When Nothing Is All You've Got Page 3

  I glanced over the crowd that was riled to heights of hysteria, filling the arena with booming noise, their shouts aimed at the two women who stood in the cage. The steel barrier stood twenty feet high and almost doubled that in width. The roof was closed over with barbed mesh, should anyone try to flee the enclosure. The cage was currently lit up like the proverbial sun I’d not laid eyes on in nearly fifteen years, and a circle of soldiers stood around the barrier that kept the frenzied inmates at bay.

  Many of the spectators who had come out tonight were decorated in face paint, while wearing colors that represented their structure in the underground world; white, blue, yellow, or red. White represented the innocents, the unfortunate bastards born into this world. The whites had grown in number considerably over time. For over a hundred years this prison had stood, and the innocents were now mostly related—brothers, sisters, cousins. They often bred amongst themselves, so it was only a matter of time before they’d eventually fuck the white sector into an inbred world of mutation and disease, or they’d grow old and die, if they didn’t lose themselves to the hate-filled darkness and corruption of the Underworld first. Next came the blues, which signified petty crime, such as theft, prostitution, and vandalism. After that was yellow, representing a higher level of crime, like drug related offenses, arson, grand theft, and kidnapping. Red was at the top of the food chain . . . murder and rape. In the early days, the reds often took advantage of the blues, yellows, and whites, and in some ways, they still did. The reds were first to be fed, first to shower, therefore using up all the hot water, and were given the bigger, better rooms. Most reds were soldiers, and therefore treated with a dignity and respect that contradicted the severity of their crimes. But somehow, the other inmates had found their place in this world. They worked hard, growing vegetables in the hydroponics room, keeping the generators running, cleaning, cooking, sewing, working the NIM rooms, making moonshine. Their contribution to the underworld made life easier for everyone; therefore, the reds generally let them be. The whites were viewed as innocents, and protected as much as one could be protected in a soulless, cavernous city like this. On nights like tonight, the reds, blues, yellows, and occasional whites all came together in the one place the colors freely congregated as one. At night, the arena was a place of fights, booze, and sex. During the day, it was a marketplace for trading. Off the arena were four main doors. One led to the red sector, another led to the blue, another to the yellow, and the last to the white. Each sector had their own guards, and for the most part, the inmates stayed in their own sectors. The soldiers, the reds, were allowed to travel to other sectors if the king commanded it. Kingsley controlled all colors, he was the top of the food chain. The whites kept mostly to themselves, and few chose to indulge in a night of carnage. The inmates who did come out to watch the fights came with whatever they had to trade, the gambling a furious race that filled Kingsley’s stock rooms to capacity. Except tonight, the arena was not packed to capacity and the betting was subpar at best.

  My eyes rose to take in the cages that swung from the rafters, some filled with naked men and women, writhing in time to the heavy beat of the music, a number of them openly fucking. From all four corners of the arena hung massive speakers that vibrated with the thumping music. A wide double doorway, slightly smaller than the doors that led to the colored sectors, led off one side of the room and into the Underworlds only bar, Lick Her, where Kingsley’s moonshine was served at any time of the day or night. A number of inmates wearing a single purple feather in their hair navigated the crowd which surged with excitement. The feather advertised the NIM they were peddling, the king’s street drug of choice, a cocktail of chemicals that drove the user to hallucinate and one fucking powerful, burning need to fuck. On the opposite side of the arena was another smaller entrance that led to the Whore Pit, where that burning need to fuck could be purchased for a few bottles of boiled water. If only the saintly people of the above world could see us now, screaming like the insane and fucking like wild animals.

  Hearing the taunting words of Viper, my attention returned to the cage. Viper circled the girl like a wild beast might stalk its prey, her posture one of confidence, her words as foul as the animal she was.

  “When I leave you bloody on this floor, you’ll be nothing. He’ll put you in the Whore Pit, and they’ll fill every hole in your body before cutting you into pieces.”

