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)
I was getting worried. Panicking, almost. Trying to corner Maart, who was so busy he didn’t even have time for me that day.
Anya and I stayed overnight in a hotel a few blocks down. We did random things the next morning, just wandering around Rio, and then we went to the penthouse because Cort had come.
They threw me a surprise party. With cake, and balloons, and catered food, and presents. There was music, and all the guys were laughing, and everyone from the village was there too. Even Cintia, who had been spending a lot of time in Argentina back then with the man she would marry just a few months later. She came home for me.
It was a really nice party.
But then, just as I was starting to lose hope that this day might turn out the way I wanted it to, Maart pulled me aside and asked if I wanted to go to dinner with him. He had bought me a dress. I had unwrapped it earlier. It was nice, the nicest piece of clothing I had ever owned. Long, almost to the ground. It was the lightest shade of sage green and was made up of delicate materials that I don’t have words for. It was not revealing or particularly sexy, but it fit me well.
Anya put my hair up and Ling dabbed some make-up on me, and when I looked at myself in the mirror right before I left, I didn’t even feel like Irina anymore.
A car dropped us off at a yacht club. A host led us outside to the patio. We ended up at a table with two men already seated. They stood, everyone was introduced, we shook hands, we sat. We ate. They talked, I didn’t.
I just stared at Maart, sitting across the table from me, wondering what the hell this was. There was a lot of fight talk, but they talked about other things too. I learned that the younger man was the older man’s son.
He was nice. He asked me questions. And the funny thing was, they were questions I could answer. Ya know, most of the time when you meet someone new, they ask you very normal things like, “Where did you grow up?” Or… “What do your parents do?”
I can’t answer those questions. I mean, I guess I could, but the conversation would be derailed the moment their shock wore off and they could speak again.
But this guy—his name was João. He was a student at… some place. He was graduating that year and blah, blah, blah. Something about New York, I think. He asked me things like we were playing a game. “Would you rather… spend a week in Bora Bora or climb Mount Everest?”
Mount Everest. Beaches were not too exciting for me.
They were this-or-that questions. It was fun. I recall laughing. I was happy.
And then dinner was over and they had to go, so they excused themselves and Maart and I ordered specialty coffee and bolo de rolo—which was exquisite—and we let out a breath.
It felt like such a thing, that breath.
I was full, I was smiling, and I was looking at Maart across the table from me, also smiling.
He tilted his head. “Do you remember your first day at camp, Irina?” And I nodded, thinking back on it. “Do you remember where you slept that first night? That whole first month?”
“Of course. In Sergey’s hut.”
“Do you know why I put you in Sergey’s hut?”
“He spoke Russian.”
“He did. He does. But that’s not why I put you in that hut, Irina.”
“Oh.” I was a little taken by surprise, but not shocked or anything. I mean, who cares? I didn’t.
But then Maart told me why.
And that’s when it all started to make sense.
That whole trip. That night. The reason why I was there, in that restaurant, with Maart.
And I. Was. Pissed.
I did nine death fights in the kid division of the underground ring. All kids come up this way. This is how you earn your place in the Ring of Fire. You kill from the time you are small until you are a teenager. There is no set age to be invited in the Ring. You fight, you make an impression, they invite you in.
The prizes are insane. In the kiddie death fights your prize is your life. But in the Ring the prizes are life-changing. Luxurious things. A way to forget the past and what you had to do to get here.
A bribe to keep doing it.
Obviously, we didn’t have a choice to fight or not. We were slaves. They were gonna put us up on the platform regardless of whether we wanted to be there. And the person looking back at us was gonna kill us if we didn’t kill them first.
This was all the thought I put into it. Fighting the way we did was just part of life.