Chapter 21
Chapter
Twenty-One
“No!” I shouted, twisting around to Zander. “No, you can’t do this.”
Zander’s eyes dropped, his grip on the bars tightening.
“Zander?” I tried to keep my voice even.
“He can’t do anything, Kovacs.” Boyd strung out my name as if it were a dirty word, letting me know this was about much more than a hurt ego.
My name inspired vengeance. Power. Control.
Blood. “He has no authority once players are in the arena; we can’t intrude.
” He shrugged with a malicious grin. “Rules are rules.”
“I’m not doing it.” I glared at Boyd, shaking my head.
“Only one walks out, or none do.” He winked at me. “Guess it’s up to each one of you to decide who wants to live bad enough.”
“No.” I stepped back farther away from both men. Rodriguez climbed slowly back to his feet, his hand gripping his side, his skin pale, blood leaking the color of life from his skin.
“Well, I guess that made it easy. She volunteers to die.” Boyd gestured to me through the bars, his eyes moving between Rodriguez and Aron. Panic and fear shook Aron, his eyes darting around, taking everything in before landing on me.
“Brex?” He whispered my name, pleading with me to explain what was going on.
“You can’t do this. I’ve already fought!” I screamed back at Boyd, exhaustion skewering fury through me, my body drained and trembling. “This isn’t fair.”
“Fair?” Boyd’s head fell back, howling with laughter.
“Oh, poor little rich girl, used to being bubble-wrapped. Humans are so weak. Fragile . . .” He waggled his head.
“Fair,” he scoffed. “Sweetheart, look around you. You’re in Halalház.
It’s feared for a reason.” He pointed up to the crowd, which was booing and hissing.
“Better decide soon. None of you have seen when a mob turns vicious.” He stepped back, dissolving into the darkness of the tunnel.
Facing the new triangle, my gaze shifted back and forth between Aron and Rodriguez.
I wanted to sit and curl into a ball as my soul shredded into pieces.
Rodriguez, I would have killed due to survival and all, but Aron was different.
He was my colleague. Someone, even as cocky as he was, I cared about.
I knew him. Had grown up with him. He didn’t deserve this.
The only reason he was put in the Games was because of me.
The crowd rumbled their displeasure that no one was bleeding or dying as they were promised. Disgusting. The core of people, human or fae, when peeled back to the basic form, was violent and ruthless.
Unless they were in the ring.
The standoff lasted a moment before Rodriguez smiled grimly at me, his hand on his wound, bleeding out. He swiped the dagger off the ground, whirling for my friend.
“No!” I leaped forward, barreling into Rodriguez, causing him to stagger to the side. Aron’s leg swept out in an arched kick, knocking the spike from Rodriguez’s hands. As I moved in, my fist crashed against Rodriguez’s already broken nose, more bits of cartilage snapping under my knuckles.
A bellow tore from Rodriguez, fresh waves of red liquid dripping down his face.
Wordlessly, Aron and I moved around the bull, stepping back into our training.
Many times, Bakos not only had us fighting each other but also working together to take down others in groups.
It was like a choreographed dance, which felt natural because of the countless hours we were drilled in it.
Aron was never someone I had “danced” well with, but in this moment, I put all that aside. There could be no egos.
Just survival.
Rodriguez crashed back down to the ground, blood draining quickly from his wounds. His lungs heaved in and out shallowly. I knew death would come for him now no matter what, but the Games demanded us to take it.
“Aron, toss me the spike,” I yelled, jumping down on Rodriguez.
Nothing.
“Aron!” I screamed again, my focus moving to him, watching him roll the wooden spear in his hand, not responding to me. “What are you waiting for? Give it to me.”
His fingers wrapped around the chunk of wood. “I’m sorry, Brex.” His brown eyes peered over at mine, no longer filled with fear or confusion.
Ice slid down my vertebrae to my belly.
“Only one of us can walk out of here.” He flipped the stake in his palm with just a hint of sadness. “I regret it has to be this way, but there is no choice. I will not die here.”
“Aron . . .” I tried to swallow the lump forming in my throat. “Don’t do this. If we both refuse . . .”
“Right.” He chuckled. “What kind of idiot do you take me for? You will happily stab me in the back the moment I turn around. Kill or be killed, right?” He moved toward me, his jaw twitching as he gripped the dagger firmer. “It’s our final match, Kovacs, and this one I win.”
