Page 40 of Down to One
The Deal
Blaze
“Clean your fucking face,” Hahn’s been repeating those words for a while, but it’s only now that they penetrate my brain.
Rolling off the bed, I wobble to the washstand, rinse and wring the cloth, then wipe myself off. My abdomen screams in pain, perhaps because my muscle spasms there were the hardest.
Glancing at Titan, I hold onto his gaze like a tether. His ice-blue gaze is full of compassion. I’m not making that up. It’s real. Though we only started things a little over a day ago, they’ve progressed.
We’ve saved each other’s lives countless times today, but it’s more than that. Beneath the fear andThe Gameand a thousand other pieces of bullshit, there’s something real arcing between us, binding us together.
He heaves out of bed, pries the washcloth out of my hand, and washes me. It’s different from when he did it an hour ago. His gentle touch is pregnant with unspoken words and feelings.
“You think you can outsmart some of the richest people on the planet?” Hahn rants.
I’m pierced with the worst pain I’ve ever experienced in my life. It’s twice as bad as what I just experienced. Thankfully, it only lasts a second. I’d think it was just my nerves going haywire, except it brought both Titan and me to the floor like discarded puppets.
“I hold the power!” Hahn seethes.
Glancing at one of the vid screens, I see his blue face, one of the few parts of his body not covered in thick Cookie-Monster-level fur. If he wasn’t in an expensive suit, his furious, animalistic expression would make me think he was a wild animal.
Suddenly, despite the pain still flaring along every nerve and synapse, I feel engulfed in calm. He’s wrong. Totally wrong. He doesn’t hold the power. I do. Maybe not earlier today, and definitely not an hour from now. But right this minute? I’ve got the upper hand. I just need to use it.
I grab the washcloth and clean Titan, then busy myself with bits of business, not even glancing at the screens until Hahn screams himself out, just like a toddler.
When he finally sputters to a stop, I ask calmly, “Did you like the show?”
His thick-lipped mouth pops open in surprise. I’m sure he expected ranting and railing, which he would have rewarded with more shocks. At the very least, he expected begging and groveling. I’m glad I caught him off guard. I plan on doing that frequently until the end ofThe Game—or the end of my life, whichever comes first.
“Did you like the show?” I ask again with the same inflection as the first time, as if I were a waitress enquiring about the doneness of the beef.
“It was… entertaining,” he splutters.
“If we hadn’t been so rudely interrupted,” I say sweetly, “your viewers would be enjoying our second act by now.” Giving a meaningful glance at Xzavic’s flaccid cock, I add, “Because of the intermission festivities, it will take a while for us to get back to full speed.”
I pause for Hahn to get his mind back on the right track. The right track meaning the greed lane as opposed to the revenge lane.
“I assume you and your consortium have already raked in millions tonight?” While I wait for his response, I marvel at how cool and calm I sound. You’d think I have an MBA and am wearing a power suit in a corporate boardroom, rather than standing here naked in a fucking cave.
“It’s been a profitable evening by all indicators,” he admits.
“I’d like to make it more profitable. Wouldn’t you?” I wait, appearing cool as a cucumber, for him to nod.
“There are a couple of ways this can go. You can shock us until we’re a quivering mass of limbs writhing on the floor. It might feel good momentarily, but it won’t help your bottom line.”
I get a thrill out of his facial transformation. I can tell the moment his assessment of me changes from disdain to interest as he realizes I might have a brain inside my little human head.
“Or,” I say as I pick up our clothes from where we threw them, “you could kill us outright for my bold tongue, but that might earn you the disfavor of your board. On Earth, we’d call what you just did—shocking the shit out of us—killing the goose that laid the golden egg.
“Instead of destroying us, you can order us to get down to business after your viewers return from their commercial break. However, you get what you pay for. Your viewers will get a lackluster show, and you’ll get lackluster returns.”
I shimmy back into the three pieces of clothing I’d already shed and wait for Xzavic to step into his ridiculously sexy Aladdin pants.
“Or, you can… incentivize your livestock into giving the performance of our lives. Send your drones with two laser rifles—” I turn to Xzavic and ask, “or would you prefer a pistol, honey?”
“Pistol,” he says in that deep, reassuring rumble that seems to put my world right-side up again.
“Send us a laser rifle, a laser pistol, and all the battery packs we can carry in a backpack, and your viewers will get front row seats to the show of a lifetime. Hot, sexy blue gladiator with the body of a god. Tiny human who looks so fragile he could squeeze her to death in a hard embrace.