  There was no acknowledgement from Nada; instead, her body remained taut and steadfast. The only part of her to move were her eyes and head, as she watched Viper circle her like a large, bulky jungle cat. I knew she was ready to strike, though; she had been trained by the best and was skilled at fooling her opponent into a false sense of victory. We’d all seen her fight before, and if Viper had a brain behind that hard head of hers, she would know the girl was going to destroy her.

  It happened so fast I was barely able to track the movements. Viper lunged forward and Nada moved, dropping down and allowing a fast punch to fly over her head. Stepping away from the attack, Nada resumed a fighting stance, her fists held high, her right foot forward as she bounced on the balls of her feet. She took a few short steps back, finding the space she needed to execute a perfect kick to Viper’s face. Blood bursting from her nose and spilling to the stained floor, Viper staggered for a moment before finding her composure. She attempted her own kick which only grazed the girl as she jumped out of the way, spun around in a circle, and delivered a heavy blow to the side of Viper’s jaw. She continued to pound on the woman, unleashing the fury I knew burned beneath her skin, fighting with a raw, manic rage that was both beautiful and disturbing. Finally, Viper fell to her knees, her body swaying as she fought for consciousness. The fight was as good as over. A first round knockout, just as I predicted. Nada raised her head and looked out over the crowd, looking for something . . . or someone, perhaps? Once her hollow gaze finally settled on me, I saw something new in those beautiful, dark depths. Although her lips did not move, I saw amusement burning behind those eyes, before she turned back to face her opponent and delivered a perfect round-house kick to her head.

  Blood and spittle sprayed the floor, no longer white but a grotesque shade of burnt cooper from all the blood spilled within the crude cage walls. Viper fell to the ground, like a marionette suddenly cut free of its puppeteer. It had been an easy win, too easy. It would make finding her another fight fucking impossible. Gadget burst into the arena and clumsily felt for a pulse at Viper’s neck. Nodding in my direction, he confirmed she was still alive, but she’d been severely hurt. As my gaze settled back on the girl, I found her staring at me, a sickly, sweet smile playing at the corners of her lips. I wasn’t surprised by the vicious ending to the fight; the girl was renowned for showing little mercy in the cage. What did surprise me was the look she spared me, that sly, sexy look, one that said I know something you don’t. The need to know those fucking secrets clawed at me.

  I watched Nada turn and leave the cage, collecting her knives from Regan. Her expression was blank, and only a slight glistening across her forehead proved she had exerted any effort at all. Dejohn led her from the arena which had erupted into a minefield of celebration and chaos. The party would carry on through the night. The drinks would flow, NIM would be freely available, and from the looks on the women who glanced my way, sexual relief would be easily gained in the throng of heady excitement. The girl had left me with an itchy feeling under my skin, a need that demanded satiating. Perhaps I’d take one of the women against the cage barrier Nada had just fought in, her hands gripping the steel wire as I fuck her deeply. My cock began to harden at the thought. A glance into the rafters above the arena shut down my planned night of flesh and debauchery before it could even begin. Kingsley and his small ensemble watched from their overhead box, and Kingsley’s furious gaze had found mine. Flicking his head in the direction of the enormous steel doors that led to the red sector, I nodded, understanding the party was over and he wanted to talk. As I turned to leave, I watched N
ada’s retreating back as she disappeared through a small door that led to a gym buried deeper in the cavernous Underworld. I wondered what she did following her win, how would she come down from the high of a fight and victory. Would she simply wind down in the gym? Would she drink until she was numb? Would she be inclined to fuck the adrenaline out of her system? The latter of my thoughts also stirred my cock; the thought of her well-toned thighs wrapped around my waist as I pounded into her flesh was an image that angered me on a level that made my hands shake. I fucking wanted her, and it made me sick. I didn’t want to want her. I shook off the thought as I pushed my way through the crowd and headed to the meeting with Kingsley.

  3

  NADA

  I sat in the quiet gym while Dejohn excused himself to go meet with Kingsley. The triumph I felt over how pissed off Kingsley would be over my effortless win almost drew a smile to my stone face . . . almost. Regan had disappeared on the walk down into the grimy depths of the Underworld; she hated to be buried so deep in the earth, and this place was as far below the ground as you could get. It was a curious emotion considering she was born here and knew no other way of life.

