Page 49 of Thawed Gladiator: Victor

The morning sun climbs higher as we make preparations. Joseph’s grandson lends us a battered truck that won’t draw attention, and he receives a battered truck in return. Sarah provides supplies and a bundle of sacred herbs “for protection.” The whole community seems to understand the gravity of what we’re undertaking.

Damian drives, so confident with modern vehicles it’s as though he’s driven all his life.

“Whatever comes,” Damian says softly as we leave the reservation’s boundaries, “we face it as one.”

I lace my fingers through his, drawing strength from his quiet certainty. “As one,” I agree.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Damian

The sacred site Joseph chose rises before us like a temple to forgotten gods. Red rock walls tower overhead, ancient markings still visible despite centuries of wind and rain. Maya’s tension grows with each mile, her fingers drumming restlessly against her thigh.

“He’s here already.” She points to a car partially hidden behind an outcropping. “That’s his style—arrive early, scout escape routes.”

There appear to be no other vehicles, no other tire tracks.

Parking the truck where Joseph suggested, we approach on foot. The petroglyphs seem to watch our progress—spirit animals, sacred symbols, and images that transcend spoken language. This place holds power older than Rome itself.

Movement catches my eye—a flash of familiar nervous energy as Franky emerges from behind a boulder. He looks worse than when I last saw him—thinner, haunted, his usual restless manner edged with genuine fear.

“Baby, I told you to come alone!” His eyes dart between us, then to the canyon’s shadows. “This isn’t safe. They could be watching—”

“Perhaps,” Maya cuts him off. “But here we have the advantage of position. And if we’re in trouble, having a gladiator with us is a good thing.”

She’s right. Joseph chose well. The sacred site offers multiple escape routes while limiting approaches. The spirits may or may not be watching, but the tactical advantages are real.

“You said you had information.” Maya’s voice carries steel beneath the surface. “About the pharmaceutical companies.”

Franky tugs at his collar—a gesture I’ve seen Maya mirror when she’s preoccupied. “I overheard their plans. Recorded meetings. They’ve tried to breach the Missouri sanctuary a few times already. They’re desperate to get tissue samples, to study how the freezing process preserved…” He swallows hard as his eyes dart from me. “They’ll never stop hunting him.”

“And you know this how?”

“Because I’ve been working with them!” The words burst out like water from a broken dam. “Not by choice—they grabbed me after you escaped, said I could help them track him or…” He swallows hard. “But I’ve been gathering evidence. Every illegal move they’ve made, every attempt to acquire him. Enough to destroy them.”

Maya’s shoulders tense. “Where is this evidence?”

“Safe. Hidden.” His eyes dart around again.

“Hidden where?” A new voice interrupts, smooth and edged with menace. “Looks like you’ve picked the wrong team, Franky.”

Black-suited figures emerge from the canyon shadows—corporate security, armed and ready. Their leader smiles without warmth. “Did you really think we wouldn’t be watching? Listening? That we’d let you play both sides?”

Maya shifts into a fighter’s stance as more armed men appear. I count eight… no, ten. Despite my abilities and Maya’s training, there are too many for direct confrontation. And they won’t fight fair—they’re armed.

Is this the end of the chase? Three unarmed people against ten men with guns?

Am I moments away from being dragged from Maya’s side? Forced into one of their black vehicles and taken to some facility where they will cut me open like a gutted deer?

“Now, now.” The leader’s smile widens. “Let’s be reasonable. You want your father alive, right, Maya? We can just have a simple trade. No one needs to get hurt.” He smiles, but his eyes are dead as his gaze settles on me with predatory intensity. “Surely we can reach an arrangement that benefits everyone.”

“The only arrangement,” Maya says quietly, “is you leaving. Now. This is sacred ground.”

Laughter ripples through the security team. “Sacred ground won’t stop bullets, sweetheart. And though your two-thousand-year-old pet gladiator might be impressive, he’s not bulletproof.”

“No,” a deep voice agrees. “But we are many.”

Joseph emerges from behind a boulder, and he’s not alone. Members of his tribe appear from the shadows, armed with a mixture of modern and traditional weapons. More figures appear on the canyon rim—Sarah and many others we recognize from the reservation.

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