“Listen.” Maart says this word calmly, still standing by the door. “You can argue with him all you want, but he’s taking the fuckin’ bottle. If you want to have your fight, right here, right now, well, I’m pretty sure that’s not gonna go over well with the hundred and fifty VIP’s currently placing bets in the topside mess hall. So you should maybe shut the fuck up and back off before he and I kill you and put an end to this night before it starts.”
Anya’s laugh almost startles me. It’s so… I dunno. So out of place here. So musical and happy that I almost ask her to do it again.
What?
I have to shake my head at that last thought.
Her veins might not have Lazar’s blood running through them, but she is the enemy’s daughter.
I lock eyes with her as I cross the room. She lets out a breath like she’s about to piss herself with fear. Good. You should fear me, little girl. Everyone should fear me.
Because inside my chest beats the sickest heart on this whole ship.
And if I win, none of the guests will rest tonight.
I don’t care how many fights they’ve been to—I don’t care how many ways they’ve seen it end—I will give them a show they will never forget.
I will haunt their sleep like a monster.
I will fill their hearts with terror.
I will ruin them… with the memory of me.
One floor down Rainer and Evard are waiting for us. Evard’s eyes go wide when he sees the bottle of bright blue liquid in my hand. I shove it into his chest and he wordlessly clutches it. I catch the mercs standing guard at the command room door eyeing the kid, probably imagining ten or twelve different ways they might steal that bottle from him.
But then one of them—the leader, I think—locks eyes with me. He looks away real quick.
Forget the fact that my “father” is Udulf van Hauten, the man who controls this ship. I might not have an arsenal strapped to my body the way this merc does, but I’m not a guy you fuck with on a whim. It would be a very stupid move to steal that bottle of Lectra from my boy, and that merc gets it.
I go down the stairs and my team follows. This ship is only four years old, but there are others. Older ones, smaller ones that I spent far more time on. Hell, I practically grew up on the Deep Sea Galaxy. But I know my way around the Bull of Light. My last four fights have been hosted here.
My team and I have dedicated quarters on the deck below the command center. I push through a door, take us out onto a catwalk, and then enter the port side structure where my family compartments are.
This is Evard’s first time here, so when I step into the main room and wave everyone forward, it’s his face I concentrate on.
I really like to make the stupid kid happy for some reason. Maybe because I remember all too well what it was like for me when I was his age.
He doesn’t disappoint. His smile is broad and real as he crosses the room and stands in front of the window, looking out at the work happening down below us.
We have a perfect view of the massive crane on the port side. It’s not busy right now, but it’s still something impressive. There are dozens of men down on the deck. It’s actually quite a nice place to people-watch, if you’re into that sort of thing.
“Wow.” Evard is properly impressed.
Rainer walks over and takes the bottle from him, holds it up. “What the fuck are you gonna do with this?”
I grab it, walk into the head, pop the cork, and start pouring out a hundred thousand dollars’ worth of Lectra.
“Jesus Christ.” Maart is behind me, crowding me, grabbing the bottle before I can waste any more. “You don’t pour it out, dickface. We’re gonna drink this later after you win!”
I laugh a little. And that reminds me of the girl. She laughed a little too and I liked the sound of that laugh.
Who is she?
Lazar’s daughter—for lack of a better word—obviously.
But her presence here is a little bit disturbing.
I suddenly crave some alone time so I can think about her a little more. There are two sleeping compartments on either side of the main room with bunk beds. I share with Maart and Evard and Rainer will take the other one. So that’s where I head next.
Maart doesn’t follow. He knows my fight-day routine. Actually, it’s not just a fight-day routine. It’s more like an every-day routine.
At least when I can get it.
There are interviews scheduled in a few hours. I will have to attend so they can get photos of me before the fight, but Maart will do all the talking. So I don’t need to worry about that and I can empty out my head and let my thoughts drift.
I like being alone. If I never had to be around another person, I’d be OK with it.
I slide the pocket door closed and my crew immediately begins chatting. This used to bother me—the idea that they would hold things in when I was around, but talk freely when I wasn’t.
I hate it. I really do. But I’ve learned to live with it. I can’t change who I am.
Maybe I could’ve. Twenty-two years ago, I might’ve been able to change, if things had gone differently.
But that chance slipped out of my control a long way back. And anyway, even if I could change, no one would stop seeing me as the killer they know me to be. So whatever.
I strip out of my traveling clothes and lie down on the bottom bunk naked. Then I close my eyes and think about that girl as my hand drifts down the hard muscles of my stomach.
