Page 52 of The October Trials

Whether I live or die is about to be decided by strangers—no, by men who’ve been getting off to every scream, every drop of blood, every death in this room all night. Sick men who paid for the mere privilege of watching us break.

They’re all staring directly at us.

At me.

“First up,” Archon says, gesturing to Dimitri, but I’m too busy noticing the masked devil who just walked into the room and sat down beside his father.

My feelings for him are complicated.

On one hand, he makes something low in my stomach tighten, and my insides tingle. There’s something about him that pulls me in, something dark and magnetic that makes it impossible to look away.

On the other hand, I know—I know he’s bad for me. He killed my boyfriend, for fuck’s sake! That alone should be enough to smother any spark of want before it can catch.

And yet…

I mean, he has saved my life. More than once.

That has to count for something, right?

Loud numbers being called snap my attention back to the screen. “Fifty thousand going once, going twice…”

Holy shit. That’s half of the entire take-home prize tonight. On one bet. Who are these men? I’d figured they’d bet a few hundred bucks and a Halloween candy bar thrown in for the hell of it.

“Sold! To the superhero with the cape.”

After a pause, the man on the screen leans closer to the camera.

“Do you guys got any explosives?” He laughs, and the other three burst out laughing right along with him.

Sick sons of bitches.

“I like the way you think,” Archon smirks, snapping his fingers.

A guard slips out of the room, and the others move without hesitation. They drag thick rolls of plastic tarp across the floor and place them near Dimitri’s chair.

Dimitri’s head lifts. He sees the tarps. He sees the guards.

And for the first time all night, he looks afraid.

Really, truly afraid.

The guard who left returns carrying a large metal briefcase. He sets it on the table and opens the latches.

Fuck… Inside are blocks of what looks like freaking dynamite, wired together with red and black cables. A small digital timer sits in the center with green numbers.

“No,” Dimitri screeches, trying to stand. His legs give out, probably from being knocked out earlier, and he crashes back into the chair. “No, fuck, no—” He yells something in Russian that doesn’t sound very appreciative.

Two guards grab him, pinning him down hard, while a third takes the explosives out of the case.

My heart is hammering so hard I can feel it in my throat.

They’re going to blow him up.

They’re going to blow him up right here in front of us.

The guard straps the explosives to Dimitri’s chest, wrapping the wires around his torso like a harness. Dimitri is screaming now, thrashing against the two guards holding him, but they’re too strong.

“Please,” he begs. “Please, I have a family, I have—”