Collector: City In Embers Part 27

A couple of stolen generators lit lamps around the open stadium parking lot. The arena itself had been destroyed, so Red Cross could not use it as a refuge. The lot was mostly untouched. It was a perfect place for an underground fight ring.

Hundreds and hundreds of people filled the area, chanting and screaming. Maria and Marcello hid me in a tent till I was introduced, keeping the suspense growing as people continued to flood in. I admit I was pretty well known by the end of my time. I brought in my fair share of fans, but this was ten times anything I had ever seen. People were desperate to have something to redirect their sadness, fear, and loss. The crowd's energy only upped my adrenaline, keeping me hot and twitchy. I was only in a thin white T-shirt and black stretchy jeans Maria had gotten me, but I was boiling. My boots were the only familiar clothing I wore. I was sure Marcello would have loved me in some s.e.xy outfit, but Maria insisted on something I could fight in and still keep me protected against the asphalt.

She did seem to be more of the business person when it came to organizing a match. Marcello wanted the big show but didn't care about the details. Maria was all about the fighters, helping them so they could give their best performances.

There were smaller warm-up fights set before the big match. The Scorpions' lesser-known girls against Marcello's, like an opening act before the headliner.

"All right, girl. You are next." Marcello came into the tent. He was dressed in a black suit with a white tie, and his black hair was slicked back. Even with all the turmoil going on, he wanted to present the finest and best. His eyes roamed over me. "If you even think about throwing this fight, I will slice you in such small pieces you won't die for a long, long time. Then I will find your family and do the same to them."

His threat meant nothing. I had no family. I didn't even have Ryker or Sprig anymore. When Maria moved me through the gang's warehouse, I tried to search for Sprig. I found nothing, and no one would tell me anything.

What I did see was Ryker's axe on Marcello's desk. Seeing it made his demise much more real. From then on, I wanted to fight.

I wanted to kill.

The old feelings of fighting came back. My blood boiled with life. I felt alive, and I couldn't wait to taste this girl's blood. We lived in a world where boys could say these things but girls shouldn't. I adapted to what people would accept. After the one woman gave me up over the bike incident, I pretended to be what they wanted. I played the role. With everyone. Even Daniel. With Ryker, it didn't matter. With him, I could be myself and spill my deepest, darkest secrets.

I actually missed him.

The declaration was jolting, but I couldn't deny it. I hated he was no longer around. My stomach felt sick with the thought I would never see him again. I shook my head and turned my attention back to the roar of the crowd and let it release more adrenaline. He was gone, and there was nothing I could do.

"Is the northern side secured?" Maria asked.

Marcello smiled. "Like taking candy from a baby. I knew this would work."

"Yes." Maria turned to me and rolled her eyes, letting him pat himself on the back. She was the one who told him what was going on and got it organized, but she let his fragile male ego believe it was all his doing.

Marcello offered his arm, as if he were escorting me to prom. I wanted to slug him, but I placed my hand on his sleeve instead. There was no point in combating something so trivial. I needed to get through this, and I would deal with him after. Right then, all I wanted was to fight. It was crazy how fast my old ways came back. I used to crave this high, and like a junkie, I returned for more. Even after being clean for years, it was still in my blood.

A microphone screeched feedback. I wondered if this electrical equipment comprised more items Marcello's men stole from the Red Cross.

"Ladies and gentlemen," a voice boomed. The chanting voices of the crowd quieted to a hush. "You may have heard the rumor flying around that a legend has come back to us." The crowd howled in response. "Our world is around our ankles... our town is in ruins... our hearts and souls are adrift. We have lost too many and have suffered so much." The announcer was going to milk the moment. "In a time when we feel all is gone and no hope is left, we need something to believe in." The crowd was chanting louder now. "A miracle has come to us. As if it had fallen from the sky and answered our prayers." Jeez, seriously? "Ladies and gentlemen, it is my proud honor to welcome back the one and only... AVENGING ANGEL!" The ma.s.ses went into hysterics when their hopes were finally confirmed. The tease was not merely gossip.

Marcello pulled me forward. The sheet was drawn to the side for us as we walked out. The amount of energy that hit me almost pushed me on my b.u.t.t. I never had this kind of response. I usually arrived, and a few men organizing it would keep me guarded from any opponent's threats before the fight started. After the contest, I would go home. I had fans before, but this was insane. This had to be because of what happened in Seattle. People were reaching for something familiar, a time before the ES.

Fans wore shirts with my moniker or wings. Signs bounced through the crowd as I descended to the improvised ring. Deafening wails burst against my eardrums. Marcello's back couldn't go any straighter, his pride booming through his puffed chest. He had the prize, and he wanted everyone to know it.

