“Bring her in here,” Marcus calls, and Nolan ties his grimy blond hair back into a bun, then hauls me up by one arm. He tugs me into the bathroom, where Marcus is waiting with my skirt and blouse spread out over the edge of a tub that doesn’t appear to function. He’s standing by the sink, holding a clean-ish rag beneath running water. “Let’s get you cleaned up and dressed.”

I protest with nonsense mumbled from behind my gag, because he couldn’t understand me if I tried to say real words anyway. And because I know better than to resist.

Until I feel Nolan’s hands at my back, trying to unhook my bra. “No!” I shout from behind the gag, and saliva gathers in the corners of my mouth, soaking into the dirty cloth. “No!”

“I think she’s trying to say something,” Marcus says, as my bra strap gives way, and the grimy, lacy cups fall away to expose my breasts. I clamp my arms against my ribcage, pinning the sides of my bra to keep it from falling completely off. Marcus pulls the gag from my mouth. “You have something to say, Kaya?”

I tug uselessly against my bonds, desperate to grab my bra and pull it back up. “I can wash myself.”

“How are you going to wash yourself when you can’t even keep your clothes on?” Marcus plucks the lacy material free and drapes it over the edge of the tub. His gaze wanders over my bare torso, and I cringe away from his appraisal.

“Please. Just untie me and give me the rag.”

“I got it.” Nolan tries to grab the rag, but Marcus pulls it out of reach. He glances from Nolan to me, then back, and I can practically see him thinking. Assessing the odds of Nolan being able to control himself if he’s allowed to touch me. “She can do it herself,” he finally decides. “Hands off,” he tells Nolan. “Unless she tries anything.” Marcus tosses the rag into the sink, beneath the flow of water, and turns me around to untie my hands.

Then he leaves me alone with Nolan.

I remember him, from a few seasons ago. He wasn’t my fighter. In fact, he was up against one of my fighters in the championship round, and his sponsor was able to get him a better weapon.

He killed my guy with the claw end of a standard construction hammer.

I’ll never forget the sound it made.

I didn’t know much about fighting before I took my job with UA, but in the five years—ten seasons—I’ve lived in orbit around the planet, I’ve learned a lot. Sebastian is among the best fighters I’ve ever worked with. Maybe the best. But the best fighter doesn’t always win.

In the arena, the fighter who wins is either the one with the strongest viewer poll numbers or the fighter whose come-from-behind victory will draw in the most viewers. Either way, no one survives without UA’s support. And I’d bet my life that something similar is going on here, even without a team of statisticians and media consultants. Without interviews, and costumes, and a viewership of millions and millions all across the galaxy.

The look in Nolan’s eyes tells me that Marcus and his men are never going to let Sebastian win. Because they’re not going to let me leave. They’ve been very clear about the fact that here, I’m the criminal. And this is my sentence.

“You gonna do that, or do you need some help?” Nolan asks.

I wring the rag out and wash my face, relieved to note that the cloth smells relatively clean. Which is about as good as it gets around here. He doesn’t offer me any soap, so I make do with cold water, careful not to turn my back on him. Just in case.

At first the temperature of the water is a shock. This room is sweltering in the high heat of the day, and I’m covered in sweat. But the cold wakes me up and cools me off, and I’m grateful for both.

Nolan watches closely while I wipe myself down, rinsing the rag often, and by the time I get to my breasts, he’s grown a sizable erection. “Lower bits too,” he growls when I start to turn the faucet off.

I hate being grimy. But I’d rather be covered in dirt than take my underwear off in front of him.

“You do it, or I do it,” he warns. So I grit my teeth and push my underwear down.

He unzips his pants, and I back away, my hands trembling. “No. Marcus said no.”

“Relax.” He holds both hands up, as if I’m actually going to believe he’s harmless. “I’m only touching myself. For now. But when I win, you and I are gonna get to know each other real well.” Then he frees his erection and begins stroking it while he stares at me, his pupils dilated. His breathing already growing ragged. “Finish the job,” he demands and for a second, I think he’s telling me to…touch him. Then he nods at the rag.

