The Mistaken (37 page)

Dmitri brought his face up close to mine. “You hold
onto that anger, Mr. Karras. It might just save your life. You live
through this and perhaps you will even see your debt paid off
tonight.”

“And the girl?” I seethed.

He just laughed at me. “You Karras men, always the
heroes, eh?”

“The girl, Dmitri! What about the girl?”

“Ah, well, she is just gravy for me at this point,
I’m afraid. Like whipped cream with a cherry on top.” He laughed.
“Isn’t that what the Americans say?”

“What are you talking about? What does that
mean?”

He shrugged. “A little payback for old sins. You
should forget her. She is out of your reach now. Though you never
know, you just might see her again very soon,” Dmitri taunted
before he turned on his heel and walked away.

“No, Dmitri! No!” I slapped the quivering metal
fence. “Dmitri, let the girl go, please! She has nothing to do with
this! Let her go! Dmitri!
Dmitri!”

I screamed until I was hoarse and the words felt
like burning sandpaper grinding along my throat. I fell to my knees
and wept in despair, calling out for Hannah again and again.

In the cell next to me, Nick lowered his head in
silent defeat.

Chapter Forty

Tyler

Two more hours passed. Physical and emotional
exhaustion overwhelmed me. My whole body shook with tremors, and I
was covered in sweat. My heart raced, and though I knew it was from
my need for a drink, my anxiety over Hannah’s welfare made it much
worse. Nick and I both sat quietly in our cages. I thought about
what Dmitri had said, and wondered what he meant about seeing
Hannah later. I was sure he had said it to taunt me, as if I might
not like what I would see. That frightened me beyond words. I was
terrified to think about what she might be going through while I
sat there waiting. I prayed she wouldn’t do anything to further
anger them. Not knowing was driving me mad and had my gut tied in
knots. I had to get free. I searched for the means, but found
nothing. I was trapped, left to contemplate a dismal future.

“Nick, what did Dmitri mean when he said I might see
my debt paid off tonight…if I lived?” My voice was a raspy
whisper.

“Well, not everyone is forced to fight. Some do it
just to pay off their debt. For everyone, a percentage of what you
owe is automatically wagered in your own favor, like a personal
incentive. If you win, it’s deducted, but if you lose, your debt is
even greater, that is if you survive. And although at least ten
percent is automatically pledged, you can choose how much more of
your debt you wish to wager in favor of yourself. If you stake the
entire amount on one bout and win, your debt is paid in full. But I
have no idea how that would apply to either of us. Dmitri doesn’t
seem to want our money. I think he’s just fucking with us now.”

“And these fights, who determines who wins or
loses?” I asked.

“Ty, there’s usually no doubt as to who loses.”

“Right.” I closed my eyes and shook my head in utter
disbelief. “What is this, ancient Rome? It’s fucking barbaric.” It
sickened me to be forced to participate in such depraved conduct,
but I realized I had succumbed to such behavior months ago when I
put myself on this path of vindictive retribution. It was my own
fault. “And what am I supposed to do about Hannah?” I asked.

Nick sighed heavily. “Tyler, she’s gone. There’s
nothing you can do about it now. You need to forget her and let it
go.”

I sent him a cold stare then turned away. “Like I
could,” I said, more to myself than to Nick. “I don’t know how he
even got his hands on her. I bought her a ticket home. Had a car
pick her up and take her to the airport.”

“Alexi had someone watching you from the time you
left Washington. He never trusted you, Tyler. He told me so. They
were going to get her one way or another. I don’t think she ever
had a chance. And whatever deal you made concerning me, well, I
doubt Dmitri ever intended on honoring it.”

I thumped my head against the wall behind me. “God,
I’m so fucking stupid.”

“Ty, you need to put all that out of your mind now.
Focus on surviving. If we’re lucky, we might get out of here
tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? Hannah will be God knows where by then. I
have to get out tonight, Nick. It’s her only chance.”

He gave me a weak smile of encouragement then laid
his head back and shut his eyes.

