Chapter 21 #2
I stalked toward him, staying out of range of those long arms, the noise washing over me as I dropped down beside him, my body blocking the view from the platform, knee crushing one forearm into the sand, but not his other.
Triumph shone in his face when his other hand banded around my throat and squeezed.
The beast lifted his head, eyes bloodshot, lips curled back. “Whore,” he rasped. “I’ll still—”
I was already reaching into my braid, plucking out the long silver needle.
To the untrained eye, this wasn’t a weapon so much as it was a trinket. To me, it was one of my favorite tools for a clean death. Not that I wanted this awful creature’s death to be painless, but I needed him to die.
Both of us were gasping, the beast taking his time, choking me slow, watching me suffer. I drove the silver pick down, straight into one dark eye and deep into his brain, a pinprick of blood forming around the entry wound.
Quick. Clean. No flourish for the crowd.
His body jerked once, hand falling from my throat, landing in the sand with a hollow whump. Then he went still, his mouth falling open in a soundless exhale.
I collapsed onto my side, clutching my bruised throat, slipping the needle back into its hiding place.
The crowd was in frenzy, prisoners pounding the stone, shouting for another fight, for more violence, as if one death couldn’t satisfy their bloodlust.
But I only had eyes for Dante. For my husband, wishing I could tell him everything would be okay.
He was chained and battered, his face pale beneath the bruises, but his eyes burned. Hunger and fury and love, all tangled together, and my world tilted when our gazes collided.
He didn’t look at me like I was fragile.
He looked at me with pride shining in his eyes, as though he finally saw exactly what I was. Not a pampered aristocrat of a business partner, but a fucking fighter.
I lifted my chin slightly, then gave him the smallest nod.
I’m here. This is almost over. Hold on.
The Overseer leaned forward, eyes gleaming, a rivulet of blood drying on his brutish face. He looked almost pleased as he stared me down. “Well,” he called, voice carrying. “The little bird can bite.”
My smile sharpened.
I lifted my hands slightly, palms open, as if to show I carried no weapons. A harmless gesture. A performance.
At the same time, I flexed my toes inside my boots.
The only thing I had left from my once-deadly arsenal—beneath the scuffed, worn leather, thin blades waited, turning a scuffed, worn boot into an assassin’s kiss.
My gaze flicked to Gabriel again, and this time I held his gaze for a fraction longer. His jaw clenched, finger tapping on his forearm, once, twice… three times.
Good.
I could stretch this spectacle out for another thirty minutes.
The Overseer descended from the platform, prowling across the sand with the patience of a rattlesnake. “You surprise me,” he murmured, staring at my downed foe, trying to decide how, exactly, he’d ended up dead in the sand instead of me.
“I expected a princess; instead, I found a killer. Interesting, how your uncle never mentioned your other… skills.”
“That’s because my uncle is a lying bastard.” I let the crowd’s cheers swell around us like a storm. “Your champion is dead. Make your next move,” I said, voice steady, holding his narrowed gaze.
His eyes glittered. “Oh, I plan to.”
His eyes turned colder as he debated, swinging his gaze between me and Dante, then the crowd, who quieted, shrinking back as his eyes skimmed over them.
I saw the moment he made his decision, beckoning two of his guards forward and stripping off his long coat, unbuckling the heavy breastplate, letting it fall to his feet, to be gathered up by his minions. I regulated my breathing, retreated to the far side of the ring, and started my countdown.
Twenty-nine minutes.
They picked the fallen fighter up by the heels and dragged him clear of the ring, cutting a deep furrow through the churned-up sand.
The Overseer stripped off his shirt and… gods. Oh gods. His body was a web of scars, white and pink and red, straight and rambling, and beneath the damage, his body was built for punishment, for brutality.
I could do this. I’d come here to win, to save my husband. I only had to survive twenty-nine… twenty-eight more minutes.
“You evil fucking bastard,” I hissed as the crowds murmuring skated over our heads. “I’ll carve that pompous little smirk right off your face.”
“Me? Evil?” he seemed honestly affronted. “You’re related to the most morally bankrupt male in the dynasty. In all three dynasties.”
“My uncle might have his secrets,”—I swept my hand across the pit—“but this? This is twisted. Inhumane.”
“Why do you think they built this place five hundred years ago?” He chuckled, looking at me like I was an idiot.
“The Fossa exists at Giovanni DiRavello’s pleasure, a dumping ground for every miscreant, rapist, murderer, and political enemy of the three dynasties.
Your uncle and I have a longstanding partnership, existing long before you and your weakling brother were spurted out of your father’s cock.
” He whipped a knife out of his thigh holster, pressed the tip beneath my chin, and forced my head up until our gazes locked.
“And you, little princess, are about to learn just how much restraint I’ve shown up until now.”
My last opponent had been big, yes, but he’d operated on rage and brute strength. This… this fight would be different. This was a fight I doubted I could win.
“You have no idea of the things your uncle has done, no idea at all.” The Overseer bared bloodstained teeth at me.
“He’s capable of corruption far beyond fighting pits and council chambers.
No, little princess, if you knew what your uncle intended to do to your kind, you would hide somewhere he would never find you. ”
Twenty-seven more minutes. I could do this. Keep him talking.
I was halfway through my pep talk when the Overseer tipped his head, staring up into the stands. “Actually, I have a far better idea.” He motioned two of his guards forward. “Bring the Vendetarri down. Give him the draught. Put a sword in his hand.”
A mere twenty minutes remained when they shoved Nico out onto the sand, a curved blade in one hand, a blank look in his eyes, and a cruel smile on his face.
“The draught does two things,” the Overseer purred, running a possessive hand over my ass before he shoved me forward.
“Takes away memories and gives the fighter a boost of aggression. Not only will he not recognize you, but every piece of him will want you dead. Good luck, little bird. Perhaps there will be something left of you for me to enjoy… but somehow, I doubt it.”