Cage Match (23 page)

“Was it his father? Did he order the execution?”

“No. Some of the others. Andreas‟s dad is a prick, but he wouldn‟t kill him. He‟d

kill
me
if he found out about this.”

“Take me to his house,” Jabez demanded, removing the blade from Timon‟s side

but grabbing the back of his neck in a punishing grip again. “If only the rich go to these

fights, Fortias can get me an invitation.”

* * * * *

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Bonnie Dee

They pulled up in front of an ornate gate beyond which the driveway curved

away to the mansion half hidden by trees and bushes. Timon opened the window to

answer the voice coming through the speaker. He cast a sideways glance at Jabez as he

spoke.

“Mr. Sandovar here to see Mr. Fortias on an urgent matter.”

“You don‟t have an appointment.”

“No, as I said, it‟s an urgent matter concerning his son that suddenly came up.

Time is critical. I would‟ve called first, but I have to see him in person.”

“Just a moment, sir.”

There was a very long silence. Timon‟s knuckles were white as he gripped the

wheel. Jabez had stopped prodding him in the ribs with the knife, but he held it ready.

A moment later the gates began to slide open and the voice returned. “Mr. Fortias

has a few minutes for you.”

As they drove toward the massive house with its white-columned front and many

glowing windows, Jabez thought about Andreas growing up here. How opposite their

lives had been, and yet there was something connecting them that was stronger than

their differences. At first, he‟d thought the thrill he felt every time he saw Andreas was

only lust, but now he believed it was something more. He was frantic with fear over

what might be happening to Andreas, and he‟d never felt such gut-wrenching terror on

behalf of anyone besides himself before.

He put his knife back in its sheath before they got out of the vehicle. “I‟m not

going to need this again, am I?”

Timon shook his head. “You wouldn‟t get past the door with a weapon anyway.”

“I don‟t really need one,” Jabez reminded him, silencing him with a stare.

His pulse pounded as he walked with Timon through the front doors, where a

security guard in a dark blue suit quickly scanned them and took the knife from his

belt, but missed the one in his boot. Another man in a suit waited to lead them into the

house.

He ushered them into Quentin Fortias‟s study, where the man sat in an oversize

armchair in front of a fireplace. A real wood fire glowed on the hearth. He didn‟t turn

toward them but continued to stare into the blaze, his sharp-featured face in profile, his

hand holding a glass with casual grace. It was an act, Jabez realized. Although his pose

might appear relaxed, the man‟s body was tense. He wanted to appear in control, to be

the man with the power.

Only when they‟d moved into his line of sight did he acknowledge them with a

frown. “What is it?”

Timon began to stammer. “Mr. Fortias, I don‟t know how to break this news to

you. It wasn‟t my idea. I was merely following orders, and I thought I could take care of

business without actually harming—”

“Just tell him.”

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109

Timon swallowed. His face was so pale, it made his blazing orange hair even

brighter. He looked like a clown. Jabez imagined he‟d gone through his entire life

bullshitting his way out of bad situations, but no bullshit would save him tonight. There

was no hiding the truth of what he‟d done to his “best friend.”

“Someone contacted me, Mr. Fortias. Someone on the board. I won‟t say who. In

the past I‟ve done errands for and shared information with this person.” He swallowed

again. “It was felt by some that your son had become a liability and needed to

be…eliminated. This man told me to arrange that.”

The old man‟s scowl was replaced by the widened eyes of honest shock, which

made Jabez feel better. He‟d been afraid Quentin had participated in his son‟s

disappearance.

“The idea of hiring a hit was too awful, but Rabi came up with an alternative. He

made an agreement with an organization that hosts…sporting events, I guess you‟d call

them. Celebrity cage matches. We delivered Andreas to them, and now he‟s gone.”

The word “gone” was like a punch to Jabez‟s stomach. He felt sick and bleak as he

realized he might never see Andreas again. But he wouldn‟t get him back with that

attitude, so he shrugged it off and took over telling Fortias the tale.

“When Andreas was late home, I found this guy and made him tell me everything.

We don‟t know where they‟ve taken him, but I guess all it takes to be invited to one of

these matches is enough money. I need you to find out how to reach the bastards and

bankroll me.”

“You?” His brows shot up.

“Yes. If you call in the cops, you put Andreas in danger. These people will shut

down and go even deeper underground. Help me get inside, and I‟ll figure out a way to

save him.”

Fortias‟s expression of shock turned to laughter. “You think you can scam me?

Don‟t be stupid. I‟m not giving either of you any money.”

“This isn‟t a con.” Jabez stepped closer and stared into his eyes. “You didn‟t get

where you are today without knowing how to judge character.” He jerked his thumb at

Timon. “Except for trusting him. But I‟m telling you I only want to save Andreas.

There‟s no time to fuck around while you decide whether or not to believe me. We‟ve

got to find him and get him out now.”

For several long moments, their gazes locked. The older man studied him with

narrowed eyes, and his lips pressed in a straight line, but at last he nodded. “All right.”

He turned to Timon. “Do you know how to reach these people?”

“No, Rabi lined it up.”

“Then fucking call him and get him to meet you somewhere.” He glanced at Jabez.

“You bring him back here bound and gagged if you have to.”

“Yes, sir.”

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Bonnie Dee

Chapter Thirteen

Andreas had no idea how long they‟d held him. He wore no watch, and the light

never changed in his cell. It could have been days or weeks. It felt like years. But they‟d

only brought him food twice, so it was probably a day or two.

He‟d had plenty of time to search every square inch of his barren cell and learn

there was absolutely no way to escape and nothing to use as a weapon. For the first

time in his life, he felt what it was to be helpless, vulnerable, totally powerless. This was

how Jabez had lived for almost two years. How had he kept from killing himself?

