Sick fuck. The way he talked about her was creepy as hell.
“I want you to act just like Gabriella,” Martin warned. He pointed at Gabriella on the TV. She appeared scared when put in the ring with a man, but it was all an act. She wasn’t terrified . . . she was pissed. I knew the feeling.
“I want you to look weak and scared,” he advised. “The men get off on it.”
There were so many comebacks I could’ve spat out, but I had to be smart. I was outnumbered, and all of Martin’s men had guns. My sharp tongue wasn’t going to get me out of this mess, only my wits.
“I understand,” I said, trying not to shake with rage. “I can do this.”
Martin touched my shoulder, making me want to rip his arm out of the socket. “I know you can. It’s time.”
He walked out of the room, leaving me to myself. Unfortunately, I only had a second to breathe before two men came in, wearing long dark robes that covered their heads.
“Let’s go,” one of them ordered.
I didn’t resist.
Holding my head high, I followed them through a dark hallway to the cage in the wide-open room where I’d be fighting. They motioned for me to climb up the stairs, and I did, only for them to push me into the ring. I moved to the center and circled around, widening my eyes as if terrified. I knew my role, and I was going to play it right. If I died, Peyton would be left alone; I had to help her. And to do that, I had to do everything I could to survive.
Footsteps pounded on the floor, and I jerked around to see the two robed men being followed by another man, who was strolling behind them. He wasn’t like the men Gabriella had fought in the videos; they were all overweight and moved as slow as molasses.
This guy, however, was in semi-shape and about a hundred pounds on me. What made it worse was that he had a whip in his hand.
The lust in his eyes made me sick.
As soon as he was in the ring, the robed men locked the cage door. There was so much adrenaline coursing through me that I was pretty sure I could rip the cage door open and escape. But if Martin wanted a grueling fight, he was going to get it.
The guy cracked the whip, the sound echoing all around me. I jumped back, and it made him laugh. He licked his lips and raked his disgusting gaze down my body.
“I’m going to enjoy this.”
“So am I,” I snarled back, too low for him to hear.
He circled the ring, and I countered him, averting my gaze to the tinted window that overlooked the cage. I knew Peyton was up there, forced to watch the fight, but I couldn’t see her. The last thing I wanted was for her to get upset and jeopardize the babies.
My sole focus returned to the guy, watching his every move; I knew he was about to attack. He lunged and I jumped out of his way, rolling across the mat to get some distance. However, in doing that, he slapped the whip across the back of my thighs. The pain radiated through my entire body, and I screamed, not out of fear but sheer anger. I dropped to my knees, pretending to be the damsel in distress. The guy charged at me and tackled me to the mat, pressing his body into mine. He slung the whip away so he could use both of his hands to pin my arms above my head.
He held me captive with one hand while he used the other to jerk my sports bra aside and grip my breast. I clenched my teeth so hard that I thought my jaw would break. I wanted to fight back but had to make it good for the camera.
The second the guy’s hand moved to pull down my shorts, I could feel the fire blazing through every fiber of my being. His cock hardened and he pressed it against me; I knew that was where I had to end it.
Pulling my wrists out of his hold, I elbowed him in the face, his blood splattering across the mat. He grunted in pain, but I was nowhere near done. I kneed him in the balls, pounding his face until he rolled off me.
He clutched his face and got to his feet, blood blinding his vision. It gave me time to fix my sports bra and grab the whip. I swung it through the air and repeatedly slashed it across the man’s head. The leather straps marked his body and drew blood everywhere it met skin.
His screams pierced the air, and I enjoyed every second of it. I had never wanted to punish someone as much as I wanted to punish him.
The guy collapsed onto the mat in a puddle of blood, and I circled him, my chest heaving up and down with my rapid breaths. I waited for him to get up, but he didn’t.
“Get up, you worthless sack of shit,” I spat. All that I got in reply was a series of moans. “Fine,” I snarled, storming over to him.
I kicked him so hard in the face that he tumbled across the mat. I thought I heard his neck crack for a second, but my heart was pounding so loud in my ears that I didn’t know for sure.
The cage door opened, and the two robed men came in. One grabbed my arm while the other went to check on my attacker. I was pulled away from the ring, but not before I heard the words that would forever stay ingrained in my mind.
“He’s dead. She killed him.”
And what shocked me more than anything was that it made me happy. I had killed someone, and there was no remorse. None at all.
