KESTER.
They hesitated for half a second.
Then, like puppets on frayed strings, they turned on each other.
The first blow landed with a sickening crack that sent satisfaction running through me.
Fists flew. Blood sprayed. I watched with a blank expression as they tore into one another like rabid animals in a death match they hadn't chosen.
They weren't fighting to survive.
They were fighting to die. What an irony!
And I wanted to watch every agonizing second of it.
I wasn't even halfway through the entertainment when I heard her voice.
"Kester..." She called me, a bit firmer above the trembling of her voice.
My head snapped toward her, and everything—the rage, the heat, the violent thrumming in my veins—came to a screeching halt.
My fingers, still sticky with blood, twitched at
