years. But those contracts basically made them indentured servants, unable to leave. Most of the rogues fought for years and then eventually died, still tied to that contract.
Suddenly, the collar makes sense to Hugo, and his frown deepens. “How long?”
She shrugs. “I’m twenty-five now.”
I wince at the fact that this is all she’s known. For twenty-four years, she’s been forced to fight like a puppet put on display, while her troupe leader pulled all the strings.
“So you ran away?” Hugo surmises. “I thought the collars had trackers on them.”
“They do. But my tracker broke in my last fight. I’m not even sure how, but I left as soon soon as I figured it out,” she explains. “Funny thing about collars, though. It freaks humans out, but in our world?” She huffs out a frustrated breath. “Forget it. The Canes take one look at me with this, and they look the other way, like they’re worried collars are contagious,” she says with disgust.
“Unfortunately, it’s still legal. And if you’re under contract, then there’s not a whole lot we can do,” Hugo points out
“I didn’t ask to be brought here,” Jetta says, bristling. “Open the gate and I’ll leave right now.”
“Relax,” Hugo says with a wave of his hand. “I’m not going to put you out with Rockhead hot on your scent. You can stay here for a few days until they get off your trail, and then you’re free to go,” he tells her, and Jetta visibly relaxes. “Where’s your troupe?”
“I left them in Arizona.”
“But your troupe master will be looking for you,” Hugo says, more as a statement than a question.
Jetta nods sharply and her fingers curl around the armrests of the chair, making my eyes focus on the sleeves of tattoos she has on both arms. She catches me looking and releases her grip, forcing her muscles to relax. “You have a lot more now,” I say, nodding my head at them.
She’d had just a couple of tattoos when I first met her at Rockhead. It was right after Drag and Jordy had humiliated me in the cafeteria. I’d heard about Troupe Delirium coming, but I wasn’t allowed to attend pack functions. As far as Alpha Rourn was concerned, I was his pack’s dirty little secret. He never let me leave the Rockhead compound. He as too embarrassed by me—by having a non-pred living with his pack.
So the night that Delirium was set to be there, I’d snuck out of my room. Everyone was already gone to the training yard—the only space large enough for the troupe to perform. I’d gotten used to slinking around in the shadows, always forced to sneak around my own pack, so it was nothing new.
I could hear the cheers from a mile away. By the time I got to the training yard, it was full dark and the moon was full overhead. Rockhead was gathered in the viewing area, which was basically an open-air arena with wide steps that rose up in a semi-circle so we could view the yard below.
The entire space was packed full, and I had to watch from the sidelines, where the arena backed up to the woods. I stayed crouched behind a boulder to watch, but when I finally saw what all the hype was about, my stomach roiled.
The shifters moved like dancers. There were five of them, and they switched off fighting one another, their movements fluid and almost graceful. This wasn’t just gritty, plain fighting. This was a higher form of entertainment, made obvious by the stage props and costumes and choreography.
Jetta was dressed like the ground. She wore loincloths stained with mud and glued with rocks and grass, while the shifters surrounding her wore armor marked with bright yellow scorpions, looking like royal guards against a lowly miscreant. It was almost like watching a play, but aside from the costumes and rehearsed movements that led up to the the inevitable clash, the fight itself was one-hundred-percent real.
Jetta had fought valiantly, but she’d been a fifteen-year-old girl against five full grown, hardened men. She hadn’t really stood a chance.
When the guards took her down, the Rockhead crowd clapped and cheered for more blood. Of course, the troupe master was all too glad to give them that. Jetta peeled herself off the stage, and from my vantage point, I watched her go, limping behind the temporary wall partition where the other troupe members were changing costumes or waiting to go on.
When the next round of fights started,