soldiers in the Ludus, from what I could gather. I’d pinpointed the one who tackled me to the ground. He was in charge, his stern voice distinctive amid the rest. A scar stretched over his lips, lifting every time he sneered (which was often). They called him Scarface. Truly original.
Lingering moans of pleasure snapped me out of my stupor. Down a short corridor, the guards escorted willing flower girls to a separate back room, where they’d provide services in exchange for food (not that I’d call crumbed stale chips or tasteless protein bars ‘food’, but who was I to judge?).
Besides our current company, the surrounding Caverns were deserted. Distant rumbles intermittently vibrated through the underground, the contagious cheers of a sizable crowd escalating louder.
The Gladiator Games were fully underway, and the further time elapsed, our guards grew more restless. Their desire to join the entertainment transitioned into frustration, aimed towards us.
Two of the younger guards attempted to slip away, only for Scarface to slap them around the heads among an earful of insults.
“I can’t believe we have to fucking babysit,” one of them whined, rubbing his head. “Why can’t we go and watch?”
Scarface growled. “You know why.”
