Of course, Jonas bailed on me.
At the very last second, he decided he'd be better off spending his evening with Lucy, his pretty but deranged girlfriend. As I sat sulking, with the aftertaste of a cocktail going sour in my mouth, I wondered why I didn't strangle him back in the office. Elite manipulation was one of his few unsavory qualities, and the ones closest to him were usually the unfortunate recipients.
As I imagined all the creative ways I could torture my brother whenever I got my hands on him, the audience below exploded with celebration. From my view in the VIP area, I could see everything. The lounge was a large egg-shaped room fixed horizontally at the very top of a tall, sturdy stone pillar. Its exterior was composed of glass panels and strips of fortified steel, making it resemble a massive glass crystal wrapped in a metallic net.
The interior was even more impressive. The base of the lounge was covered with polished marble, discouraging vertigo in weak-stomached guests. The room was large enough to accommodate over thirty people—a figure that excluded the workers—and yellow single sofas, a hundred times more comfortable than the stone seats around the arena, were neatly positioned at the center of the room in that exact number. The lounge was also fully air-conditioned, had a small but impressive bar on the east side of the entrance, and was equipped with such enchanting golden ambient lighting.
But the best part of the experience was the view.
Sure, the pillar stood at almost a hundred feet from the ground. But because we all possessed lycanthropy in our blood, keen sight was a common characteristic. That meant the battle below was as clear as being a few yards from it. In addition, the entirety of the arena stretched out below, forming a strange aesthetic that I never thought was possible to admire. I'd even begun imagining having a literal man-cave beneath the Pierce mansion back home.
Nonetheless, I wore a deep frown as I waved away a waitress who offered me another round of cocktails from a small metal tray balanced perfectly on the tips of her fingers. Despite being impressed, I still wasn't excited to be here.
"Your dull mood eats away at my spirits, Mr. Pierce. Have a drink, at least."
McKenzie Brown smoothly nabbed two glasses from the waitress as she walked past him. As the slightly robust man settled into the sofa next to mine, he offered me a glass. Without much of a choice, I received it with a brief word of gratitude. McKenzie drained his drink halfway before he spoke again.
"My son was an avid follower of the fights here. Something about gory violence fascinated him, which was quite ironic 'cause he was such a nice, sweet person. I'd often wondered if his love for brutality stemmed from the fact that he could only watch others do what he couldn't. He simply wasn't a fighter."
His use of words in the past tense had me adjusting in my seat uncomfortably. He must've noticed the look on my face because he chuckled lightly in response.
"No need for feeling discomfort, boy," he assured. "He's gone now. Mercury poisoning. It was some messed-up family affair that he got caught up in. Now, years later, anytime I have a reason to celebrate, I come here instead. Not because I want to, but… well, closure, I guess. Yeah, that's it. Closure."
I glanced at McKenzie for a brief moment. For a man in his mid-fifties, he appeared quite young. His black hair—heavily oiled and combed backwards—didn't show a single sign of gray. His double chin accentuated his slightly round, clean-shaven face and frame, though from what I heard, that wasn't a reason to see him as physically unfit. Dark, bushy eyebrows hovered just above clever brown eyes that probed everything before he even uttered a word. Those eyes now had the slightest hint of sadness in them, and it got me thinking.
My guess about the "family affair" he referred to probably involved compromised loyalties from his subordinates—or the ones he referred to as family. It wouldn't come as a surprise if McKenzie's son were killed because the perpetrator wanted to compromise his position as alpha. Such a heinous act not only sounds unsettling, but also made me realize how supportive my own family has been. No jealous siblings, no mutinous pack members; everyone seemed streamlined in the same direction as my vision as leader. It was a blessing most alphas didn't have. And for people like McKenzie, it'd cost him his only son and heir.
"Don't mind me, boy," he said with another chuckle. "Didn't mean to dull the night further. Some celebration this is, eh?" He added as he emptied his glass.
"Yeah. Quite the mood," I replied, finally taking a sip from my drink. The crowd erupted again, but I'd already lost interest by then. I could swear everyone else in the lounge felt the same way. Nothing was exciting about the match, no unexpected twists or comebacks to electrify the stale atmosphere. My mind impulsively replayed the fight from a couple of nights ago, and with a small smile, I unsuccessfully tried to imagine the expression on the faces of the VIP audience when Pea unexpectedly dismantled her opponent.
"Huh," McKenzie scoffed, subtly bringing me back to my boring reality. "What do we have here?"
