Chapter 21 #2
Suddenly his eyes bolted open, his mouth opened, and a hiss of sound—my name—came from his lips. His hand reached for me, and I jerked back with a cry. The moment I moved away, he went limp, falling back, his head rolling to the side, his dead eyes open and blank.
What the hell was that? Like some horror movie, the killer came back for one last scare. Was it the last bit of life leaving him?
I blinked at his motionless form, still and very dead, wondering if I had imagined it.
“Kill! Kill!” The onlookers in the stands clapped and chanted, bringing my attention back to the moment, their voices scraping against my skin. “Kill the bull! Kill the bull!”
I lifted my head and peered over at the figure feet away from me. Rodriguez’s chest barely moved, his body shivering as his life leaked from him.
Fuck these monsters. Hadn’t I given them enough? The man was dead anyway, but they wanted me to put in the final stake. Their lack of empathy and respect for life wrenched me up to my feet with a snarl.
Rage gurgled in my gut, my face twisting with rage as I peered at the faceless crowd, stepping closer to Rodriguez, escalating their cheers.
The wood spike dripping with Aron’s blood hung at my side.
“Dooo iiiittt,” Rodriguez hissed through his teeth, coughing and choking.
“No,” I sneered. “I’m not giving them what they want. This is fucking disgusting.”
“Do it for me. Don’t let me die slow. Pathetically. Let me join my sister.” He choked out every word, his forehead wrinkling with agony. “Wouldn’t you want the same? A hero’s death.” He swallowed, his eyes pleading. “Give them what they want. Take the victory.”
“I will do it for you. Not for them.” I went down on my knees. For the first time, I saw the person in his eyes, the life I knew nothing about. Friends, family. “Why are you in here?”
“Sister.” His voice was barely louder than a whisper and broke over the syllables like a wave breaking against rocks. “Tried to save her from . . . testing . . . Savage Lands . . . there’s . . . don’t trust . . .” His eyes fluttered closed, his face streaked in agony.
“Don’t trust what?”
“Kill. Me.” The demand barely made it to my ears.
My chin wobbling, I covered his mouth and nose. He tried to jerk his head, but it didn’t take much for him to drift into a forever sleep, his limbs going lax.
Sitting back on my heels, surrounded by dead bodies, I heard the boos of the mob, the viewers clearly unhappy with the way Rodriguez died. It wasn’t cruel or violent enough to be considered entertainment.
Blood covered the arena, drenching my clothes in death. But it wasn’t enough.
“I’m sorry.” I leaned over him, my hands touching him.
His bulk jolted under my palms, his lashes fluttering. Fuck me! I jerked away, air clipping the back of my throat, but when I peered at him, he laid still, empty of life, as if I imagined it.
Death took a while for the body to understand, but it still had my heart thumping.
Slowly, I stood, but my muscles struggled to hold me. Tossing down the stake in revulsion, I turned around and marched to the tunnel, ignoring the crowd booing and hissing at me.
If you didn’t come in a murderer, this place turned you into one.
“Prisoner 85221!” A man’s voice formally called for me down the passage as I moved out of the tunnel to the main prison area. Footsteps pounded behind me. “Stop.”
“Leave me alone.” I could feel myself breaking with every step, the reality of what I had done tearing into my soul.
“I can’t.” Zander caught up with me, his hands clutching my arms and halting me. “You are still a prisoner.” Zander stepped closer. “And not a very popular one right now.”
“Why?” I exclaimed, tears clamoring up my throat. “I gave them everything they wanted. I killed two people tonight. One of whom was a close acquaintance of mine. What more do they want? Just because I didn’t dagger Rodriguez? I still killed him.”
“You are also General Markos’s daughter.”
“I’m not his daughter.”
“Doesn’t matter. You are close enough. You are important to him, which makes you important to his enemies. Markos’s name is venom within these walls. You are not safe anymore.”
“Was I ever?” I lifted my head, my gaze challenging his. “From the moment I walked in, I have been singled out far more than anyone else.”
“That’s because there is something about you.
Good or bad. Admiration or hate. You are a magnet for them both.
” One hand dropped away from my arm, cupping my dirty and bloodied cheek gently.
“The instant you walked up, I felt it. A lure. The scales tipping one way or the other. I just didn’t expect the side I would end up on. ”
He was so close, his warm consoling hand on my face while the sounds of cheers and chants came from the pit, signaling the final fight of the night. Lost, grieving, and barely standing, I longed for safety. Comfort. To not feel or think.
He leaned in closer, his breath grazing my lips. I wanted him to kiss me, to lose myself in pleasure. To forget all the pain and ugliness. He was a warm body who seemed to care about me.
“Brexley,” he whispered my name, his mouth touching mine.
The clang of a cell door closing wailed down the corridor, jolting us back. Reality dumped down on me, the realization of what I was about to do to forget the horrors of the night.
I had sex with Aron, let him be my first because of heartbreak and longing for someone else.
I’d known him since the age of thirteen, and I had brutally killed him, even as he pleaded for me to stop.
And here I was, his gore still warm on my clothes, about to make out with my guard. What kind of person was I?