Chapter Forty
-
One

Tyler

Late that evening, the thrum of voices grew louder
as the gallery began to fill with men and a few garishly dressed
women. Their heels clanged and clattered against the metal above
our heads. They spoke excitedly about the night’s bouts and their
wagers. Four more men were escorted up the long gated corridor and
placed in the remaining cages along the perimeter of the arena
floor. I studied them closely, trying to determine each man’s
possible weakness, as well as his strength.

One of them was just a kid, maybe eighteen or
nineteen at most, and scared witless. There was something about
him, something oddly familiar, though I couldn’t place it. He was
tall, but thin, with lean arms and a hollow beneath his narrow
chest. He reminded me of Nick when he first got mixed up with
Dmitri’s crew. He paced the floor of his cell with his arms wrapped
around his chest, nervously eyeing each of us. The rest of the men
appeared to range in age from the late twenties to early forties,
and none too happy to be there. They were sizing us up, as well. A
couple of them spouted off about how Nick and I both looked the
worse for wear. They called us pussies and declared us easy to put
down. Except for the kid, they all seemed to purposely pump
themselves up for the fight.

The crowd above was getting rowdy, and pushing
matches broke out. Alexi and Dmitri joined the mob at the head of
the gallery where they both stood up to the railing. Alexi motioned
to one of his men, who rang a loud bell, calling everyone to order.
With a wave of his hands, he summoned all to be quiet. When the
room settled down, Alexi greeted the crowd.

“Good evening, my friends. Thank you all for coming.
It should prove to be a most interesting evening, I am sure. As
some of you may already know, we have several ways to wager here
tonight. You may merely choose to bet on a winner or a loser at the
given odds, or you may wager on the length of time you think either
opponent might last. You may also bet on whether one man lives or
dies.”

Loud cheers erupted at this last point. Alexi raised
his hands and quieted everyone down.

“Mr. Chernov, as host and sponsor of tonight’s
event, will take his cut off the top of each wager. The balance
goes into the pot and the odds are configured. All bets must be
made before the fight begins, except for the death wagers which can
be made for the duration of the bout, until one fighter falls.
After each fight, all accounts must be paid in full before wagering
again or leaving for the night. You will be checked at the door, my
friends, so please, do not attempt to leave without settling your
account.

“The match-ups are determined at random by picking
numbers from a hat. Each number corresponds to the number on the
outside of the fighter’s cage.” Alexi focused his attention on me,
glaring down with malevolence. “There are no exceptions to this
rule.”

Nick and I shared worried glances.

“Now for the match-ups,” Alexi called out. He pulled
one number out of the hat then another, and held them up to the
crowd. “The first bout will be between fighters number three and
six.”

The crowd roared anew as Alexi’s men unlocked the
gates to the cages, and the two fighters emerged. One of them was
the young kid. He walked slowly out of his cell and looked up at
the screaming crowd. Loosening his grip around his chest, he
lowered his arms to his sides, but the worried frown remained. He
turned to look at his opponent, who had already strutted out and
was waving his arms up and down to get the mob further excited. He
was cocky and sure of himself as he circled the kid standing in the
center of the arena floor. The older fighter looked to be in his
late twenties and had at least forty pounds on the kid, all corded
muscle that rippled beneath the heavily tattooed flesh of his arms,
neck, shoulders, and back.

“You have ten minutes to place your bets,” Alexi
yelled aloud.

Suddenly, the gallery looked like the floor of the
stock exchange as the gamblers, with slips of paper shaking in
their raised hands, screamed, while bookies snatched eagerly at
their orders. Below the chaos of the mob, the two fighters circled
each other around the arena floor, wary of the guards who shouted
orders to keep their distance. The tattooed man raised both fists
in the air, opening and closing them three times.

Nick turned to me and said, “That’s the signal. He
just bet his entire balance.”

I snickered. “Guess I would, too, if I were him.
That kid won’t last thirty seconds.”

Nick agreed with a solemn nod and glanced up at the
timer on the wall. It counted down the minutes until the fight was
to begin while the crowd grew louder and more rambunctious.

