Read The Flesh Cartel #1: Capture for Free Online

they say,” Mat added, voice cracking as the words burned like poison on his tongue. Don’t give them an excuse to hurt you.
    Not that they fucking needed one.
    The sounds of their footsteps slowly faded, and Mat waited, just trying to breathe, to calm himself, to ignore the pain, find that cold center he tapped in the ring and wait . It’d do him no good to struggle now. No good to let his anger control him. He needed to stay whole, preserve his strength, keep a clear enough head to spot the weakness when it came. And it would come. It always did. Half a lifetime in the ring had taught him that, if nothing else.
    He was alone a long time. Or maybe it just felt it, the way his joints and muscles were screaming. He allowed himself a single moment of panic over his hands, half numb and bruised and bleeding as they were, then shoved it away. Getting out of this alive would be blessing enough. If he could never fight again after, well . . . he’d worry about that then, if he needed to.
    Hopefully I’ll get the chance.
    Footsteps returning, echoing through what he instinctively knew was a massive room. His neck was far too cramped for him to turn and look, and he itched with that un-knowledge, burned to know how many men were coming up behind him, how his body would respond when he came free of this cage, if it would function or betray him.
    “I cannot believe this,” someone said, and it was a woman’s voice. She sounded . . . terrifyingly competent. Just that one sentence. “He was on television last night . The only way you could be more damn conspicuous is if you’d kidnapped one of the Brangelina kids.”
    “He’s a nobody, bottom rung. He saw our faces; it was either this or kill him.”
    “So kill him. I don’t pay you to be merciful, you pack of oafs. Give him an overdose of heroin and dump his body somewhere. I don’t want him here.”
    “I don’t . . . with respect, Madame, I don’t see how that’ll help. The fighter shows up dead and the brother missing? Seems more suspicious than both of them dropping off the map. We empty out their house, make it look like they fled to Mexico. Leave a paper trail of gambling debts. He’ll earn his keep. He’s a little rough, but not bad looking. And you should see the pair of them together.”
    A long, horrible pause. A pendulum swinging between life and death. He didn’t mind death so much, but leaving Dougie behind, that terrified him.
    “Fine, get the brother. You have thirty seconds to convince me.”
    Receding footsteps again. Approaching ones, too. The van dipped under someone’s weight. Key in the lock, cage door swinging open. He gritted his teeth and lashed out, felt the impact reverberate up his half-numb leg and shred his joints like broken glass. He screamed. So did whoever he’d kicked. From the sound of the thud and the bounce of the van, he’d knocked the guy right out the back door and onto a hard floor.
    “For fuck’s sake , you idiots . Do I have to fix all your messes?”
    The van dipped again, not as much this time. Mat tried to back out the opened cage door, but Jesus, he couldn’t move, couldn’t move at all and oh my fucking God he hurt . Couldn’t even turn his head to assess the situation, but then a delicate, manicured hand came into his field of vision, followed by an equally well-groomed head. Pretty, maybe, if she weren’t such a goddamned bitch . Mid-forties. Expression that made it clear she was used to getting her way.
    She locked eyes with him. “You’re not really helping your case, you know. They’re the ones who think I shouldn’t kill you. Maybe you should stop beating them up.”
    If Mat opened his mouth, he’d tell her to go fuck herself, so he kept his lips clamped shut.
    Her mouth twisted into a curl of distaste. “Yes, well, I suppose fighters aren’t known for their brilliance. So let me speak as plainly as possible, hole.”
    Hole. If he never heard that word again, it’d be too soon.
    “You’ll come