Scored

Chapter 11: Tess

Of course. Of course the one time I really, and I mean really, did not need to get tied up with other complications, I literally get tied up with them. I left Seven there in that building to scout a route back to the government sector. I wanted to find a way there that would give us the lowest possible chance of being spotted by anyone, especially Seven's groupies, yet would still be possible to traverse with some deadweight with a concussion and some broken ribs. I had almost made it; I was so close to making it to my pre-selected drop off point, when I ran into some of Finch's thugs. It was completely my fault. Normally, the gangs don't venture this far inward; it's too risky. So I had dropped my guard on that front, and it got me nabbed.

Now here I am, tied to a stake in a ring of dirt, yellow light blinding my eyes. Finch's favorite brute, Jordan, showboats his muscles and his scars in front of the crowd. He passes in front of me, and I nearly gag on the putrid smell of his sweat. This is not going to be fun.

Jordan finishes strutting around the ring, and someone hands him a burning iron stick. Yay. Jordan approaches me with a sick grin, brandishing the glowing rod in front of him.

"You have no idea how much I'm going to enjoy this," he says, and his breath, even worse than the smell of his sweat, wafts over me. He sticks the rod into my side, and I grit my teeth.

"Not as much as I enjoyed robbing you blind and leaving you with nothing but rubble." I respond. Jordan's smile drops from his face and is replaced with blind rage. He pushes the rod harder into my skin and twists, and I feel it enter my body. I close my mouth around a whimper, but I'm too late, and the sound makes Jordan's smile return.

Jordan removes the rod and turns back to the crowd, raising his arms to get them to cheer louder. With his back turned, I begin subtly working at the knots that hold my hands to the stake high above my head. When they tied my wrists, I balled my fists up, causing them to have to use more rope to fit around my hands. With my hands relaxed, I have some wiggle room to loose the binds.

Jordan turns back to me, and I stop fidgeting.

"Each burn is going to be worse than the last." he says, as my side throbs with pain. "Open your mouth."

I clench my jaw tighter. I need to keep my head. There's no way I can get out of this if I don't keep calm. Jordan reaches towards my mouth with his other hand to pry it open. His slimy fingers dig at my lips, and he loosens my jaw a bit. A finger slips in. I bite down hard. Jordan yelps, and I spit blood from my mouth and smile. The crowd laughs at Jordan's mistake, and he becomes even more incensed. He raises the rod again to my face, content with just burning my lips instead of my tongue. The crowd gasps at something, but Jordan doesn't turn around. I hear a thwack and Jordan's eyes go blank and he falls forward on to me. I squirm, trying to get him off me.

A disgusted shriek escapes me before I can swallow it down. Just as soon as he fell on to me, he's yanked back with a force that sends him thudding into the dirt, kicking up dust. Seven stands behind him, a splintered board that looks as if he pried it off the building resting in his hands. There is utter silence for a few beats before the crowd roars with frustration. Tonight's entertainment just got ruined, and the people are not happy.

A rumble ensues as the crowd surges forward like an ever shifted monster. Seven hesitates for a beat more before he drops the plank and rushes towards me. His hands reach for my wrist bindings, trying to unloose them.

"I thought I told you to stay put!" I bite out, frustrated that he obviously didn't listen to me.

"Yeah, well, when you didn't come back, I figured that I don't really have to listen to you."

I huff. At this point, Seven has considerably loosened the bonds, but my wrists remain fastened to the post. His time has run out, as the mob has reached us now. A gruff man with sweat showing through his beard clamps a hand down on the collar of Seven's shirt and tugs him back with such force I'm amazed Seven didn't get whiplash. Instead of fighting against the grab, Seven uses the momentum of the tug to wedge his elbow into the man's nose, hard. I hear a crack, and the man's body drops beneath the crush of feet. The crowd is still focused on Seven, so I focus back on wiggling out of the ropes. I get one hand free as a feral looking woman snarls and dives towards me. With my free hand, I swat her away, placing a blow at her left temple. I bring my hand back to the ties and get my other hand free. Two more men rush at me, and instead of dealing with them, I duck to get at the ropes around my ankles. They crash into each other, and I jab the sharp part of my elbow into one's soft underbelly and pull the legs out from the other one. They both begin to stand again, but I focus my attention on the ropes. I get my feet free just as Seven turns back to me, a few members of the mob scattered on the ground behind him. It seems as if this boy knows how to handle his own in a fight. I wouldn't have expected less from the Patrium's best. Seven runs toward me, hand outstretched, and I grab onto it as we take off running through the crowd. We dodge angry swipes, using the crowd's drunken anger against themselves. We break through the wave of people and simultaneously take a deep breath that isn't full of the stench of sweat and puke, and we don't stop running.