"And on the other side is the ruthless, merciless Crazy Kat!" Two figures came into the ring. The man escorting the girl must have been Du, the leader of the Scorpions. He was a skinny Asian man, but his face held a cold-blooded power. I had heard a lot about their triad here in Seattle. You did not get anywhere near them. Hard and merciless. I gulped, realizing who I was really fighting. It wasn't the girl on his arm; it was the Scorpions.

The girl was tall and lean except for her defined muscles. She was of Asian descent as well. Her sleek black hair was pulled into a tight bun, and her face was decorated with a mask, a black cat. Through the mask her dark eyes found mine. There were pitiless.

A few people cheered, but most booed her. You could see it startled her. Before my return, she had probably been the girl on top.

Falling from grace was hard.

Marcello stripped the wings from my back while I slipped off the mask, handing it to one of his bodyguards. "You are avenging one of our own. This is a fight to the death." He leaned in, kissing both my cheeks for show. "You better win." His tone left no room for debate before he waved to the crowd and left the ring.

Fight to the death? I wanted blood, but I didn't want to kill anyone. One thing I learned on the streets was kill or be killed. I had tried to get away from this life. But standing here, seeing the horde of Scorpions across from me, Marcello's men behind me, and the hatred deep in her eyes, I knew she would not hesitate to kill me. There was no longer a choice. It was down to survival.

I stretched my arms and legs as my challenger had her last pep talk with her "manager." Vitality spread through me, ready for the fight to start.

Finally she turned to me, her face bare of decoration, and the announcer rang a bell.

Fight on.

I tuned out everything around me, and she became my only focus.

"So... you are the fearless Avenging Angel?" Crazy Kat taunted. "You look like nothing more than a pathetic little sorority girl." She examined me, laughing.

Goading was a big thing in fights. You found out soon who could handle their temper, and who let it control them. She was trying to learn me.

I smiled.

We danced around each other.

She kept sending out insults, including my white race and small size. I realized the more I didn't talk, the more it made her babble. She was probably used to being provoked right back. She had learned to keep her temper if they insulted her. But someone not talking, not taking her bait, unsettled her.

She had been fighting amateurs.

Finally, between the booing at her and my silence, she stepped into my s.p.a.ce first, lashing out with the first hit. I almost wanted to laugh. This was too easy.

I twisted out of the way, using the angle to make my first strike. My fist hit her side, causing her to stumble. The crowd cheered. To them, the fight was finally underway.

She immediately bounced back at me and cracked her hand across my cheek. Her other hand hit my eye. Fire burned in my face, my insides simmering with anger. Blood gushed from my wounds.

Okay, she could rebound fast, and she struck hard. Her getting a hit on me wasn't my plan, but sometimes letting your foes land a few let you learn a lot about their style. She was not about flourish and show. She was to the point-probably why she was on top. Most got absorbed in the show of it, the performance.

She darted for me, and I jumped to the side, digging my elbow into her back as she pa.s.sed. She fell to the cement on all fours. Already understanding her style, I knew she would be up quickly and be coming back for me. I was faster. My fist slammed into her cheek. It was my first really good hit, and I was expecting the high feeling to kick in. Usually, I went to a whole other level, and my adrenaline would sharpen my concentration and bring the animal out. Except it didn't come.

The hesitation cost me.

Her knuckles slammed into my ribs so hard I heard the snap of bone. Pain rocked to the core, doubling me over. She drove her elbow into my back, and I hit the pavement. She jumped on me. Her hand seized my hair before she slammed my face into the concrete. Blood pooled from the open wounds.

Something flared in me.

The crowd disappeared. My pain dissolved.

Like a robot, I threw her off my back and climbed to my feet. My senses stripped. I knew I was going to kill the threat. Something must have changed in my face because her dark eyes widened.

My arm struck like a snake. It was so fast she didn't see it coming. It collided hard with her face and swung her around. My foot slammed into her back, sending her flying onto the cement. The kitty cat tried to roll over, but I grabbed her and flipped her before jumping on her.

My fist struck her face over and over again. Blood sprayed from her nose and mouth. Red bubbles slid from the corner of her lips as a gargled cry emanated out of her throat. I didn't stop.

The cheerleaders circling enticed the violence in me to finish her off. I had never been consumed like this. It took me prisoner, stripping me of any humanity. Everything became white noise in the background. I was a good fighter, but I could feel something was different in me, giving me more strength and stamina.

What in the h.e.l.l did Maria give me?

"Kill her! Kill her!" Chants traveled through the crowd around me.

My arm primed for another hit, when I felt eyes on me. There were hundreds watching us, but this was different, like fingers grazing my skin. My knuckles paused midair, and I looked up. The sea of undistinguishable faces blurred into a hazy outline. The only thing I saw clearly was a pair of glowing white eyes under a dark hood staring back at me. It was a gunshot to my soul, my emotions swirling. I gasped for air and fell off the girl.

Ryker.

