Page 21 of Love to Defy You
“This is ridiculous,” I mutter, scanning the room for the exit. The entrance to a tunnel is on the far left of the chamber, separated from me by the wall of hooded figures. I approach. “Let me pass.”
They don’t move or utter a word. They’re nothing more than living statues.
“Fine, suit yourself.” I rush forward to break through the circle, but the hooded figures catch me and push me backward, making me stumble.
But before I can find my balance, a heavy kick lands squarely on my back, and I fall face-first to the ground. I manage to throw my hands out and catch myself before my nose collides with the cobblestone, but before I can roll over, another kick lands into my side.
All the wind is knocked out of me, and I curl up to clutch and protect my side. I manage to roll onto my back. Standing above me is my attacker, staring down at me with a twisted expression.
“I’m not walking out of here a loser,” he says.
He lifts his leg to deliver another kick, but I manage to catch his ankle and knock him off-balance. My opponent falls to the floor beside me, yelping when he hits the ground.
I crawl on top of him, pin him beneath me, and trap his wrists above his head. As much as I’d prefer Willow in this position, this is about survival.
“Don’t you see?” I ask. “This is what they want, for us to fight each other as some sick form of entertainment. It’s beneath us.”
He struggles beneath me. “Don’t you get it? They aren’t letting us go until one of us is knocked out!”
I glance up at the wall of hooded figures, which proves to be a mistake. The brief moment of distraction allows my opponent to break his arms free from my hold, and he swings upward until his fist collides with my jaw. The force of it knocks me sideways.
A metallic taste blooms on my tongue as another blow lands across my face, followed by another. My ears ring as I lift my arms to shield myself.
If I have to claw my way out of this chamber, so be it.
When he throws another punch toward my face, I block it by knocking his arm to the side. It catches him off-guard, and I manage to push him off me so I can roll away.
I scramble to a standing position, heaving for breath as adrenaline electrifies my veins. Sweat drips from my brow down my face, and when I brush the back of my hand across my lips, blood smears on my skin.
I spit out the blood pooling in my mouth and take a defensive posture, planting my feet on the floor and clenching my hands into fists. My opponent stands up and copies my posture with his fists in front of his face, ready to block or punch. The two of us lock eyes as we move in a circle, keeping an equal distance from each other, but I wait for him to make the first move. Several tense seconds tick by as we size each other up.
My opponent is the first to act. He rushes forward, drawing his arm back for a swing.
Before he can punch my face in, I duck low and swing upward. When my fist rams into his stomach, he grunts and stumbles, and I swing my leg to knock his feet out from under him. With a cry, he crashes to the floor, writhing in pain.
“Finish him, Kurochkin.”
Even though he’s behind me, I know it’s the voice of the group’s leader. His eyes bore into the back of my skull.
With a deep breath, I grab my opponent’s hair, fisting it in my grasp, and slam his head against the ground. He struggles against me, so I force his head down again, and at last, he falls unconscious. Not enough force to kill him, but enough to knock him out for a while.
When I let him go, his head lolls to the side.
My blood pounds in my ears as I heave for breath on the cold floor. I haul myself to my feet, although my legs are unsteady, and I brush my forearm across my forehead to wipe the sweat away.
The shrouded figures remain silent, but a few of them break the circle, leaving a path between me and the exit. Their footsteps shuffle against the cobblestone before coming to a stop in the silent chamber.
I remain still, unsure if I should trust this reprieve. But the exit is in sight, and I hesitantly make my way forward, scanning the group for any sign of movement. I won’t be caught off-guard again.
But no one lunges at me. Their masked faces turn slowly, homed in on me as I cross the chamber. When I pass through the circle, I turn around to walk backward, keeping my eyes on them until I reach the tunnel.
No one follows. They just... let me go.
Once I’m out of their sight, I turn around and sprint forward, eager to find my way out of here before they change their minds. Lit torches secured to the walls light the way, and when I reach a fork in the tunnel, the torches continue down the left path.
My breath comes in heaving gasps, echoing off the walls of the silent corridor as my bare feet patter on the damp cobblestone. The air hangs heavy with a stale, musky odor as I make my way through the maze of underground tunnels. I imagine this lengthy trek is by design; if anyone went to the school administrators to report this, they would get lost before finding the chamber. And by then, the figures would be long gone.
At last, I reach a staircase leading up to a cellar door above my head. My neck prickles as I go on high alert, and I make my way up until I reach the exit. The wooden door creaks as I push it upward, but I only open it enough to check my surroundings.
