Page 5 of Mitchell
"Seryn." Daruss, saying his name, brought him back. "What the fuck, man?"
Seryn sucked in a breath. He'd never been in someone's mind before. He didn't want to explain how knowing Mitchell, even in his waking dreams, created a connection. Too much was happening at once. Harnessing it was beyond his scope. If he'd had a mentor, maybe he'd have more control. "I gotta go."
"Don't hang up on me, damn it."
Seryn took a deep breath in and let it out. The command helped center him, making it possible to concentrate. "I won't, boss."
"I can send Avit or Nash."
"I can get him out."
"Have you seen him?" Daruss sighed as if he didn't like Seryn's answer.
"Not in the flesh."
"Explain it to me then."
"I don't think so."
"Seryn."
"Not this time, Boss."
Daruss cursed. "Just let me know if you need anything."
Seryn ended the call. He needed to think about ways to gain control before he went into the tunnels because if he didn't, he might just cost his mate his life.
Chapter Three
Mitchell knew he was dying. His past and present collided, but not in the way he experienced memories. It was more than wanting a future and knowing he had a few hours left. Every moment centered on Jude. The past. The present.
He pictured Jude gathering stones on the beach as if he were finding the best ones to skip. Each stone Jude picked up was one of Mitchell's regrets. Jude held them in his hands, holding them close as if that was the only thing he'd have of Mitchell when he fell into the shadows.
Each breath was important because it was one he'd never get again, so he focused on breathing until the emotions gathered in his throat. After that, he covered his face with his arm as he lay on his cot.
The last time he cried was the day his dad died. Afterward, he was busy surviving and making sure Jude survived, too. The state-run group home had become the scariest place he'd ever been in up to that point. And he'd had to protect Jude.
Tears soaked his skin and fell to the mattress. They stung the cut on his cheek, right below his right eye.
Pain was a constant reminder of life. He still had a will to keep going, even knowing he wouldn't be able to perform during the next fight. If his opponent didn't kill him, Davorion would when Mitchell lost.
Mitchell was pretty sure the brute from his last fight broke his ribs, and he'd have a scar below his right eye. He should have had stitches on some of the deeper cuts and ice for the swelling. He wasn't the only one who came back beat near to death with no medical care afterward. More than one fighter had died. But how long ago was the last time? A month? Two? He wasn't sure.
Time was difficult to tell in the tunnels. He hadn't seen sunlight in months, although he didn't have a clue how long he'd been there. If he counted the fights he and the others had been to, and if the fights happened every weekend, then he'd been in the tunnels for just over seven months.
The outer door opened. Mitchell didn't bother standing. Was it go time already? He was hoping to rest longer.
"Mitchell Burke. Legendary in more ways than one." The voice wasn't entirely new to Mitchell, and neither was the person it belonged to. He'd heard and seen Davorion from a distance more than once. But he'd never come to visit the fighters. "For a moment there, I thought Brutus would kill you. But you turned it around at the end."
Mitchell didn't move or take his arm away from his face. And he didn't respond. No way would he give Davorion the satisfaction. Anything he had to say would come out angry.
"He's going to need medical attention before the next fight, sir." Wilson's defense came at a price. One Mitchell didn't expect Wilson would want to pay. But maybe it was a way to gain Mitchell's trust. Wilson would twist the trust until he came out the winner, looking good in Davorion's eyes. So maybe he figured it was worth taking a minor hit.
"Did I ask for your opinion?"
"It's fact, sir." Wilson's conviction gave Mitchell pause. Maybe Mitchell had pegged him wrong.
Mitchell moved his arm just enough to glance at Wilson and Davorion. They stood just outside his cell, close enough for Mitchell to grab if he stood close to the iron bars. If Mitchell hadn't been beaten to hell, and unable to stand upright, he might have gone for it.
