Chapter 15 #2
We slow down and drive past a tall iron gate before parking in front of a massive structure that can just barely be considered a house.
Armed guards and nasty-looking dogs patrol the area, with two drones circling above.
There’s an iron fence around the whole premises and a big sign that warns about electrocution.
Once I’m out of the car, Elijah comes to stand in front of me and pulls out a cigar. I wonder if he’s going to burn me like that asshole did earlier. He lights it with a golden lighter and asks, “You smoke?”
“No.”
“Is it illegal in your Hive?”
“We have better things to do.”
“Like getting captured?”
I stop myself from pointing out that I was betrayed and not failed in battle. The less he knows about me, the better. “Can we please talk in private?”
One of the guards smacks the back of my head. “The hell you think you are?”
“I’m not supposed to be here.”
Elijah snorts. “Yet here you are. Clean him up and get him fed. If he causes problems, educate him.”
“Can we tell people he’s a Defender?”
I hold my breath, aware of what it can mean.
“No need,” Elijah says. “They’ll figure it out soon enough. Let’s see how he handles that.”
The other two lead me away. When we reach the back of the house, I see around fifty men practicing.
They have obstacle courses and dummies, with most fighters practicing one-on-one combat using sticks.
I wonder what they did to end up here. Since most are shirtless, I spot the large tattoos on their backs, all with similar themes of skulls, guns, knives, and blood.
I don’t have a tattoo, but I can try to pretend I’m a captive civilian, though I doubt the lie will hold.
We walk to a part of the compound occupied by long wooden structures.
They lead me to the smallest one, which is separated from the rest. The air feels stuffy inside, and from the lack of beds, it’s clear that this place is not meant for sleeping.
I look around again and realize it’s a stable without horses.
When they finally untie me, I rub my aching wrists and roll my stiff shoulders, unintentionally tugging at the cigar burn on the side of my neck.
“Strip,” one of the guards says.
I’m already shirtless, so I take off my dirty boots and socks, then my pants and underwear. I’ve been wearing the same clothes since the day of the ball, and I hope somebody burns them after all of the sweat, blood, and dirt they have endured.
“Stand against the wall and face us.”
They grab a pipe and exchange a smirk before a torrent of freezing water hits my torso. I plant my legs firmly in the ground so I won’t slam against the wall. The water is freezing, making me grind my teeth and hold my breath.
“Wash your pits and your balls!”
I can barely hear them above the torrent, but I do as they say, telling myself that getting clean is more important than wounded pride.
“Turn around and wash your crack!”
I mutter a curse as I turn and wash between my butt cheeks, using the opportunity to empty my bladder on the ground.
They finally stop the torrent and throw a towel at me. A pile of clothes is waiting on a nearby table. I dry myself quickly and hurry to get dressed, noticing crusty stains on the fabric that are likely from dried blood.
Another guard comes in with a plate of food and a jar of water. I sit down and stuff everything I can into my stomach, not minding how bad the food tastes.
“How long have you been a Defender?” one of the guards asks.
“A while.”
“You’re giving me attitude?”
I am, which is dumb. “Sorry. Ten years.”
He whistles. “Talk about commitment. You must’ve killed a ton of our disposables out there.”
I swallow the food in my mouth. “Disposables?”
“The small gangs that live in the wild. Meat for the grind.”
“Aren’t you all fighting out there?”
“Why the hell for?”
I take another bite, wondering if the most trained Raiders are the ones I’ve been fighting against for years or the ones who remain in Denver. I assumed every Raider was out there fighting, with occasional stops to Denver for supplies, but it seems I was mistaken.
“Where does he sleep?” one of the guards asks.
“We’ll keep him here tonight and tie him down in one of the stalls. Let Master Trainer decide tomorrow which group to put him in.”
I welcome the idea of sleeping by myself after the hellish days with Jay’s gang. I wonder if he’s already fucking fat Linda from behind. He better make it a fuck to remember, because I’ll be coming for him as soon as I can. We have a debt to settle.
I finish eating and follow the guards into an empty stall with a thin mattress. They shackle one of my hands to the wall, as well as my ankles. I’ll be able to lie on my back, though with a limited ability to shift my body. But sleep is sleep, and I can barely keep my eyes open.
