"She seems to have settled. The landlady of this place wouldn't say when she moved in or give any information about her." Sam flicks the paper bearing the address. "But we better move fast. Layne and I can-"
"No." I pocket the paper. "Just me. Alone."
"With all due respect-" Sam eases off the barstool a second after me. He doesn't try to get in my way, but he steps too close. Color explodes behind my eyes. Darkness dances at the corners, then takes over.
A second later, I come to. My hands are fisted in Sam's shirt. I've slammed him against the bar. He shows his neck, a wolf's signal of yielding. His hands go up, spread in surrender, but my lion doesn't care. My canines ache as they grow, a growl blasting from my throat.
A second later pain explodes in my back.
"I wouldn't if I were you." A purr in my ear, soft and sibilant. The claws in my skin flex and tighten, ten points of agony, needle sharp. "Be a good kitty and let him go."
Wrenching hold of my lion, I release Sam's shirt, and snarl as the claws bite deeper.
"Layne," Sam murmurs. A half purr, half growl and the weight leaves my back abruptly. I stretch, ignoring the shriek of pain along my spine, and turn slowly. The woman stares straight at me with almond-shaped cat eyes. If she were male, my lion would want to have a round with her, even though I'm the asshole here. But I admire her strength. Her grace. And I appreciate what she and Sam are doing for me.
Still, my lion can't stop me from posturing. "Most wouldn't provoke the king of the beasts in his territory."
Layne meets my challenge with a glare. Sam slips to her side and she takes his hand without breaking her gaze. Don't threaten my mate, she seems to say. My lion grudgingly approves.
"Maybe it's best if you do go alone, Nash." Sam tugs Layne to the door.
As soon as they step outside, I cover my face with a hand. My forehead is clammy with effort from keep my lion on a chain. He's violent, lashing out at friend and foe. I'm dangerous. Desperate. I'm dying, and there's only one cure.
Denali.
The paper in my pocket nudges my palm. I crumple it and fight the rising red tide that threatens my vision. It hurts, but I push it back.
"Well, boss? You gonna get her?" Parker stands in front of me.
I didn't realize the gang had followed me to The Pit from my house, but it figures. They're omnipresent. "I can't." I force the words out, ignoring my lion's howl of loss.
"Ya must," Declan says at my side. "Your lion can't hold on any longer."
"I know." I close my eyes. I was supposed to find Denali, go to her. Apologize. Make sure she's safe.
It's too late. My lion is out of control, and I need to find someone to kill him. To kill me.
"If someone was able to kill you, they would've by now," Parker points out and I realize I spoke aloud. "You fight every day-and win. The biggest, baddest shifters, the half deranged-anyone who will step into the ring. Sometimes two at a time."
"Ya can't stop fighting," Declan murmurs. "Not that I'm complaining. Business is good. Bets are up. The cops stopped sniffing around, and the Shifter Fight Club in Tucson only made us more famous." He swirls his drink. "The Pit. Home of the King of the Beasts."
Right. And what happens if one day my lion kills someone in the ring?
If I end up like my father, a murderer?
Aw, who am I kidding? I've been a murderer since the first day I shifted in the middle of an engagement in Afghanistan. I thought Smyth could help me control my lion. All he did was make it worse.
I snarl. I'm tempted to walk out, to drive to Denali's house and tell her everything. She might forgive me, once she gets over the shock.
But I can't. Between the flashbacks, the violence, and my lion's insanity, I've built a cage stronger than any Data-X used to hold me.
Nash
LATER THAT NIGHT, I head into the ring. The crowd cheers, but all I hear are screams. How many did I kill as a soldier? They're here, ghostlike faces turned vicious, ready to drag me to death.
My vision goes blood red, then black.
Next thing I know, I'm in the ring and Parker signals the start of the match. The bruin turns, and his profile reminds me of one of the Data-X guards. A sadistic fuck who liked to strap down small shifters and pump them full of juice until they smoked. Snack-sized, he said.
Red. Black. The bruin falls, his face a bloody mask. The bouncers enter, drag him out. Another fighter takes his place. Young. Cocky. Like me and the other prisoners when we voluntarily entered testing, thinking we were part of a grand experiment. A master race.
"We'll find the best for you Nash," Dr. Smyth said. "I'll help you control your lion. Keep him from killing again. And then you'll breed the master race."
Red. Black. Another fighter in the ring. Two this time. They rush me together and their fists fall. Pain washes me clean.
I'm back strapped onto the chair, sides bruised. Mouth parched, body smoking. "Not so strong now?" the guard asks, raising the shock stick.
I roar and two startled faces blur in front of me. I reach through the red haze, grab both by the scruff of their necks and slam their skulls together. Two for one.
The crowd screams. My head rings. Declan stands in front of me, offering water.
"How many fights do I have left?"
"One more." He sounds worried. "But you don't need the fight. We can-"
"No." I climb to my feet as a mean-looking fighter lumbers into the ring. My lion won't be deprived his prey.