Page 8 of Harmless
I was either getting out or I would be dead soon. There were no other options.
“There’s a gladiator called the Ghost,” I said. “His real name is Devin. We were imprisoned together before coming here, then got shipped to Mystic Canyon together. We’ve gotten to be pretty good friends, so he’s the only one I would call family.”
“That must be huge, having someone at your back in a place like this. I imagine most people gotta deal on their own.”
I smirked in the darkness. “Imagine if you didn’t have me to talk to in this cell.”
“Shit, my mind would be gone already.”
If I had to be honest, Torr being here was helping me to stay sane too. Talking to another person was grounding. I could guesstimate the distance between us with how his voice traveled and the sounds he made when he walked around. And instead of letting my thoughts roll around endlessly in my head, I could express them and get feedback that wasn’t just an echo.
“There was another guy with Devin and me,” I said, suddenly in a talkative mood. “His name was Hudson, and if we do get out—”
“We will,” Torr interjected.
“Devin and I are going to want to find him,” I said. “Once we’re in the clear, that’s going to be objective number one for us.”
“Rori will make it happen, I’m sure. Do you know where he’s at? Another gladiator pit?”
“No. I don’t know what or where it was exactly. It was just…hell. Imagine a prison in hell, that’s what it was.”
“It’s not like that description makes my imagination go wild or anything. Did they dangle you naked over bonfires or something?”
The mental image made me laugh despite how vastly uncomfortable I felt talking about that place. I could see why Rori liked Torr too. He had a goofy side that made you feel more at ease despite uneasy situations.
“No, but…you know how I was brought out of the pit to, uh, service guests?”
“Yeah.”
“There was some of that there too, only it was a lot more forceful. Like, we’d be tied down and shit.”
“Jesus Christ.” Torr’s words were muffled like he was rubbing his face. “What a fucking nightmare.”
“That wasn’t even all of it. We weren’t forced to fight, but some guys left and never came back. We’d hear screaming, and sometimes there was blood dripping through the cracks in the ceiling. We’d walk past a guy in a cell who’d be covered in bleeding cuts all the time.”
“What…the fuck?” Torr’s tone was bewildered. “Are you fucking with me, Santos?”
“I’m not.”
“That sounds like straight-up horror movie shit.”
“All three of us said the same thing. We kept hoping to wake up and find out that none of it was real.”
“How the fuck did you end up there?”
It had been a while since I’d told that story. “I was grabbed while I was just out walking after a job. I’d actually fucked up the job, because the client wanted his cheating wife killed, and I didn’t take out women. That was just my personal boundary.”
“What were you, a hitman?”
“Kind of, yeah. More of a mercenary. Anyway, I broke into the house like I was supposed to, had my machete against her throat and told her what the deal was. Then I told her she needed to get the hell out of Dodge and that I’d take care of the rest. I was going to fake a bloody murder scene, tell the client I’d dumped the body, and it was all done.”
It was interesting recalling that memory right then. I examined each event of the night, walked through every step I took, wondering which one, if any, would have altered the course of my destiny.
“Did it work?” Torr pressed.
“Beautifully,” I said. “She made her escape, I painted the scene and got out, then I was on my way to meet the client and collect my pay. He was a rich Blakeworth fuck, so he was waiting in my part of the city, the underbelly, all dirtied up under a disguise.” Torr snorted, and I rolled my eyes. “Right? So I was gonna meet him in a bar. I was on the same street and could see the door up ahead.” I went quiet, knowing this next part was where I’d fucked up.
“I take it you didn’t make it.” An astute observation from Torr.