As I lie on the mattress, the three guards tower over me, their faces shadowy in the dim stall.
One puts his dirty boot on my chest. “We don’t give a fuck about what you did before you got here.
From now on, you belong to House Powell.
Make us look bad in or out of the arena, and we’ll leave you hanging by a streetlight for the crows. ”
After seeing bodies hanging earlier, I have no doubt about the sincerity of their threat. I can’t help but wonder if Hector will allow that, but I clearly don’t know shit about his plans.
They finally leave and turn off the lights.
Alone in the dark, I let out a long breath until my lungs are empty of air.
I try to make sense of what happened, but I can’t.
I’m a pawn in a game whose rules I don’t understand.
If Finn were here with me, he would have done a better job figuring things out, but the last thing I wish is for him to be at the hands of the Raiders again.
With my mind still heavy with thoughts, sleep finally claims me.
*
“Get up, maggot!”
I wake up with a start. “What?”
“Up!”
I’m about to say I’m fucking tied down, but my hands and legs are free.
I was so deeply asleep that I missed being unshackled.
I stumble to my feet, groggy and dizzy. I blink until the man in front of me becomes clearer.
There’s hardness in his eyes that tightens my throat.
He seems older than me by about thirty years and shorter by at least a head, but I know how to spot a tough motherfucker when I see one.
“Stand straight!”
I do, and my stiff back cracks.
“Turn around.” When I do, he raises my shirt and chuckles. “How will you explain your back to them?”
I don’t answer, since we both know I’ll need my fists to do the talking.
“Face me. You address me as Master Trainer from now on. Even when you dream of me at night—which you will—you better show respect. You get me?”
“Yes, sir.”
He slaps the side of my head. “You get me?”
“Yes, Master Trainer!”
“I’m here to make sure you maggots win as many games as possible.
When you lose, I don’t get paid, so you better deliver me wins, or I’ll tell Elijah you’re becoming a burden.
There are worse places to be sold off to.
” He picks up a pair of shorts from the floor.
“You train in these seven days a week. There’s plastic on the front to protect your little nuts.
I’ll soon make a decision on which level to put you in, and that will determine the games you’ll fight in.
We have five levels in total, with level one being the highest. You won’t be level one anytime soon, I can promise you that.
Why the fuck aren’t you in your shorts yet? ”
I get dressed quickly, and he gives me a minute to wash my face and brush my teeth.
He then leads me outside into a sunny day with no clouds, but the air is chilly against my bare skin.
About thirty men are already warming up, most in better shape than I ever was, though it’s impossible to miss the bruises on their bodies.
“Food’s over there. Don’t eat too much, or you’ll throw up once you get punched in the gut.”
I sit by a long table and put some food on a plate.
Without needing to look behind me, I can feel dozens of eyes aimed at my back.
I’m like a sitting target, but I can do nothing but wait to see how things play out.
I’ve no intention of causing problems, but I also can’t give the impression that I’m willing to take shit from the other fighters. If they test me, I’ll stand my ground.
I eat just enough to provide my body with energy, but I drink a lot of water because fluids are the first thing you lose in training.
I take a deep breath before walking to the training area, ignoring the glares from all directions.
Master Trainer orders me to jog around the premises ten times to get warmed up.
I do as he says, breathing through the aches across my healing body.
Then it’s time to practice combat. I’m given a training stick and paired with a guy who’s supposed to be level four.
He spits on the ground, tapping his stick against his palm.
“Where’s your tat, fresh meat?”
“I used a strong soap.”
He snorts. “Yeah, I’ll make you dirty in a second, pretty boy. Time to see how we do things in Denver.”
I notice many of the others have gathered to watch, with Master Trainer standing close by. I can’t help but feel they’re all waiting to witness me get my ass kicked.
The Raider in front of me lunges, swinging his stick at my shoulder.
I jump out of the way in time, but he’s already swinging again.
I dodge again but get a kick to my ribs a second later.
He’s barefoot, but I still grunt in pain.
Before I can prepare myself, he attacks again.
I raise my stick and hit his wrist, knowing I’ve made a mistake when I hear a bone breaking.
He screams and goes down on his knees, his hand dangling in the wrong direction.
“The fuck you think you’re doing?” Master Trainer roars. “This is practice!”