Page 55 of Séance

Fighting and fucking keep our beasts in check.

Lights from the quarry blaze in the darkness, illuminating the fight ring in the center of the pit. More than three dozen cars are haphazardly parked around the edges of the ring, offering even more light.

Dull cheers and the roar of the crowd can be heard for miles. I brake hard around the upcoming curve, the ass end of the car kicking out, and we drift around the edge of the road. Rue grabs the door and clutches the seat belt across her chest. Though her face is white, she doesn’t say a word of protest as we speed closer.

People jump out of the way as I barrel across the makeshift parking lot, cursing and making crude gestures, but I pay them no attention. I’d run them over in a heartbeat if it meant getting to Gunner in time.

As we near the pit, I reluctantly slow and glance at Rue. “Do you know where he’s waiting?”

Instead of answering, she tilts her head and closes her eyes, almost like she’s listening to something I can’t hear. Frustration gnaws at my insides when she doesn’t answer immediately. Just as I release my grip on the steering wheel, ready to shake answers out of her, she points in the opposite direction of the ring.

I narrow my eyes, studying her face for a second, then curse under my breath and do as ordered. If she’s wrong, if she gets him hurt playing games, I will make her pay. As we head away from the commotion of the fight, the lights dim, and darkness swarms the area.

I follow her directions, the car bumping along the overgrown road as we creep around to the back of the old sawmill that burned down nearly eighty years ago. Just when I’m beginning to doubt her claim that Gunner is even in trouble, I spot his truck.

Movement beyond the vehicle catches my attention, and I see a group of men doing their best to beat on someone. I don’t even have to look closer to recognize the man they have cornered.

Only one person has a frame that large—Gunner.

Though the man is a machine in a fight, a person can only do so much against so many. I count at least seven men. Gunner is holding them off, but not without taking damage.

I slam on the brakes then throw open the car door. “Stay here.”

I hesitate for a moment, then toss my phone on the seat. “Call the others. Tell them to hurry. The numbers are in my phone if you need them.”

I don’t wait to see if Rue obeys, I just leap out of the car and wade into the mass of swinging arms and fists. I don’t care that I attack them from behind. If they wanted to fight fair, then they would have challenged him in the ring.

I curse myself for not calling the guys sooner, curse myself for doubting Rue.

When I finally work my way to Gunner’s side, I grimace at the bloody mess they made of his face. His right eye is nearly swollen shut, and a cut over his left eyebrow makes visibility almost impossible. He has a slight limp when he moves, and he’s favoring his right ribs. If he wasn’t such a tough bastard, I doubt he would still be standing. His clothes are torn and bloody, but I doubt that it’s all his.

A few more blows are all it would take to bring him down, but I somehow doubt that would be the end of it.

No, they wanted to put him out of commission.

Permanently.

Gunner, the stubborn asshole, is going to get himself killed, because that’s what it will take to make him stop.

Renewed fury surges through me that they would attack him when he was alone, and I’m barely aware of anything but the need to annihilate my opponents. It’s only when the sweep of headlights flashes over us that I become aware of the bodies piling up around us and the various aches and pains of my body.

I peer over, thinking the guys have come to back us up.

Instead, I recognize my own car barreling straight for us.

Fuck!

Without hesitation, I throw myself at Gunner, hitting him low and sweeping his feet out from under him. We go flying, and I swear the fender of my own fucking car brushes against the bottom of my feet as it surges past.

Thumps sound behind us, and a few vicious curses blister the air, then people scatter and disappear into the inky darkness. I roll onto my back, exhausted and in no condition to give chase. I look over at my car and see a very shaky Rue open the door and climb out, her pink hair like a beacon in the night—an avenging angel coming to our rescue.

I grunt, wanting to both scold her for not listening and kiss her pouty red lips. Instead, I sit with a groan, then glance at Gunner. The man is a mess of cuts and bruises, not an inch of him unscathed, and I grimace in sympathy. He’s panting hard, his eyes closed, not moving, like the simple feat is beyond him.

“You okay?” Climbing to my feet, I keep my eyes on him, wondering how the hell he’s still conscious.

One blue eye opens, and I curse under my breath at his slightly unfocused gaze. He needs medical attention. Leaning down, I offer him my hand and haul him upright. My ribs protest the movement, then my whole body aches when he stumblesinto me and I take the brunt of his weight as we head toward my car.

Rue gapes at us for a moment—no doubt we look like characters from a horror movie—then she shakes her head and runs around to the opposite side of the vehicle and opens the door. I drop Gunner’s heavy ass in the seat.

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