I turned to him, then to the direction he gazed at. Over at the bar, two men were perched partially on the high wooden stools, each wearing flashy sports suits and holding on to a thin glass of champagne. A third man joined them, sporting a black, glittering tuxedo, and a hairstyle held back like a samurai. His cold blue eyes betrayed the smile he wore, but his companions didn't seem to notice. I immediately decided not to like the guy.
"Didn't think they were serious," McKenzie continued muttering to himself.
"Serious about what?" I inquired.
McKenzie stayed quiet, like he was trying to decide if it was worth telling. Then a response finally rolled off his tongue. "Those men had indicated interest in purchasing one of the competitors before the tournament kicked off. I'd brushed it off as a boastful gesture, but seeing Michael here changes things."
"Purchase competitors?" I asked in disbelief. "Is that even possible?"
"Of course, it is," McKenzie confirmed. "It falls within the rules of the tournament. As long as you make the transaction before it begins."
I sat up, stunned by the information. "But… Why would anyone want to buy someone? I thought that era of slavery was over."
McKenzie cleared his throat as he tried to stifle laughter, which made me raise an eyebrow. "I'm sorry," he said with a smile. "It's just that you youngsters are usually up to date with these things. But I suppose not a lot of people know about this aspect of the Pit."
He sat forward, admiring the empty glass cup in his beefy hands. "See, the Council allows the public to participate in the tournament by buying the 'players' involved. Of course, it's an expensive venture that only the wealthy can afford, which works out perfectly for the big men upstairs. The purchased fighters, on the other hand, have the entirety of their loyalty switched to their new owners, while staying obedient to the rules of the sport. And if they make it out alive, if they win, then their freedom and new life become tied to their benefactors."
"Huh." I leaned back, a thousand thoughts swimming in my head. I'd never seen it like that before, even when I was a fanatic. But it all made sense in a way. It was similar to the gladiators of old, where rich men would invest in the brutal, bloody path of a fighter. His eventual victory, if he was that lucky, was indebted to his patron. As was the rest of his life.
"I could've done the same for Scott," I muttered quietly with sudden bitter clarity.
"What?"
I blinked repeatedly as I recollected myself. McKenzie was still staring intently at the men at the bar like he was watching a drug deal unfold. "Michael being the master of ceremony means he's directly involved in the dealings. This is interesting."
"He's the MC?" I asked. "I thought—"
I never had the chance to finish my sentence. My chest suddenly tightened like someone had viciously squeezed all the air out of my lungs. White noise from nowhere filled my head, immediately drowning out the outside world. With McKenzie still distracted, I got to my feet, trying to make sense of what was happening to me. An abrupt wave of fear washed over my body, causing my hands to shake. My heart raced as the dreadful feeling of death nearly overwhelmed me. With a shaky breath, and my head in my hands, I dropped to my knees as my legs suddenly felt numb.
Then I fell into a brief trance.
It was as if I were suspended in the air, dangling from certain death several feet below. My only lifeline was a person, a woman, holding tightly to my wrist. Fear was also etched into her blue-green eyes, and her reddish brown hair was a mess around her face as she tried to pull me up. "Hold on!" She cried. "I'm gonna pull you up, Pea. Just hold on."
Wait. Pea?
My chest heaved as my lungs gratefully accepted a large dose of air. It took me a second to realize that I was back in the lounge, still kneeling on the polished marble floor. I was drenched in cold sweat, but relieved I wasn't dying. No, I realized. I'd received a vision, an imprint of someone else's fear so strong that it left a mark on me. With wide eyes, realization came on me like a bucket of cold water.
"Mr. Pierce? Are you okay, boy?"
I quickly got to my feet at the sound of McKenzie's voice. He looked confused when I turned around, and so did a few unfamiliar faces. Other than that, everyone else minded their business like it was a commandment.
"Yeah," I answered, panting heavily. "Yeah, I'm okay. It was nothing—"
I don't know why my eyes darted to Michael, but they did and I paused. He'd ignored his companions, who were still busy laughing and drinking, and had a finger in his ear like he was listening to an earpiece. His face suddenly went red, and his scowl was so deep it looked concerning. My sensitive ears immediately went to work, and I was able to pick out a few words.
"I'm on my way," I heard him snarl. "Find them now."
With that, he abandoned his friends and charged out of the lounge.
I froze for a moment, trying to process the situation. I didn't fully understand it, but I knew Pea was in trouble. I literally felt it two minutes ago. And it could be much worse if Michael got involved. Without fully considering what I was getting into, I turned to McKenzie, who still looked lost.
"I think I should catch up with Michael. Perhaps he could explain the whole… uh… tournament thing better. Enjoy the rest of the night, Mr. Brown."
I dashed out before he could respond, questioning my life choices as I chased after the master of ceremony.