I rinse and wring again, then I run the cloth over both of my legs before perfunctorily scrubbing myself between my thighs.

Nolan shoots his climax all over the bathroom floor as I toss the rag into the sink and turn off the water. “Don’t suppose you feel like licking that up?” He nods at the mess he’s made.

Bile rises in my throat. “You’re disgusting.”

He’s across the room before I can blink, his hand wrapping around my throat. He lifts me until I have to stand on my toes to keep from suffocating while I pull at his fingers. “You better pray I don’t win, because if I do, I’ll make you beg for the privilege of licking that up.” He stares down at me while I struggle to suck in a breath. “Got anything else smart to say?”

I try to shake my head, but his grip is too tight. I claw at his hand, and finally he lets me go. “Get dressed. Outer layer only. You’re not gonna need underwear.” And just to make sure I follow his orders, he snatched my panties and bra, then buries his nose in them for a deep inhale. Watching me, to see if I have any further commentary.

“Sebastian’s going to kill you,” I whisper as I reach for my skirt. I don’t know where the words came from. I didn’t mean to say them.

Nolan grabs my left arm and hauls me toward him as his right hand swings. It lands on my bare backside hard enough to force a cry from me. Fire burns in my abused flesh, echoing outward from the impact. “You better hope you’re right,” he growls, pressing me against his chest for a second before he lets me go.

In the polished surface of the metal wall above the sink, I twist to see a bright red handprint on my right cheek. It’s already starting to swell.

This is why I don’t fight back. And if Sebastian loses, this will only be the beginning.

*

The zone three version of the arena turns out to be an area of open land behind the building, where the grass has been worn away by foot traffic. There’s no defined ring and there are no stands. There aren’t even any seats.

But there are men. Several dozen, at least, though only sixteen of them have come up with an entry fee for the tournament. They’re roughly assembled in a large circle, defining the makeshift ring with a living wall of spectators that parts to let us through, when Marcus and Nolan march me out of the building.

They haven’t bothered to bind my hands again, probably assuming—correctly—that I’m not stupid enough to cause a ruckus, as my grandmother used to say, with all these large men ready to haul me back into line.

And most of them are large.

About half of the faces are familiar, some from my time as a sponsorship liaison, and some from the research I did to prepare for my job, before accepting it. But about a quarter of the men are both unfamiliar and…small. Well, bigger than I am, but much smaller and less muscular than the former champions. They’re the regular inmates, and I suspect they’re the size of most normal men, though after years of working with large inmates and large guards, they look oddly undersized to me. Yet most of them look no less cruel and eager than the champions.

“Okay, is everybody ready?” Marcus calls out over the crowd. He grabs my arm and pulls me closer while he scans the assembled men. “Is everyone here? Where’s Havoc? We can’t start the introductions without our guest of honor!”

A grumble rises from the crowd, near the spot opposite us in the rough circle. The crowd on that side parts, and Sebastian enters the ring, carrying both his pack and mine, but rather than forming part of the circle, he crosses the dirt toward us. Then he sets both packs at my feet.

“Watch these for me?” He gives me a wink, as if this is any normal day. And in a way, I guess it is. My life has revolved around organized violence for the past several years, and in many ways, this is no different.

Yet in one big way, as the hungry gazes leveled on me demonstrate, it’s entirely different.

“You okay?” Sebastian asks, and I nod. I don’t reach for him, because I’m afraid if I touch him, I won’t be able to let go. I don’t speak to him, because I’m afraid that if I open my mouth, a sob will spill out. “Shouldn’t be long now.” He leans down and kisses my forehead. Then he smooths my hair back.

I clench my hands into fists at my sides to keep from clinging to him. He looks exhausted. I hope he spent the past few hours resting.

“All right, let’s get this thing started!” Marcus steps into the center of the circle and raises one hand, as if he’s waving to an audience of millions, rather than dozens. “First, we all owe a big thank you to our guest of honor, for bringing us our grand prize! Those of you who’ve been here for more than a few years may not recognize him, but the rest of us know Havoc, from Grand Champion! And I’m sure all of you know his sister Sylvie, the only female fighter to ever step into the arena, and the most anti-social champion we’ve ever seen.”

