Page 52 of Thawed Gladiator: Lucius
She nods, though fear flickers in her eyes. “What are you going to do?”
“What gladiators do best. Adapt and survive.”
I unlock the door but keep the chain engaged, creating a narrow gap. “Gentlemen, if you’ll give me a moment to dress appropriately—”
The lead agent—a muscular man who clearly expects compliance—pushes against the door. “Open immediately, or we’ll—”
I slam the door shut, disengage the chain, then fling it open with sudden violence. The unexpected reversal catches them off guard. The lead agent stumbles forward into our room from his own pushing pressure. Before he can recover, I grab the metal ice bucket from our dresser and bring it down hard on his wrist as he reaches for something inside his jacket.
The distinctive crack tells me I’ve broken his bone. He cries out, dropping whatever he was reaching for—not a weapon, but some kind of injector device.
“Run!” I shout to Raven.
She bolts past me toward the stairs as the second agent tries to block her path. I grab the wooden desk chair and swing it in a wide arc, using my gladiator training to control distance and timing. The chair catches him across the ribs, sending him stumbling backward into the third agent.
The injured lead agent lunges at me with his good hand. Arena reflexes take over—I sidestep, grab his extended arm, and use his momentum to send him crashing into the bathroom door. Modern pharmaceutical companies clearly don’t train their people in hand-to-hand combat.
The remaining two agents recover faster than I’d like. One produces what looks like a taser while the other speaks rapidly into a radio, calling for backup. I grab the metal housekeeping cart from the hallway as Raven appears beside me.
“Lucius, cover your eyes!” she hisses, grabbing bottles from the scattered cleaning supplies. She aims industrial cleaner at the agents’ faces while I shove the cart hard toward them. The ammonia spray hits the radio-wielding agent directly as the cart’s wheels catch the taser-wielding agent in the shins, sending them both toppling. The taser skitters across the tile floor.
“Lucius!” Raven’s voice echoes from the stairwell.
No time for subtlety. I slam my shoulder into the last agent. He hits the wall hard—picture frames crash to the floor. His radio skitters across the tiles.
The stairs. Three steps at a time, urgency driving my speed. I need to make sure Raven’s unharmed. Relief floods through me when I catch up to her in the lobby.
“Move!”
Shouts from upstairs. Getting closer.
Her hand in mine. We run. Tourists scatter, cameras flashing. Someone yells in Spanish, but we’re already at Miguel’s car, doors open, engine running.
“Drive!” The word tears from my throat as we throw ourselves inside.
Miguel doesn’t need encouragement. We pull away with enough acceleration to press us back into the seats, just as three more black SUVs round the corner from different directions.
“Backup,” I observe grimly, watching them converge on the hotel in our rear window.
Raven stares at me, breathing hard. “I know you’ve had years of training, but wow! You took out three people with hotel furniture.”
“Temporarily disabled,” I correct. “Though I suspect the first one will need medical attention for that wrist.”
Miguel navigates the winding streets with practiced skill, taking turns that would make our pursuers struggle to follow. After ten minutes of evasive driving, we seem to have lost any immediate pursuit.
“That was…” Raven trails off, still processing what she witnessed. “Terrifying.”
“They came prepared to take me by force. The injector device suggests they intended sedation.”
Her face pales. “They were going to drug you.”
“The pattern is familiar. In Rome, escaped gladiators faced similar pursuit. The methods change, but the intent remains constant—recapture valuable property.”
The adrenaline begins to fade, leaving me oddly energized rather than drained. For the first time since awakening, I’ve used my combat training in actual defense rather than mere exercise. My skills remain sharp, my instincts intact.
“Remind me never to get on your bad side,” Raven says, though her tone holds admiration rather than fear.
“You have nothing to worry about,” I assure her, reaching across to take her hand. “I protect what matters to me.”
