“Where can I pick him up afterward?” Val asked.
“No need. If the winner beats three guys, Princess Fiona owns him—you’ll never see him again. If he loses, he’ll be dead, and you’ll never see him again. So say your goodbyes now. Leave your wallet, phone, and weapons here.” The guy looked at Kelan. “And if you’re wearing any other communication or transmitting devices, get rid of them.” He nodded to the bartender, who took his phone out of his pocket and texted someone.
Kelan started disarming. He removed his earpiece and set it on the bar. He met Val’s solemn eyes; they both knew it was going to be up to him to reach out to the team when he could, because it was highly likely they weren’t going to be able to follow him to where Fiona was.
He shook hands with Val. Something pressed into his palm. Val’s earpiece. He glanced at the bar where his own comm unit still lay.
“Let’s go,” the guy said.
Kelan didn’t move. He watched Val take his things and walk out of the bar. He wasn’t leaving Val at the mercy of the gang bangers. “We’ll go as soon as I see him pull away.”
When Val’s SUV left the parking lot, Kelan followed the guy out the back way into an alley. A black Mercedes with matching black tinted windows was waiting for them. The driver got out and came around the backside of the car. He removed something from the trunk—a wand to check for transmitting devices. Kelan had already checked that the earpiece was off. The wand didn’t detect it.
They got in the car and went a few miles to an industrial complex long past its prime. The driver stopped outside the steps leading to a side door. “There’s an entrance fee you have to pay.”
“Aaannd that’s something you should have said before having me leave my wallet behind.”
The guy laughed. “Money ain’t gonna buy you a spot in the competition. Go inside. You’ll know what you have to do.”
*
Kelan moved up the stairs to the entrance, surprised he was not challenged. He left the comm unit off in case someone inside wanded him again. The guy who brought him here took off. Kelan paused to listen at the rusting steel door, but could hear nothing from inside. He tried the door. It was unlocked. He pushed it open.
She was here. He knew it in a way that had nothing to do with logic. He could feel her.
The cavernous space was filled with empty air and industrial pillars. The lack of windows would have made the space relentlessly black, except for the one drop light that illuminated a table deep inside the room. Something was on the table. No, not something—someone.
Fiona.
They’d changed her somehow. Given her long golden curls—was it a wig? The gold-and cream-colored fabric she wore shimmered slightly; perhaps it caught the whisper of air let in by the open door.
She was halfway inside the room, bait for him or someone. He couldn’t charge toward her without expecting an attack. She was completely still, her hands folded over her midsection. He couldn’t see restraints, and she was too damned far away to check her breathing.
He looked around the perimeter of the space. There were doors at either end. He moved deeper into the room, prepared for the shitstorm his presence would trigger.
He lowered his gaze to the floor, letting his senses roll outward from him as he scanned the space.
When he stepped forward, he held the same vibration as the steel floor, pillars, and walls, moving soundlessly toward where the other half of his soul was lying so utterly still. The long sleeves and long skirt of her dress spilled over the edges of the table. Her skin was as pale as the fabric she wore. Her brows and lashes had been darkened. Her cheeks were artificially colored. Her lips were battlefield red.
She was his Fiona, and yet she wasn’t. She was different. She was made up as if for a viewing. Like a corpse. Or an actress on a stage.
Time and distance seemed to distort; the closer he came the farther she appeared. He wondered if he were hallucinating.
She looked peaceful. Eternally so.
But not everything was as it seemed. Shallow breaths moved her chest.
Before he could get close enough to touch her, two men entered the room from the doors at either end. He didn’t look at them. Instead he kept his gaze on her and observed them from his peripheral vision. They were dressed all in black and moved like shadow warriors. They had a significant advantage over him…they weren’t emotionally involved with the woman on the table. But he was, and instead of letting that distract him, he had to use it to give him focus and fuel his fight.
Kelan moved a few steps to the side. He didn’t want to get very far from Fiona, but he didn’t want her injured in the coming fight, either. He watched the two men, judging from their movements how they would fight. He could tell they were experienced fighters from the way they squared their bodies, spreading their shoulders and legs to enhance their mobility.
When the first guy threw a punch, Kelan grabbed his wrist and pulled his body in close so he could slam his knee into the guy’s diaphragm. He bent over reflexively, sucking back the air he’d lost. Kelan took advantage of the moment, and braced himself on the guy’s back, then levered his feet up the other guy’s chest to wrap them around his neck, tumbling them both to the ground. The second guy fought to get free, but Kelan ended him with a quick twist to his neck. He didn’t know what the night held for him, but leaving either of these two alive so that they could come after him again was not an option.