  There were three gym facilities in the Underworld. Of them all, this was the smallest, with the oldest equipment and the foulest stench. For that reason alone, it was often found empty. And that emptiness was just what I needed to decompress after a fight. I had discovered a good hard, fast fuck would help, but there wasn’t always someone available to fill that need. I didn’t fuck just anyone, and the few reliable regulars I could call on were either partying at Lick Her, which I was not interested in visiting, or had recently discovered love and monogamy in the bowels of hell. I couldn’t understand how anyone could find anything remotely beautiful in this world. While some found beauty in the darkness, I couldn’t see it for the war I constantly battled. If I wasn’t fighting in the ring, I was fighting to keep my sanity in a place that stripped away all common sense and rationale.

  I leaned against the hard, cold stone wall and closed my eyes. My legs bounced a cadence that eventually helped me relax, and I unclenched my fists which had been coiled tight since the moment I had stepped into the cage. I’d be lying if I were to say I hadn’t stepped in there prepared to kill, my entire life was a dance with death, but when it came down to it, I hadn’t been able to do it. I had left her heart beating, but from the crack I heard upon delivering a kick to her head, she might not walk away from this fight. A broken neck was as good as death in this world. We had a few nurses and two doctors down here, but we didn’t have the equipment or medicine to care for a broken neck. I felt a pang of regret, a moment of ache for the life I had taken. Then I reminded myself that I had essentially freed Viper from this hellhole, and any sorrow quickly faded. To be able to dismiss her death so easily surely meant I didn’t have a heart, or the one I had was as cold as the ice crystals that occasionally formed on the walls and ceiling. My soul was already destined for hell, so there was no chance it might be damaged further. The fury on my father’s face the moment Viper collapsed to the ground had been worth it. I was supposed to make my fights last, make the crowd believe there was a fight to be had. I couldn’t be bothered with the theatrics anymore. Kingsley would be pissed I had disobeyed him; his ire had been stirred, his temper was flayed, and with the loss of his strict composure, he would lose focus. If Kingsley lost focus, it would make him weak, more susceptible to infiltration and less likely to notice the rebellion crawling around right under his nose.

  I opened my eyes and allowed my head to roll to one side. A gash in the stone wall was brought into focus and one of my still heavily wrapped hands reached out, my finger tracing the rough groove.

  A knife had made its mark here, a knife whose target had been my heart. It had missed piecing my flesh by mere inches and scarred the innocuous stone wall instead. I had been just eighteen when the first real attempt on my life had been made. A man three times my age was displeased that a little girl of little consequence had rejected his advances. My father had already implemented the no touch rule, and the foolish beast tried to take his anger out on me, like a spoiled child who’d lost his favorite toy. Marco Moretti, with a thinning bald spot on top of his pate, nondescript brown eyes, a top lip slightly fuller than his bottom, and a face pitted by the youthful struggles of acne, had come at me with a dirty pocket knife. I’d reached for my ever faithful baby and gutted him with the carbon steel blade. The knife had carved a path into his gut, meeting little resistance with the fatty tissue. I’d stepped away and sat down in this very spot with more captivated interest than shocked horror as I watched his guts spill to the floor and the life fade from his body like a slow, dying candle. Few had tried to touch me since, and those who had made an attempt ended up greeting the same gates of hell that I had sent that flabby, obtuse man to.

  Slowly, I unwrapped my hands and stood to shake out my limbs. With a final roll of my neck, I tossed the bloodied rags into a bin and left the small, quiet space. I needed to check on Regan, and I had a rat who liked to beat on women to take care of.

  *

  “Nada, do you need something? Do you want me to make you some supper?”

  Regan fussed about the large room that she shared with Jake the snake. Jake was nothing more than a second class drug dealer, who would earn a miserable trade from Kingsley for his effort. From the looks of his room’s luxury, he was dealing NIM on the side, which meant he was a dead man walking.

