Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
TARYN
Red showed up to the room about an hour later to take me to the fight.
I was sitting on the cot, waiting and plotting my moves, when the door opened. He lurched inside, grabbing my arm and pulling me to my feet. Red’s grip on my arm trembled, fingers twitching like they weren’t entirely his anymore.
His skin burned hot against mine.
“This isn’t necessary. I have no intention of escaping without Beck. How could I?” I fluttered my eyelashes for good measure.
With my hair in a ponytail and my cheer uniform on, I’m sure I was the picture of a damsel in distress.
He blinked slowly, pupils unfocused. “Shut up.”
That really wasn’t a good sign. When I’d first met him yesterday, he’d obviously loved the sound of his own voice. Now he struggled to say two words.
We crossed a gravel lot toward a building set a distance back behind the clubhouse—a squat metal building with one roll-up door half raised and light spilling out in harsh white stripes.
The noise inside flowed out to meet us.
Men shouting.
Money slapping tables.
Boots scraping concrete.
Red stumbled once, and I steadied him.
He stared at me in confusion.
“You’re burning up,” I said quietly.
“I’m fine,” he glared at me in denial.
He wasn’t, and we both knew it.
The warehouse was smaller than I expected once we stepped inside.
Not cavernous—just wide enough to pack men shoulder to shoulder around a makeshift ring in the center.
Floodlights hung from steel beams overhead.
A generator hummed near the back wall. Folding chairs circled the ring, and betting tables stood near the west side.
There was one main roll-up door and a smaller side exit.
I also noticed a half-blocked loading dock nearby.
Three exits.
Good.
George dragged a folding chair close to the ring and planted it there like he was staking a claim. “Sit.”
There was a guy already in the ring. I believe I’d remember hearing that Beck was going to fight a guy named Parker.
He was younger than I expected. Leaner than Beck. Built for speed instead of force. Dark hair cropped short, hands already taped, his shoulders loose like he’d rehearsed this moment in his head.
He wasn’t smiling, but he wasn’t posturing either.
He was watching.
His eyes tracked me when George dropped the folding chair beside the ring.
Red hovered behind me, swaying faintly. Sweat rolled down his temple under the lights.
“You’re the girl,” he said, not loud enough for the crowd.
I didn’t answer.
His gaze flicked to Red swaying behind me, then to Bubba near the ropes.
“What’s wrong with them?” he asked, almost to himself, sounding confused.
That was interesting.
He saw it too.
They were deteriorating fast.
He pushed off the ropes and turned his back to me.
A woman detached herself from the wall and came toward me.
Biddy.
Her hair was messy around her shoulders. Mascara smudged. It looked like someone had a wild night.
“You don’t look as scared as you should be, cheerleader bitch.” She sneered.
“I’m not scared,” I replied, keeping my face blank.
Her eyes flicked to Red, then Bubba. “They ain’t right. Did you see anything while y’all were on the road?” She turned her attention to me and asked reluctantly.
“Maybe.” I was trying to decide how this could best fit into my plans.
A cough ripped through the crowd. Someone snapped for the guy to shut the fuck up. Things were going bad fast.
The air felt tight and too hot.
Then the side door opened.
I didn’t look up immediately because I was still finalizing everything in my head.
I felt him first.
The noise shifted around him. Subtle, yet instinctive. Like men unconsciously stepping out of the way of something stronger.
I’d felt this before, in another warehouse just a few days ago.
When I finally lifted my gaze—
There he was.
Floodlights carved him from shadow—broad shoulders, black hair, green eyes, shoulders held back in arrogance like he already knew how this would end. His jaw was set, and his eyes were on me.
There was blood on his knuckles that I wasn’t surprised in the least to see.
He looked dangerous.
And so very much alive.
God help me, he looked unfairly handsome standing under that light like he’d been built specifically for this kind of world.
For a split second, the noise dulled.
Those green eyes looked at me like nothing else in the world existed. Like I was the only fixed point in a room full of variables.
Heat flickered low in my stomach; unfortunate, inconvenient, but undeniable.
