This Time Around (Maybe #2)(57)
But Clue was right. I’d overcome so much already. I couldn’t give up. I wouldn’t lie down and let my daughter leave me—I had to find a cure and to do that I had to face the world and keep fighting till the end.
Bottling everything deep inside, I called over my shoulder. “You win, Clue. Let’s go.”
Her heels clicked on the stone work of the corridor, catching me up. Linking her fingers with mine, she murmured, “Tonight will give you the boost that you need. You’ll see.” Adding some bounce into her step, she added, “After all, we’re going to watch men beat each other bloody. If that doesn’t inspire you to get revenge and punch the world in its f*cking face then I don’t know what will.”
I forced a small laugh, but she was right. In so many ways.
The corridor went on for ages, past huge swathes of material and massive nonsensical artwork of blizzards and forests, of darkness and wolfs, of a violent world. Sculptures made of bronze and iron guided us like centennials. A mix of modern art and intricate lifelike animals. All large, imposing, and entirely too real.
Grunting and panting came from behind one large door as we passed.
“I wonder what goes on in the private zones? More fighting, or do you think the victor steals a woman from the crowd and makes mad passionate love to her?” Clue’s voice turned dreamy. “He’d be hot and sweaty and slippery with blood, but his kiss would make the girl forget. She’d let herself be consumed by the man who proved he was strong enough to protect her.”
This time I laughed with my heart and not just out of requirement. “You’re way too much of a romantic for these times, Clue. You should’ve been born six hundred years ago if you want men who kill and women who swoon.”
She grinned, showing perfect pearly teeth. “I was born six hundred years ago. That’s why I hanker after it so much.”
I rolled my eyes. Clue had two fascinations in life: men and past lives. She swore she’d lived countless times before, and as much as I liked to joke and pluck holes in her tales, I couldn’t ignore the fact that she knew things. Things she shouldn’t know for a thrown away child with no education.
“You’re an old soul too, Zel. I can tell. I haven’t figured out where you’re from, but I will.”
I didn’t have the heart to tell her she was wrong. I acted old beyond my years because I’d had enough bad fortune to last me forever.
I squeezed her hand as we turned left at the end of the corridor and promptly slammed to a halt. “Holy mother of God where have you brought me?” Dropping her fingers, I moved forward, almost in a trance.
The double doors had been crafted from metal. One side depicted a fairy-tale. A young man, with his face away from the viewer, stood surrounded by piles of coins, sunshine, and young children. Fantastical turrets of a castle rested in the distance.
My heart hurt as I looked at the next door. If the other had been heaven, this would be hell.
The young man now faced the doors but his features were blank. No nose or eyes or mouth, just a smooth oval. Behind him wolves fought while lightning and storm clouds brewed. But what killed me was the children who’d been laughing in the other portrait were now in pieces, scattered on the ground in melting snow.
“Whoa, that’s a bit morbid,” Clue said, reaching out to touch a severed leg.
I snatched her hand back and pressed the other door to open it. I wanted away from this scene. It came too close to home.
Don’t think of your troubles. Tonight pretend to forget.
Troubles.
I could never forget about them. They were a noose around my neck. A guillotine waiting to fall.
The instant the door cracked open, noise assaulted us. A potent mix of fists hitting flesh, grunts of pain, lilts of feminine laughter, shouts of encouragement, and the smooth beats of music.
We entered a cavernous black room. Either a converted ballroom or a specially designed arena, it welcomed us with thick black velvet on the four story high walls. Lining the perimeter lived a grandstand sort of placement with black couches, la-Z-boys, and recliners. Each one had its own podium with side table and small lamp. Looking like fireflies in the dark.
“Oh, my,” Clue murmured as we stopped scanning the side of the room and focused on the main event.
Every apparatus of fighting existed in this space. A Mixed Marital Arts Cage, a boxing ring, a Muay Thai ring, mats for close combat, and bare floor for other barbaric blood sports. Each space was crowded with men either bloodied from a fight or bouncing on their feet ready to meet a new opponent. Water stations and medic booths rested between each arena.
A huge banner hung from the ceiling directly above all five fighting rings.
Fight with honour, fight with discipline, fight with vengeance.
“I think I died and went to man heaven,” Clue whispered, her almond eyes the widest I’d ever seen. Her cheeks flushed with colour as a man in the MMA cage took a hit to the jaw by a fighter glistening with sweat and blood.
The atmosphere in the room wasn’t feral or violent, though. It had an old-world class about it. An exclusivity. A richness.
There were so many fighters I had no idea how Clue would find the man she’d come to see.
The music changed tracks from sultry to pulsing. Not so loud to distract the fighters, but it added yet another element to this strange illegal club.
Arms suddenly slinked around Clue, dislodging me from her side. I blinked as a tall man with cropped black hair and ebony skin gathered her close. “You remembered the address and password. I’m impressed.” He nuzzled her throat, sending Clue into a flurry of lusty giggles.