Page 66 of Thawed Gladiator Thrax

Thrax interrupts Varro’s comment and practically spits, “And afilius canis.”His distaste for the man is obvious, if not by his description of the man as a son of a dog, then by the look of utter disgust on his face.

“We all took a sip of her drink and she was just about to bless us when Cassius arrived. None of us were happy about the trip to Britannia. I thought, as I imagine we all did, that we’d be forced to fight in that land across the sea until we died. I think we all knew it was a one-way trip. Let’s just say that no one on the ship was held in high regard by their owners.”

I’ve never heard this before, and my heart hurts as I think of how Thrax must have felt for yet another time in his life that he was being thrown away.

“Cassius was the last to drink the foul-tasting drink, and the moment he tasted it, he made his displeasure known. I wondered if he was newly a slave, because no man who has felt the lash would have cursed a drink that was a gift, even if it tasted likecacas, which it did.”

I make a mental note to add all of these curse words to my program.

“Sulla, perhaps wanting to make clear who was to be in charge during the long voyage, took the priestess’s amphora, which held the rest of the potion, and crashed it over the man’s head. He fell to the ground like a stone and had to be carried on board. When he woke up, he had no memory of anything.”

“After that,” Thrax adds, “he was calm, followed orders, and never argued. Sulla never forgave him, though. Gave him the worst jobs on board. Cassius just took it.”

“His amnesia is a speed bump,” Dr. Diaz says as she finishes making a note on her pad. “But our main concern is his physical health. All medical markers indicate the revivification process went well. With this historical information, it appears we won’t have to worry about memory loss in subsequent procedures. I’ll schedule both a neuro and a psych consult to see if there’s anything that can be done, but if Cassius continues to physically recover, we won’t hesitate to revive the next man on the list.”

“Let’s put Sulla last on the list.” My tone is bitter.

All four of the others nod their heads at my suggestion.

“On a much brighter note,” Laura pulls out her tablet, showing us images of sprawling green fields and a large farmhouse.

“This is the property in Missouri,” she explains. “Varro and I both fell in love with it during our visit, but it went under contract before we could bid on it. I’m so thrilled that the original sale fell through. This property will be perfect for all of us.”

Thrax and I have discussed the move, and both of us are excited about it, but I have to ask, “What if some of the men don’t want to live there?”

“That property will be available to them forever,” Laura explains. “We have dozens of ideas about how it can accommodate almost everyone’s needs.” Her voice catches slightly on the word ‘everyone,’ and I know she’s thinking of Victor. We all are. “Let me emphasize what we’ve said a hundred times. You men are no longer slaves. Your share of the trust, funded by the gold we recovered from theFortuna, can take you anywhere you wish.”

“Laura tells me it’s more money than could be found in the Emperor’s coffers. But I think many of the men will like what we have planned for Missouri,” Varro adds with enthusiasm. “We can make money by giving exhibition games—where no one can get hurt.” He’s quick to add that last part. “And we’ll be making garum. When I tell you how much it costs to buy a small bottle, you won’t believe it.”

“And there will be horses, a stable, and a schoolhouse so the men can learn English and a trade if they’re interested. We’ll have animals—” Laura stops herself and laughs. “Sorry. Got carried away. It’s just that we want this to be a safe landing place for the men. And I hope some of them,” she looks directly at Thrax and then me, “will want to stay.”

Thrax’s hand tightens around mine, his excitement obvious. “A real home,” he murmurs. “Not just hospital rooms and borrowed spaces. But rolling hills and privacy.” His face gives nothing away, but I imagine both of us are thinking of my penchant for screaming his name in the dead of night.

Although I can’t help but share his enthusiasm, I squelch my smirk. “And Dara’s given me additional time off. I can work from home full time as I help with the transition.”

“What about security?” Thrax leans forward, his expression serious. “After what happened with Roth… and Victor… we can’t take any chances.”

Laura nods grimly. “We’re taking every precaution. The location is undisclosed, and we’ll have top-notch security systems in place. Plus, being in a rural area will make it easier to spot the approach of any unwanted visitors.” She doesn’t need to add thatour security team has been completely overhauled since Keller’s betrayal.

“And every single man in those cryo tubes is going to wake up,” Varro adds forcefully. “We’ll have a cadre of fighting gladiators ready to take on anyone who wants to harm us. We’re not stupid. We can learn how to use modern weapons.”

As we dive into the logistics of the move, I can’t help but feel a nagging worry. After all, it was only a few days ago that Thrax protected me with a wooden sword against guys armed with guns. Not to mention Victor’s abduction.

Then my mood changes and excitement takes over. This is real. We’re really building a new life, a sanctuary for these men. And somehow, improbably, I’ve become a part of it all.

“If you need someone to go to the property before all the men wake up, perhaps Thrax and I can do it… if it’s okay with you?” I look at Thrax directly. “We could oversee the contractors who’ll be building the barracks, roads, and fencing while you oversee the other men’s revival.”

Thrax nods, probably thinking more about the privacy this will provide us than the work it will entail.

Chapter Fifty-Two

Skye

The private hangar is thrumming with activity as we prepare for our flight to Missouri. Thrax stands beside me. His steady presence has kept me sane over the last few weeks. His hand finds mine, fingers intertwining as naturally as breathing.

“Ready for our next adventure?” He tips his head in question, one of his adorable mannerisms that one would think would be more at home on a child than a six-plus-foot gladiator. He’s trying not to show his anxiety, but it’s clear he’s worried about the unknown. Welcome to the club.

I lean into him, savoring his warmth. “Ready for an adventure with you? Always.” I stop, eyes widening as I recall our last adventure. “As long as it doesn’t involve death threats, underground catacombs, and attempted murder.”

---