Chapter 17
Caden
“Get up, maggot! You call that fighting?”
I call that getting my ass kicked, but I don’t have enough air in my lungs to say it out loud.
I’m a lump of pain, lying at the foot of the Raider who’s been overpowering me for the last hour.
He’s a level two, making him close to the top, but I also struggle to beat anyone who’s level three.
After I surprised everyone during the latest game at the arena, they expected me to maintain those abilities during training.
Unfortunately, Hector was the one who made me stronger, and since he’s not here, I’m back to being my regular self again, which clearly isn’t enough.
“Get up!” Master Trainer shouts, and I wish I could shut him up with a punch to the face. I get that this is his job, but he should face reality and stop forcing me to train against opponents above my league.
I grunt and push myself up, wobbling on my shaky feet.
Other fighters pretend to be practicing, but I can tell they’re watching and loving the show.
There was a small part of me that thought that having this tattoo on my back would make me less of an outsider, but all it did was make me more of a freak in their eyes.
I didn’t even need to wait for it to heal, as though my flesh hurried to embrace the inked scales.
“We can’t have him fighting with us in the arena tomorrow,” the one who’s been kicking my ass says.
I stop myself from pointing out that I’d be more than happy to stay back, but the order to include me came from Hector himself, like it had the last time. At least Elijah no longer believes I’m doing anything behind his back; he saw me after I returned from Hector’s—dizzy, tattooed, and furious.
“None of you get to decide who participates,” Master Trainer says, though I can sense he shares their opinion. He tells me, “Start again, and try to stay on your feet for more than ten seconds.”
I manage to last more than ten seconds this time, but not by much. When I hit the ground again, Master Trainer grumbles in anger and walks away. I remain lying on the grass, watching the spinning sky and wishing for this to stop one way or another.
The one who overpowered me crouches down and glances around to make sure no one’s listening. His long hair moves in the warm breeze. “You’re better off giving up, Defender.”
“I don’t have that privilege, asshole.”
He smashes his fist into my ribs. I hiss in pain but don’t cry out.
“It’s only going to get worse. Everybody here wants a piece of you.”
I don’t doubt his words since I can see the others’ excitement whenever they face me in training or see me beaten.
“Thanks for making today so much fun,” he says, then spits at my face.
I wait for him to leave before wiping it off.
When the bell finally rings and announces the end of training, I hurry to wash myself before there’s a line.
When I finish, I put on a fresh set of clothes.
Most shirts and pants here are either black or gray, but at least we have someone washing them every few days.
I should go eat dinner, but I don’t have an appetite, or maybe I’ve been kicked in the stomach too many times for it to work properly.
Standing outside with the sun slowly setting in the distance, I debate whether to grit through the pain or ask Elijah for painkillers.
I can handle the price he asked of me in the last few times, but I fear he might ask for more, and I don’t wish to face that dilemma.
But I also don’t wish to face this pain all night, so I reluctantly walk to the house.
A guard stops me at the entrance and asks, “What do you want?”
“To speak with Elijah.”
Before he can tell me to piss off, another guard notices me and lets me enter. I walk up the stairs and wait at a wide foyer until Elijah comes over. Even his plain clothes are in the burgundy color of his house.
“You look like shit,” he says.
“Maybe it’s not too late to get your money back.”
“It is—I’ve checked.”
He gestures for me to follow him into the spacious living room, then he shuts the door and locks it.
If he’s worried about staying alone with someone who hates him, he doesn’t show it.
The room is warm because of the fireplace.
Elijah has bookshelves packed with books and a display cabinet with old watches. Movie posters cover one of the walls.
“Jaws,” Elijah says, pointing at one of the posters. “A great film.”
“You’ve seen it?”
“I have a private cinema. You’d be surprised how much old DVDs go for these days. They were out of style even before Doomsday, and now they’re more precious than diamonds. If my fighters impress in the arena, I sometimes allow them to watch a movie.”
“You’re all heart.”
He snorts. “You think it would’ve been easier for you with any of the other houses?”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“But I do.” He holds my gaze as we face each other.