They do know Sylvie. She’s alive. Marcus didn’t mention Graham, but Sylvie, at least, is here! Somewhere…

“Alas, Sylvie didn’t accept our invitation, which is no surprise. But fate has smiled on us today, bringing not only her brother, but also another face most of you will recognize.” Marcus turns to me, and Nolan shoves me into the dirt circle. “Kaya Johnston works for Universal Authority. In the arena, she worked for some of you and against some of you. But regardless of whether she kept you alive or armed someone trying to kill you, she’s in our house now!”

A roar of approval washes over the crowd, and I flinch. Then I hold my head high and make myself meet several of the gazes trained on me, trying to channel Sylvie, in bearing at least. Not that I’m fooling anyone. They all know that the closest I’ve ever come to a fight is watching the action from the greenroom. From between my own fingers.

“Kaya had the good fortune to survive when the blimp crashed into zone three last week, and now that we have a suitable grand prize, it’s time to finally get our tournament underway and find out who’s the ultimate fighter. The true champion, with no sponsors to play favorites or bail anyone out. Are you guys ready?”

Another chorus of cheers goes up all around me.

“Now, I know that technically, Havoc isn’t a champion. But given his experience and status as a professional fighter, as well as the fact that he’s brought us our grand prize, I think we should let him compete.”

The crowd cheers again, all except for Eric, who looks pissed about not getting credit for bringing me here. And Sebastian.

“Okay, up first, we have Michael and Brent!” As two men step out of the crowd into the circle, Marcus hauls me toward the audience, while I try to keep my torn blouse closed. In the crowd, he and Nolan take up guard positions on either side of me. Sebastian is a few feet away—they won’t let him get very close—and I watch him as the men in the circle start throwing punches.

Sebastian is watching the fight. He’s studying the combatants, because one of them could be his opponent in a future round.

This fight has a different feel than combat in the zone one arena. It’s…grittier. Dirtier, both in setting and style. The men fighting today don’t have to worry about impressing an audience, in hopes that favorability ratings will get them sponsors. They fight brutally and efficiently, knowing they won’t see the event played back for them on a screen in the greenroom. Knowing they won’t have to comment on their technique or their opponent in an interview.

Sebastian crosses his arms over his chest. His jaw bulges as he watches. As he plans. Then, suddenly, his gaze is drawn to me. He doesn’t smile or nod. He doesn’t say anything. But he’s connected to me in that moment, and I can see his determination.

He’s going to get me out of here, or die trying.

There are eight fights in the first round, and they go very quickly. Most of the losers tap out, pinned by opponents who know how to grapple. That’s always hard for those trained only as boxers. But a couple of them get knocked out cold, and one man dies when his opponent grabs a rock and smashes his skull in.

That opponent is disqualified, then dragged off by several of the men, including Nolan. The men come back minutes later, splattered in blood. Without the combatant who broke the rules.

After that, no one else dares pick up a weapon, and one lucky set of round one contestants moves on to round two automatically, because of the new hole in the bracket.

Sebastian is in the last of the round one fights, up against a man I don’t recognize. His opponent is older than most of the men, which means his championship days are probably long behind him. Sebastian dodges most of the older man’s punches and seems to be pulling his own. He pins the man the first chance he gets, applying pressure to his windpipe until he taps out. With no blood spilled.

The crowd looks bored, but Sebastian gives me a grim nod as he leaves the circle and digs in his bag for a bottle of water. So far, so good.

Rounds two and three progress much the same, though as the weaker contestants are eliminated, the fights get longer and bloodier. Sebastian’s round two opponent breaks his nose, and I flinch. I love his poor nose!

In his next punch, Sebastian knocks him out cold.

Nolan progresses through round two into the semi-finals, but Marcus gets eliminated in the last fight of the second round. He looks pissed, but not truly surprised. And the resentful, angry way he’s looking at me makes me think that he really regrets not raping me when he had the chance.

