Page 25 of Unleash Hades
Water leaked from a loose faucet somewhere, marking the passing time with itsdrip, drip, drip.
I had a bad feeling about this. Not that I really gave much weight to things likefeelingsand intuition, but this was pervasive. I wasn’t prepared. I was distracted, and the stakes were too high.
“You’re holding back on me, Rose,” I said, shaking my head.
She locked her jaw shut, her muscle ticking in her cheek as she ground her teeth.
I liked Rose.
Of all the people who orbited me as I lived in suspended animation, Rose was one I could actually stand to listen to.
Alastair and I might spend more time together, but of the two, Rose was the one I considered a friend.
She bit her lower lip.
“Olena Savchenko fights like she has something to fight for. Something concrete,” She knocked on the wood plank weboth sat on, halting the task of wrapping for just a moment. “Something immediate.”
Then she went silent, as she looked away from me. She was uncharacteristically beating around the bush.
“And?” I prompted, waiting for her observation.
“And…” she said slowly, as she let out a long breath. “You don’t really have a reason to fight. You do the bare minimum—”
“I’m energy efficient,” I corrected.
“And that worries me,” she said with a smirk, talking right over me like I hadn’t said anything.
I tilted my head. “Why?”
“Because I think that heart counts for something. When you strip away weapons, tactics, and strategy, and you’re basically fighting in your underwear… heart matters.” She sat up and placed her shoulders back. “She’s over six feet tall. You two even weigh the same, and as far as I can tell, you pack the same punch.”
She resumed wrapping my knuckles before picking up my gloves and slipping each one on.
“I hope that heart doesn’t make her overpower you.” She looked out the locker room door, which would open into the great warehouse where the hastily erected octagon awaited my entrance. “She’s a killer.”
I clenched and unclenched my fists, making sure the gloves were securely placed.
Rose bounced her leg – a sure sign of nervousness.
People died in this bloodsport, even if there was a pretense of civility and rules. Rose knew that more than anyone, as she had killed a person in the octagon before… and many people just on the other side of the chain link when she kicked off a Mafia war.
Her name was Rose, but she was a black Dahlia.
The rules were minimal on fighter safety. The possibility of death was part of the appeal for the overpaying audience. Rose was worried about me. It was touching that she cared.
“I have a reason.” Her. The woman who smelled like pomegranates and haunted my waking dreams. She was my reason. I just couldn’t say it out loud. “It’s not a reason to win a fight. But I have a reason to live.”
I took Rose’s hands in my gloved ones, and we stayed there for a minute, two companions awaiting a battle.
“I won’t let her kill me,” I assured her.
One side of Rose’s lip rose in a half smile.
“Well, that’s as good a goal as any, considering we’ve only trained for a week,” she said as she slathered Vaseline over my eyebrows. She said it was to prevent blows from landing and to keep sweat from my eyes. “Really, though, don’t get killed. The rest of Alastair’s friends annoy me.”
“Me too.”
Seriously, the Anglos were annoying as fuck.
