Page 177 of The Wild Charge

“Ooh.” Dina’s hand tightened on his arm, and she pointed through the glass. “We’re about to start.”

Pulse pounding in his ears, he watched a dark curtain part; watched a thickly-muscled man with a shaved head and a gun on his hip march a girl forward, her hands bound, her balance precarious on sky-high heels. She wore a bra, and a skirt the size of a cocktail napkin, and her gaze, as she eyed the dark rows of seats, was wild and white-rimmed.

Dina clucked. “Shame about her hair.”

It was red, same as the two spots of color high on her cheeks.

Ian’s first instinct, as a smooth, detached voice floated through the speakers – “Tonight’s first item is a twenty-two-year-old Minnesota student with…” – was to bid on her. To bid on every girl they dragged through the curtain; to take them all away with him, wrap blankets around them, and tell them their nightmare was over. Instead, he gritted his teeth, and waited.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when a waiter leaned over the back of his seat and asked if he’d like something to drink.

“No, thank you. But I’d like to know where Mr. Waverly is. We have business to discuss.”

“He’s in his private box, sir, but I can take a message.”

Ian waved him off. “No. I’ll see him later.”

When he was gone, Dina patted the back of his hand. “Don’t worry, hon. Everyone’s jumpy at first. It’s exciting, right?”

Ian swallowed hard, and watched the redheaded girl get led off the stage and back through the curtain. “Right.”

~*~

Footfalls muffled by the thick rubber of their boot soles, the strike team moved up the concrete stairs to the next landing. Through silent agreement, they opened this door as they had the one below: Fox pulling the handle, Tenny rolling off the wall and through the jamb first.

But this floor…

Tenny halted, because this floor was comprised of an entirely different setup, and for a moment, it paralyzed him.

All the lights were on, the fluorescent tubes droning overhead, beating down mercilessly on a stretch of empty tile floor. No cubicles, no walls, no chairs or desks. Nothing.

Save four doors. To the left, restrooms, men’s and women’s. To the right, one that led to places unknown. And straight ahead, marked storage.

It wasn’t the same: there was no smoke, and the floor wasn’t the same white as the walls and ceiling. There were no batons rapping on shields, and men coming at him from every angle, no crackled voice of his handler through hidden speakers:again.

But Tenny’s breaths came in short bursts, and his clothes clung to the sweat beading his skin. His muscles twitched in anticipation of a brawl, of an all-out fight for his life.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Abe’s quiet voice startled him. “We keep going up. We don’t stop here.”

The door to the men’s room flew open, but Tenny didn’t get a chance to see who or what or how many spilled out of it. Strong hands gripped the straps of his vest and yanked him back into the stairwell. The door clanged shut.

“Go,” Fox ordered. “Up, go, go, go.”

Tenny gritted his teeth as he went, because he wanted tofight. None of this firing off quick rounds and dropping stormtroopers without a challenge. He wanted to get his hands dirty.

A want the universe seemed to answer, because on the next landing, he heard the thunder of descending footsteps.

~*~

The girl on stage was so drugged she could barely stand. Her head hung forward on a limp neck, sheet of shiny black hair hiding her face. One of the thick-necked guards had to hold her upright. He gathered her hair in a fist and pulled it back, exposing her face – pretty, with almond-shaped eyes and painted lips – and tipped her head all the way back, so her throat was bared, fragile and bruised.

Beside Ian, Dina lifted her paddle, a fast, deft movement. She’d done this before. Many times. It was old hat for her. “My husband likes Asians,” she said in an aside, and it took every ounce of self-control not to backhand her.

---