Dig looked down at me as he held me against his chest. One arm around my back, the other under my legs. I think he was expecting me to say something, maybe give a scoff or a response but all I did was look up at him, glassy eyed.
I shook.
He felt it.
He frowned.
He set me carefully on the chair next to the man bleeding into the kiddie pool.
“What…what happened?” My hands were shivering and I didn’t know why.
I was suddenly very aware that I was in the middle of an Execution Battle, that there was a stab wound on my side and my arm, both of which had nearly bled me out. That the man who had come to kidnap me towered over with incredible strength. I had witnessed the might and ferocity of Dig Graves, he could squeeze my head like a grape if he wanted. Any desire was his to fulfill.
“I came and got you.” The shadow of his hood brushed against his jaw line.
“The motorbike…”
“Outta fuel now.” He strolled to a dresser, snatching a glass of water. “I found it in my first year. Took four years to siphon enough fuel just for that one trip. I was saving it for an emergency.”
“Where are we?”
“Home.”
“Your home? You made yourself a home in the Battle arena?”
“A few years back I got some carpentry equipment from an old warehouse and built a fake wall and front door.” He pointed outside the door, towards the inner of the apartment. “People try to get in through the wrong door which leads them back to the apartment next door. We’re practically invisible in here. And I soundproofed it.” He leaned down, his scent of leather and fresh laundry curling across my nose. A smirk stamped into him. “You can scream as loud as you want now, no one’s going to hear you. And I’m going to make you scream until your fucking lungs give out.”
I looked up at him with an open mouth, my mind foggy. “That’s…nice.”
“Drink.” He pressed the glass of water into my hand.
I accepted the glass, looking down, feeling like I was about to drown into it.
The upside-down bloody man next to me muffled through his gag. Fresh tears sprouted in his eyes.
“Who’s that?” I asked.
“Just a guest.”
I waved to the man. “Hello, good day. How are you?”
Dig Graves ripped the gag from out of the man’s mouth. “Say ‘hello.’”
The man immediately dumped into excessive crying.
“She said ‘hello!’” Dig punched the man in the stomach. “Say ‘hello,’ back!” He pulled out a small knife from his pocket and angled it under the man’s throat. “Be fucking polite.”
After feeling the sharp metal, the upside-down man sucked in a gasp. His red veined eyes drew to me. “H—h—hello.”
Dig deepened his voice. “Ask her how she’s going.”
“H—how—how—are you?”
I pursed my lips and swirled my water, thinking on this. “Not so good. I’m having a particularly bad day. My nails are jagged. How are you going?”
“Help me.”
“With what?”
