I wake up with a start. “What?”
“Up!”
I’m about to say I’m fucking tied down, but my hands and legs are free. I was so deeply asleep that I missed being unshackled. I stumble to my feet, groggy and dizzy. I blink until the man in front of me becomes clearer. There’s hardness in his eyes that tightens my throat. He seems older than me by about thirty years and shorter by at least a head, but I know how to spot a tough motherfucker when I see one.
“Stand straight!”
I do, and my stiff back cracks.
“Turn around.” When I do, he raises my shirt and chuckles. “How will you explain your back to them?”
I don’t answer, since we both know I’ll need my fists to do the talking.
“Face me. You address me as Master Trainer from now on. Even when you dream of me at night—which you will—you better show respect. You get me?”
“Yes, sir.”
He slaps the side of my head. “Yougetme?”
“Yes, Master Trainer!”
“I’m here to make sure you maggots win as many games as possible. When you lose, I don’t get paid, so you better deliver me wins, or I’ll tell Elijah you’re becoming a burden. There are worse places to be sold off to.” He picks up a pair of shorts from the floor. “You train in these seven days a week. There’s plastic on the front to protect your little nuts. I’ll soon make a decision on which level to put you in, and that will determine the games you’ll fight in. We have five levels in total, with level one being the highest. You won’t be level one anytime soon, I can promise you that. Why the fuck aren’t you in your shorts yet?”
I get dressed quickly, and he gives me a minute to wash my face and brush my teeth. He then leads me outside into a sunny day with no clouds, but the air is chilly against my bare skin. About thirty men are already warming up, most in better shape than I ever was, though it’s impossible to miss the bruises on their bodies.
“Food’s over there. Don’t eat too much, or you’ll throw up once you get punched in the gut.”
I sit by a long table and put some food on a plate. Without needing to look behind me, I can feeldozens of eyes aimed at my back. I’m like a sitting target, but I can do nothing but wait to see how things play out. I’ve no intention of causing problems, but Ialso can’t give the impression that I’m willing to take shit from the other fighters. If they test me, I’ll stand my ground.
I eat just enough to provide my body with energy, but I drink a lot of water because fluids are the first thing you lose in training. I take a deep breath before walking to the training area, ignoring the glares from all directions. Master Trainer orders me to jog around the premises ten times to get warmed up. I do as he says, breathing through the aches across my healing body. Then it’s time to practice combat. I’m given a training stick and paired with a guy who’s supposed to be level four. He spits on the ground, tapping his stick against his palm.
“Where’s your tat, fresh meat?”
“I used a strong soap.”
He snorts. “Yeah, I’ll make you dirty in a second, pretty boy. Time to see how we do things in Denver.”
I notice many of the others have gathered to watch, with Master Trainer standing close by. I can’t help but feel they’re all waiting to witness me get my ass kicked.
The Raider in front of me lunges, swinging his stick at my shoulder. I jump out of the way in time, but he’s already swinging again. I dodge again but get a kick to my ribs a second later. He’s barefoot, but I still grunt in pain. Before I can prepare myself, he attacks again. I raise my stick and hit his wrist, knowing I’ve made a mistake when I hear a bone breaking. He screams and goes down on his knees, his hand dangling in the wrong direction.
“The fuck you think you’re doing?” Master Trainer roars.“This is practice!”
“Let me have him,” a massive Raider says. He and some of the others move toward me. I hold tightly to my stick, standing in place and trying not to show fear.
“Quiet!”
The shouting dies down instantly. Everyone stands at attention, and I automatically do the same. Elijah strides over and stops in front of me. I expect to get punched in the face, but he tells me and Master Trainer to follow him.
We walk away from the rest, and when we’re out of earshot, Elijah turns around and hisses, “What the fuck are you playing at?”
“What?”
He holds a piece of paper. “Why did I get a letter from Hectortelling me to include you in today’s game?”
I swallow what little spit I have in my mouth. “Today?”
“Did I stutter? Is this part of a plan to take down my house? Does…” He lowers his voice. “Does Hector have a deal with House Fernandez? Or is it with House Jackson?”
