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“Wait, Jag. Not yet.” I shout over the yelping and cheers as one dog pins the other.
Two men jump into the ring, separating them. I’m surprised they stopped it. The ones I’ve been to before the fight was to the death, much like the underground ring I took Aelia to. I didn’t tell her several of the fighters were probably dead, but it was clear by the amount of blood left behind.
I yank Jag away from the scene and direct him toward the makeshift bar. It’s just a slab of wood slapped on two barrels in the corner. A greasy kid probably not more than sixteen pours beer after beer as one of his buddies takes the money.
I assumed most of the people here would be either underage or in their fifties. Instead, it’s a mix, but they’re all obviously hard up for cash. No one wears a suit or looks like they’ve seen a shower in weeks, adding to the general stench hanging in the air. I’m glad I wore clothes I don’t care about, since I’m pretty sure I just stepped in someone else’s piss.
I hold up two fingers as Jag hands over the money along with a generous tip. The kid grabs it, shoving it into a bag, then snatches his hand out again, staring at the thick wad. His wide eyes find mine and I nod. He taps the bartender on the shoulder, then takes off, upending the wood in the process. I barely step back, avoiding the spillage. Others aren’t so fortunate, and they yell in outrage.
Next, we approach someone near the cages lined at the back of the room. A boy even younger than the other two doesn’t notice our arrival. He’s too busy being hit with what looks like a cricket bat. Where the hell the man even got one is beyond me, but Jag grabs the wood as the man tries to hit the boy again. He rips it from the man’s grasp and tosses it away. Jag pushes into him, baring his teeth. The man stumbles back and lands on his ass.
The boy scrambles to his feet, and I snag the back of his shirt. He digs his heels in, but all he accomplishes is to choke himself. Another fight breaks out, dogs snarling viciously. Grabbing the kid’s arm, I shake him a little to get him to stop trying to flee, but he kicks my shin.
“Would you knock it off? Little shit,” I hiss, hopping back so he can’t land another blow while still keeping hold of him.
“Let me go,” he says through gritted teeth.
I yank him toward me, bending so I’m right in his face. “You want the pups to go free?”
The boy sobers, staring at me with the solemness of a kid who’s seen more death than a ten-year-old should. He glances at the dozen cages, then back at me, and nods.
“Then listen up.”
I mutter in his ear what to do and to wait for the signal, checking to make sure he understands. He nods again, then scampers behind a box in a crouch. His dark eyes pop up from over the top, widening when I don’t move.
Jag has dealt with the abusive asshole, now crawling to get away from the larger man’s fists. Anyone watching will assume we just lost a bet, and no one is going to interfere with a man like Jag, especially with the evil glint flashing in his eyes.
Pulling my phone out, I stab at the screen, my fingers trembling. It’s been a while since I’ve done anything other than live out a stranger’s life that’s filled with money and wealth. Adrenaline courses through my veins, amplifying my surroundings.
“Get it together,” Jag says, glaring at me.
I slip my phone back in my pocket, then glance around. A few men are watching us, and I meet Jag’s gaze. Striding over, I kick one of the cages and the dog cowers in the corner. I set my jaw, then swing around. A man who looks like a guard stomps toward us and I cross my arms, waiting for him to reach me.
“You got a problem?” he asks.
“Nope. We dealt with it.” I gesture to the man Jag beat, still crawling away, leaving a bloody trail behind him.
He nods, narrowing his eyes. “These are your problem now. Get them ready.”
When he walks away, I smirk. I didn’t expect that to be so easy, but apparently, they don’t give a shit who deals with the dogs. My phone buzzes one last time, and I lift my hand to Jag. He glances around, making sure all the workers who were kids are out before hustling to the back door next to the child still cowering behind a box.
Following him, I barely make it through the door before Jag pulls the fire alarm. We had a different plan, counting on the system to not be working anymore, but my contact assured me it was. There’s no shrill ringing and only one strobe light next to the door we just exited.
“You sure they got to the rest of the lights?” Jag asks, glancing back at me as we hurry down the hallway.
“Since no one is rushing from the building, I’d say so. I need you to hang out and make sure the kid makes it out.”
“You think I’d leave him inside? I’m an asshole, but I ain’t a child killer,” he growls. “We should have stayed to help him.”
“The others have it.”
He swings around to face me, stopping me in my tracks. “Others?”
“You think they don’t take care of their own? Those bartenders didn’t take off. They’re hiding to get the kid and the dogs out.”
“Who the fuck is your contact?”
I grin, pushing him toward the exit. When we burst outside, the cold winter wind whips through the empty alley. Sending off one more text to confirm our part is done, we rush away from the building. We make it to the rendezvous point, and I breathe a sigh of relief when a woman steps from the shadows.
