“Where the fuck were your rules when you left me here?” I snap back at him, still in shock from everything that has occurred since we have been down here.
“I told you to stay with me, andwhat did you do? Wander off.” He answers his own question sarcastically, which makes my blood boil, but I am not in the headspace to argue with him. “Honestly, Asha, of all the stupid things to do, this one definitely takes the cake.” I open my mouth to talk, but he interrupts me. “Do you even know who this man is? Who he has fighting in his corner?” I shake my head. “Down here, when blood is spilt, there is always a price.” His words sink in and leave me with a pit in my chest, but I can’t go back. He’s dead, and there’s nothing that is gonna bring him back.
“Would you rather I let him force his cock down my throat?” I say sweetly, though tears threaten to prick at my eyes. Ryder’s body tenses, and I see him grit his teeth.
“I wouldratherhis blood be on my hands, not yours.” He spits. “And if we were anywhere else, I would have you restore him over and over again just so I could kill him myself and make him truly suffer. See, I don’t mind paying the price, but you shouldn’t have to. I don’t want this place to change you as it did to me; you’re too pure for that.” His eyes hold a fire, and I know he is angry with himself for leaving me, but I know better than anyone that it is not a good idea for this man to be feeling angry. I shrug my shoulders and try to play off his last sentence, but it’s true, I do feel different.
“Well, it’s done now. Can we just move on, please?” I sigh, and he gives me a stern nod before exhaling a deep breath.
“This way.” He gestures with his head by nodding in the direction we need to go.
I wade through the crowd and past the fighter’s ring with Ryder at my side. He leads me down a dark alleyway, and we enter another lift-like structure to take us down to the requiredfloor. This lift is metal and lets out a creak whenever we move an inch, making me question its integrity.
The whirring stills and the doors open to a large, muscly man, who is shirtless and covered head to toe in tattoos. He is armed with a cruel-looking machete on his waist and an even crueller expression on his face.
He crosses his arms and grunts at us, blocking our exit from the lift. I gulp and look up at Ryder, who does not seem intimidated at all.
“Here to see Psy.” Ryder makes eye contact with the guard and does not move his eyes from his.
“And you are?” The guard’s voice is deep and vibrates off the elevator walls as he raises a brow at us.
“Tell him Venom is here to see him.” The larger man gives him a nod and calls over another much smaller guard and whispers in his ear. I glance up at Ryder quickly, but he does not meet my gaze.
Venom?This is definitely a part of Ryder I have never seen.
The smaller man disappears into a nearby doorway through a curtain of beads, which rattles as his limbs push through them, and silence eats away at us. The larger man locks eyes with Ryder, and the two have a staring match as I shuffle in my stance uncomfortably.
A minute or two passes, and the beads rattle again, this time with a much older man disturbing them. The large man moves aside.
“When Squid tol’ me that Venom want’d to see me, I just had’t see it for myself.” The man’s long, plaited beard rises as he talks. His dark brown skin, grey and ashy with age. Ryder takes a step forward, and a slow smile spreads across his face.
“It’s me, in the flesh,” Ryder smirks, taking his hood down and holding his arm out as if giving him proof. The man stumbles in closer, staring at him intensely. My breath hitcheswhen I notice the sealed skin where his left eye should be. He examines Ryder with his right eye, a spectacle resting against his lens.
“Well, I’ll be damned.” His accent is northern Palidonian, thick and harsh. I haven’t heard this in a while. “There must be a hell of a somethin’ goin’ on up there for ye to show your face ere, specially wit the Smokies after ya.”
“You could say that.” Ryder exhales, and Psy gives him an understanding look.
“And who have ye brought wit’ ye?” He peers down at me, his brown eye dancing through the thick glass of the spectacle. I go to open my mouth, but Ryder answers for me.
“Just a friend.”
Ouch. That one stings.
I flash the strange man a small smile, and he extends his hand out to me. That’s when I realise his arm. Something must have happened to it because his left arm is almost completely bionic. The black metal is a close match to his skin tone; its gold details shimmer under the sparse neon lights pinned up against the stone walls. I take his hand and shake it gingerly, the mechanics of it whir as he shakes back. He places his ordinary hand on the back of mine, cupping the handshake. His lone eye rolls back in his head, and a strange sensation tingles in my palm. I stumble back, startled, and he drops my hand instantly.
“Interesting.” He tilts his head and analyses me closer, but Ryder steps in between us before he can look too closely.
“Keep your hands to yourself, Psy.” Ryder orders, and the little man backs away from him. “We didn’t come here for your parlour tricks.” I look down at my hand, examining it. What did he just do?
“Then what ye come ere for?” He asks through gappy teeth.
“Not here,” Ryder states, and the man nods to him before ushering us to follow him.
The curtain beads brush past my being and tickle at my eardrums with a light clatter as we enter a dim, smoky room. Wooden floorboards creak under my feet as I follow the guys in front. A small circular table, also wood, sits just off centre in this small windowless space, a bare light bulb swinging above it being the only source of light. Water marks stain the table’s surface in rings of all different sizes, most likely from pints of ale and beers, and a half-empty bottle of something sharp sits shamefully on the wood.
A black tablecloth runs down the centre of the table, and four chairs tuck in around it with a crystal ball resting in the centre, its holder shaped to look like a bare black tree that’s branches twist and turn around the base of the globe. Now I know what Ryder meant by ‘parlour tricks’ and where Psy most likely got his name from.
He’s Psychic.