Shifting off the dying man under me, I stepped away from Aron.
“Aron. Please. Don’t do this . . . We are teammates. Friends.”
“Friends?” he sputtered. “You treated me like shit under your boot. Not once did you look at me as if I was worth your time. You couldn’t hide the disgust after we slept together.
You didn’t care about my feelings. I was your filthy secret.
It was always Caden. He was all you could see or care about.
So, no, Kovacs, we were never friends.” He shook his head.
“The only reason I’m even here is because of you and Caden.
It’s always about you two. I shouldn’t be here.
Die here. If killing you keeps me alive .
. .” He took another step to me, glaring.
“I don’t want to. Shit, Brex, I was fucking in love with you .
. . but this is the only way. Or we both die. ”
“In love with me?” Laughter burst from my lips. “You simply loved yourself.”
“I wasn’t the selfish one. You were so caught up with Caden you couldn’t see anything else.
Give anyone notice. And when you did? It was in the hopes Caden would observe it and get jealous.
” Aron darted to the side, and I easily spun out of his way.
“Everyone saw it but you. He didn’t care enough to step up.
If Caden really loved you, nothing would have gotten in the way.
No Romanian prince, his father, or any other girl who walked by. ”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I hissed. Caden and I lived in a world even our friends didn’t understand. Things weren’t so easy for us.
“You just don’t want to face it.” He stabbed the bloody dagger toward me, but I moved easily away. We knew each other’s moves too well. “Did he fight for you? I mean, we all know what that sick Romanian fucker does to women. But Caden didn’t put up a single fight for you, did he?”
“Shut up.” I bobbed and weaved away from his attacks.
“No. He didn’t. What does that tell you?” Aron slipped in closer. “He did mourn you. Completely lost his mind in alcohol and grief. That’s true, but I didn’t tell you everything. He’s already moved on. Already fucking someone else.”
“Aron.” I batted away the weapon, trying to reset things.
“I’m telling you the truth, Brexley. If you had given me just a moment of your time instead of looking at me like I was your most vile mistake . . .”
“You were,” I hissed.
“Blind to the end,” he growled, leaping for me.
Our familiar dance was one we could do for hours.
Kicking, punching, wrestling. We moved around each other, sweat sliding down my face, my energy weaning, allowing him to dart in.
His foot hooked mine, tossing me painfully onto my back, knocking the air from my lungs.
Jumping on me, grief in his eyes as he primed the weapon at the soft spot in my throat—a weak point for humans and fae alike.
Once again, I could feel a presence move around me, poking and prodding at me, as though telling me not to give up.
My gaze darted to the stands. Warwick hadn’t moved.
His expression was even angrier, swirling around him like a storm.
He snarled, turned and stomped away, disappearing in a tunnel near his seat.
Returning to Aron, the sparks of rage built through my bones again. Instinct was feral. Wild. It didn’t think or care. It wanted to live—by whatever means necessary.
Aron’s arm went up. “I’m sorry, Brex.” He dropped his arm like an ax, ready to take off my head. With all my might, my legs swung over, flipping him to the side.
Thud!
Aron smacked into the ground as I rolled him over, the wooden spike falling from his hand. Clawing and digging into his skin, I climbed on him, pinning him down. A crazed noise echoed from my lungs as I understood what I had to do.
Gripping the dagger, I only hesitated for a split second. The sheer terror and anguish in Aron’s eyes imprinted on my mind as I swung down with a guttural cry.
“Brexley! No! Pleas—” His scream was cut off as the sharp point drove through his neck, ripping through his skin and muscles, blowing a hole in his esophagus. His eyes widened in horror as his mouth gaped and wheezed for air. His body lurched and jerked as his hands went to this throat.
Sliding off him, a cry wracked out of my chest at the sounds of my comrade gurgling and choking on blood, his body in the throes of death.
His wide eyes looked at me once with torment, shock, and anguish. Then his pupils glazed over as his life leaked out in a final shudder.
Aron was dead.
He was the first guy I’d ever been with, and we had fought each other on the mat countless times. I never imagined this would be our end. That I would be the one who took his life.
Guttural emotion swirled in my chest. I had killed my comrade with savage brutality and little hesitation. “Oh, gods . . . I am so sorry.” The words dribbled over my lips, my breath heavy as I curled over him. At that moment, I just wanted to bring him to life to go back in time. “Aron . . .”