  The stovetop was new, which meant it had only minor dings and a little rust, and on top of it sat a huge stainless steel pot, bubbling away with something that smelled suspiciously like real meat. The linens were clean, and a small stereo was sitting at the very top of a tall shelf. If he was dealing on the side, it was only a matter of time before Kingsley found out, and Jake’s life would be ended with a whole lot of pain and plenty of spilled blood. I was doing him a favor by taking him out first. It would leave Regan unprotected, and the large room she shared with Jake would be taken by someone bigger and meaner. Regan didn’t have a mean bone in her body; she’d never be able to protect a place like this. But right now she was in danger anyway, and I was pretty sure I could find a male to share her quarters, a male who wouldn’t use and abuse her. Old George had been bitching about living with his adult daughter who kept bringing men home to their shared room. He was man enough to keep his paws off Regan, and still fit enough to keep the shelter and protect her. I’d speak to him tomorrow.

  “Nada?” My eyes finished their perusal of the room and settled on Regan’s knowing gaze. “Please don’t,” she whispered.

  “Is he at Lick Her?”

  She hesitated a moment before shaking her head. It was a lie, but I wouldn’t call her out on it. I turned to leave. “Nada, I heard Viper can’t feel her legs. They say she may never walk again.”

  I glanced over my shoulder. “That’s a risk you take when you enter the cage. It smells good in here. Don’t burn it.”

  As I marched through the endless corridors, my fingers caressed the hilt of my knife which sat in my thigh holster. The measure of comfort I felt at having it near was profound. My gaze lingered briefly on people as I passed them by. The crowds in the long, winding corridors were thinning as the night reached its deepest hour. Most the people I passed ignored me, trying valiantly to look anywhere but at me. A brave few tried to catch my eye, to engage in conversations I was not interested in having. I sure as shit wasn’t a talker, and right now, my mood was dark and silent.

  Lick Her was a cavernous room, devoid of furniture, excluding one long, busy bar selling moonshine and NIM. It was lit by colored lights that pulsed in time with the music. I pushed my way through the sweaty bodies; some were so high on NIM their wondrous gazes suggested they were someplace else. I wondered what they saw. Was it merely darkness? Or perhaps a place full of light and sunshine? The way some of them were so lost to the lights above made me curious. I had never inhaled NIM, and I wasn’t about to. Dejohn had preached vehemently
that I’d never find a high as lofty as the one I experienced in the ring. The power of a win was a drug in itself.

  As my gaze took in the room in search of Jake, they fell on a familiar face nestled in the shadows as comfortably as his moniker. His hair was cut short around the back and sides, but hung longer at the front, ending just above his eyes as he watched me with an intensity that bothered me. When my gaze lowered, I noted the female’s head working furiously at his groin. I barely restrained the sneer that threatened to crack my icy composure. The sight of a woman working his cock made my stomach lurch. Why would I care that some whore was lowering herself to her knees for him? When my gaze rose, an arrogant smirk appeared on his face, and in that moment, I wanted nothing more than to wipe it clean off with a quick, deadly punch. I didn’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction, though; instead, I turned away in search of the unlucky soul that would be on the receiving end of my frustration.

  I found the slimy bastard leaning against a wall, caging a petite redhead who giggled like a fucking idiot as he whispered in her ear. My mood didn’t allow for pleasantries. I simply grabbed Jake by the back of his jacket and pulled hard enough to upend him onto his ass. He scrambled to his feet in an awkward mess of gangly limbs, his fists raised until he realized whom he was about to take on. Jake’s eyes bulged with shock, and his body hunched into a submissive posture.

  “Hey, girl, good fight tonight.” He shifted nervously as I stood quietly before him. He was pathetically weak in this moment, his shoulders slumped forward, his eyes downcast, nothing more than a simpleminded drug pusher. I wondered if the NIM had finally fried his brain for thinking he could pound on Regan and escape without consequence. The room seemed to shrink into an empty haze of nothing, the music a dull background noise. The redheaded bimbo stepped in close and caressed Jake’s arm, as if staking her claim. As if I would ever lower myself to the likes of someone so weak and desperate. My gaze zeroed in on the girl’s possessive hand.