“Hey, Jiro,” Haru shouted. “Bet you’re happy your girlfriend survived. You giving her pointers for her next challenge? Why not share with the rest of us? Kai’s the only one safe. The rest of us are doomed.”
“Yeah,” Daiki cut in. “We see you whispering with Akiko. Why hold out on us? Are we not pretty enough?”
Yoshi joined, their voices circling like a mob.
Jiro broke away from me and faced them. “What I do with Akiko is our business,” he said. “She’s my girlfriend. My responsibility.”
“Well, maybe do a better job of it,” Daiki shot back. “She’s locked up while you get to stroll around.”
Jiro stalked to his cell. “You think I’m free? I’m as much a prisoner as you—kidnapped, dragged here the same as the rest. The difference is, you’re locked up because you can cook. I can’t. My choices are slavery or maybe, just maybe, surviving as a Chopman.”
“At least you get to live,” Haru muttered.
“Yeah? And you don’t have to face the Blade challenge like Akiko. Survive your Soemono and you’re done. She gets an hour’s rest and then goes straight back in. So shut your mouths.” He jabbed a finger at them, eyes blazing. “If I hear any of you giving her grief again, I promise—you won’t walk out of here alive.”
I appreciated him, but time was slipping. “Jiro,” I called, waving him back.
“Sorry. I’m on edge.” His voice dropped. “Listen. When you get out there, you’ll see meat hooks—two kinds. Take the small-handled ones. Leave the big handles alone.”
“Why?”
“Don’t know the full rules,” he said, “but you’ll be moving meat. The large-handled hooks look easier, but they’re booby trapped, sharpened to cut flesh, not carry it.”
Boots echoed in the corridor. Chopmen were coming.
“Remember what I said.” Jiro darted to Kai’s cell. “Hurry, give me your costume!”
Kai had already stripped and shoved it through the bars. Jiro snatched it up as the Chopmen marched in, brushing past without a glance. I watched their faces—Masaki wasn’t among them.
One stopped at my cell and unlocked the door. “It’s time.”
Jiro’s words rattled in my head as I stepped out: meat hooks. Two kinds. One to carry, one to cut. I still had no idea what the challenge was. But I knew this: I trusted Jiro with my life.
48
Miki
Ginji’s intermission act had barely ended. As he stepped into the viewing box, his smile vanished, and he snapped.
He hurled food against the wall, shattered glasses at his feet, his voice booming like thunder. A child denied his toy.
I knew why. Everyone in the booth did. Akiko and her partner had survived their Soemono. Worse, they’d flaunted it. They’d stolen his stage, his people, his glory. For once Ginji wasn’t the center of attention. They were.
And he couldn’t stand it.
He composed himself and walked to the front sofa, where I sat in full view of the arena. A fake smile returned to his face, but I saw his lip tremble, the labored breath he forced through his nose. Rage simmered under his skin.
He dropped beside me.
“You think your friend won? She didn’t win. She has three more challenges, each one deadlier than that dumb bitch she faced. What a waste. I even had a Chopman train Keiko for a day and a half—what good did that do?”
He leaned in, his breath hot against my cheek.
“Look at me,” he growled.
I stared straight ahead, frozen. His voice dropped, deadly soft, his grin still on display for the audience.
“If you don’t turn to me with the biggest smile you can fake, I’ll let every man in this arena have his way with you before the night is over. And when the last one is finished… I’ll make a hundred little cuts over your body—slow, shallow, everywhere—then feed you to the sharks circling the island.”
