Page 102 of Scarlet Wars
Jackson and Sean were waiting in the hallway, leaning against the wall with the kind of lazy posture that only came from too much Scotch and too many bad decisions.
Then they both looked up.
Their eyes went wide in perfect unison, mouths parting like they’d been punched in the gut.
Sean clutched his chest. “Jesus Christ, Em.”
Jackson blinked hard, like he needed a full system reboot. “Wow. You look…” His voice cracked halfway through, which was deeply satisfying, before he smiled warmly. “You look like trouble. The expensive kind.”
Sean nodded his head enthusiastically. “You look amazing, sis.”
I arched a brow. “Glad to have your approval, gentlemen.”
Sean grinned like he was twelve and had just discovered fire. “Levi’s gonna pass out when he sees you. Hell, half the cages are.”
“Good,” I said, as I stepped between them and tossed my hair over my shoulder. “Then maybe I’ll get what I came for.”
Jackson groaned into his hands. “We’re going to get killed.”
“Yeah,” Sean said cheerfully, falling into step beside me. “But at least we’ll die proud of our whorish sister.”
I socked him in the arm. He yelped, more offended than hurt, and rubbed the spot like a man nursing a bruise and his ego.
Jackson smirked, palms already glowing. He folded space with the lazy, dangerous grace of someone who’d done it a thousand times. The air pinched, then folded like a curtain, and the hallway stretched into a tunnel of green light. We jumped through the portal together, the world flipping and then snapping back into a new place with a rough shove.
We landed in the alley behind the cages with the subtlety of a dropped bomb. The scent hit us—hot, metallic, a little sweet with spilled alcohol and something fouler under it—punctuated by the thud-pulse of bass from inside.
Neon signs buzzed and threw color across faces that looked like they’d been shaped in hard choices. Men laughed too loud; women sized us up with the kind of cool interest that kept knives far too close to hand.
Jackson swore, then tried to compose himself with the dignity of someone who’d been impressed and offended in the same breath.
Sean slid an arm around my shoulders like we were three idiots on a stupid adventure. “Stick close. Don’t do anything heroic unless you plan on surviving it.” His grin was all warning and promise. I tightened my boot on the cobbles, felt the weight of the night settle around us, and walked forward—heels clicking, heart thudding—into the roar.
We hadn’t even cleared the alley when Levi appeared, leaning against the rusted gate like he’d been waiting just for us. The moment his eyes landed on me, his grin sharpened, like a cat spotting dinner.
“Well, well.” His gaze dragged down, back up, lingering far too long. “You clean up…dangerously.”
I arched a brow. “I dress to kill.”
Sean coughed into his fist, muttering something that sounded like “suicidal.” Jackson simply glared, jaw tight enough to crack a tooth.
Levi pushed off the gate, easy swagger in every step as he closed the distance. “No magic past the doors, house rule. Keeps the fights honest.” He winked like he’d just told me something scandalous. “We’re in the Human World, so don’t even think about cheating. Drinks?”
Before I could answer, he tipped his head and slid into the crowd, cutting through it like he owned the place. Maybe because he did.
The noise pressed in: cheers, jeers, the heavy beat of fists slamming against metal cages. I leaned closer to Sean. “So, what exactly are we watching here?”
Sean’s expression darkened. “Fights to the death.” His voice was flat, a soldier’s cadence. “No refs, no rules. Weapons, fists, whatever you can get your hands on. Last one standing walks out.”
“Walks?” Jackson scoffed. “Crawls, more like.”
I blinked, the roar of the crowd swelling as if to punctuate his words. “People cheer for that?”
Sean’s gaze swept the pit below. “They don’t cheer for the fight. They cheer for the end.”
The ground shuddered as another body hit the floor, and the crowd erupted in a frenzy of cheers, stomps, and howls that rattled the cages.
“Who the hell takes part in such fights?” I asked, wincing as two men dragged the limp fighter out by his ankles like discarded meat.
