Page 58 of Filthy Beginnings

“Must be that kind of rotation. Everyone is 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 blew out a breath. “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.

He leaped through the door to the hallway, marched toward the washroom—and then kept on walking until he reached a smaller storage area near the end of the hall.

Behind him, he could hear ceremonial music starting another song. The consortium really liked to draw the hoopla out. Next, the consortium welcome speeches would begin, and they’d place a call for final bets. After that, the announcer would call 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.

The whole Upper City was full of underground passages, but rarely used.

Though someone had used one to ambush him while he was distracted and thinking of Scarlett.

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

The music played on.

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

If he had more time, he would have looked for one of the exit points from the underground tunnel that led above via a door, but time was exactly what he didn’t have.

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

“Damien?” It wasn’t long until Scarlett’s pale face peeked through the space he’d made between the duct and the grate.

“It’s me.” He slid his feet along, moving the grate another few inches—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 shoved 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. There were no vibrant colors shimmering across her skin, just a weak smoky flash of gray that sputtered and washed out.

It gutted him.

They’d left her gold and red streaked hair falling in loose waves down her back, and put her in a sheer silken gold costume which exposed more of her gorgeous skin than it covered.

She looked so fucking beautiful—and so afraid.

His heart shriveled in his chest.

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