Because, as the jailer had said, the will to live was powerful. Andreas knew when

they finally put him in that ring, he would fight and kill if necessary to keep himself

alive.

He stopped pacing the enclosure and began doing calisthenics to keep strong and

alert. If he made it through the fight alive and some eccentric person with a jaded sexual

palate and too much money bought him, he was going to be ready to seize any

opportunity to escape. While he was being transported from here to wherever would be

the time to try.

Andreas was on his second set of push-ups when the door slid open with a

pneumatic
whoosh
. He clambered to his feet to face whatever came next.

Out in the corridor stood the man who‟d spoken to him before and a pair of armed

guards.

“It‟s time, Mr. Fortias. Strip to your briefs.”

Andreas did as he was bid, removing his shirt and pants. His shoes had been

missing since he first woke up here. One of the guards beckoned him into the hall, and

he walked forward, leaving the cocoon of his cell with mingled relief and dread.

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111

“You‟re matched against Scandinavian model Ankar. Perhaps you‟ve heard of

him?” The bald man in the suit spoke conversationally as they strode down the

hallway.

“No.” He glanced at the guards on either side of him and at the windowless

corridor, gauging the possibility of making some kind of move.

“The fight will be man-to-man, no weapons. No holds barred. Do whatever it

takes to keep alive. I know your opponent will be doing the same. Good luck.”

Turning suddenly down a side hall, the man left them, while the guards continued

to prod Andreas forward.

His skin was hot and cold by turns—a slick of sweat over goose bumps. His

stomach churned, and he realized the dull roar that he‟d taken for some kind of engine

noise was actually the sound of a crowd. How many people would be watching as he

fought for his life? What kind of sick people paid a fortune to view this kind of match,

and what would happen if he and Ankar simply refused to give them a show?

The sound was above and around him now as they walked beneath enclosed tiers

of seats toward a door. One of the guards opened it, and the other jabbed his gun into

Andreas‟s back. “Go.”

He stepped out of the darkness into a blinding spotlight. His gaze darted around,

taking in the sawdust-covered floor of the arena, the circular cage that enclosed the

space, banks of lights shining above, rows of seats all around filled with people—a blur

of faces, dozens of pairs of eyes focused on him and his opponent.

His attention swung toward the man entering the ring across from him. Ankar

was taller than Andreas and probably a good ten pounds heavier. He had classic Nordic

features—pale, blond, sculpted—a Viking god reduced to fighting in a cage. Andreas

had never felt guiltier about all the times he‟d sat in the stands watching a match such

as this. Death hadn‟t been the goal of those fights, but the lust for violence had been

tinged with excited dread and anticipation of a fatal outcome. Now it was his turn.

I’m sorry, Jabez, for coming to watch you put on a show as if you were no more than a

performing animal. I deserve this.

The doors closed behind them, and the two men stared at each other across the

stretch of ground that separated them. The audience yelled, cheering on one or the

other of them. Andreas heard his name. He wanted to search the faces and see if any

were familiar. He knew a lot of very wealthy people, people like Timon, who‟d go to

any lengths for a new thrill or a new kink.

As the opponents continued to study each other, unmoving, the fans began to hiss

and boo, annoyed at their hesitation. Andreas moved into the ring, his fists defensively

raised. He circled to the left, which made his partner move to the right in a mirrored

dance. Again, he wondered what would happen if they refused to fight. Would the

guards come in and prod them toward activity, perhaps threaten to shoot them if they

didn‟t perform?

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Bonnie Dee

His pondering came to an abrupt end when Ankar suddenly lunged toward him.

Andreas should‟ve been ready, but the move took him by surprise. Sparring with Jabez

had been one thing, facing a man ready to actually kill him was another. He jabbed, but

the other man bent low and rushed him, tackling him backward. Ankar drove Andreas

into the iron bars and knocked the breath from him with a shoulder to his solar plexus.

As he gasped for air, the model grabbed hold of him, pulled him away from the

cage, and flung him to the ground. Who knew walking a catwalk could develop such

lightning reflexes?

The Norseman came down on top of him with all his weight, pinning him to the

ground. He landed a punch to Andreas‟s jaw that snapped his head to the side.

Gathering his scattered wits, Andreas ignored the pain and his wheezing breath

and began to use the skills Jabez had taught him. He brought his knee up between

Ankar‟s legs, driving it into his balls. When the man howled and jerked away, Andreas

rolled from beneath him. He scrambled across the floor, slippery with sawdust, grabbed

hold of the bars of the cage, and hauled himself upright. He couldn‟t let this guy get the

advantage again. Ankar was stronger and bigger, so Andreas had to fight him with

speed and dexterity.

He remembered Jabez‟s adage, “No trick is too dirty in a fight,” and stooped to

scoop up a handful of sawdust. As Ankar recovered from the blow to his genitals and

ran at him again, Andreas flung the dust into his face. Once he was blinded, Andreas

gave a sweeping kick that knocked his legs out from under him.

Ankar was felled like a tree. Andreas leaped on top of him and grabbed his throat,

fingers digging into his vulnerable flesh. Still blinking away sawdust, the other man

reached up blindly and grabbed Andreas‟s wrists, trying to pull his hands away from

his neck. He choked and gasped for air, eyes opening wide.

Andreas hung on, staring back into those tear-glistening eyes. The man bucked

beneath him, struggling to throw him off. The desperate, gasping sounds he made were

awful. The feeling of his sinewy neck beneath Andreas‟s hands was horrifying, yet