A soft cry splintered out of my mouth. Relief flushed through me and snapped the last bit of strength and fire from my muscles. My head fell back onto the pavement; my lids blinked the tears and blood from my eyes.

"Stand up!" I heard Marcello scream at me. "Finish her off!"

I ignored him. A tear squeezed from under my lashes. Ryker is alive. He came back for me. My joy was diminished by the budding disgust in myself and the hatred I felt for Marcello for what he had done to me. Loathing sprouted in me like weeds, wrapping their way around my heart and squeezing. I was about to take a life. The only reason I didn't was because of Ryker. Losing him was the reason I wanted to destroy everything in my path. Seeing him made me stop. Having him alive changed everything.

I had worked hard to keep this part of me concealed. I almost believed she had disappeared, but in one day she came barreling forth as if no time had pa.s.sed. She had been waiting quietly and patiently but always there.

"Get up, b.i.t.c.h! End her!" Marcello screamed again, his arms flying about in a fevered motion. He came close and kneeled next to me, pointing to the girl. She was almost unconscious, choking on her own blood. "Now." He seethed through his teeth, his eyes bright with anger. This fight was to the death. If I didn't kill her, then Marcello would lose face. Even though his men had taken back the north area, he didn't want to be defeated in any way. Crazy Kat had killed one of his girls. Eye for an eye. Losing on the streets was a billboard sign displaying a weakness others could exploit. It was also an ego thing. I had fallen trap to both so many times, but my fights in the past had never been to the death.

Mortality was different to gangs and street kids. You lived every day with the thought it might be your last, which made you cold and cut off, treating others' lives with the same flippancy. I probably would have followed the same road if it hadn't been for Lexie. She came into my world when I needed to learn how to respect and cherish life. That was why it scared me I wanted to kill this girl. The feeling melted away the moment I saw Ryker. But what if he had never arrived? What would have happened?

I lifted my head, blood slipped off my chin, falling on my shirt, which was already soaked with a mixture of our blood. My spine cracked as I stood.

"Come on." Marcello eagerly tugged on my arm to help me. He had the illusion I was following his demands. My shaky legs pushed me onto my feet. I wobbled a bit, my eyes finding Ryker's again. His attention was directed on me, unrelenting and unemotional. Still, his eyes seemed to give me strength and comfort. Marcello wiped the blood from my eyes. "That's my girl. Let's finish this. You and I together. Show them who rules this town."

When I was young, I would have fallen for his false encouragement. He was putting us together as if we were a team. I knew now it was bulls.h.i.t. Later he would show me he was the only one in power, and I was merely a piece in his game. I no longer wanted to be controlled and told what to do by anyone: not the government, foster parents, poverty, and certainly not by this a.s.shole. I was sick of being defined by someone or something else.

I ripped my arm from his hold. "No."

His head did a double take. "What?"

"I said no. If you want this girl dead, you do it. I am not your p.a.w.n." I turned and limped away, toward the throng of people.

Marcello grabbed me and whipped me around to face him. His jaw twitched, his eyes widened with fury. "Get your a.s.s back in the ring and finish the fight."

My legs could barely hold me, but I forced my chin higher. "No." Determination hardened my one-word answer.

Rage blazed in him. He clamped my shoulders and shook me so violently my teeth clattered. "I own you. If I tell you to bark, you better f.u.c.king bark!" He flung me to the hard surface. Grit and fine pebbles tore into my palms.

I had been determined before. Now I was p.i.s.sed. My face turned back to his. "I am no one's to own."

He stepped over me, his legs on either side of my body. Marcello leaned and grabbed my chin. "I own you and your sweet p.u.s.s.y. Now get up."

"f.u.c.k off!"

He bolted upright, his foot swinging back before it slammed into my gut. Pain snapped the air from my lungs. My already splintered ribs howled in excruciating agony. I gasped as his foot came at me again. I heard a roar in the foreground so deep it rattled my bones. Vomit burned my airway, and spots impeded my vision. Red-dyed saliva slipped out of my mouth onto the black pavement. The pain was too much for me to handle. My body curled in a defensive position, ready for the next attack, but it never came. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught movement. Fury rolled off a figure as it came at us like a speeding train. The blunt, thick end of a battle axe swung, striking Marcello's skull. The man looming over me went flying, his body tossed into the crowd like a ragdoll. Marcello's men responded promptly, coming at the attacker.

Ryker let his hood drop, his stance widening, the axe swinging in antic.i.p.ation. Gasps and screams traveled through the group.

"You're supposed to be dead," one of Marcello's men cried. It was Pedro, the one who shoved his hand down my top.

"You're not very good at your job," Ryker's voice growled. "However, I am." He leaped for Pedro. The axe in his hand twirled so fast the human eye could barely see it. Like bowling pins, Ryker knocked several men off their feet with only a couple of swings. Pedro skidded across the cement. Blood poured from a gap in his chest.

