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)
I put up a hand to shut him up. “Are you telling me that my da sold all his children into fight-club slavery, so he could… what? Win prizes?”
“I’m sorry.” And maybe Benny was sorry. He made a face that mimicked regret. “It’s a terrible thought. But look at you, Eason.” He beamed a smile at me. “You’re gonna make it, brother. You’re gonna make it.”
And this, right here, was the whole point of that twisted, fucked-up conversation. Everyone knew I was gonna make it. I had won three Ring fights. Not many made it to three. But I knew I could win more. And they knew it too.
Knowing what I know now—that Cort was buying his freedom, that this was even an option, that these men—these controllers—were never going to let Cort walk away—now I kinda see it.
It’s not clear. Not even close. But it’s starting to make sense.
They thought they had control of Cort van Breda, but they were wrong.
And if I was the next great Ring fighter, they would not make that mistake again.
I hadn’t been brought up in their world. I didn’t understand the traditions. I wasn’t taught to be evil.
Whoever these people were, they needed two things from me. Blood and control. And they would get both of them from the same tiny package.
Eoin was all they had. Because I wasn’t married to my best friend, and I hadn’t been in the world long enough to commit sins so great, they could be filmed and used as bribery.
In my mind, I still had a family. But to this powerful committee in charge of things, they were mostly gone. Older brothers dead, so they couldn’t use them. Father was a sick pig who’d sold me, so they couldn’t use him. I suppose they could’ve used my mam, but they must’ve had doubts. Maybe she objected to what my father was doing, but then again, maybe she didn’t.
Eoin, though. Eoin was just a baby when I was sold. He took no part in it at all.
Just an innocent boy with my blood.
“What happened to him?” Irina has turned her body sideways into mine, listening to my story. She’s on her knees, perched on the couch cushion, holding my upper arm with both her hands, clutching onto me like we’re walking through a horror house and she doesn’t want to know what’s around the next corner. “He’s dead, isn’t he?”
I reach around, pry her hands off my arm, then turn my head to look at her and nod. “He’s dead.”
“Sorry.” She pulls her hands back as she lets out a breath, then sinks back into the couch. Immediately her legs come up to her chest and she rests her chin on her knees. All folded up like a little paper doll.
She doesn’t say anything. Not for a long while. And I don’t either. Because this is the part where it all comes full circle and I think she knows this.
I get up.
“Where are you going?”
I don’t answer her. Just go into my room, pull open the drawer, grab the tattered yellow envelope, and then go back out to the living room and plop it down on the couch next to her.
Then I take the chair and we have switched places.
Irina studies the envelope for a moment. It’s about an inch thick and held together by a string tie. Then she looks over at me. “What is it?”
“You wanted names? These are your names.”
She picks up the envelope, undoes the tie, and peeks inside. She removes a stack of photos, puts the envelope down, and starts shuffling through them. One by one. I can’t see them from here, but I don’t need to see them. I know them. I’ve stared at those fuckin’ faces for seven years now. I know those photos intimately.
When she gets to the bottom of the stack, she looks up. “I recognized Udulf and Lazar, but who are the rest?”
“The Devil, Irina. These men are the Devil.”
“They’re owners.”
“So much more than that.”
“Kidnappers.”
“Torturers. Addicts. Soulless fuckin’ killers. Take your pick. They are the things that reside in Hell, Irina. And even though I liked Benny, I’m not mad at Benny. He couldn’t help it. He didn’t know any better. They don’t, Irina. They don’t understand that they’re fuckin’ monsters.”
She lets out a long exhale, sets the pictures down, and reaches back into the envelope, removing a little plastic case that contains one of those old tapes used in camcorders. There’s no label on it, so she holds it up. “What’s on here?”
I pause for a moment, searching for a good one-word description. “Insurance.”
“Insurance for what?”
“For me.” I grin now and it makes Irina recoil. “Why do you think I’m still alive?”
“I don’t know. You didn’t finish your story.”
“You want more?”
“What happened when you got to Dubai?”
“I didn’t go to Dubai.”