Page 25 of Descent
The inside was a whole other matter.
Zach had left his imprint, seared new scars into my soul, pulled off scabs from old wounds I thought had healed.
“I’m not very good in the kitchen,” she said, filling a pot with water.
“That’s okay. Neither am I.”
She made boxed mac and cheese, and nothing had ever tasted so good—that’s when I realized how starved I was. I’d finished off a second bowl when Jax appeared from the cellar.
I dropped my fork, and Angel froze.
He stood in the archway, face spattered in blood, bruised knuckles forming fists at his sides.
“D-did you kill him?” I asked, shifting on the bench seat.
His jaw hardened. “No, he’ll live…for now.” With a kind of nonchalance I didn’t feel, Jax sauntered to the sink and washed his face, as if he’d come in from working in the yard. “But I know where to find Rafe.”
My heart did a jig in my chest. “Zach told you where he is?”
“Asshole wants to live, so he spilled.” He switched off the faucet and turned, leaning against the counter. “Help will be here in the morning. By this time tomorrow, we should be close to getting our guy back.”
13. The Monster in the Mirror
Rafe
“Boss wants you cleaned up before the fight,” Military Dude announced as he gestured for me to follow him out of my new cell. The space was identical to the one I’d escaped from.
Claustrophobic.
Inducing of insanity.
Windowless.
Another day, another prison cell. Seemed to be the story of my life.
After showering, Shelton’s guy gave me a clean set of clothing then yanked the hood over my head again. The time I’d been dreading was here, and my stomach twisted itself into knots during the drive to wherever this anathema of a fight would take place.
Military Dude pulled me from the vehicle, and raindrops pelted the hood covering my face. By the time we entered a building, the rain had soaked through the borrowed jeans and tank I wore, and my combat boots were caked in mud.
He pulled the hood off, and a din of chaos echoed through my ears. Smoke drifted in the air. The sharp scent of alcohol lingered. Underneath it all, death infiltrated the space. The building was a concrete square, free of windows or furnishings, and a massive cage sat front and center. There were only two ways in and out, manned by men who’d give me a fair fight if we tangled.
This was no barn, and there would be no escape into the night, flames casting the dark sky in an orange glow. Tonight, someone would leave in a body bag, and I couldn’t let it be me.
As Shelton’s guy pushed me toward the entrance, parting the way through a sea of people crowding from all sides, I spotted a drain in the floor. Concrete, just like the rest of the place, only this spot sported evidence of its brutal use. Blood, so much blood, washed away for the next match, though never forgotten in its dark, rusty glory.
That spilt blood told a story of mayhem and sacrifice. Maybe there were some who willingly fought to the death. Last winter, I’d been willing to take out Zach in Shelton’s cage, and I would have if Alex hadn’t let him go.
But my gut told me most were coerced into fighting, and that made facing my opponent more than I could stomach.
Shelton stood in the middle of the cage, decked to the nines in his usual expensive suit, microphone hovering two inches from his wide mouth as he egged the crowd into a deafening roar.
Some of them chanted “Kill, kill, kill!”
They wanted blood, same as the man standing three feet in front of me, smiling like he was hosting a fucking game show where the prize was a vacation to the Bahamas instead of a violent blood bath. The operation took underground fighting to another level, because we were here to become modern day gladiators, introduced in the cage of death with our wrists shackled.
But could I really kill again?
I’d taken lives in the past. Lives of men so evil the justice system’s death penalty would have been a gross injustice. Men who’d done unconscionable things to Alex. Men who would have done unconscionable things to any number of women if I’d allowed them to live.
“Welcome!” Shelton’s voice boomed through the warehouse, kicking off the official start of this horror show, and the chatter fell silent. It was fucking eerie, like the call of birds going quiet at the first hint of disaster. “Tonight is a special night, ladies and gentlemen. You’re about to witness a fight so raw and real, you won’t believe what you’re seeing.” His fingers clamped onto my shoulder. “First in the cage and ready for the fight of his life is Rafe ‘The Choker’ Mason!”
The applause was deafening, sickening, because they knew what was coming. They’d paid to see someone die tonight, their minds so demented and vile they’d made wagers on the outcome. Too much energy flowed through my veins, and I jumped from foot to foot, warming up, getting myself pumped.