This was a warehouse full of armed men, several of whom were on the verge of becoming those things we’d seen yesterday. And all I could think was: Mine.
He tilted his head in question.
I lifted my chin and looked him directly in the eye, confident he could read my thoughts.
Beck smirked even as his chest puffed out slightly and lifted the ropes to step into the ring.
The canvas dipped under his weight. The sound of it carried, soft but solid, and something in my chest answered it.
He glanced in my direction once more, not to see if I was scared, because he knew better than that, but to see if my plan was ready.
I gave him nothing but a steady stare, not wanting to alert anyone that might be looking at me.
Then the bell rang.
Parker was fast.
Lighter on his feet.
He darted in and out, testing Beck’s guard. The crowd roared in approval, pressing closer to the ropes. Money changed hands near my shoulder.
The noise in the warehouse was amplified.
Metal walls turned shouts into thunder. Boots striking concrete felt like drumbeats. It seemed like every surge of noise rolled outward and bounced back, thicker, louder.
Red swayed behind me.
Each burst of shouting made his shoulders twitch. His breath came shorter now, faster. Sweat dripped from his chin onto the back of my chair.
I leaned forward, not wanting the fluid to touch my skin.
Bubba barked at a man near the betting tables holding a wooden baseball bat, and Red flinched.
Interesting.
The louder the room got—
The worse he looked.
Parker landed a quick jab, and the crowd exploded.
Red sucked in a sharp breath as if it hurt him, then his jaw tightened. I noticed his eyes lost focus for half a second.
George leaned down near my ear. “Your boy better start looking tired, or you’re going to be mine,” he licked the side of my face.
I couldn’t hide my flinch, but I didn’t say anything.
I was busy watching Red.
Watching the way his hands flexed at his sides.
Watching the way, every spike of aggression rippled through him.
This wasn’t random.
It was reactive.
Noise.
Stress.
Contact.
The fight wasn’t the danger.
The room was.
Parker circled left, but Beck adjusted.
Someone in the crowd shoved someone else. Another surge of shouting erupted.
Red stumbled into the back of my chair.
Bubba grabbed his arm. “Stand up, damn it.”
Red’s head snapped toward him.
Too sharp.
Too quick.
I stood, slowly. Keeping my movements calm and steady. The legs of my chair scraped concrete, adding one more shriek of sound to the already loud room.
Red shifted with me.
His balance wasn’t steady.
I subtly stepped back into him. Not too hard but just enough.
He stumbled forward into Bubba’s chest, and without thinking, Bubba shoved him hard.
The crowd shouted as the fight intensified.
And something inside of Red broke.
It was fast and ugly… and wet.
Teeth sank into the inside of Bubba’s forearm. Deep. His scream tore through the warehouse and bounced off the metal walls until it sounded like ten men were screaming instead of one.
The fight in the ring faltered.
Parker stepped back in shock.
Beck, on the other hand, wasn’t at all surprised and had a proud smile on his face as he stared in my direction.
Red ripped free, blood running down his chin, eyes unfocused and wild. Bubba staggered backward, clutching his arm.
“You stupid—” Bubba started.
Then he dropped to his knees and began convulsing… hard.
The crowd surged forward, trying to see where the screaming was coming from.
The man who was holding the bat came closer, trying to figure out what he was looking at, when Red launched himself at him and bit out his throat.
I grabbed the bat he’d dropped and backed up quickly, holding it at the ready. I wasn’t a damsel in distress, hoping my man would come in time to save me. Any one of these infected bastards who came near me was going to find that out the hard way.
For a half-second, nobody could believe what they were seeing.
Then Bubba surged back up, like something pulled by a wire. He lunged for the nearest body.
More teeth.
Now the screaming multiplied.
Someone fired a gun.
The metal walls turned it into thunder.
I saw Parker stumble against the ropes as one of the Beasts of Prey barreled into the ring, clawing at the canvas to stand.
“Get back!” someone yelled.
Another infected crashed through the betting table, and money scattered. Chairs flipped.
