15. 1994

BUNNY

"Let me go!" My socket pops every time I try to wrench my arms out of his hold, sending a stabbing pain shooting down my back. From behind me, I can hear the crowd cheering with joy, watching their own battle for blood. I know the guards wish they were there, witnessing the insanity while getting blown by one of the girls.

I saw them taking advantage before I was ordered away. They're no better than the spectators. In fact, they may even be worse.

Our shadows flicker and twitch in the sputtering light, creating monsters of our bodies on the concrete walls. Watching our distorted shapes as we move farther into the black hallway, fear wraps around my throat. "Where are we going?" I ask, shifting uncomfortably as his hold on my wrist adjusts to the right.

"Ow! Fuck! Stop!"

"Then stop fucking moving. You bitches make this shit hard on your-fucking-selves." As punishment, his hold on me becomes even more unbearable when he pushes my bound wrist higher toward my shoulder blades. At that point, there's nothing I can do but hunch forward and follow the captor holding my chain.

Unlike when we were led down here the first time, this passageway is straight and endless. The only sign of life down here is the minimal brightness coming from underneath the doorways. Similar to when I explored the halls of Marone's mansion, I hear very little behind the wooden slabs, only banging and the occasional screams.

The faint calls for help are enough to send pure terror coursing through my veins, compelling me to try to break free, even while I'm surrounded by darkness. When my fight-or-flight reactivates, I dart forward, instantly regretting my foolish action as my shoulder rips from its socket.

Echoing across the walls, a powerful pop resonates from my arm, followed by my ear-splitting shriek. My knees buckle under the intense pain that runs from the top of my shoulder to the tips of my fingers. I want to collapse onto the ground and hold my dangling limb, but the guards continue walking, dragging me along. They ignore the tears running down my face as easily as they overlook the rapid swelling and bruising bleeding through my skin. My pain is nothing to these people.

I'm nothing.

I'm cattle.

My wails morph into quiet weeps as we approach a solid door at the end of the strip. Light doesn't shine from underneath, and no sounds can be heard coming from the inside. Unfazed by the difference, the guard holding my chain undoes a set of keys from his belt and proceeds to unbolt the lock.

The darkness in the entryway is blacker than the hallway, seizing the air in my lungs. I'm trying to peer into the void, hoping to see anything, when the guard behind me shoves me forward.

My arms are numb from being held so long and now dislocated, leaving me no opportunity to catch myself before my knees hit the ground. Days of malnourishment leave my bones brittle. I can feel them crack as I crash to the floor.

"Wait!" I call with tears in my eyes, crying out to a door that's already closing. In a heartbeat, I'm drowning in impenetrable darkness, shaking with fear. Bottom lip trapped between my teeth, I nervously shuffle in a circle, searching for anything in the shadows.

I start to believe I'm alone when a dull beige glow lights the room. It comes from my back, so quickly, I scoot on my ass, arm dangling painfully against my side. My eyes meet scarred, muscled calves first. Thick, white bands run in haphazard directions all across warm ivory skin, twisting around hard, sculpted curves.

The sunken divots guide my stare, leading me past a thin, gun-metal towel wrapped around taut, tapered hips. As my gaze latches onto the narrow trail of hair beneath an innie belly button, I focus on the prominent bulge pressing against the rough material of the rag. Pressure forms in the pit of my stomach, jarring me out of my stupor.

Almost regretfully, I roll my stare upwards through the deep valley of hardened abdominals and the hollow between damaged and disfigured pectorals. I knew who I was going to. Marone warned me the minute he stepped into the ring. I saw him fight. I witnessed him slash and gut a man who could barely stand in a matter of minutes. But seeing him this close—the rage in his body, the hate in his eyes, I didn't realize how beautiful he was.

Without all the blood covering his skin, he's…wow. I don't think I've ever seen anyone who could compare. Still, I don't allow the ripples crashing within his oceanic eyes to distract me from the blood staining his hands.

Standing tall and dripping wet, the man named Blade towers above me, looking at nothing but my lopsided arm. Without a word, he bends at the knees, reaching for me, never breaking eye contact. Instincts kick in and tell me to dart away, but my exhaustion makes me slow. I don't think I could have outrun him, anyway.

