Chapter 19
NINETEEN
LIAM
It’s hard not to be afraid when faced with the sight of nineteen other men, knowing only one of us will remain in this world.
Within an hour, most of us will be mangled sacks of meat. And one person will be at least three hundred thousand pounds richer. If the betting’s good, the bonus on top could bump it up a fair bit.
Some of the men look more afraid than others. All look desperate. You don’t take odds like this unless you really need the money. Or you’re a bit tapped. There’s a guy across the bowl who looks like that. Hard eyes. Nothing behind them.
The men who don’t care whether they die are often the ones who live. There’s freedom in having nothing. Not so long ago, that was me. Now I have Kat to live for.
Or to die for.
I’ve given the organiser a letter, as some of the guys do.
Just in case. A letter to Kat telling her to stop the list if I don’t come home.
To convince her parents that she dumped me and wangle the house out of them now that I’m gone.
And the life insurance documents, in case she still needs the money.
I’m not afraid of dying. But I’m afraid of disappointing my girl.
The bowl is more miserable than I imagined.
Not that I pictured it like a fucking fairy circle or anything, but it’s grim.
Angled sides that have us standing, tipped toward the middle, making our footing awkward.
The sides are too high to reach once you’re inside, and there are no ladders.
Nothing at all. There are only two ways out.
Win. Or die. The slightly recessed square in the centre stays shut until the end, then opens so the bodies can slide out like mashed-up human soup.
What a way to go.
I’ve watched one fight here, when I first started out at eighteen. The boss makes everyone watch one to remind us that, more often than not, we’ll die here. The draw of quick cash to desperate people outweighs the sense to stay away.
He was right. Look at me now.
The crowd jeers above, clamouring for bloodshed and the shouting of bets.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
My pulse threatens to burst out of my throat while perspiration drips down my cheek.
And we wait. Eyes flicking from person to person. Sizing each other up. That damn signal taking hours to come in our heads.
I’ve picked my fight. A guy who’s a little bigger than me, but stringy with it. Let’s hope he lets me keep our fight going long enough for the others to exhaust themselves.
Planning doesn’t always run smoothly.
Kat’s face is there behind my eyes as I let them close briefly. And the true guilt of what I’m doing hits. The lies. The betrayal.
Fuck.
This is a mistak—
The deafening siren makes me wince as everyone freezes for a few breaths.
A sickening crack to my left kicks me into action, sprinting across the sloped floor of the bowl and into the chest of my target. He grunts as we go down, turning over in a flurry of fists.
‘Keep it going,’ I whisper in his ear, making it look like I’m biting him.
‘What?’ he says, fingers scraping at my neck.
‘We need to look like we’re giving a good fight, to outlast as many others as we can.’ He smacks me as I speak, and we roll over.
‘That’s fucking cheating.’
‘It’s being smart. Go into the end tired, and you may as well just let me snap your neck right here.’
‘I’ll still kill you.’
‘Good, just make it look like it for a while before you do.’
With an almost imperceptible nod, we flail and pin and roll through the increasing mess of the others.
It’s too manic to take stock at first. The repetitive sound of fists and feet meeting flesh and bone. Screams turn to begging. Rage turns to sobs.
My tussle-buddy lands a sharp blow to my throat, and the look he gives me tells me he’s done pretending.
Fuck.
It’s too soon.
I take a punch to the jaw and curse, spinning away and getting into a crouch. The fucker’s on me, teeth gnashing and fingers tearing. Swinging my knee up, I get him right in the bollocks.
No one said it had to be gentlemanly.
‘Fuck you,’ he screams as he falls backwards into a puddle of someone else's blood. Bringing my boot down hard, I crush his windpipe, briefly wondering what brought him to his end here in this fucking pit.
Taking a stuttering breath, I’m overwhelmed by the noise and carnage around me. It’s gladiatorial. A battle for those who have, brought by the desecrated flesh of those who don’t.
A young guy cries for his mum, throwing me to a place in my head I hate to be. The past. Despite knowing the kid’s not going to live through this, I attack the brute who’s choking him. Wrestling him to the ground, I see red, and this time Kat’s not here to draw me out of it.
It takes six punches to render his face unrecognisable. Another six before he stops struggling beneath me. I look up to the kid, whose purple face gapes back. His eyes bulge red. The dead-eyed man throws him to the ground, leaving the belt he’d used around the kid’s neck.
He walks toward me, soaked in scarlet to the skin. His chest rises and falls sharply. Fists fly, and he’s strong, arms like bloody tree trunks. Pain explodes as he catches my cheekbone, stars blistering my eyes.
Turning, I catch him in the throat, a sharp inhale catching. My foot slips on a river of blood, and I go down, hitting my head hard. The world lurches around me, and the last thing I see before I close my eyes is someone springing in from the side and tackling my attacker.
Deep, piercing pain radiates through my head as I wait for one of them to come and finish me off.
I almost give in to the darkness closing around me until I see a flash of Kat there.
Little Kat in the river. Kat in the coffee shop with Ellie.
My heart stone around her neck. Her heartbeat against my chest as we kiss.
Noise softens around me, and I worry that I’m dying anyway. The screams and smacks and bone snaps sound so far away.
But I’m alive.
I force open one eye and see brains spilling from a caved-in face right beside me.
My eye won’t open fully. A problem for later.
I need to win this for Kat. And for all the kids who still need me to finish the list.
There are only two men left. Both breathe heavily while circling each other. The crowd grows noisier above, excitement reaching fever pitch.
Both guys are in a bad way. One keeps stumbling and falls to his knees, while the other is clutching one arm that looks like it was put on backwards. The one standing kicks the other down and presses his boot into his neck, putting his full weight on it.
It takes everything for me to force myself to my feet. The crowd goes wild. They see me. But the other man must believe they cheer for him.
He doesn’t see me tear a broken and exposed arm bone from a body. It’s sharp. And still warm. Which sets my stomach churning.
Every step I take toward him hurts. The room keeps spinning and lurching. Pain screams as I approach him, bone lifted in the air.
He’s too busy congratulating himself.
Until someone yells out to look behind him.
He does.
Too late.
I shove the spiky broken bone into his throat. Surprise registers in his dark eyes, his mouth opening.
‘Tell Molly…’ He doesn’t finish his sentence, falling backwards as blood gushes from the wound, the bone still in my hand. Turning slowly, I look for any others who might still breathe.
There are none.
There’s no satisfaction in their deaths. Numbness fills my body. I fall to my knees, my head splitting with pain.
‘Liam,’ someone shouts from above. I look up, but it’s the last thing I see before I collapse onto the bloody floor.