George grabbed my arm hard. “You move toward that door and I—
I twisted and swung the bat as hard as I could. He let go with a grunt, staggering back, clutching his ribs. I moved toward the ring, but before I could get far, Biddy grabbed my sleeve and shrieked. “What the hell is happening?”
Another body hit the concrete, and I shook her off.
Parker swung at one that came through the ropes and landed the hit clean. It didn’t seem to matter because the infected didn’t flinch.
Parker yelled to Beck, eyes wide and frightened, “What the fuck is this?”
Beck didn’t respond as our eyes met. I tilted the bat toward the loading dock exit. He struck the attacker’s temple with his fist, pushed the body off the canvas, and vaulted over the ropes.
I expected him to head in my direction, but he grabbed one of the wooden chairs, broke the leg, and headed toward George. When George noticed him, he pulled his fist back to hit Beck, but before he made contact, Beck ducked, then came up and jammed the splintered chair leg into his eye.
“I told you to keep your filthy eyes off my girl. Now you don’t have a choice.” Beck laughed.
My mouth dropped open in shock. Damn, he was a man not to be fucked with, and I was glad he was on my side.
Prez was screaming for someone to close the doors. What a freaking moron. That was exactly the wrong instinct.
Two more infected burst through the partially open bay door, apparently drawn by the gunfire and shouting. One headed toward me, but before it could make contact, I swung the bat so hard I caved in its skull, breaking its jaw simultaneously.
The warehouse was a cage now. Everyone who stayed in it was either going to become infected or dinner. I had no intentions of being either.
Biddy screamed behind me in horror at the sight of an infected munching on the guts of a man who was still alive and screaming in agony.
“Run, you fucking idiot!” I growled at her, wiping the blood off my bat on her shirt.
She looked down at herself in horror, but did as I told her. I figured that would get her attention.
Parker hit the ground hard as an infected tackled him from the side. He rolled, panic flashing across his face, and barely kicked it off before it could sink its teeth into him.
He then glanced desperately in Beck’s direction.
Beck didn’t pause or attempt to assist him. He was like a missile headed straight for me.
He grabbed my wrist and glanced down at the infected that had attacked me. “You become more perfect for me every day. Now we need to get the fuck out of here.” Beck pulled me in for a quick, rough kiss.
I touched my lips, slightly dazed by the tingling his touch left behind. “Wow,” I muttered.
Beck smirked at my reaction. “There’s more where that came from, but I think we could find somewhere with a little better ambiance.”
Gunshots erupted again, this time from outside. The roar of motorcycles cut through the chaos like a blade, and the bay door jerked higher.
Steele Reapers.
And behind the beam of headlights—infected.
Beck’s father stepped forward from between two bikes, the weight of his cut hanging heavy on his shoulders.
He didn’t look surprised to see us.
Behind him, the Reapers drove noise toward the warehouse entrance. They were revving engines, spotlight beams sweeping.
And just beyond that light—
Movement.
Shapes drawn by the sound.
Infected spilling toward the open door like moths to flame.
Beck’s father lifted his chin in greeting, “Hello, son. Did you lose something?”
A guy wearing the Steele Reapers cut was rolling Beck’s bike toward us.
“Thanks.” Beck grabbed his bike and straddled it.
I looped my bat into his saddlebags, then hopped on and wrapped my arms around his waist. That thing was coming with me from now on. It had brought us luck.
“Let’s get the fuck out of here.” A guy standing beside Beck’s dad mumbled, not peeling his eyes away from the warehouse. “I hate those bastards, but this shit is fucked up.”
The screaming from the warehouse intensified. The Beasts of Prey weren’t fighting us anymore. They were fighting to survive what they’d trapped themselves inside with.
Parker and Biddy ran past us. If they were smart, they’d get on a bike. Those two may be the only survivors of the Birds of Prey by the end of today.
The warehouse collapsed into screaming as gunfire and screeching metal behind us.
And for the first time since we’d been captured—
I smiled. Evil queen indeed.