Despite his quick movements, he never touches my hurt shoulder. Somehow, he wraps his arm around the front of me, gripping onto my good side to press my back into his wet chest. Panic bubbles into my chest while I watch him take my bicep in his hold. A scream tears through my throat as he draws it over my head, momentarily shocking me out of my numbness. I can't feel anything but the fiery tingles running through my dislocated arm, but my panic doubles when I sense my fingernails on the other shoulder blade.

"No. No. No. No. NO," I repeat rapidly, struggling to flail out of the hold he has on me.

"This is going to hurt," he rasps into my ear before swiftly jerking my arm in and down. The pop going in is a million times louder than when it went out, but the relief is instantaneous. Almost immediately, the overwhelming agony that was spreading across my side recedes. Breathing becomes easier, and the fog clouding my brain fades into the shadows. I'm all too aware of the heat coming off Blade's skin, the rivulets of water cascading down the firm ridges of his body. His mouth is still by my ear, exhaling roughly against my shivers.

With the sensation returning to my limb, I test its strength by reaching out to touch his skin.

"Thank you." His skin is softer than I expected it to be. I saw all the scars and open wounds and was prepared to feel rough scabs and raised, lumpen flesh, not satin. My touch doesn't last more than a second before he pulls away, creating a gap between us.

Rotating my set shoulder in its socket, I watch with hooded eyes as he travels to another part of the room. He disappears for a moment, his steps silent before re-emerging.

Instead of the towel, his lower half is covered in loose, grey sweats. Markings and ruin stain those like everything else, but he seems unfazed by the blemishes and discoloration, unlike me.

"What's your name?" I ask, refusing to continue calling him Blade.

Instead of responding, he strolls to a little side table, picking at some crushed ice. "Where's Clara? She's usually the one they throw at me." He doesn't look at me as he asks, his attention solely on the plastic cups and little bowl of peanuts. I can't help but think that he must be starving, even as my own stomach rumbles. He did just kill someone.

"I'm the lucky prize tonight." I try to say it as unsarcastically as possible, scared that at a moment"s notice, he'll go off on me as quickly as Marone warned. Still, he picks up on my sneering tone.

He doesn't hide his smirk as he responds, "Oh yeah?" Pouring a generous serving of a clear liquid into his cup, he adds, "We'll see."

With his eyes on me, he ambles to a brown wooden seat. Legs spread apart, he watches me over the rim of his cup, stare sharp and heavy, matching the tempo of my rising chest. "Well?" he asks, setting the plastic down beside the chair so his hands are free by his sides. "What are you waiting for?"

His voice is warm honey, coating my ears with heady richness. I feel myself sway to the rhythm of it, knowing that if I were anywhere else, I'd fall into him happily. But we aren't anywhere else. Instead, we're surrounded by barren walls, dirty floors, a chair for one, and peanuts. There's a bathroom down the hall and another door I haven't seen opened. I'm sitting on the ground, my shoulder better but still throbbing, with chain markings around my neck. Bruises, blood, and scabbed-over wounds cover my body.

I have been taken and forced more times than I can count—each one of those men's faces carousal around my mind, day and night.

"I'm not touching you."

I won't add him to the mix.

Leaning forward, elbows on knees, he watches me with a subtle grin, a playfulness entering his gaze when I stand my ground.

"Is that so?"

"Yes." I remain firm with my decision, swallowing back the fear churning my stomach when his grin bears teeth. I've seen nothing on his lips but a scowl since this man stepped into that ring. He wore it proudly underneath the blood and pain, like a badge of honor. And yet, it was nowhere near as potent as his smile.

That smile.

Something about it holds me close. It touches an undisturbed section of my soul and doesn't let go. Its latch on me keeps me still as he pushes off the chair and prowls to my kneeling body. I have no instincts. I have no fears. Just the feeling of his fingers, rough and calloused, on the edges of my jaw. His grip on me is firm, but his thumb is gentle as it brushes against my split skin. Together, as if we're made of mirrors, our tongues inch forward, searching for something we just can't grasp.

"What's your name?" he asks, drowning me in the soft blues of his gaze. I wanted to keep that close. I wanted to deny him everything, but in this moment?—

"Bunny."

I know he'll keep it safe.