As soon as the timer hit zero, the bell rang out.
The older, larger fighter ran toward the kid, who backed up
defensively, his hands raised up and one leg bent to protect
himself. The tattooed man tackled the kid and pummeled his head and
body with his meaty fists. When the man slowed to catch his breath,
the kid lashed out and landed a solid hit to the man’s throat,
knocking him away with a sickening croak.

In a quick flash, the boy jumped up and turned his
body at an angle. His arms flexed, lean muscle rippled, and his
hands shaped into blades near his hips. When Tattoo charged at him
again, the boy threw a forward kick, followed by an undercut
punch—martial arts style. The man went down hard, falling into his
own blood splattered on the floor. The kid stood over him for a
moment, until he was satisfied the man wasn’t going to get up, then
he moved away and looked up into the gallery. The crowd erupted
into a clamorous roar of unexpected enthusiasm.

Tattoo pulled himself up onto his hands and knees,
but not for long. With a running start, the kid launched a savage
kick into his ribcage. The man rose a foot off the floor before
rolling across it, his blood spiraling outward as he spun like a
top. Cheers from the audience rose in a deafening roar. Early on,
the odds seemed stacked against the kid, so those few who had
wagered for him stood to make a lot of money should he win, while
most of the crowd would likely lose a large sum.

After nearly a full minute, Tattoo staggered to his
feet. He planted them wide with his knees pulled inward so he
wouldn’t fall over. The boy allowed him to hold steady for only ten
seconds then hurled himself into a rapid roundhouse kick. The man’s
head snapped back on his neck, and he fell to the arena floor, limp
as a child’s ragdoll. His eyes rolled back into his head, and blood
poured from his mouth and nose. The assembly bellowed all at once,
and brawls broke out. Down below, the boy paraded around his victim
with his arms held high. He raised his face to the crowd and
screamed as the bell rang, ending the short-lived match. Then the
kid turned to Alexi and Dmitri and, with both hands, pointed at
them with a devilish smile.

“Damn,” Nick swore, his eyes wide and his brow
shooting upward.

“Don’t kid yourself, Nick. That boy’s a hustler,” I
offered bitterly. “Dmitri’s pawn, no doubt.”

Nick’s mouth hung open as he stared at the kid, his
brow gathered with intense concentration. “Huh. Yeah, maybe,” he
said, a spark igniting in his eye. “I know that asshole. And so
does Dmitri.” He shook his head with something akin to a grudging
respect, like he’d been proven less clever, less devious. “Maybe
nothing’s what it seems after all, huh?” Then he dropped his chin
to his chest. “Dmitri. Fucking bastard.”

I looked at him, puzzled by his comment. “What is
it? What’s wrong?”

He shook his head. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

“How do you know him then? Who is he?”

“Just a nobody who thinks he’s going to be somebody
someday,” he replied, pressing his lips together and waving me
off.

But something had changed in him. I just didn’t know
what it was.

Meanwhile, on the catwalk above, markers were
distributed to those few who had won. There were angry jeers
leveled at the boy who still circled around the floor in a victory
lap while Alexi’s henchmen dragged the battered, still form of the
beaten tattooed man away. With a final yelp in conquest, the boy
was escorted off the arena floor.

It took nearly twenty minutes for the gallery to
settle down, but my anxiety blossomed while we waited for more
names to be called. The bell rang again, signaling the start of the
next match-up. Alexi selected two more numbers from the hat. This
time, Nick was chosen to fight. My heart tumbled, and nausea rolled
through me.

I weaved my fingers through the chain-link between
our cells. “Nick?”

He looked over at me, his forehead wrinkled in
doubt. With a weak smile, he raised his chin, trying to be brave
for my benefit. “No worries. I got this. I know what I have to do
now.
I’m
going to take care of things for once in my life.
My last gift to you, brother.”

“What are you talking about? What do you mean,
last
gift?” I pointed my finger at him. “Don’t you do
anything stupid, Nick, you hear me? You made me a promise.”

With a soft chuckle, he smirked, another one of his
crooked smiles. But his eyes were different somehow. Resigned. Like
the day he and Alexi had made their deal at the hospital.

“I’ve made a lot of promises, Tyler, but there’s
only one I need to keep now.”