Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
JAX
Once a day, the most generous Ezkai guards allow us, the lowlifes and criminals, to stretch our legs outside our cells.
Of course, we don’t go outside. The sun and fresh air is the privilege only criminals who haven’t gotten caught can indulge in. Two Ezkai I only met today for the first time escort me through the winding corridors to what I call our play area.
I miss my lovely Katerina. These two new Ezkai are no fun. Even Mister Caterpillar is better than these silent statues carved out of the most lavish marble.
When we emerge into a large stone room with carved cave-like walls and ceilings, I inhale deeply. Human-sized stalactites hang above our heads like sharp blades, ready to strike at any moment.
The air here is less stale than in the cells. If I close my eyes, I can almost pretend I’m outside.
Almost.
Never before did I think I’d miss the sun kissing my cheeks, or the wind rustling my hair. It always was such an inconvenience before.
Ah, who could blame me? Back home in Emera—before my exile, of course—never once did I see anyone from my family face the consequences of their illegal actions.
In Emera, the Kregger family is untouchable.
Even though there isn’t much that would make my father regret he sired me even more than he already does, I’m pretty sure me being here, buried alive under the Ezkai Castle, might deepen his regret.
Jax Kregger, ladies and gentlemen, the walking never-ending series of disappointments.
With a sigh, I look around the place. A group of prisoners sit in one corner against the wall, playing dice and cards. There is no money here, so they gamble for smokes and candy.
Who would have thought big scary criminals have a sweet tooth, eh? Makes sense, when you think about it. The sugar rush is the only source of real joy here.
Not all these bastards are as lucky as I am, once in a while. Those scarce visits at night from my dear Phoenix are the only thing that brings me joy.
Even the sweetest candy can’t compare.
Another group plays ball farther down the hall. Some prisoners are shirtless, their sweaty bodies riddled with tattoos. Some tattoos done well, true pieces of art, while others are messy and jagged, clearly done right here in the prison.
Suddenly, I’m aware that my Ezkai guards are gone. I look behind me to find an empty space.
“Huh,” I murmur.
That’s a first.
I’m so baffled to be by myself outside my cell, I don’t even know what to do with my newfound freedom.
Other prisoners have cellmates. I’m pretty sure I’m the only one who’s in solitary. Must be part of my punishment.
General Slayers don’t get to socialize.
On my left, I see an empty bench. Whistling a tune, I prowl towards it. As I pass the prisoners, every single one glances my way. None speak to me, though. Not even as I dip my chin in acknowledgment or greet them.
Oh, well.
I sit down on the bench and observe my fellow inmates from afar. Interesting. My personal Ezkai are not the only ones missing. I can see no other Ezkai guards patrolling the perimeter.
That’s awfully strange.
Unfortunately for me, I notice two inmates heading my way too late to get my ass out of the play area.
I have seen these two before. Their hair is long, woven into a single thin braid reaching all the way to their waist. Neither wears a shirt, but they don’t need to. The tattoos that cover every inch of their skin are like armor.
One has a scar that goes down the left side of his face, right through his eye. Unfortunate. I bet he used to be a ladies man before he was mauled by a bear.
Or a huge knife.
Could have even been a sword.
I’m not an expert.
“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” I say, flashing them a smile. “Came here to invite me to join your card game? I must warn you—I’m rather good with the dice. You definitely want me playing for your team.”
I don’t get an answer. At least, not a verbal one.
Scar Face grabs me by the shirt and swings a punch straight at my jaw. The impact might have rearranged my face, which I don’t appreciate.
Ignoring the pain, I spit out the blood and turn to face my attacker. I can barely manage a smile before another punch comes.
This time around, my ribs suffer.
Huffing a laugh, I bend forward. This motherfucker.
Scar Face tries to knee me in the face, but I block the move with crossed forearms. He grunts, and I straighten my back.
A wink.
I punch his square jaw, and before he can recover, I show his crooked nose some tough love, too. He stumbles back a few steps, blood pouring from his nostrils. His friend charges at me with a roar, fists swinging. With my bent knee, I catch his side, which makes him pause and groan.
Disregarding the blood, Scar Face comes at me, too.
I love a good threesome.
As they attack, I dodge and block, swift as wind. As a true gentleman, I allow them to get their blows in first.
Then, it’s my time.
Just as Scar Face swings a fist at me, I move sideways and get a good grip on the back of his forearm. Using his bodyweight and momentum against him, I twist his arm behind his back until I hear the satisfying pop as his shoulder slides out of its socket.
I let go of his limp arm and kick the backs of his knees. He stumbles down with a scream full of agony.
His comrade is on me before I get a moment to gloat. He catches the side of my face with a fist, splitting my lip.
Very ungentlemanly, I punch the middle of his throat. He chokes, eyes wide. Holding his head on both sides, I slam it down onto my knee. With a grunt, he loses balance and falls to his knees.
I whirl on my heel to see how Scar Face is doing.
A large fist meets me the second I do. The impact of the punch rattles my skull, my head dizzy.
I step away, trying to put the distance between me and my new attacker, who just joined in on the fun.
A foursome is where I draw the line.
Too many limbs, easy to lose track.
Somebody shoves me from behind, and before I can steady myself, the new friend punches me in the gut. I don’t get a moment to recover before a knee flies to the side of my head.
I hit the hard, cold ground with a grunt. I don’t even know who kicks me in the gut, making me want to puke my lunch out.
Spirits of the gods might be watching over me, because after the second kick, a whistle pierces the sweat- and blood-drenched air. Shouts come from the distance, bouncing off the cave-like walls.
“Move out! Stand down! NOW!”
I cough, every inch of my body aching. Someone fists the back of my hair and pulls my head up.
“The only way out of your contract is death,” Scar Face sneers at me and then spits in my face. Mmmm. Thick, smoke-infused saliva mixed with blood. My favorite. “Talbots send their best regards.”
Well, shit.
Even in prison, I won’t find reprieve from mistakes I made in the past. Not until I draw my last breath.
Maybe Father was right, after all.