Chapter 27
Ash
“This place is a shithole,” Griffin grumbles after the fuckers transporting us from the truck and into the holding cell leave.
I lean my back against the cool metal bars. These transport cages are different from the ones they use on the farm. They’re bigger. Taller. We can stand up in these.
“Get used to it, new guy,” I snap halfheartedly, my ears straining to hear the noise outside of this room.
My skin is buzzing after the dose of the booster drug we were all given. I can feel it under my skin like a bunch of ants.
I’m not the only one the drug is affecting.
Rage has been pacing back and forth in his cage, taking a shuffling step forward before immediately turning around in the small space and taking another step. His muscles ripple with tension.
He’s surprisingly quiet, though. Normally, before his fights, he’s pissed enough to throw himself at the bars of his cage. They have to replace his cage every few months because they’re worried the damage he does to it will eventually make it break.
“How does this work, exactly?” Griffin asks.
“There’re two doors into this room,” I say, nodding at the metal door the transporters left from and then at the thick metal gate. “These cages unlock automatically, and that gate opens. There’s a long hallway, and you’re supposed to run out into the ring.”
“So ‘cause this is a group fight, our doors will all pop open at the same time?”
“Yeah, I guess so,” I shrug. “Never done this before. Just a tip, new guy, make sure you run fast.”
“Why? What’s in the ring?”
“It depends. Changes every fight. But if we get there first, we get to see the lay of the land and grab whatever weapons suit our fancy.”
“Weapons? No one said anything about weapons.”
I spread my arms wide, my skin a showcase of scars, a museum of the consequences of that ring.
“There’re plenty of them. Mostly knives. They’re dulled, but they still do a fuck ton of damage when the person using them is fucking insane,” my lips peel back in a toothy smile. “So you better run fast.”
“Rowan didn’t have us train with knives,” Griffin huffs, his hands anxiously opening and closing as he flexes his fingers.
“Yeah, the trainers back at the farm know better than to have us train with weapons we could use against them,” I snarl.
“But Rowan’s not one of them, he’s—“
“You’re stupider than I fucking thought if that’s what you think,” I snap, my dominance rolling off me in waves. “He may treat us nicer than any of the others but he’s still one of them.”
Griffin’s jaw snaps shut as he narrows his gaze on me. I hate the way he’s fucking looking at me right now.
Like he’s trying to figure out what’s going on in my head.
Well, fuck him. I don’t want anybody poking around in there.
But I can tell the moment it clicks for him.
Whenever I’m given a dose, I feel myself slipping away. I lose pieces of myself bit by bit, and the only thing that’s left is rage and suspicion. Soon, I’ll be like Rage, practically gnawing at the bars of my cage and unable to do anything else other than snarl.
My default is always to direct that anger towards the people who fucking deserve it: the people who put me—put us—in this god damn fucking situation.
And that includes the kid.
Because at least that way, I still have a little bit of control.
“Stop looking at me like that,” I snap, glaring at Griffin.
He holds his hands up like he’s surrendering.
“Okay, okay, man. I get it.”
“I don’t think you do,” I bite out. “But one day, you’ll get it. ‘Cause there’ll come a time where the fucker has to pick between himself and the rest of us and the fucker will pick himself. Because we’re just their stupid fighting dogs.”
Rage lets out a soft snarl, his gaze cutting towards the door, and Griffin and I freeze.
A split second later, I hear footsteps. Two sets of them.
“Damn, Rage, you can sense things fast,” Griffin says.
Rage’s gaze cuts to him, his one good eye almost glowing in the dim lighting. He offers Griffin the barest hint of a nod.
He’s been giving these surprising amounts of acknowledgement to Griffin and I a lot more often these past few weeks. Almost like Mirabelle’s presence around him has brought him a sense of his sanity back.
The footsteps grow closer. I can pick up the sound of a man walking slowly and the uneven click of high heels.
“Let me in, I need to see them before the fight,” Rowan says, his voice muffled through the thick steel door.
“You sure you wanna bring the girl in?” One of the transporters who works for the fighting ring asks.
The girl.
That means Mirabelle is here.
The ants beneath my skin turn into buzzing wasps at the thought of her. I need to see her, now that I know she’s just beyond the door.
“Are you really gonna question me?” Rowan says, his voice significantly more menacing than I ever would’ve expected.
“Nah, nah,” one of the transporters mutters. “Let ‘em in.”
The door creaks open and Rowan and Mirabelle appear in the doorway.
