Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 126003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 630(@200wpm)___ 504(@250wpm)___ 420(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 630(@200wpm)___ 504(@250wpm)___ 420(@300wpm)
The good are chewed up and spit out. And I don’t want that to happen to the Jardinez family.
Romero gets up, smooths out a few wrinkles in his perfectly pressed chinos, and then offers me his hand. I shake it and he says, “It was nice to meet you, Eason. Please come by the restaurant any time you want.”
Then he lets go of my hand, turns away, and leaves.
Closing the door quietly behind him.
CHAPTER 25
I’m not asleep when Eason places me on the bed, just too exhausted to open my eyes. When he doesn’t get in with me, just walks to the door, leaving me, I want to call him back.
But that’s pathetic, so I don’t.
Once the door is closed behind him, I get out of bed and go outside on the terrace. It’s dark, no moon, and my fingers automatically point up to the sky and I say, “One.”
Day one. The moon was how we counted days on the Rock. And the new moon was when all the big Ring fights happened, so it was day one. Actually, by the time we got to the Rock Cort had always been there for a month already. All alone, by himself. He likes silence and solitude.
I’ve never been to a top-level Ring of Fire fight, but Anya told me what that last one was like. How dark it was, and the paint they all wore on their bodies, and how she glowed an iridescent white under the black spotlights.
I picture it. The ship—the Bull of Light—and the helicopter pad that doubled as a fight platform. I picture myself there instead of Anya. Fighting with someone like Pavo. Desperate to kill him as the drums pound out a deafening death beat and the people shout from the topside, betting against me the same way they did Cort.
It doesn’t scare me.
When Eason said to think about the night before the fights—the terror—and not to think about the all the good things we had in Cort’s little village camp, he was assuming a lot.
One, that I was ever afraid of fighting.
Two, that I ever cared if I died.
I don’t get depressed the way he does, or the way Rasha did. Mostly because I don’t really see the point of life. I mean, it’s got no meaning at all. Existing seems to be the only purpose.
And in this respect, I can sort of understand why people do crazy shit like sell children and put them in death fights.
They’re bored. They’re trying to give life meaning. And I guess, if you’re one of those people who has everything, you gotta think outside the box.
It’s a pretty sick way to look at things. But then I think of myself here in Miami. The condo, the stackable washer and dryer. Enough money to get by without much effort. A couple of friends, a good rice bowl, and the beach.
I get the boredom. It kinda makes sense. Because there is absolutely no point to life. None.
It’s meaningless until you give it meaning.
Nandy gives it meaning by studying words and speech. Her family gives it meaning by running that restaurant. Eason’s trying to give it meaning. I’m not sure what he needs though. A fight? On a ship? With black lights and glowing paint? The death beat, and the cheering, and the prizes?
I don’t think that’s it.
So I don’t know what will give Eason’s life meaning.
I know I don’t want that. I mean, if, by some chance, I ended up in a fight on the Bull of Light, then fuck it. I’d fight.
But really, I just want to kill people. I want to kill all those bored people who think fight camp for stolen kids and death fights for empty teenagers is what gives their life meaning.
I want to come up on them by surprise and slit their throats, just like I did it with Udulf that day at the jungle camp.
Or maybe I’d like to toy with them? The way a cat might paw at a half-dead mouse.
There’s a word for that, but I don’t like to say it out loud.
“Torture.” I say it anyway.
It’s a very harsh word. Something evil. But it feels so right.
Eason called it a sick hate, but I’m not sure I agree.
It’s just… one option in a whole sea of life choices.
I’m back in bed when Eason returns. He slips in next to me, puts his arm around me, pulls me tight right up to his chest. He’s warm. “You’re awake?”
He knows I’m awake. But I don’t say anything.
“Did you sleep at all?”
I shake my head.
“Are you OK?”
Now I turn so I’m facing him. There’s almost no light in here, so I can’t even make out the color of his eyes. Just the contours of his face from the hazy glow that drifts up through the terrace doors from the busy beach town below.