As much as I love an easy fight, I would have recommended the new guy choose a different opponent this late, spring evening. Maybe someone within his league. Challenging someone who’s been here as long as me isn’t uncommon, but it is incredibly stupid.

  But I’m not complaining too much, you can use all the practice you can get around here. Only the strongest of us survive, and I sure as hell have no intention of dying to the vermin here. Especially to the one standing before me now in the worst stance I’ve ever seen.

  I don’t recognize him. He must’ve gotten here today, choosing me as his first competitor, hoping that I would make for an easy fight. I didn’t catch his name either, not even when they were called out to start the match. And I don’t give a shit if I’m being entirely honest. People move through here quicker than I care to remember them. Makes it easier. Less names to worry about, less names to forget.

  I scan the boy head to toe. Seems like a sturdy build, but his footwork’s off and it’s clear the only training he’s had has been in his mommy’s playpen. Nothing trained about him really, even his thumbs are tucked into his fists. The disparity between the two of us just seems…cruel. But aiding the enemy never helped anyone win the battle. At least that’s what they’ve drilled into us here. Kill or be killed, they say. Don’t help anyone except yourself. Truly turning us into heroes, these mutts.

  The kid’s looking at me with such hunger that I could swear I see a full five course meal reflecting back at me in his eyes. As if on cue, his tongue darts over his lip, a low hiss escaping his slightly bared teeth. But it doesn’t have the effect he’s hoping for, and instead of cowering in fear, my face stays stone. A mask I’ve developed over the decade I’ve spent here. A mask I rarely take off.

  I quickly glance around us, taking in the booming crowd caging us in like two bulls pawing the ground. If one needed any proof of what a life at the MADD House is like, tonight would give them a pretty clear explanation.

  The crowd, loud and bloodthirsty, desperate to watch the light leave someone's eyes. The arena, which is no more than a designated blood ground, uncovered and unprotected from the brutal weather wreaking havoc. Tree branches fall with thunderous cracks, rain pelts my face so fiercely I can hardly see, and the wind is whipping my skin with enough ruthlessness that for a moment, I wonder if he is here doing the job himself.

  Bringing myself back to the boy, I’m surprised to find that he actually noticed my distraction, his feet scrambling as he lunges forward, his oafish hands outstretched, grasping for any part of me he can get his paws on.

  I almost roll my eyes at the sorry attempt as I step to the side, allowing him to plummet to the ground before he has the chance to regain his footing. He hits the moonlit pavement with such force that I nearly cringe on his behalf, many in the crowd actually do.

  “Oh, come on, Lee,” someone yells, “You can do better than that!”

  So, his name is Lee. Joy.

  Lee grunts as he shoves his hands onto the ground, propelling his body up in a sluggish motion that flattens my lips in distaste. He swings his head to me, dirty blonde hair dangling in front of fiery, hazel eyes, and I watch as he pulls out a jade handled knife that had been hidden in his chest pocket. My eyes flash at the gleaming silver, the lethal blade seeming to scream my name. Delphine, Delphine, Delphine, it beckons.

  He takes another lunge, his knife outstretched like he really thinks he has a chance. His clammy sausage fingers don’t even graze me before I take another side step, plucking the blade with ease as he barges forward. At least this time he stays on his feet.

  Outraged, he exclaims and jumps around to face where I’m now picking at my nails with the knife. I can practically see steam pouring out of his ears.

  This time his strategy changes. He rushes forward, fists swinging wildly, and I have to hold back a smile from the windmill-like arm maneuver he's pulled out of his ass. The groans from the audience tell me they’re thinking the same. But this game is getting boring, and it’s about time for bed, so I change my tactics as well.

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  As he stalks closer, I time the swings in his arms, and strike when he’s less than a foot away. My fist flies to his throat so fast it seems like a blur. The crowd collectively recoils as my knuckles brutally make their mark, hitting him with enough power that he flies backwards and into the crowd gathered behind him.