Suddenly, all I tasted was my victims’ blood. All I felt were their spirits clinging to me, my skin itching so badly I wanted to crawl out of it.
“I need a shower.” Emotions flooded my eyes and heart. I turned away, heading for the bathroom. Zander followed me, where another two guards waited.
I shot Zander a glance.
“Extra protection.” He answered my unspoken question. “What better time to attack you.”
Me, naked in the shower, was the most vulnerable time.
“Can I have a moment?” I asked, the walls around me thinning. “Can you stand outside the door?”
“I’m sorry.” Zander shook his head. “You can’t be left unattended anymore.”
My lips squeezed until I knew they blanched, holding back a sob that swirled on the back of my tongue.
I moved for the shower. A new uniform and undergarments were laid out, with a less worn towel, unused soap, and shampoo with conditioner in it. Those were my perks for killing.
Conditioner and fresh soap for two lives.
Undressing, I let my soiled garments fall to the floor and stepped underneath the stream of water, trying to ignore the eyes on me. I resented them for peeling away another layer in a moment I needed to myself.
The water streamed down on me as I pressed my forehead against the cool tile. I fought back the sobs working up from my gut. I wouldn’t let the guards see me break down, not even the horse-shifter, Zander.
I couldn’t find the energy to move, to lift my arms to my hair, or scrub the blood off my skin. The dirt and stain went so much deeper.
Energy prickled at the back of my neck.
“Get. Out.” A deep timbre thundered through the room, jerking my head around with a jolt. My heart and breath came to a stuttering pause.
Oh, my gods . . .
Warwick, covered in blood and dirt, stood a few steps inside the door.
His dark hair was down and wild around his face, an open wound slashed over his cheek, dried blood at the corner of his mouth.
What was he doing here? His fight had started less than ten minutes ago, but by the dirt and red liquid glinting off his uniform, it was already over.
Meaning he had killed one of the top fighters . . . in minutes.
His presence in this room also confused me. He had never been in this bathroom before. As far as I knew, he had his own. So why was he here? Asking me to leave?
The guards pushed off the walls, but none of them said a word, staring at him cautiously.
“I. Said. Get. Out.” His intense gaze was on me, but his demand was intended for the guards, not me.
“Prisoner—” A guard stepped forward to argue, but Warwick snapped his head toward him, and the guard slunk back, swallowing nervously.
It was as if the world flipped. A prisoner had more power over the people guarding him.
“Farkas, you know we can’t—” Zander stepped up to him.
Warwick puffed out his chest, crossing his arms, not bothering to respond, his power throbbing through the room with domination.
The two lesser sentries looked to Zander for direction, my alarmed gaze also on him. I waited for him to say no, to protect me as he said he would.
Conflict flashed over the horse-shifter, but then he sighed, putting his hands on his hips, and dipped his head in acceptance.
What?!
The three guards filed toward the door without a single word. My mouth dropped as I stared after Zander, unable to find my voice.
“We’ll be right outside.” Zander glanced back at me, concern wrinkling his forehead before he turned around and departed. Leaving me alone.
What the fuck? What happened to the guards protecting me?
Fright held me in place like a cornered animal. Did he plan to assault me? Kill me? Finish the job two others couldn’t? Was that why he was so irritated earlier?
Brexley Kovacs was still alive, which must be rectified.
Emotionless, Warwick watched me for another moment, tension billowing through the room. His gaze never lowered down my naked figure, though phantom fingers touched my skin like they were tracing over my curves, sweeping down my legs and up to my breasts, my nipples hardening, my breath snagging.
Brexley! Anger at myself burned in my throat. This man was probably about to harm me in some cruel way, and I was fantasizing about his touch.
Keeping my chin high and jaw locked, fatigue shook my legs, but I didn’t cower, just faced my death head-on.
Instead of lunging for me, his hands went to the bottom of his shirt, ripping the filthy battle-worn fabric over his head, tossing it onto the ground.
Holy. Shit.
I blinked, my insides locking up. Fear. Shock.
Desire.
He wasn’t some pretty boy type, and I’m not even sure he would be grouped in the rugged category. Warwick Farkas was in a whole league of his own, everything about him severe and overwhelming.
His thick, corded shoulders and arms were the kind you could picture bending a car in half or wrapping around you like a shield.
His torso and chest were carved with muscle and decorated with deep scars and tattoos, a timeline of his life.
Symbols and pattern tattoos scrolled down his arms, and one started at his side and slipped below his pants line.
I couldn’t decipher the meaning of any of them, but there was no denying they were sexy as hell.
He was brutal and sensual, terrifying and captivating.
His cool gaze remained on me while he shoved his pants down, kicking them to the side, along with his boots. Completely naked, he straightened to his full height with no hint of inhibition, displaying his massive physique.
The tattoo on his side curved over his ass and down to his thigh, drawing my gaze with it.
Fuuuuckkkkmmmmeee.
My mind blanked.
He stood fully erect. My gaze couldn’t stop from moving to his deep V-line, my eyes trailing down. Even full of terror, my body responded.
I had seen a lot of naked guys at the academy: fit, toned, ripped, and in all shapes and sizes. I thought I had seen it all—but nothing, I mean nothing—prepared me for Warwick Farkas.