Machinations and Sacrifices

Chapter 5

––––––––

Jethro followed the other prisoners back inside. No one else had approached him in the yard and that meant the next time would be an ambush. He walked into his cell and dropped on the cot. He should try and rest, but his blood pounded, and his muscles trembled for a fight. If he’d known no one else was going to attack, he’d have pounded on Scratch a little more to ease the tension that flowed through him.

He stood and paced. He hated being locked up. He’d go mad if he had to stay here much longer. He wanted to grab the bars and pull them from the wall, but that wasn’t possible. He’d tried during the first month he’d been in here. He’d delayed taking his shot and the urge to fight and to run had roared through his body like the wind before a storm. He’d been strong and desperate, but even then, he hadn’t been able to bend the metal. He walked to the bars, resting his face against them. He just had to wait this out. The urge to run and fight, to kill would wane once he took his shot.

He’d be weak, but he’d also be able to relax. After his serum he still hated being in prison, but it was manageable until the medicine wore thin in his blood. It was a blessing and a curse. Things were simple before his shot. Someone was either a friend or an enemy. There were no shadowy thoughts of why someone did what they did. Nothing mattered except who they were to him. If they were his friend, he’d protect them with his life, but if they were his enemy...It was best if they avoided him because if they didn’t, they’d die. Dead enemies couldn’t hurt him.

The cell door opened. It was time for dinner.

He stepped into the hallway and followed the others to the cafeteria. Everything looked normal, but as he walked through the door, he caught the whisper of violence in the air—the scent of rage and battle. He spun as a fist flew in his direction. It was attached to a very large Guard. He knew this prison Guard, but he couldn’t recall the male’s name. It wouldn’t have mattered if he had. This was simple. This was an enemy.

He caught the Guard’s fist and shoved. His enemy stumbled backward from the force, surprise in his eyes and the fresh scent of fear sweetened the air. His opponent hadn’t expected his strength or his speed. Besides the scuffle this morning, he hadn’t fought since he’d assembled his gang. He’d had no reason to. They’d been the strongest and the best trained in here. After a few weeks, everyone had stayed away from them.

He"d been free to take his serum as ordered by Conguise and delivered by his mother. She’d sneak it into the prison in the lining of her purse and pass it to him in the clasping of hands or a hug. Now, with his gang gone he couldn’t risk taking his medicine. It’d make him vulnerable. Weak like an Almighty.

He grinned as another prison Guard charged him. This would be a real fight, not one small Servant, but a group of large Guards. He welcomed the battle. His blood could rage hot and brutal, and he’d finally be able to sleep tonight.

He sent a sharp left jab, connecting his fist to the first Guard’s face and knocking him down with one punch. He glared at the Guard. That was disappointing. He’d expected a fight, not a...

Someone grabbed him around his chest, squeezing and locking his arms at his side, but he didn’t need his hands to fight. He squatted and threw himself backward, racing full force for the wall. The Guard on his back would be his buffer, his pillow of blood and bone. He slammed himself against the brick wall over and over. His enemy’s grunts of pain in his ear fed his desire to kill. The Guard’s grasp loosened, his body sliding downward, but Jethro wasn’t letting this prey slip away that easily. He grabbed his enemy’s arms, holding him in place as he continued his assault. He smashed into the wall again and again, fast and hard. The Guard hung limp behind him, but his pulse still throbbed in his wrists and his whimpers tickled Jethro’s ear each time they connected with the brick.

“Die,” he growled as he threw them against the wall again.

Two other Guards charged from the side, grabbing his arms and breaking his hold on his enemy. The Guard on his back slid to the floor in a bloodied heap. Fists landed fast and hard on Jethro’s stomach and face. Another set pummeled his side, but he barely felt it. Rage and instinct controlled him now. He had one task. One desire. Kill those who tried to hurt him.

His fists flew twice as fast as the Guards’, hitting one and then the other over and over. The first fell. The second scrambled backward, holding up his hands, but surrender wasn’t an option. Only death. He launched himself at the Guard, taking them both to the floor. He punched over and over. Blood splattered his skin and clothes. He opened his mouth, catching the droplets and savoring the metallic, salty taste, but it wasn’t enough. He lowered his face to his enemy’s neck. He needed to feel the flesh between his teeth—to tear and rip. Something sharp hit his back.

Another enemy!

He jumped off the Guard, roaring as he spun to face his assailant. A dart stuck from his shoulder. He pulled it out and glared at the shocked prison Guard in front of him. That dart should’ve taken him down, weakened him, but it hadn’t done anything but piss him off.

“Help,” yelled the prison Guard as he backed away, fumbling to load another dart into the blow gun.

“No one’s going to get to you fast enough to save you.” Jethro stalked toward him.

The Guard fired. The dart flew through the air and Jethro flung out his hand, knocking it away before it could connect with his chest. The Guard’s eyes widened, and the sweet scent of fear obliterated every other odor in the room.

“I’m going to tear your arms off and stuff them up your...” Another sharp pain lanced his side. He stopped, yanking the dart from his body.

The Guard he’d knocked down with one punch and another prison Guard were reloading their dart guns. They stood across from each other with him in the middle. He’d never get to them both before they fired. He sniffed before facing the second Guard. Little fear flowed from his pores and that made him more of a threat. Jethro charged as the Guard raised the blow gun to his lips. The dart flew in the air, straight toward Jethro’s face. He raised his hand and knocked it away, except it didn’t fall. He stopped staring at the dart sticking out of his hand. He felt nothing but...dizzy. He swayed, shaking his hand to remove the dart as the room spun. He dropped to his knees as blackness engulfed him.