I kind of want to flip him off. But I know better.

There are only two fights in round three. Sebastian is up first, against a man named Cameron, who’s very well aware that Sebastian’s broken nose and swollen eyes are a weakness. I hold my breath as I watch him take punch after punch to the ribs, then a punishing shot to the kidneys. But in the end, he pins Cameron to the ground and compresses his throat in some kind of choke hold until he passes out. And he’s on to the championship round.

I don’t know how he’s even still alive, considering his concussion and lack of sleep. I wish there was something I could do for him. But they won’t let me near him.

As Nolan and his opponent head into the center of the circle and Sebastian sinks onto the ground to rest, Marcus tugs me backward through the crowd. “How ‘bout a bathroom break before the finale?” he says when I start to protest.

I don’t trust him. But I could stand to visit the restroom. So I let him guide me back into the building through the rear entrance, which is entirely missing its door.

In the restroom, he lets me go into the stall alone for some privacy while I relieve myself. But after I’ve rinsed my hands in the sink—I’d kill for some hand sanitizer—Marcus comes up behind me and grabs the back of my neck. My blood runs cold.

“Bend over, Kaya.”

“No, please. This wasn’t the deal.” I hold his gaze in the mirror. “You’re not the champion.”

“Which means we better be quick. Bend over,” he orders again, and when I hesitate, he begins to push me forward, my hips pressed against the counter, squeezing my neck until I have to grind my teeth to keep from crying out. “Make it easy on yourself, honey. Just bend over, and I’ll be quick.”

I give in. I hate myself for it, but if I don’t give him what he wants, he’s just going to take it. And make it hurt. Not the Sebastian-nibbling-on-my-nipples titillating kind of pain, but the bruised, bleeding, can’t-walk kind of pain. So I bend over. But as he slides my skirt up to expose my most private places, I refuse to cry.

I know how to do this. I close my eyes. And when he kicks my legs apart, I mentally start counting backward from one thousand, because that requires concentration, and by the time I get down to eight hundred, surely he’ll be finished.

David rarely made it to eight fifty.

Marcus unfastens his pants and runs one hand over my backside. “Is that Nolan’s handprint?”

Nine hundred ninety-eight. Nine hundred ninety-seven. Nine hundred ninety-six.

I can’t believe the handprint is still there but I can’t think about that right now. I can’t—

“Get the fuck off her.”

I sob with relief at the sound of Sebastian’s voice, my numbers forgotten. I open my eyes and push up from the counter until I can see him in the polished section of the metal wall that passes for a mirror, but immediately I wish I hadn’t. I don’t want him to see me like this.

“Now,” Sebastian growls. “Or I’ll fucking kill you.”

Marcus keeps me pinned against the counter, but he tucks himself back into his pants. You’d have to be stupid to get into a fight with Sebastian with your most vulnerable part hanging out. “You kill me, and they’ll kill you,” he says.

Sebastian shrugs. “You’ll still be dead.”

“Back the fuck off, man. You’ve had her. In another hour Nolan will have her. Just give me five minutes, and I’ll hand her over peacefully.”

“Blindsiding me was one thing,” Sebastian growls. “But I’ve seen you fight now, and you can’t take me. So get off her, or I will drown you in the fucking toilet.”

Marcus takes a step back, and I swallow another sob of relief before it can leak out and further embarrass me. Then I pull my skirt down and stand. Sebastian holds his arm out, and I lurch past Marcus into his embrace.

“One more fight,” Sebastian says to me, without taking his attention from Marcus. “We’re almost done here.”

But we’re not. He doesn’t seem to realize that even if he wins, they won’t let him leave with me. And telling him that now will only distract him from the upcoming fight.

“After you.” Sebastian gestures for Marcus to precede us out the door, where he grabs my arm and hauls me into his possession. “One more fight,” Sebastian whispers, and I can see the restraint it takes to keep him from pulling me from Marcus’s grip. He’s trying to play it smart.

I really hope my hunch is wrong.

