Page 58 of Filthy Royal

It was going to be a fucking melee. A brutal no-holds-barred scrum. No scent mufflers. No rules. The chance of injury—high. The possibility of death—real.

“You okay?” Crex’s worried face popped into Damien’s line of vision. “You seem off.”

“I’m fine.” He had to be. Scarlett was counting on him.

Fuck.He needed to find her. Apologize again for losing it. Explain what had prevented him from meeting her and assure her everything would be alright.

She had to be worried sick.

“You sure you’re okay?” Crex studied him.

He was fucking far from it. “I’ll be fine once I’m in the ring.”

“Must be that kind of rotation. Everyone’s off. Especially with Egan’s disappearance.”

Damien stilled. “What did you say?”

“Egan. Gone. It’s all anyone’s been talking about. Where have you been? Under a fucking rock?”

Actually, he’d been down in a fucking tunnel.

“Another Consortium lackey stepped in to run things.” As usual, Crex prattled on. “But it’s a total clusterfuck. Pure chaos.”

And Scarlett was dealing with this alone.

He pushed past Crex and through the throng of fighters stretching and talking smack.

“Ring entrance is the other way.” Crex pointed over his shoulder.

“Watch for the fight supervisors.” Damien didn’t slow. “Let them know I’m here. I just need to take a piss.”

He didn’t want anyone looking for him until he was ready to be found.

Damien leaped through the door to the hallway and marched toward the washroom, then kept on walking until he reached a smaller storage room near the end of the corridor.

Behind him, another ceremonial song started. The Consortium liked to draw out the hoopla. Next, the welcome speeches would begin, and they’d place a call for final bets. After that, the announcer would summon the fighters to the ring. Anyone absent would be disqualified.

Damien hustled faster and, after a quick look to make sure no one was around, slipped through the storage room door, kicked aside some old training mats, and found the grate that led to the tunnels below.

He heaved the grate aside—even for him, it took some effort—and dropped straight into a small hallway that opened onto one of the larger tunnels.

The opening ceremony music played on.

It didn’t take him long to pinpoint the room where they held Scarlett. All he had to do was peer through the grate above and locate the four pairs of oversized boots clustered around a door that signaled security.

He listened for as long as he could stand, to ensure Scarlett was alone in the room, then, jumped up, slid his fingers through the grate, and hung by ten clawed digits while pushing his legs against the grate until it slid to one side.

“Damien?” It wasn’t long until Scarlett’s pale face peeked through the space he’d created.

“It’s me.” He slid his feet, moving the grate more—gratified to see Scarlett’s fingers wrapping around the other side, tugging.

At least she was willing to let him in.

With her help, he soon had enough room to swing himself up and squeeze through.

He clambered to his feet in time to see her sway on hers. “Thank the Goddess. You’re okay.”

But she didn’t run to him. Or throw herself into his arms. Bo vibrant colors shimmered across her skin, just a weak smoky flash of gray that sputtered and faded.

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