“In House Fernandez, the five weakest-performing fighters are hanged upside down in the middle of the training yard every single day. All other fighters must hit them one by one. In House Jackson, the fighters must crawl on rocks in and out of the training yard as a reminder that they are no more than insects when they are not training. So no, Caden, it would not have been easier for you with any of the other houses, which is likely why Hector wanted me to buy you.”
I frown. “The way I remember it, you were surprised to discover I was a Defender and that Hector knew who I was.”
“True, but before the auction, I got a note telling me that someone special would be auctioned on that afternoon and that I’d be a fool to miss out on the opportunity.
I went to check, and you showed up. I didn’t know who that note came from, but I can only assume it was Hector.
He wanted me to have you without it looking obvious. ”
Every great tale must start somewhere.
“It didn’t seem to me like you and Hector were friends,” I say.
“We’re definitely not, but he’s been keeping an eye on me ever since he got into power, likely because of who my father was.”
“Who was he?”
“The governor of Denver, over thirty years ago. Back when we were one of the Free Cities and not the Raiders’ capital.”
“You were always the Raiders’ capital.”
He chuckles. “Are you teaching me my own history, Defender? We weren’t always like this, and I clearly remember my father meeting with representatives of the three Hives of Colorado.”
I can’t imagine a time when Denver and the Hives were in any sort of diplomatic relationship, but Elijah has no reason to lie to me, and history has never been my strong suit.
“Was your father removed by force?”
“If you consider being marched around naked and bleeding until his body couldn’t take it anymore as removal by force, then yes, he was.
And I was right there to witness it all until the bitter end, though it was a relief by that point.
They didn’t kill me because I was too young to matter, and my people cared more about taking their wars outside.
With time, my old family connections helped me reestablish my house.
Very few still remember my father and his failed hopes to make Denver a decent place for decent people, but Hector knows his history. ”
“Was that why you thought he was trying to sabotage your house?”
“Yes. He hasn’t so far—not openly—but I know he’s keeping an eye on me, leaving me with only a few people I can trust.” He clears his voice as if he said too much. “I’m guessing you’re not here to hear about my past.”
I nod. “I need something for the pain.”
“As does everyone else out there.”
I clench my fists. “If you weren’t sitting in your comfortable house all day instead of watching what’s going on in your own backyard, you would have seen that those assholes are trying to kill me.”
“If you want to survive in the arena—”
“Fuck the arena. This is about torturing a Defender.”
“Ex-Defender, and if you think that my interference will make your life any easier, you’re delusional. Out there, you climb up the ranks by outperforming your rivals. That’s it.”
“Whatever you say.” I walk toward the door, my blood boiling. This was a waste of time.
“Wait. I’m not trying to be your enemy, despite our circumstances. You’ll need to get used to this until you’re better able to fight back. You’re still new to this.”
“Something tells me you don’t go this hard on every fresh meat.”
“Not every fresh meat is ordered to fight in the arena on his first day, and then demonstrate incredible abilities that vanish the following day.”
He has a point. This whole thing is crazy, and no one here knows how to handle my situation. “I can’t make myself as strong as I was in the arena.”
“Yes, you’ve told me. I don’t understand any of it, but I believe you.”
“Then are you going to help me?”
“That depends.”
I turn around to face him. “Painkiller first.”
He takes out a syringe from one of his cabinets. I raise my sleeve and offer him my arm. He slides the needle into my vein and injects me with the liquid inside.
“Deep breaths,” he says. “It’s strong.”
It better be.
He puts the empty syringe in the cabinet before returning to stand behind me. I almost thank him, but it’s not like he’s doing this for free.
“Show me.”
I pull off my shirt and let it fall on the floor.
“He put a lot of effort into this.” He runs his fingers over my tattoo. Last time I was here, he brought a mirror for me to see it for the first time. I was both impressed by the fine details and sick to my stomach from having my body altered without my consent.
“Can we just do what we did last time?” I ask.
He snorts. “Are you trying to negotiate our deal after it was sealed?”
I almost say that negotiation is Finn’s field, but Finn doesn’t exist in this nightmare of a place.