Chapter Thirty Malcolm Davenport
CHAPTER THIRTY
Malcolm Davenport
My heart thuds wildly. No matter how pissed I am, I know what I have to do. Taking a step forward, I shake my head firmly. “No,” I say. “I won’t fight her, Sabine.” My voice quakes with fear.
“Really?” Sabine’s lips curl into a smile. “Perhaps Imani would be a better fit for this challenge then?”
The idea of my little sister being forced into a death match swells me with panic. “No!” I yell. “Leave her out of this!” Imani shouldn’t be tossed into danger, especially when she was the only one who dared to help us after we ran away.
I sense the tide of rage starting to rise behind Sabine’s calm exterior. I look at Emma and say, “Do whatever you need to do, Star. I won’t fight back.”
“No.” Tears stream down Emma’s cheeks, and her voice vibrates desperation. “Malcolm, you have to—”
“NO!” I shout.
“The boy needs inspiration.” Sabine sneers.
She waves her hands, chanting, and the world around us stutters and shifts. The checkerboard floor morphs into dirt beneath my feet. The punishment room vanishes.
Emma and I stand in an arena. The dirt ripples like water, and the sky above swirls with ever-changing constellations. Treetops peek over the tall stone walls. Sabine stands in front of a microphone, a golden throne looming behind her.
“Fight,” she declares. “To the death.” Her voice echoes, shaking the branches outside the arena.
The seats in the circular arena around us fill with statues of petrified slaves, their faces reflecting anguish.
Axes and swords materialize out of thin air, aimed at the eyes and throats of our families, who are now trapped in concrete chairs near Sabine’s throne.
My ma’s eyes well up with tears. Jayla’s afro puffs are dusty as she sits squirming beside Imani.
Their muffled pleas for help shatter my heart.
A flicker of relief reminds me that at least Imani and Demetri are safe with our families.
For now. But the sight of them with golden cuffs on their mouths and chains bolting their feet to stone chairs leaves me feeling more broken than ever.
“Or don’t fight,” Sabine’s voice sounds. Her ice-blue eyes glitter, and she strokes a sharp ax that is aimed at Imani’s throat. “And you know what I’ll be forced to do.”
Sabine snaps her fingers. The gold cuffs over our families’ mouths fall off, but they remain imprisoned to their stone chairs. My family calls out to me, pleading for me to save them, and Ma’s shoulders shake with crying.
I can’t let them die.
But I can’t kill the first girl I’ve ever loved, either.
Sabine snaps her fingers again. More knives and daggers appear. This time they scatter across the arena floor to where Emma and I stand. These are the weapons she wants us to use. To kill each other.
The wind carries my family’s cries and Sabine’s threats. Claws of anxiety squeeze my lungs, and I fight for breath.
Beside me, Emma sobs uncontrollably. Her hands tremble as she weaves intricate patterns in the air around us. “C’mon, Malcolm!” she hisses through gritted teeth.
She maneuvers swiftly, unleashing a powerful roundhouse kick to my stomach. I stumble back, but remain on my feet. She rains punches onto my chest. “Fight, dammit!” she yells. “She’ll murder our families!”
I grimace in pain but stand motionless as Emma throws more punches at me. My feet threaten to slide out from under me as her fists pound against my face. Her violent determination makes each impact feel like a dagger to my heart.
Jayla yells, “Kill her! Do it before she kills you!” Ma sobs. Imani’s expression flicks through multiple changes, as if she’s considering a million possible futures.
“Fight back!” Emma screams, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Please, Malcolm!”
I shake my head and gaze down at the bruises darkening the curves of my chest. “I won’t hurt you again, Emma. I can’t.”
“You have to!” She lands a blow that forcefully sweeps my legs out from under me.
I crash onto my back with a puff of dust. I stare up at her.
Her chest heaves. “This is the only way to save them!” she cries.
She’s right. If I don’t fight—if no one is intentionally killed—Sabine will show no mercy and will slaughter everyone we love. But the thought of raising a hand against Emma sends a wave of revulsion through me. I still haven’t forgiven myself for what happened in the last round.
My heart throbs. Our loved ones remain trapped in the cold concrete chairs, their wide eyes pleading for salvation. My family begs me to defend myself. They fear losing me like they lost Alex. Ma couldn’t take that.
My heart is in tatters—like the clothes on the rows upon rows of slave statues seated in the arena around us, their open mouths frozen in silent screams. A heavy, suffocating fog of generational despair settles over me.
“Maaalcolm!” I turn my gaze to Jayla’s cries.
Behind shattered glasses, tears stream down and over her cheeks as she shrieks my name in terror.
“Remember who you are, Malcolm!” she yells.
“Remember who really loves you. Before it’s too late!
Kill her! Kill her before—” Jayla sobs and then goes limp.
My heart aches. Pop-Pop’s and Charles’s faces are carved with the same sadness and defeat. Even Emma’s father and brother look broken and helpless.
“You got this, Emma!” Demetri cries. “Finish him!”
I should be mad at Demetri. But I’m not. If Imani or Jayla were standing here in my place, I don’t know what I’d be shouting.
Emma kicks me. “Fight me, dammit!”
We are all pawns, I realize now. All part of Sabine’s twisted game. I rise to my feet.
The agony on Emma’s teary face rips me apart. “Save them!” she screams, desperation lacing her voice. “Fight me!”
Somehow, my fist arcs, and I hit back. The way I hit fake Emma in round one.
Sabine, on her throne, curls her lips in a satisfied grin. She thinks she’s won. But this is far from over …
Fists fly. Punches. Kicks. Emma and I fight with everything we’ve got to protect the ones we love.
We stand face-to-face, fists raised, trying to ignore the heartbreak we see in each other’s eyes.
I blink away tears as we swing our fists. This is not how I wanted it to end between us. Hell, I never wanted it to end between us. This is a waking nightmare.
Emma lunges, her blow glancing off my shoulder. I retaliate automatically, my fist connecting with her stomach. She doubles over with a gasp.
“I’m sorry,” I breathe as I sweep her legs out from under her. She hits the ground hard, dust flying up around her. I pin her down, my tears flowing freely now. Her own tears mingle with mine as she stares up at me.
Neither of us wants what will happen next. But we’re puppets dancing on Sabine’s strings.