Page 22 of Harmless
I paced back forth behind the gate, for once eager to run out into the sands instead of dreading it. I was forced to watch the Bulldozer collapse on top of the guy the Hunter had called Torrance and then choke Santos until my friend fell limply to the sand. The Bulldozer was now rolling slowly to his feet, despite still bleeding severely from his legs and nose.
That was the thing about this particular fighter. He was slow, and not very well coordinated, but fighting him was like a scrawny child going up against an armored tank. He had yet to lose a fight due to sheer endurance alone. He would not live past this day, but he still wanted to die on his feet.
I could have respected that if he hadn’t just killed my friend.
And for Santos, I needed to be the one who ended the Bulldozer’s life. It was the least I could do to avenge him.
“Let me out,” I repeated to the pitmaster. “I’m up next. What are you waiting for?”
The asshole pulled the trigger on his prod, releasing a crackle of electricity. Before he could stick me with the business end, Tezca got between us and let out a low warning growl. The pitmaster hesitated, because the last guy who tried to electrocute the jaguar lost his hand.
That was when the gate decided to rise, granting me entry into the arena.
I didn’t spare the pitmaster a second glance as I ducked underneath and sprinted out onto the sand. Tezca was right at my side and then ran ahead of me straight to Santos’ side.
The Bulldozer was on his feet but unsteady and leaking blood like a faucet. My throwing knives were between my fingers the moment he faced me head on, and two were embedded in his eye sockets before he took his next ragged breath.
He didn’t seem to know what happened, turning his head left and right as if wondering why he suddenly couldn’t see. The realization hit him a moment later when shaking, bloodsoaked hands reached for his own face.
I sent a third knife into his thick neck, since his chest was protected by a convenient stab-proof vest.
The Bulldozer was dead before he hit the ground, which worked well enough for me. I was never one for prolonging anyone’s death, no matter how vile they were.
We never knew who, what, or when they would send our next opponents out, so I retrieved my knives first before heading over to check on Santos. “Tezca,” I hissed, eyes darting to all the gates and doorways that would bring new bodies into the pit. “Tell me something good, please.”
The jaguar had his paws on Santos’ motionless chest and was sniffing the man’s nose and mouth.
“Is he alive?” I demanded.
Not quite.
I fucking hated how calm that voice sounded. “So he’s…dead?”
Also not quite.
“Fuck.” I looked up and around at the gathered crowd, feeling powerless. Nearly every seat was filled, with the audience yelling and gesturing, but I couldn’t make out what they said. Nor did I care. None of this shit should have been happening out here, like we were animals in a zoo. If Santos was dead, I wanted to mourn him privately.
But that was a luxury none of us had.
I went over to the other guy, Torrance, just to give myself something to do. Putting my ear to his nose and mouth, I did hear breathing. So he must have just gotten knocked out when the Bulldozer flattened him.
He and Santos both looked unkempt, like they hadn’t bathed in a week, and pale. Santos looked thinner than I remembered. Had the two of them been holed up together?
The fluttering of wings and a cooing sound brought my attention up to one of the gates. A white dove had settled on top of the archway and peered over at us, as if curious about the unconscious man.
In the next moment, several things happened at once.
The gate just beneath the dove started to open. And I heard a long, rasping, desperate breath of air behind me.
“Fuck,” Santos wheezed and coughed. “Ghost?”
“Hey, dude.” I didn’t take my eyes from the silhouettes of fighters approaching. “Glad you’re back, but it’s not over yet.”
Santos coughed again. “Protect him. I’m getting my machetes.”
I didn’t know if he was talking to me or Tezca, but I straightened as the Saint approached me calmly in the pit, a pair of short swords made with long cross guards to look like crucifixes in his hands.
The fighter clicked his tongue once, smiling almost pleasantly. “Where’s our daring rescue party, Ghost?”
