Mess Hall

If I were to be honest with myself, even before Elian spilled my secret, I was getting bullied—Elian just gave them a reason why.

I remembered welts I had hidden under big hoodies because somehow, Father storming the school to single my bullies out made it worse for me.

High school was a little easier after I figured out staying quiet helped, but then came college—and Elian.

And I, excited for my first real connection with anyone who wasn't Caspian, was ready to go to the ends of the earth, give him my life so he held—

Who knew that would eventually come around to bite me in the ass.

So when I saw Pierre's face pale, I remembered that sixth-grade girl, dragging her bruised body from the dust for the one-hundred-and-seventh time that week...

And I hated that that feeling—that pained countenance—was on Pierre.

There were three of them, and the leader, the one actively breaking Pierre's shoulder, was the biggest. Even bigger and broader than Sett.

In a flash, Pierre was yanked off his seat by his collar, raised so high his boots barely touched the floor, and in his face, brick wall gritted, "It was you, wasn't it?"

To my surprise, Pierre laughed. "Pardon?"

"Don't play dumb," the brute growled. "You were under that junction box fixing shit the day our job got jacked. And somehow, by nightfall, what we were supposed to take was gone. You think I'm stupid?"

Pierre smirked. "Now why would I ever think that, Billy? Not like you need three assholes to handle me."

Billy's hand twitched. That was the only warning Pierre got before he was slammed hard into the wall.

I jumped to my feet as Pierre wheezed in pain, gripped the edge of the table, struggling with my impulse.

"FIGHT. FIGHT. FIGHT!"

The chants were accompanied by fists against tables. My stomach churned. I looked around for Sett or Levi—or even both. I didn't need a Seer to tell me Pierre had no chance against this beast.

"You sold it, didn't you?" Billy snarled. Another slam. "You gonna give me half the cash, or I fold you like a pretzel?"

Pierre smirked, even though his cheek was mashed against painted concrete, even though blood dripped down his nose.

"Will it hurt?"

Billy's fist rose. "Let's find out…"

My impulse kicked in.

And there goes Pierre's half-filled bowl off my hand—and right onto Billy's head, dripping slowly down his back.

The utensil landed on the ground, the clanging noise as it rolled in circles seeming too loud, going on too long, drowning out the hall's gasps.

All eyes turned on me.

"Ain't that pipsqueak?"

"He a dead pipsqueak now."

I stepped back, eyes scanning the room for an escape route. Yes, it worked—Billy was now frozen in place, his grip on Pierre loosening, and I was just about to have my throat ripped out.

"Who did that?"

All fingers pointed in my direction. Billy followed the hands and, finally, after what felt like eternity, his eyes pinned me down.

A cold chill ran down my spine.

He dropped Pierre, who landed with a thud on his side, then turned fully to me. "Who the fuck are you?"

I took another step back.

"Hey, Billy!" Pierre struggled to his feet. He spat blood. "Too cowardly you're going after a nobody?"

But his desperation to save me was so apparent, even Billy caught wind of it. A small smile crawled across his face.

"You're the runt, ain't you? Sett's brother? Funny—I don't remember the dog having a brother."

I gave the table a quick glance. Nothing to use as a weapon. Just plates. Damn it.

"Must've scraped the bottom of the gene pool for you."

More peals of laughter. More distance closed. Billy rolled his shoulder until it cracked, then folded his fist.

"Come on, let's bury your pretty face into the table…"

I swallowed so hard I thought my throat followed. And before I could say jack, Billy grabbed my throat.

Lifted me up and slammed me hard against the table.

Pain exploded—under my ribs, behind my eyes. I clenched my teeth against the groan, but it still came out muffled. My eyes were more honest—they teared up.

From the corner of my vision I could see a struggling Pierre getting wrestled to the floor.

"How are you the dog's brother? You're even weaker than Fixer," Billy laughed.

My fear became rage. I wanted to scream.

"Hey, bastard! Let the kid go!" Pierre yelled with his face still pressed to the floor.

"I will," Billy said, grinning, lifting me with one hand while his second clenched into a fist. "Just after I leave a message for Sett—about who not to steal from."

"Hey!" Pierre's struggling grew even more desperate.

The chant of bloodlust grew louder, and I—I'm hanging there, all numb, watching his face twist in sick amusement.

Ready to smash mine to pulp.

Tell me, boy, why are you weak?

The voice! That voice!

Something in me snapped, my vision turned red.

The fist came, at the same time, I reached for the hilt of the dagger. His eyes widened in shock as the metal edge glinted against the light.

But it was too late.

There goes his severed index finger—landing on our table with a heavy, wet plop.

The hall went quiet.

Billy dropped me—and screamed.

He stumbled back, clutching the bleeding stump, blood jetting out in thick spurts. His eyes locked on mine—no longer just amusedly cruel. Now murderous.

I swallowed hard.

"Aeron!" Pierre yelled. "Run!"

I didn't think. I dashed under the table—just before it was ferociously destroyed by a kick from Billy.

"I'm gonna kill you! I'm gonna fucking kill—"

He lunged for me. I rolled over, heart in my mouth, ignoring the pain and scaling another table.

For someone so big, he was fast. Destroying tables I jumped over, tearing through groups I tried to hide in like they were paper.

Nothing mattered in that moment—just the thought that if Billy laid his hands on me, I was dead meat.

And it happened—just as I jumped the last table, the one near the door where guards stood behind, ready, the taste of safety so close—

"Aeron!"

Billy snatched the back of my shirt, yanking me back so my spine slammed against the floor, his body pinning me down.

I didn't scramble. I was too frozen to move.

And that paid off.

"YOU LITTLE—!" Billy went rigid, darkened, furious eyes darting to the dagger pressed to his neck.

"You little shit," he whispered.

I grinned—surprising even myself, the fear in his voice was—I breathed in—everything.

"How do you want it?" I added pressure to the steel. He hissed. "I'm better at horizontal."

More silence, then—

"Yooooooo!" someone shouted from the far end.

Billy glanced at the crowd, at their wide eyes, at the bleeding stump. Something curdled in his expression—rage and shame.

And just when he was about to make a move—and I my first kill—

"That's enough." A voice came from behind Billy. Cold and authoritative. "Captain Erik here, ordering you to stand down."

Billy flinched, then turned his head slightly.

And Captain Erik walked into view—hands behind his back, hazel eyes staring down at us with boredom. Blond hair bed-raggled and tailored uniform pristine.

"This is a mess hall, not the Arena," he said coolly.

"Now," he sighed, "move six steps away from each other—or I bury you six feet under."

He didn't need to ask twice.