In the Dark with the Duke by Christi Caldwell Page 0,2
to the peerage. I can suggest the best practices with which to make money in this venture, but I cannot make them do anything.”
Hugh sneered and went back to his wrappings. “Of course, you’ll always do precisely as they want.” Those masked five who ran the ring. The aristocrats whose money and perverse thirst for gladiatorial fighting had seen the creation of the Fight Society. They were the ones responsible for the children pickpockets and orphans plucked from the streets and whatever hospital they’d called home to take part in this hell. Dooley, however? Powerless as he was compared with the leaders of the ring, he still bore a like responsibility for all that happened here.
Hugh felt, but didn’t bother to look for, Dooley’s disapproving frown. “Tsk. Tsk. I’m not totally heartless.”
Not totally may as well have been the same as completely.
“I’ve invested heavily in you. You? You are special, Savage.”
Despite his resolve not to give any of his tormentors the benefit of a glance, at those words, Hugh couldn’t resist looking up.
Dooley’s gaze was slightly unseeing as he stared across the preparation room. “I’ve never seen anyone fight like you. You don’t sound like a street rat. But you fight like one. You are unique, and that deserves to be protected.”
That.
Not he.
Not Hugh.
As always, he was inanimate to these people. An object to be used for their whims and pleasures. They were all just pieces upon a chessboard, being shifted and shoved about, these men controlling each ultimate move and outcome.
Just as they had tonight by sending Hugh into the gladiatorial match.
I’m going to be ill . . .
The shouts and cheers from the arena were growing to a crescendo.
The time was near.
It is all coming to an end . . .
Tired of dancing around whatever had brought Dooley here, he asked, “What do you want?”
“See.” The handler wagged a finger. “This is what I was speaking of. You possess an intuitiveness . . . in the arena but also in every exchange.” He let his arm fall to his side. “But I’m intuitive as well. Your opponent tonight is a new one. The Assassin. I want you to end him tonight.”
“Isn’t that the expectation, regardless?”
Dooley’s stare held Hugh’s. “I’m telling you that is what you need to do.”
Sitting up straighter, Hugh focused on the double meaning there.
“I’ve no doubt you’ll win, Savage,” Dooley said, studying him contemplatively.
Aye, because he didn’t lose. As such, that would be the expectation this night from the nobs who ran this ring, and from the spectators who came and threw wagers down on the combatants.
“If . . . ,” the other man said, bringing Hugh back to the moment, “you want to.”
Hugh went absolutely stock still.
Dooley knew.
“I know,” the other man confirmed.
And Hugh fought the inner tumult that not even the secret he carried for tonight’s match should be something he owned. That the handler had gathered his intentions. He’d been robbed of even this. He couldn’t staunch the tide of bitterness.
“There’s nothing you can do about it,” Hugh finally brought himself to say. This decision was his own, and that was enough. It would have to be.
“It would . . . be a shame if you never fought again. After all”—Dooley gave a dismissive flick of his fingers—“it is what you do. But losing you tonight without having something out of it?” Dooley shook his head.
And that would be Hugh’s triumph.
“You smirk. You think you’ve won in deciding what you’ll do this night,” Dooley murmured, walking a measured circle around Hugh. “Except you’ve not considered the possibility I might be able to do something for you . . .” The handler let that dance in the air between them. “First, the only one who can take the Assassin down is you. The other boys”—and girls—“they don’t stand a chance. If you don’t do it, no one will, and my crop will be wiped clean.”
His crop.
“Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“You’re wanting me to kill him so he doesn’t kill the rest of the boys and girls.” Bragger. Maynard . . . and others. They were the ones whose lives would be on the line if Hugh didn’t act this night. “All the children earning you coin?”
Dooley nodded slowly. “Yes, that’s it.”
“What’s in it?”
“For you, don’t you mean?” Dooley flashed another of those even, pearl-white smiles. “Finish the question, Savage . . . What is in it for you?” He clipped out each syllable. “Always be in it for yourself.”