“Anyway, it’s gonna be a full house tonight. Most of the guests are betting on you, and they haven’t even read the player profiles yet.”
Kane had almost forgotten about the competition. He glanced around the dorm at the other guys. Only ten of them would compete tonight, including Cutter. A few men were working the circuit, but most of them sat on the floor or lay in their bunks, talking strategy and resting up for the games. Maybe he should do the same.
“What are my odds?”
“Thirteen to one. Everyone loves an underdog.”
Kane crunched a few numbers in his head. If enough guests wagered on him at thirteen-to-one odds and he actually won, the casino would have to pay out a fortune. Which meant the Zhang mafia would lose money. He was no idiot. He knew what happened to people who stood between the mafia and their profits.
“Will Ari Zhang think I’m a liability if I win?”
His boss chuckled. “Hell no, kid. Zhang’s a businessman. He’s got a lot invested in you. Do you think he’s going to waste a good fighter by rubbing him out after a win?” He ruffled Kane’s hair. “Zhang wants you to fight hard. He’s coming to see you play.”
That surprised Kane. Ari Zhang still hadn’t made an appearance here, so for him to attend the fight was a huge deal.
“You look tense.” His boss offered the golden inhaler. “This’ll help.”
He was right. One breath later, Kane was invincible again.
“Don’t sweat the numbers.” His boss’s voice seemed to come from above the ceiling, like a distant crack of thunder. It rumbled one last message and then faded into the clouds. “The house always wins in the end.”
As promised, there wasn’t an empty seat in the casino that night.
Kane peered up from the pit courtyard—which, ironically, stood at ground level—and scanned the rows of stadium seating that continued all the way to the ceiling. He hadn’t expected so many spectators. At least five hundred guests of every nationality sat elbow-to-elbow, most of them laughing and talking in animated voices that hinted they’d sipped too much Crystalline with dinner. Their chatter created a steady din that Kane found annoying, but instead of retreating to the locker room, he continued his search until he found Ari Zhang in a private box in the middlemost aisle.
Zhang didn’t exactly resemble his mug shot, but Kane had no trouble picking him out of the crowd. Dark-haired with a neatly trimmed beard accessorizing his face, he relaxed against his seatback and surveyed the arena with the kind of detached arrogance that came with power. Kane had seen that expression on the older generation of royals on Eturia. Tonight Zhang seemed almost bored, as though he couldn’t decide whether the event was worth his time. Necktie Fleece and Nicky Malone flanked him on either side, though he paid them no attention. He must have sensed someone watching, because he met Kane’s gaze and held the connection with cold, unsmiling eyes.
Kane had never challenged a shark to a staring contest, but this was how he imagined it would feel. He couldn’t believe Renny had picked this guy’s pocket. He gave the man a nod of respect and left the courtyard for the privacy of the locker room.
Inside the enclosure, the clamor of nine voices reverberated off the walls, each more frantic than the last. The men sat on long benches, sharing theories and rumors about what to expect in the main arena, which none of them had seen. They’d entered the pit through a pair of doors that led to a small courtyard and the locker room, where they were supposed to wait until their scheduled time to compete. What existed beyond those walls was a mystery.
“I know a guy on the construction crew,” one man said. “He helped build this place, and he said the whole pit’s a maze of death traps.”
“Then who are we supposed to fight?” asked another man.
“The survivors, I guess.”
Kane turned his face toward the glass panels along the ceiling, long windows that allowed them to see the audience’s reactions during the games. He scanned the guests until he found a group of men pointing at the arena. He couldn’t read their lips, but their eyebrows rose high enough to shrink their foreheads.
His palms began to sweat. He wiped them on the stretchy leggings his boss had made him wear, wishing he could take his Gold now instead of before game time. He was slated to compete dead last. He might actually crawl out of his skin by then.
When there were no more rumors to share, silence descended upon the room. Some men stood from the benches and paced the floor. Others closed their eyes and chanted prayers under their breath. Even Cutter seemed shaken, staring at his enormous hands without blinking. The group’s fear struck Kane in an unexpected way. Until now he’d thought of these men as competitors and not real people. But that was what they were—brothers and sons with sweethearts they’d left behind, just like Kane.
They were all ordinary guys.