Groups of men fell, groaning as the blade made contact with their heads, stomachs, and chests. Under the lights from the generator, Ryker's eyes and his tattoo, scrolling up his neck, smoldered bright. An internal neon sign burning from the inside.

In less than a minute, the first line of threat lay scattered; the second string took one look at the furious Wanderer and stepped away. It was not hard to see there was something strange about him. If I didn't know him, I would have been cowering in the corner. Rage expanded his chest, spreading his shoulders and adding to his intimidating stature. His face was stone, but the fury burning in his eyes was something I had never seen. He rotated, facing the circle of humans, pointing his blade at everyone. In unison the ma.s.s stepped away from him.

Adrenaline was leaking from my veins, and my eyelids grew heavy, but my pain level spiked higher.

Movement from a lump lying at the feet of the crowd twitched. My eyes landed on Marcello. His chest slowly rose and fell. He was alive, but the side of his head was caved in. It created a ghastly deformed outline. This time vomit made its way through my throat and out.

Ryker was at my side, his arms scooting underneath me. He huddled me close to him as he rose. He let out a warning growl to anyone thinking about challenging him. When no one moved, he took steps out of the circle. The throng parted, forming a vast s.p.a.ce for us to walk through. No one uttered a word as we pa.s.sed. They kept their distance; fear rooted deep in their eyes.

On the other hand, I felt safe. I burrowed my head deeper into his warm chest. Ryker was here. He was alive. For the first time since we'd been separated, I took my first real breath of air.

TWENTY-FIVE.

I figured Ryker would take us as far from the fighting ring as possible; instead, he ducked into a restroom off the street near a park. He held me with one hand while he locked the door behind us. "Are we safe here?" I gazed around the dirty community restroom.

He walked to the counter and placed me carefully there. "No one will follow us." His tone left no room for doubt. He took off the cloak and threw it on the floor. It hit with a heavier presence than a cape should. He stepped to the counter, taking my gaze away from the item on the ground. "Is anything broken?" He placed his hands on my shoulders and methodically slid the length of my arms, his fingers investigating my torn skin.

"A few ribs." I grimaced from trying to sit straighter.

He didn't look at me, but his hands went to my ribs. "Do you mind?" He nodded to my shirt. I shook my head. The white shirt was soaked red and ripped in so many places it was almost pointless.

I struggled to lift my arms. He bunched the fabric on my torso and then slipped it over my head. A gruff inhale came from Ryker's nose. A frown etched between his brows. The tips of his fingers glided over my painful skin. I peered down and let out a chirp. My stomach and ribs were already turning a deep purplish-blue. He pressed harder, concentrating on each bone. It was painful, but his touch also warmed my muscles, creating a tingle to run through them.

"None feel broken, but some may be cracked." He let his hand drop. This news felt odd to me. I had heard them break like a snap of chicken bone. But when I placed my fingers along my ribs, I knew he was right. They were all intact. Sore and painful as h.e.l.l but unbroken.

His gaze seemed to be fighting for a place to land. Being in my bra in front of a guy was no big deal. I had done it a dozen times. With him several times. But something about this time felt different. I felt naked. "We'll need to find a wrap to bind them."

"And strong painkillers," I mumbled, fighting the urge to fold my arms over my chest. I wasn't huge, but I definitely wasn't small. Right then, I felt my b.r.e.a.s.t.s were parading in front of his face. Ryker stepped back and pulled at his shirt. His muscles flexed and rippled as he yanked it over his head. My eyes felt locked on the deep indentions on his torso, the V-cut hinting at the top of jeans. I quickly looked away, pressing my legs together.

"Put this on." He tossed the shirt at me.

The top was still slightly damp and smelled of seawater and Ryker's familiar smell. It drifted over me as I tried to stuff my arms through the sleeves. My ribs ached from the movement, and I squeaked in pain.

Ryker strode back, taking the shirt in his hands. He stretched the neck wider and settled it over my head. It was big enough so I could keep my arms low while he opened the sleeves for me to put my limbs through. The collar of the neck, dipping low, almost didn't cover my b.o.o.bs, which was amusing because it was the point of me having it on. My breath sharpened when he moved closer, pulling the shirt around my waist, and his knuckles grazed my tender skin.

He paused for a moment before he turned and went to the paper towel dispenser. When he came back, his shoulders and neck were clenched.

He tilted my head, and a rough paper towel dabbed at my lip. The pad of his fingers pressed firmly along my chin line. His breath fluttered over me, and I finally realized how much lighter I felt. I didn't think I would be so grateful to feel his touch again, but it meant I was not alone. I hadn't let myself dwell on his death. My own survival had been foremost on my mind, and I hadn't wanted to contemplate what his absence would have meant to me.

"You came back," I whispered.

He paused before the damp paper patted my mouth again.