Page 11 of Thawed Gladiator: Victor

My gaze darts toward Victor’s closed door. Please stay quiet. Please don’t—

The door bangs open. Victor emerges, somehow looking regal despite the too-small clothes and makeshift cane. His cold eyes, more gray than green, assess the scene with hawk-like intelligence.

“Everything’s fine,” I say quickly, knowing the device is not only translating my words, but he probably heard everything the mobster already said. “Please go back—”

One of Tony’s guards moves to block Victor’s path. Without hesitation, Victor pivots and swings the cane in a precise arc that should have caught the guard’s throat. But his weakened legs betray him. The guard easily blocks the strike and punches Victor’s gut. To his credit, the gladiator doesn’t crumple to the floor from the force of the blow to his solar plexus.

I start forward, but another of Tony’s guards grabs my arm.

“Let him go! He’s not well.”

Victor moves with unexpected speed despite his weakness, thrusting the cane like a gladius to force the first guard back. His stance shifts—nothing like modern boxing or MMA. It’s something older, more refined. Even weakened, there’s deadly grace in every motion.

The second guard charges, but Victor crouches and sweeps the man’s legs with the makeshift weapon. The gladiator rises in one fluid motion as the man stumbles. He abandons the cane to slam two rapid strikes into the guard’s kidneys.

But his legs aren’t ready. They buckle at a crucial moment, and the third guard, having come inside, catches him with a hard right cross. Victor’s head rolls with the punch, absorbing most of the impact, then counters with two lightning-fast jabs that snap the guard’s head back. Even in his weakened state, the precision of his strikes speaks to years of training.

Part of me is fascinated, but mostly I’m terrified for the ancient gladiator who isn’t physically ready for this potentially deadly fight. He knows nothing of modern times or customs. Could he have assessed the threat level? Or was he bent on protecting Dad and me, no matter the cost?

The first guard gets him in a chokehold while the other two recover. Victor’s elbow drives back with crushing force, but his legs finally give out completely. The guards force him to his knees, though it takes all three of them to hold him there.

“Interesting.” Tony watches with predatory intensity, his eyes hooded. “That wasn’t standard MMA. Something older. More classical.” He circles Victor like a shark scenting blood. “Where’d you find this one, Franky?”

“He’s nobody,” Dad stammers. “Just some European fighter down on his luck. He doesn’t speak Eng—”

“Don’t insult my intelligence.” Tony grabs Victor’s chin, examining him like a horse at auction. “Perfect build for a heavyweight. Unusual fighting style. And clearly well-trained, even in his current condition.” He releases Victor with a little shove. “You still owe me a hundred grand, Franky. But maybe we can work something out.”

My heart pounds. I knew people were after us and wondered who would find us first. Funny, it’s not the other gladiators hunting their missing brother-in-arms. Not the pharmaceutical companies that would love to experiment on him with the intent to make billions from the secrets his body carries. Not even Interpol or whatever federal or international agencies must be looking for him. No, it’s a two-bit Vegas mob boss who’s going to blow up all of our lives.

“Leave him alone,” I say, chin thrust up. One of the guards leaves Victor’s side to hold me back. Even restrained, I continue, “He’s got nothing to do with Dad’s debts.”

“On the contrary.” Tony straightens, brushing invisible dust from his sleeve. “I’ve got a proposition. You train him for my underground circuit. Real training, not whatever half-assed recovery program you’re running here. Get him into fighting shape in six weeks. If he wins his first bout, I’ll cut your father’s debt in half.”

“And if he loses?” I ask, already knowing the answer.

Tony smiles. It doesn’t reach his eyes. “Then I take your gym as partial payment, Maya.”

My shock must show on my face, because he adds, “When somebody owes me a hundred large, I make it my business to know everything about them…andtheir next of kin. So, yeah, I’ll take your gym, plus whatever other assets I find interesting.” His gaze lingers on Victor. “You’ve got good fighters at that gym, Maya. Be a shame to see them all scattered to the winds… or put out of commission. So don’t even think about calling the cops.”

The fighters I’ve trained for years. The kids in my youth program. The business I built from nothing while cleaning up Dad’s messes. All of it hanging by a thread because he got involved with people like Tony.

My stomach feels as though it’s held in a vise, growing tighter by the second. I’d thought that while I nursed Victor to health, I could reach out to his comrades—I think they’re in some protected enclave in Missouri.

Now it looks as though I have only two options. Either get Victor into fighting shape, or risk throwing my dad to the wolves, losing my gym, and putting the gladiator into an even worse situation—especially if Tony pieces things together and realizes he’s got the world’s most expensive guinea pig in his possession.

“I need him ready to fight,” Tony continues. “Real fights, not that regulated bullshit. My clients pay good money to see blood.” He nods to his men. “Get them packed. They’re moving to the apartment above her gym where I can keep an eye on things.”

“No!” Victor says, struggling against the men holding him. The word must be the same in Latin as English. “Nolo!” My translator tells me the word meansI will not. I wonder what Tony thinks about Victor’s foreign speech.

“You’ll do whatever I say.” Tony doesn’t even look at him. It’s as though he’s used to having his orders followed without argument. “Unless you want this woman you seem so fond of to lose everything.”

Tony heads for the door, then pauses. “And Franky? I’ve got a job for you in Reno. Johnny Big Hands will explain it to you. You’ll be working off your vig.” He brushes a lapel, does a quarter turn, then pivots back to stare Dad in the eye. “Oh, try to run again, and I’ll make sure Maya pays for it. Understood?”

Dad nods, shoulders slumped in defeat. As Tony’s men ransack the cabin, gathering our few belongings, I meet Victor’s eyes across the room. The guilt hits like a sledgehammer. I’ve failed him. Failed to protect him from this world he never asked to be part of. Failed to give him the truth he deserves.

Now we’re trapped. Tony’s men will be watching. I’m sure the gladiator program’s people are searching, and as much as I’d like to reunite him with his people, if we lose him, I have no doubt Tony will do anything up to and including killing my dad—and possibly me.

Almost scarier than that? Somewhere out there, the pharmaceutical companies that would love to experiment on a perfectly preserved specimen from ancient Rome are probably closing in.

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