Nolan is delivering the final—and fatal—blow to his opponent when we rejoin the crowd. Some of the men look relieved by our return. Others don’t seem to have noticed we were gone.

Marcus announces a short break before the final round, during which the bruised and bloody men who’ve been eliminated from the tournament start to gather around me.

“Back off!” Marcus shouts. “If you want some time with Kaya, you need to start making arrangements with Nolan!”

The crowd grumbles, then one of the men shouts, “What if Nolan loses?”

“I’m not going to lose,” he snaps, wiping water from his chin as he caps his pouch. He looks exhausted. But so does Sebastian.

“But what if he does?” that same man demands. “Is Havoc just going to take her and leave?”

I shoot a panicked glance at Sebastian, but I can hardly see him through the crowd. This is what I was afraid of. Yet Marcus doesn’t seem very worried about the other men’s concerns. “We’ll worry about that bridge when we come to it!” he shouts. “Mostly because we’re not going to come to it. Are we, Nolan?”

“Hell, no!” Nolan shouts, and the crowd cheers.

“And when you win, you’ll be open to the idea of sharing your prize, right?”

Nolan snorts. “Renting her, maybe. After we’ve spent some quality time together. So all you weak fucks better get your offers ready. I prefer food and alcohol.”

UA doesn’t distribute alcohol through the supply drops. Are the inmates making homemade alcohol? That doesn’t happen in the bullpen. There are cameras everywhere, and the warden would put an end to that before it even began. But out here…?

The only thing more terrifying than belonging to a psychotic prisoner would be belonging to a drunk psychotic prisoner.

“Okay, then, let’s get this thing finished!” Marcus shouts, and the circle of spectators begins to reform. I can feel gazes crawling over me, and I try to ignore them. I need to focus on the fight.

I need to figure out what I’m going to do afterward, because if Nolan wins, I’m screwed. If he can still stand, Sebastian will try to protect me, and he’ll get himself killed.

If Sebastian wins, the men will riot. They’ll try to kill him, to keep me in “the city.”

There has to be a way out of this.

The sun is starting to sink toward the horizon as Sebastian and Nolan face off in the center of the circle. We’ve only got about an hour and a half of sunlight left, and the temperature is starting to drop, but that’s not the source of my goosebumps.

Sebastian and Nolan begin circling each other. There’s a sense of urgency churning around them, and everyone in the audience seems to feel it. Nolan throws the first punch, but Sebastian dodges, then returns fire with a shot to Nolan’s ribs. Nolan grunts, but responds with another body shot, and now they’re in the thick of it, blows flying.

I can’t stand to watch, but I can’t afford to look away.

Nolan gets in a couple of brutal shots to Sebastian’s kidney, then he rams him in the gut, driving him to the ground. In an instant, he has Sebastian in a chokehold, and I can’t breathe.

Nonononono. This can’t happen. It’ll be bad if Sebastian wins, but it’ll be worse if he loses. If Nolan kills him.

I can’t let him die.

I love him.

And just like that, there it is, crystal clear in this moment when everything is literally life and death. He kidnapped me. He dragged me into the one of the most dangerous places in the galaxy. And he helped me understand that my safe, clean existence up in orbit is actually anything but.

Life isn’t neat and easy. Neither is love. The things that matter never are.

Sebastian is willing to die to protect me. But I can’t let that happen. So I make the only move I have.

“What are you doing?” Marcus demands when I kneel in front of Sebastian’s backpack.

“I need water.” And while he’s watching, all I can reach for is the bottle.

“Can’t stand to see it, can you?” He sneers at me, and I know what he’s thinking. If Sebastian loses, Nolan will lend me to him. Or rent me to him. And he’ll be able to do whatever he wants to me.

But that’s not going to happen.

Marcus turns back to the fight, and I dig through the bag until I feel the hard edge of my com device. I press my thumb to the screen, and it powers on, lighting up the inside of the pack. The device uses a solar battery, and it hasn’t seen sunlight in several days, but the last time I turned it on, it still had nearly twenty percent power. Surely there’s still enough juice for it to auto-connect to the Rhodon network.

