“Going once… going twice…soldto House Powell!”
Before I can digest what happened, I’m dragged down from the platform and away from the cheering crowd. We stop close to the street, and I’ve never been dizzier and thirstier in my life.
The auctioneer comes over looking smug and already smoking another cigar. The man who won walks next to him. He seems to be in his mid-forties, his groomed hair and beardgraying, and his fancy burgundy suit complements his lean frame.
“Caden the Defender,” he says in a deep voice before standing close enough for me to smash my head into his nose, but the hardness in his blue eyes keeps me frozen in place. He holds my chin and tilts my head from side to side. “How did you get him?”
The auctioneer hesitates, likely not wishing to reveal that Hector had something to do with this. I wonder if I should bring it up, but that might make things even worse.
“He and his squad ambushed us,” Jay says. I didn’t even notice him standing close by. “They took out a few of my men, but we kicked their asses and snatched this one as a trophy.”
“And such a fine trophy he is,” the auctioneer says with a clap of his hands. “Elijah, we can settle the payment tomorrow. I’m sure you’re eager to take your new possession to start his training.”
Elijah gives me a once-over. “He’ll need some water and food first. Is this a burn on his neck?”
“He misbehaved.”
“I see.” He tilts his head at two men in similar-looking burgundy suits. They grab my arms and lead me away, and although my instincts are to fight them off, I tell myself that staying in this auction any longer is the last thing I need. They lead me to a parked car. I’ve never seen one of these in working condition. It smells of expensive leather, unlike the horrible scent of gasoline in the buggy I came here with. Once I’m seated in the back seat, the other two slide in from both sides. Elijah enters the passenger seat, and the driver immediately starts to drive.
Unlike earlier with Jay and his buggy, people hurry to move out of the way as we drive between the city streets. I should be asking questions like where they are taking me, but it might cost me another beating.
The man to my left sniffs. “We’ll need to hose him down; he smells like shit.”
“Open a window,” Elijah says, and the man next to me does, letting in a much-needed breeze.
After around fifteen minutes, we reach a different part of the city, with open plains and large private houses; each one seems to have its own piece of land. If Denver truly is this massive, I understand why they need drones to patrol the sky.
We slow down and drive past a tall iron gate before parking in front of a massive structure that can just barely be considered a house. Armed guards and nasty-looking dogs patrol the area, with two drones circling above. There’s an iron fence around the whole premises and a big sign that warns about electrocution.
Once I’m out of the car, Elijah comes to stand in front of me and pulls out a cigar. I wonder if he’s going to burn me like that asshole did earlier. He lights it with a golden lighter and asks, “You smoke?”
“No.”
“Is it illegal in your Hive?”
“We have better things to do.”
“Like getting captured?”
I stop myself from pointing out that I was betrayed and not failed in battle. The less he knows about me, the better. “Can we please talk in private?”
One of the guards smacks the back of my head. “The hell you think you are?”
“I’m not supposed to be here.”
Elijah snorts. “Yet here you are. Clean him up and get him fed. If he causes problems, educate him.”
“Can we tell people he’s a Defender?”
I hold my breath, aware of what it can mean.
“No need,” Elijah says. “They’ll figure it out soon enough. Let’s see how he handles that.”
The other two lead me away. When we reach the back of the house, I see around fifty men practicing. They have obstacle courses and dummies, with most fighters practicing one-on-one combat using sticks. I wonder what they did to end up here. Since most are shirtless, I spot the large tattoos on their backs, all with similar themes of skulls, guns, knives, and blood. I don’t have a tattoo, but I can try to pretend I’m a captive civilian, though I doubt the lie will hold.
We walk to a part of the compound occupied by long wooden structures. They lead me to the smallest one, which is separated from the rest. The air feels stuffy inside, and from the lack of beds, it’s clear that this place is not meant for sleeping. I look around again and realize it’s a stable without horses.
When they finally untie me, I rub my aching wrists and roll my stiff shoulders, unintentionally tugging at the cigar burn on the side of my neck.
