Page 41 of Thawed Gladiator: Victor

The truck lurches forward on his first attempt, but he adapts quickly. Soon we’re making starts and stops in the desert night, his confidence growing with each pass.

“Good.” I try to hide my relief. “You have the basics, big guy. I hope you’re ready for a high-speed chase. Turn around, we’re getting back on the highway, and we’ll need to go as fast as this rig will take us. We lost a little time there.”

He executes the maneuver perfectly, like a gladiator practicing sword forms. “The machine responds well to subtle adjustments.”

“Just like handling weapons or fighting—it’s about control and awareness.” A flash of pride warms my chest. “We should move,” he says finally, even as his hands caress the wheel with new familiarity. “The sun will reveal too much.”

He’s right. We need to find new transportation and put more distance between us and Vegas. But watching him master this piece of modern technology reminds me that he’s survived far worse challenges than this. Two thousand years of frozen sleep, waking to an impossible future, and still he adapts with grace.

“Head north,” I tell him, settling into the passenger seat. “I know a place we might find help. Just… try to keep it under seventy until you get used to the speed.”

His slight smile carries more warmth than the desert dawn. “As mydominacommands.”

“Not yourdominaanymore,” I remind him softly, then amend, “Except when we want to play. In bed.” We’re in so much hot water, yet lust at my own naughty comment lances through me. “I’m not yourdomina, just your partner.”

His free hand finds mine in the growing light. “Better.”

It takes him a while to get the nerve to go faster than forty, but soon we’re zooming at top speed. The truck moves steadily north as the sun breaches the horizon. Behind us, Vegas and its hunters fade into memory. Ahead lies uncertainty, danger, and a journey I never imagined making.

But watching Damian handle this modern chariot with growing confidence, I know we’ll face whatever comes. We’ve already survived impossible odds. What’s another few thousand miles between two people becoming something more with each passing mile?

Partners.

More.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Damian

The safe house reminds me of the hidden rooms beneath the Colosseum where injured gladiators sometimes hid from their masters—low ceilings, the musty scent of earth, and secrets pressed into every shadow. Maya’s friend Kane, a scarred giant who moves with a fighter’s grace despite his limp, leads us through the concealed entrance behind his auto repair shop.

“Two days. Max,” he says, his voice rough as arena sand. “Any longer draws attention.” His eyes linger on me with professional assessment. “Nice build. Bit too perfect, though. Guy like that stands out.”

Maya slips her fingers into mine in the dim light. “We just need rest and transportation, then we’re gone.”

Kane grunts, gesturing toward a narrow hallway. “Bedroom’s through there. Bathroom’s got medical supplies if you need ‘em. TV picks up basic channels.”

“I can’t pay you. The cash I had stashed will barely pay for food and gas. But I’m good for it, Kane. I’ll get it to you.”

“That’s not the first time I’ve heard something like that.” He shrugs, not voicing the end of his sentence, which I suspect goes something like, “And those promises are seldom fulfilled.”

The space feels both foreign and familiar—like the gladiator barracks but filled with strange machines. A “microwave” like the one in Maya’s apartment. A small “television” that shows moving pictures. Even the bed is too soft, too perfect compared to the straw pallets I knew.

“Get cleaned up if you want,” Maya says softly after Kane leaves. “I’ll check the news.”

The modern bathroom still confuses me, but I’ve learned to appreciate its efficiency. Hot water flows at the turn of a handle—a luxury even wealthy Romans would envy. As I wash away desert dust and memories of the meat processing plant, I hear Maya’s sharp intake of breath from the other room.

“Damian!” The rest of her words I don’t understand, but her tone is clear. This is urgent.

After wrapping a towel around my waist, I insert the translator into my ear and emerge to find her staring at her cell phone. She holds it up to me with what must be her latest text.

“Here’s the last message that came through. ‘Varro says to trust no one. These people have infiltrated local law enforcement, hospitals, even some government agencies. They’ll never stop hunting him. The potential value of his preserved DNA is too high’. They’ve tried to breach the gladiator compound twice, but now their efforts are focused on… you.”

The warning strikes me with renewed force, like a gladiator’s unexpected blow. I’ve known about these pharmaceutical hunters since the warehouse, seen their hungry eyes at the fight, but Laura’s message sharpens the threat into something immediate and vast. Not just Tony and his underground fights, but an organized network of powerful people with seemingly limitless resources—all fixated on capturing me, studying me, reducing me to a specimen for their research.

The abstract danger we’ve discussed for days suddenly materializes into something more concrete and inescapable. Even the undefeated Thracian I once faced in the arena feels like a simpler threat than this invisible web closing around us.

Maya sends Laura our current location then deletes the messages and powers down the phone. Her gaze meets mine, fierce with protective fury. “We need a better plan. Somewhere they’d never think to look while we plan our next steps. We can’t stay here. Kane has been generous enough.”

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