Page 106 of Inferno

“Come on,” he grunts.

Nope. American?

Shuffling out, my legs are unsteady, and he holds out a hand to keep me up.

I go to thank him, then I stop, remembering what I’m walking into.

The car drives off, and I’m left with my two guards on either side of me, staring down a gravel pathway that leads to an enormous set of iron gates with the same letter “D” pattern as on the invitation and contract.

Smoke billows out of the brick factory behind the gates. They weren’t fucking around.

A chocolate factory. The bright purple Decadence sign is branded on the front. I look at the guard on my left as we approach the doors. But he continues ignoring me.

As my boots crunch on the gravel, we approach the gates. A gigantic water fountain, its spray a shimmering arc in the sunlight, stands behind the gates, marking the entrance to the imposing factory.

The purple-branded delivery trucks to the left idle, their engines a low thrum against the morning air, exhaust smelling faintly of diesel. Shivering, I wrap my arms around myself, hugging my torso tightly despite the warm air; a deep chill still permeates my bones.

Dread consumes me as the words on the contract replay.

I’m stepping right into hell, and there is no turning back.

Whoever is behind this has me trapped. There’s also a chance I’ll never walk back out of here.

I tip my chin up, remembering Drago’s words that this place could set me free.

I’ve already been to hell. It’s my time to taste heaven.

As the gates open electronically, I’m frozen on the spot.

“Come,” the guard grunts.

I can’t walk.

I can’t move.

Torn between one hell and another.

“This is your last chance to enter the games,” he says in a low tone, and it’s the kick up the ass I need.

I have no choice. My daughter needs me.

It’s hard to comprehend everything as I follow him through the main doors.

It’s a normal factory. Huge steel machinery. Workers all dressed in white coats. Ignoring me like I’m a ghost.

And the smell. It really is decadent. It makes my stomach rumble and my eyes go wide.

Decadent. A word I’ve not heard in five years. A word that makes my stomach flutter. I almost want to laugh. What are the chances of that?

“Do I meet The Master before the games?” I whisper.

The guard stops and spins to face me; his deep green eyes bore into me.

“Rules. You do not speak unless spoken to. Now move. Follow orders.” He nods before striding off towards a set of double doors. He enters his thumbprint, and I store that in my brain.

Okay, definitely American.

And I’m gonna need to cut off someone’s thumb if I’m going to escape at any point.

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