Page 55 of Scorpion

The air between us is tenser than before, and the slightest hint of something metallic hits the back of my throat. Blood.

Men’s laughter sounds in the distance, followed by more guttural screams that send my nerves into a frenzy. Each noise becomes more distinct the closer we get to the house.

We come to a sudden stop. I hear one of our men behind me pass something to Mathijs. I can make out the sound of a dial spinning right before a set of latches open. Then there’s rustling and a slight grunt. I’m tempted to remove my blindfold again, but something tells me that I don’t want to risk knowing what’s happening. Blissful ignorance sounds more like a dream right now.

Mathijs goes back to guiding me up the slope. The ground shifts from wet earth, to grass, to concrete, and the sounds become clear as day. What I thought might have been one or two people moaning or crying out in pain, sounds like a whole group. A bloodcurdling scream pierces the still night air, and I narrowly manage to stop myself from staggering back.

Mathijs urges me forward, and I get the hint: don’t show weakness.

He helps me up a couple steps, and we reach what must be a security guard standing in front of the entrance because I can just see the tips of their shoes at the bottom of my blindfold.

Two guards at the front, I tally.

Something beeps and the security steps aside to let us in. All the sounds hit me at once, and it’s a physical feat not to cringe away from it. The place smells like carnage and sex. It clogs my throat and a wave of nausea goes through me. I have a feeling the military couldn’t have prepared me for what comes next.

Mathijs ushers me along. All I can see is a sliver of the floor beneath me, shifting from wooden floors to carpet, or a vintage rug. I mentally note how many steps we take before turning left or right. He leads me down a flight of stairs into a basement where the roar of a crowd bounces along the walls. People cheer, yell, boo, and everything in between. Familiarity prickles my skin, raising the hairs on the back of my neck. It sounds like…

Mathijs undoes the tie once we reach the bottom step, revealing the mayhem in front of me. My lips part. It isn’t a basement; it’s a bunker. It has a high ceiling, concrete walls, and hanging lights that are still despite the chaos of the room.

This is a fighting ring.

I turn to Mathijs, but a stag’s skull stares back at me—more specifically, an edelhert. Its horns are dipped in gold, and there’s a golden sheen over the bone. Every person in here is wearing a mask of some sort in either black or white. Only Mathijs’s has any gold on it.

There are more black masks among the crowd, but each one is slightly different. A man passes me wearing a white head of a dragon, another wears a gas mask, and another has a balaclava on. There are several women wearing masks as well, but they’re few and far between.

I spot about eight people whose faces are exposed. I can only assume that they’re guests like me.

Fucking hell, how many people have been dragged here to prove something?

The crowd doubles in volume and my attention snags on the raised platform in the middle of the room. One man has the other in a headlock, then an audible snap that echoes through the room. Then the body falls limp.

Screaming and shouting ensues. The bloodlust in the air is palpable, turning my stomach inside out. It’s been far too long since I’ve been to something like this.

Mathijs’s hand remains firm at the small of my back. Footsteps behind us make me turn, ready to step in front of him, but I stop short when another man wearing a golden mask appears before us.

The man tips his head down at Mathijs who returns the gesture. A silent understanding goes between them that I can’t translate. Then he glances at me for a second too long before walking back up the stairs like nothing happened.

“You want to know what your task is?”

My head snaps up to meet Mathijs. His eerie mask makes it impossible to read how he’s feeling.

A battle cry sounds from the middle of the room.

He wants me to fight.

I swallow. “When?”

He trails his finger along my cheek.

Mathijs solidified my strength these past months—both physically and mentally since I haven’t felt pain in my foot for so long. Even at the prospect of dying in the ring, I’d still do it all for him. Lose it all.

My agreement to do this isn’t just for him or some society. It’s a chance for me to prove to myself how far I’ve come from the person who only fought for the high and some cash. There’s something bigger than myself, and I have every intention of being part of it.

“Once you’re ready,” Mathijs says in answer.

“Lead the way.”

Even though I want to reach for him and seek comfort in his touch, I let him navigate us through the crowd and through a set of doors that takes us to the bottom floor. He opens the locker room for me, and I take a wary step inside. It’s similar to many other underground places I’ve been to, only it’s actually clean.

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