Poison, I remember suddenly. My voice is too soft as I try to shout.
The Serb puts in a metal tooth guard. My gladiator puts in a plastic one. It’s clear and much better. Less like a car grille.
I loll in the cage, like I’m a toy stuffed with foam. Never have I felt so lost.
Well-dressed people come into the gym. Men in suits and women in dresses and high heels. I hate them for coming. They file by my cage and some reach in to pet me.
Don’t touch me!
Egorov was clever to drug me because when I try to snarl, I fail. And when I kick at the hands I mostly just bang against the bars. The spectators laugh and pinch me. Then one man manages to get his hands into the cage while standing behind me and grips my breasts.
I’m helpless to get him off and screech in fury as the crowd leers and laughs. Then something slams into him and the side of the cage. The man falls backward, almost pulling the cage over onto its side. A bodyguard rushes over and grabs the cage to steady me, snapping at the guy and forcing the other spectators to walk around him.
One of the club’s henchmen lifts the object that hit the man, and I realize it’s a wooden stool from next to the ring. My gladiator’s. The man who manhandled me stumbles to his feet. His head’s bleeding, and he’s holding his arm like it might be broken from being wrenched through the bars when he fell.
Good.
The crowd stares at me, but they don’t try to touch me again as they move past to their seats. The gladiator glares at the henchman for a moment and then turns and climbs through the massive ropes that enclose the ring. They’re giant too. As if they could be used to pull a barge in from the sea.
Egorov comes to the cage and snarls at me to behave myself. And then, to taunt me, he reaches in and pinches one of my nipples. It’s sharp and unpleasant. He does this to show how easily he can touch and hurt me in my most private places. I would like to kill him.
I say this to him in Russian, but I don’t think he understands me.
Alexei’s head turns and, if looks could kill, Egorov would be lying dead on the floor.
“Be careful,” I whisper to my gladiator.
Even if Alexei wins, Egorov or one of his men may shoot him in the back of the head out of spite. Egorov can’t be trusted. Sudden flashes of Egorov beating one of the strippers pop into my head. At least Alexei is built to defend himself. Monsters are the only ones who should fight other monsters.
A bell sounds, and I realize I’m humming because I stop and my breath catches in my throat. The fight is starting. I can’t watch. I shut my eyes tightly. But I can’t not watch either, so I raise my lids a millimeter.
Fists fly and pound. Bodies fly and crash. Blood sprays. I can’t tell what’s happening because the world is blurry and shivering. My eyes drift shut on and off because they’re so heavy.
Blood splatters on me and I gasp. Whose blood?
The crowd shouts and shouts. Some in outrage and anger and frustration. Others in celebration and joy.
My own blood seems to have drained from my head and upper body. My hands go numb and I sag, feeling faint. The drugs are strong. The bindings cut into my wrists, and I’m aware of the pain… in the distance.
Tilting my head, I look back at the ring where there’s a commotion.
Water drips from the Serb’s hands, and a bucket lies on its side. Alexei points and speaks angrily, but he seems to be holding the ropes to steady himself.
Polasky gets in the ring and smells the wrappings around the Serb’s fists. The crowd falls silent.
Yes, yes, this is what I’ve been trying to tell my gladiator all night.
I can’t follow the English. My head is muddled, and they’re speaking too fast. But then I see them cut the tape off the Serb’s hands, and someone comes forward with more. Alexei examines it and nods.
What was on the Serb fighter’s hands? Poison or drugs?
Good for Alexei for realizing. My monster is smart.
As the world blurs again, I wobble and sag farther. My shoulders and wrists hurt vaguely. I need to watch what happens, but I can’t.
When I wake next, it’s because a blast of icy water is sprayed on my face. I gasp and shiver, struggling to get my eyes open. When my lids finally lift, a henchman with a water bottle peers into the cage at me. A moment later, he’s shoved aside.
Alexei’s eyes lock with mine. His face is bloody and swollen. My head turns, and I see Vlad lying in the ring’s center. Blood bubbles from his mouth, and his eyes are open and glassy. Is he… dead?