  Lee’s hands dart to his throat as air abruptly escapes his lungs, a patchy choking sound sputtering from his mouth. His eyes bulge with a mix of horror and surprise, entirely focused on my closed fist, as he gapes like a fish in the cool, night air.

  The boys shove Lee away, sending him staggering towards me, desperately trying to keep his balance as he continues to wheeze like a hag. “At least go down like a man!” One of the bystanders hollers. “We won’t be helping your pathetic ass,” another laughs. I think that was Tyler Thomas.

  Allowing his knife to drop to the ground, I snatch his arm, pinning him in front of me quicker than he can blink. His free arm flails around, desperately attempting to land a blow as he wails like a hound. His discomfort only grows as I kick out the back of his knees, and he howls as they ram into the ground once more.

  Whistles and cheers rise from the crowd as he falls, all enthusiastic to watch his demise. Definitely too enthusiastic to be considered normal.

  “Tap out or she’ll break it,” someone shouts, matched by an agitated groan from the trembling boy beneath me.

  Naturally, he doesn’t let go, choosing to again throw back his free hand. And I guess I’ve officially had enough, because I don’t hesitate to snatch it, tearing it behind him with ease. Finally, his arms not even an inch from breaking, he at last stills beneath me.

  “Done yet, kid?” I sigh, my mind already in my bed.

  Silence is his only response. But, ever so gracious, I allow him a few moments to respond before forcing his arms closer together.

  A pained whimper escapes him as another bystander, clearly just as annoyed as I, yells to him, “Just give up Lee, you’ve already lost!”

  “She’s going to break you any second now if you don’t,” another adds, his face split in a large grin, “Though, maybe you should let her, it’d make my night far more interesting.”

  Leave it to Reed to mock the new guys while they get the shit beat out of them.

  But much to my annoyance, he ignores their advice, and dares to mumble, “I would rather die than yield to this bitch.”

  The silence that coats the crowd is nearly palpable, though if you could hear jaws dropping it would be the loudest gathering on the planet. But the unnatural stillness is quickly filled with the unmistakable sound of snapping bones.

  Lee shrieks with such agony that I almost feel bad for him, but the pain he’s feeling now is nothing compared to what he’s going to experience in his time here. He was going to learn one way or another. Truthfully, he should be grateful I didn’t kill him. Every one of the others would have. The only proof you need is a glance at the accumulated corpses, now ignored behind the cheering crowd as if they weren’t living, breathing, feeling people mere moments before.

  Wiping the boy's sweat off of my hands, I step over his wilted body. He’s gingerly holding his arms in his lap as they bend in nauseating ways, something I’m doing my best to avoid looking at.

  Instead, I reach down to where I dropped his knife, and snatch it from the dampened pavement, admiring the seamless, smooth jade, “Thank you,” I chide over my shoulder.

  I glance up at the crowd, and unsurprisingly, find Reed plastered to the edge. Reed is never far from bloodshed, always eager to watch feeble bones break and arrogant blood spill. Especially when the new guys choose a particularly…interesting opponent.

  As I approach, Reed grins at me like a toddler on his birthday, and firmly claps me on my back as I stride past. “Fucking badass, Thorn!” He applauds. I sometimes wonder if Reed has a thing for violence.

  Rolling my eyes, I switch my concentration to the boy standing at his side, Henry Carter. Carter’s chin length, pale blonde hair is slicked back by sweat from his recent challenge, his knuckles turning an even darker shade of purple than before.

  Tossing the knife in a repetitive movement that has become easier than breathing, I make brief eye contact with Carter, his ice blue eyes as wide as the full Moon.

  “Get him to the infirmary, will you?” I ask, spinning the blade between my fingers.

  Carter nods curtly, his face nearly green as the boy called Lee throws up all over himself and those unlucky enough to be in his range.

  Ignoring that, I push out of the crowd, tired of their games for the evening. There's always another day to break someone in two here. There is no doubt in my mind that tomorrow will be exactly the same as today. Perhaps even worse.