Mastim's Curse

Chapter 30

 I'm surrounded by nervous men with guns that keep alert eyes on me like I might jump them at any moment. As they escort me to the next event. I can smell their fear, and I love it.

Kyle's dead face still hangs vividly in my mind. He was a hell of a fighter, maybe the best I've ever been up against. He messed me up pretty bad. My face is cut and swollen and every breath brings a stab of pain from my bruised ribs. They lead me into a room painted brilliant white. This is where we will play Russian roulette. Despite the brightness of the room, the air is hot and thick. The only furnishings are a small and very shiny, white table in the center along with two white chairs on opposite sides facing each other. Along the walls of the room are mirrors, bullet-proof glass most likely. I bet they have cameras ready to catch every detail, maybe even VIP seating for the elite or highest bidders.

The sterile room makes me feel filthy because I'm still covered with a putrid mixture of dirt, sweat, and blood. I want to clean up, but they won't let me, saying it'll be better for ratings this way. They tell me to sit and relax, but relaxing isn't going to happen. No room has ever made me so self-consciousness and uncomfortable. Sitting at the immaculately white table only makes it worse because the filth on me is making a mess on everything I touch.

So... filthy, nervous, and in pain, I wait. Waiting to see if you are going to die is more painful than you can imagine. Every beat of your heart sounds in your ears and every breath feels like the last. Time slows with each moment becoming a torturous as thoughts of loved ones flooding your mind to remind you of how there are so many things you still want to do with them before you die. Funny, it's the idea that I can't remember the last time Dad told me a bedtime story as a child that saddens me the most. If I live though this, I going to ask him to tuck me into bed and read me a story. He can roll his eyes at me all he wants, but I'm going to do it.

My soul-searching ends abruptly when they bring in Ed Cameron. He's sweating profusely and reeks of poor hygiene. Almost immediately, our eyes lock onto each other. We are linked by the invisible and unbreakable fact of our fates being decisively intertwined. Only one of us will walk out of here. I try to keep my face impassive, but the crazy-man grin on his unshaven face makes that difficult. This guy would give hardened criminals the creeps.

He sits at the table across from me with his mouth open in what must be intended to be a grin, but it's too twisted for that. When he speaks, the odor of tobacco and rotten teeth is overwhelming.

"I've been watching you... in the replays," he croaks in a dry voice.

I remain silent, trying not to wince with each pained breath.

"You're good, real good." He pauses. "But you know what? That shit ain't going to help you now. Not one bit. This here's gonna be one hundred percent, random luck." His twisted grin becomes even more slanted.

Luck... Luck has never been random for me. My tongue runs over the bleeding cut inside my mouth were Kyle slammed me in the side of the face. It isn't always good to me, but it's never random. The darkness has a leash on luck and bends it to whatever unknown purpose lies behind its homicidal desires. That would be more comforting at the moment if the damn thing didn't have a sadomasochistic streak as wide as it is dark. According to our family history, people with this gift normally die of un-natural causes.

Ed leans forward. "I still don't get you."

His smell nauseates me. "Who cares what you get?"

The edge of his mouth curls up. "You should. See... I'm willing to risk blowing my brains out for a chance to fuck that sexy ass bitch, which is... a little crazy maybe, but you're risking the same thing for nothing in return. That's just dumb. So... are you stupid, or do you value her life much more than your own?"