Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 126003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 630(@200wpm)___ 504(@250wpm)___ 420(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 630(@200wpm)___ 504(@250wpm)___ 420(@300wpm)
“Yes.”
“Really?”
He turns his head to look down at me. “Yeah, why?”
“So they fought too? The death fights?”
“No.” Eason almost guffaws. “No.”
“But… Maart and Rainer, they had to fight. They didn’t make it to the Ring, but they fought in the lower levels.”
“Yeah, well…” Eason pauses here. Like he’s not sure if he should say more.
“Well, what?”
“Davis and Wade weren’t slaves, Irina. Just… employees.”
“Oh.” I make a face and turn back to the beach. “Oh.” I say this again, because this fact has unsettled me for some reason. And shaken my worldview a little.
“Yeah. They got paid. It was a job.”
“That’s…”
“Gross?”
I look back up at him and nod. “Yeah.”
“I think so too.”
“Then why do you keep them around?”
“Because…” He pauses to study the ocean in front of us. For so long, actually, that I start to think he forgot the question. But then he looks at me and tries again. “Because… that’s all there is.”
We stand there for several minutes saying nothing.
That’s pretty much all he’s done with me since we’ve met. He’s used a lot of words, but he has said absolutely nothing.
A lot like Cort, indeed, but in the opposite direction.
Cort uses no words, but says so much.
Eason takes me on a tour of his home. It’s massive. Four bedrooms, four baths, two levels, four terraces, and a view of the ocean from every single window. It’s modern and bright. The furniture is a bit cold and European for my tastes, and it’s not really comfy. But it is gorgeous.
His bedroom is downstairs, a massive suite right off the living room. But the room he puts me in is equally as large, just on the level above. I’ve got my own bathroom, even a tub, and a private terrace that has a lounge chair on it and a little palm tree in a pot.
“Is this good enough?”
I make a face at him. “Do I look like a princess?”
He stares at me for a moment. Too long of a moment for my comfort level. I know I shouldn’t feel so self-conscious. He’s my trainer. It’s just… he’s a man, too. And he’s rather handsome.
He turns away, shrugging. “Just making sure it’s up to your standards.” He leaves, going down the stairs, then calls over his shoulder, “We might as well take the rest of the day off. Shower and come down when you’re done.”
I walk over to the door and tap it closed without answering.
Then I turn back to the room, walk over to the terrace, go outside, lie back in the lounger, and promptly fall asleep.
When I wake, there are voices downstairs. Loud, gregarious, male voices.
The friends. They are laughing about something.
It’s not dark, but the sun is clearly setting on the other side of the building. Light is reflected off the lingering clouds offshore, making them glow an orangey-pink.
My body feels gritty and gross from the early-morning run. So I get up, run the bath, add some bubble bath from the complement of glass bottles lined up on a ledge, and, once it’s filled, ease my tired and aching body into the water.
It feels so good, I almost fall asleep again.
Back in the village, after we came back from a fight, Cort would let us take a bath in his tub. He lived in the house, a real house, him and Maart and Rainer. The rest of us lived in the huts just outside.
His place wasn’t like this. It was rather a mess compared to this condo. But it was nice in my eyes. It was luxury to us, and those baths, my God, they were like… I don’t know how to explain it. They were the best thing I ever experienced.
Thinking about this makes me a little sad. Especially after realizing that there are kids out there who are still stuck in the fight ring. They might never get a bath, never even know what bubbles are. And here I am, soaking in hot water inside a luxurious beachfront penthouse, pretending like I can give my life meaning if I just kill the right people.
Maybe it is a reality show? Maybe it is just a game?
I think Eason might be on to something. Because life? It’s all so unfair, how can it be real? And it can change so quickly. One moment you’re training like a maniac, your next death fight just a few weeks off, and the next thing ya know, you’re working on a supply ship with a brand-new second chance. And that’s not the only time, either. I’ve had more than my share of fresh starts. This place—before Eason—included.
And now here I am, once again, with an… upgrade.
It’s crazy, and if I dwell on it too much, I’ll get stuck in my head trying to force it all to make sense, only it never does, so there’s no point. And I don’t want to be stuck in my head anyway. So I wash, and put on new training clothes, and then open the door—unwilling to go downstairs, but feeling obligated to nonetheless.