“Ana! Sweetheart, come here. Bring that boy with you.”
Griffin attempted to see through the smoke, but he couldn’t until a young woman appeared out of it. She was tall, but had to be no more than twenty, her charcoal hair plastered to her sweat-soaked skin, her crisp blue gaze eerily unreachable. She held up a man about the same age as her. His eyes were shut, and it appeared she was supporting all of his weight.
“Look at my wife’s new favorite toy.” Harold pinched the man’s cheek, but he didn’t move. “I must say he is making me jealous, though.” Harold stepped out of the room, tugging the others with him so that they all stood in the hallway.
But no one would be bothering them, this was one of Ivan’s many buildings that were used for the worst evils imaginable.
“Ana, make him feel good like you do me, will you, girl?” Harold cracked, slapping Ana on the ass. She wore a single slip of clothing and his fingers burrowed under it.
She let out a soft yelp but followed it with a sickly sweet smile.
“No, I’m on business,” Griffin rejected, eyeing the woman warily. But then she let out a startled grunt and the man she held began to fall. Griffin caught him, taking his dead weight into his arm, managing to keep one free.
It inched towards his pocket. To the carving knife there.
No one would care if Harold died. It would all be better. He could save so many if he ended his life now.
Harold turned towards the door to shut it.
He wants to die.
Griffin reached for his pocket, his hand found the blade, but then cool skin landed on his.
He froze, his eyes flashing up.
Ana shook her head. “Not yet,” she mouthed.
Harold turned, an oversized smile on his face. “Ah, Ana! You are too sweet to our guests.”
“Sir, I think he might be more fond of Oleks. But I know Shar—”
The slap was fast and quick as Harold whipped it out across Ana’s face, but the impact was substantial as she fell back on the ground.
“I told you not to speak her name. Be lucky it was me who heard you. She wouldn’t take it as easy on you.”
It took every single ounce of self-control for Griffin not to retaliate. For him not to swipe across Harold’s neck and end his life. But apparently it wasn’t what Ana wanted, and he also still held an unconscious man.
“Oleks, wake up boy!” Harold went to strike the man in Griffin’s arms.
But Griffin spun a bit. “Actually, she’s right. I would rather have him. Is that okay? I can send money over.”
“I see.” Harold offered a knowing smile. “You sure? He’s been such a pain. And he can’t handle his own at all. He’s always passing out and coughing up blood. Sharon claims heinfected her once too, but still, she won’t keep away from him. Actually, yes you need to take him. No charge, let Oleks be your problem.” Harold bent over, offering Ana a hand and tugging her aggressively off the ground. “You always have the best ideas.” He kissed her on the cheek. “Remind me why you came here again?” Harold’s words slurred as he directed them to Griffin.
The drug is kicking in for him.
Griffin breathed out heavily through his nose. He had come here to gain information about the Creators of the RedemptionGames. The two who had been placed in charge of putting on a show every year now. One that Griffin refused to watch.
About why they were beginning to visit Violencia. If his suspicions were correct, it was only a matter of time before they started their own version here.
Anything to distract the masses from what is actually happening. Put on a bloodthirsty show.
But he decided this wasn’t the time. Not with a literal unconscious man in his arms. “This is more than I needed. I’ll be around again soon though.” The last words were directed to Ana, and he held her eyes as he spoke them.
She inclined her head the tiniest amount.
“Yes, of course. Just remember to be careful leaving here, Ivan likes to set traps across his estates so don’t go off the paths.” Harold waved him away, stumbling back to the door and ripping it open, tugging the woman inside with him.
Griffin’s heart went out to her, but it was clear while she was a victim, there was more to it than that.