My lips peel back into a snarl when I see the ashen expression on Mirabelle’s face and the way she’s clinging to a thin silk robe to keep it shut.
“Fucking hell,” Rowan sighs, scrubbing a hand down his face. He looks exhausted. But I honestly don’t give a shit about him right now, not when Mirabelle is trembling in those ridiculous high heels.
“Hi,” Mirabelle says with a strained smile, when she notices the way I’m staring at her.
“Why are you clutching that robe shut?” My voice is deceptively even, considering how loaded the question is.
The robe cuts off at mid-thigh, showcasing the tops of thigh-high, sheer stockings. She’s a walking wet dream in those sky-high heels that make her legs look fantastic. And I hate that other men have seen her like this.
It makes me want to gouge eyes out.
“Oh, well, Rowan didn’t know where the tie for it went. It’s older, belonged to Rowan’s mom,” she says, rubbing the rose patterning on the silk fabric. “The only thing we had in the trailer to try and keep it shut was one of Rowan’s belts and it looked weird.”
She talks a lot when she’s nervous. Normally, I find it cute. Maybe it’s because I’m a sadistic asshole who enjoys seeing her squirm a little bit. But I’m not the one making her squirm right now.
It’s written into every tense line of her body. In the sour notes of her scent that I can smell far too well in the close space between us.
“I can tell you’re barely wearing anything under that robe.” A dangerous growl leaves my chest as my gaze cuts to Rowan, who pales when he sees my expression.
The kid isn’t bold enough to pull a stunt like this.
Which means one thing: he was a pathetic piece of shit who couldn’t do anything to protect Mirabelle from his fucked-up family.
Mirabelle’s cheeks grow red from embarrassment as she shuffles her weight from side to side, her movements a little awkward because of the high heels. Like a baby deer.
Which is what every other man who sets his eyes on her will think. Prey.
It’s wrong. But only I get to think of her that way.
“Come here, Shortcake.”
She follows my command instantly, like she does every time. It soothes the part of my brain that’s telling me to rage against the bars of this cage. Barely.
“Are you wearing anything underneath that tiny robe?” I growl.
“Y—yes,” she says. I can see her pulse fluttering at the base of her neck, right along with the way she swallows hard at my words.
“Show me.”
I’m a stupid, selfish mother fucker. Because even though I knew she wasn’t wearing much, seeing it was another matter entirely.
She drops open the robe, revealing a red lace body suit. The only thing hiding her pussy from my gaze are strategically placed embroidered flower appliques. Her nipples aren’t given the same courtesy.
I can see the faint outline of them pebbled up against the sheer fabric. There are embroidered lace flowers cupping and lifting the underside of her tits, showcasing her cleavage.
It’s driving me crazy.
I reach out through the bars and tug her towards me so her front is pressed up into the cold metal.
And then I kiss her. My lips fall to hers like I’m starving and she’s the prey I’ve been hunting for what feels like eons.
It’s a hungry kiss, my tongue quickly pushing past her lips and finally, finally getting a taste of her.
I’ve wanted this ever since she had herself pressed up against me that first night, naked as the day she was born.
Her sweet, strawberry shortcake perfume explodes out from her, thickening in the air around us.
Looks like she’s enjoying herself too.
Thank fucking god.
A whimper leaves her throat as she clutches at the bars like she needs to cling to something to keep her from being swept away.
Her lips are soft, and her body is pliant against mine as I angle her head with a grip in her long auburn hair.
It’s perfect.
She’s perfect.
My cock throbs in my boxers, the outline of me obvious through the tight material.
I tug her closer to me, pressing my hardness against her stomach through the bars, and she lets out a quiet whimper.
Rage and Griffin instantly let out menacing snarls in response.
Their overwhelming dominance, radiating from each of their cages, is like ice water.
Holy fuck.
What am I doing?
I drop my hands from Mirabelle instantly, taking a stumbling step back. My lips tingle with the phantom sensation of her.
It’s taking everything I have in me not to grab at her through the bars again.
She’s mine.
There’s no denying it now. Not when I’ve gotten a taste.
She blinks up with wide, awestruck eyes and swollen red lips. The sweet scent of her slick is soaking into the lingerie she’s wearing and I suddenly have the urge to taste her everywhere.
“Unless you want us to tear each other apart when we get out there, you need to make things even, Sweetheart,” Griffin growls, his voice menacingly low. His dark eyes are hungry.
Then his words register to me.
Fucking hell, did I mess things up?