Please let someone be monitoring for that signal, since they know I’m alive down here.

I hope my beacon works. Yet I also hope it doesn’t. I’ve essentially called in a rescue as a way to break up the fight. I had no other choice—no other move to make—yet in potentially saving Sebastian’s life I’ve also taken away his leverage. And ended his chance at getting his sister—at getting all of us—off of Rhodon.

Alive on a prison planet is better than dead, right?

That’s easy for me to say. I’ll be rescued. But I’ll be without Sebastian.

My hands tremble as I watch the fight, mentally cheering him on. Hoping I haven’t made a huge mistake. Praying that the rescue shuttle gets here in time, if I haven’t.

Sebastian is in trouble. He’s pinned and in pain.

Then his gaze meets mine, and a roar of fury erupts from his throat. He explodes from the ground and throws Nolan onto his back, then presses his forearm into Nolan’s neck with his full weight behind the move.

In seconds, Nolan’s face turns bright red, but Sebastian doesn’t relent. Nolan slams his palm into the ground, but Sebastian either doesn’t see or has decided not to accept the tap-out.

He’s going for the kill.

It takes a long time to suffocate someone. Or maybe he’s cutting of blood flow, rather than oxygen. Either way, the next few minutes feel like forever. Cheers from the crowd die into a confused rumble as everyone looks to Marcus, waiting for some kind of reaction. Or instruction. Is he going to let Nolan die? Will he let Sebastian take me out of the city?

Should they stand for that?

And finally, Sebastian releases the pressure on Nolan’s neck. Silence settles over the crowd as the sun sinks toward the horizon, painting the world with a glowing crimson light.

Nolan doesn’t get up. He isn’t breathing. It’s over.

He’s dead.

Sebastian stands, breathing hard. Staring at Nolan’s corpse. Absorbing what’s just happened. Then he looks up and his gaze finds mine. He holds his hand out toward me, and I bend to grab both packs.

And the crowd explodes in fury.

Several of the men start yelling at Marcus, and several more jump Sebastian, stomping all over Nolan’s corpse to get to him. Two of the men grab me, one by each arm, and I feel like a doll caught between children unwilling to share.

Not that I want to be shared.

Marcus yells back at the men shouting at him, and Sebastian throws punches as fast as he can, kicking out when one of his attackers tries to ram him.

Then, just as I’m sure my right arm is going to be pulled from its socket, it is suddenly released. I stumble to the left, off balance because that arm is still being pulled, and as I try to tear free, I see…

Sylvie. She’s standing over the man who had my right arm, and who’s now lying on the ground with blood pouring from his throat.

“Help her!” Sylvie shouts. Then she spins to the left and buries her knife in another man’s throat. That’s her signature move.

Before I can figure out what’s going on, and who she was talking to, my left arm is released so suddenly that momentum knocks me on my backside, as the man who was holding it collapses to the ground, choking and coughing.

A hand reaches down for me, and I look up to find Graham grinning at me. “Hey. I hear I owe you my life.” He pulls me to my feet. “Consider the debt paid.”

“Oh my god!” I throw my arms around him, though I don’t think I’ve ever touched him before. “What are you doing here? How did you know?”

“Warren.” He points, and I turn to see Warren on the edge of the crowd, looking torn. “He’s a friend. Weeks ago, Sylvie made him promise that if any women wound up in the city against their will, that he’d come find her. When he heard Marcus planned to offer you up as a prize, that’s exactly what he did.”

“Holy crap!”

“Graham!” Sylvie snaps. “A little help? My brother’s getting his ass kicked!”

We spin to find Sebastian still trying to fight off five guys at once while Sylvie and Warren—he’s evidently picked a side, now—try to keep the rest of the spectators from piling on.

“Stay put,” Graham says. Then he jumps into the fray, punching men in the kidneys and pulling them off Sebastian.

I grab our packs and retreat as far as I can from the action, wishing I knew how to help.

Then I hear the rumble of a shuttle engine…