Page 162 of Silver Elite

My heart sinks. Six slots, and twelve recruits angling for them. I’m starting to have a bad feeling about this.

“Who fills those slots is simple,” he says. “Two of you are going to walk into a room, and only one will walk out.”

Jaws drop.

“What? I’m not killing anybody,” Jones balks.

“Did I say anything about killing?” Cross sounds bored. “Each room has two knives in it. Do with them what you want. If your opponent taps out, they’re out.” He sweeps his gaze over the room. “If you tap out, relax. You’re still a member of Silver Block. You’ll be assigned to a unit and be just fine. Victor is assigned to Elite.”

It’s so simple and so stupid.

“Why don’t you just pick based on merit?” demands one of the Red Cell males.

“This is merit. Whoever’s better will walk out of the room first. So be better.”

Kaine and I exchange a look. Of the twelve of us, there are six males and six females, so unless they’re using co-ed pairings, only three women will get into Elite.

I eye my potential opponents. I don’t want to go up against Kess. Yes, I’ve kicked her ass before, but she’s a vicious little creature. Oneof the Red Cell girls looks optimal. Short, slight, and nonexistent muscle mass.

But when my name is called first, it’s followed by “Granger.”

I’m facing Bryce.

Which does bring a twinge of relief. This’ll be easy. I have every confidence I can get her to tap out. Bryce knows it, too—I see the defeat settle over her when she hears our names.

We’re assigned a room number—3—and ordered to leave without getting to hear any of the other pairs. Bryce and I walk down the hall in silence. When we enter Room 3, we find it completely empty. No furniture, no windows. I assume the mirror against the wall is the kind they use for interrogations.

Two knives sit on the concrete floor.

I wonder who Kaine was paired with. I hope it’s Anson and he slits the bastard’s throat.

The door suddenly closes behind us. We hear it lock with an electronic beep.

Bryce glances up at the blinking camera mounted to the corner of the ceiling. She studies the mirror. Then, with a miserable expression, she leans closer to whisper in my ear.

“Please let me have this.”

Pity ripples through me. “You know I can’t.”

I’ve been tasked with joining this unit. That’s my one and only objective. Besides, we both know this girl wouldn’t last a minute in an elite squad. She’s not good enough.

Her jaw tightens. “Then I guess we fight for it.”

“Guess so.”

We eye each other for a moment. And I’ll admit it—she completely catches me off guard when she blasts forward like a rocket, snatching one knife off the floor while kicking the other away.

I scramble after the skittering blade, managing to wrap my hand around the cold handle just as Bryce attacks. I dodge her, but she’s good. Fast. She slashes the air, then pivots to protect herself from my blade. I grab her by the wrist and wrench her toward me as I jam my free fist under her chin. Her head rears back. She doesn’t drop the knife, though.

“Bitch,” she snaps.

She charges again. I trip her before the knife can sink into my flesh, and we crash to the floor, grappling for control. Her blade hisses past my ear. I curse when I feel a sting in my neck. She nicked me. I elbow her in the throat, and she gags.

I didn’t expect such a brutal fight.

From Bryce, of all people.

With a cry of anger, I slam the knife handle into her face. I don’t want to use the blade. I don’t want to hurt this girl. But I have a sinking feeling there’s no way she’s ever going to tap out. Not with her father behind that mirror.

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