Tempting Evil (Riley Jenson Guardian 3)

"Yeah."

"I'll get security to notify us when you're headed this way, so we can have him ready for you."

"Thanks... have you got a name?"

"Tommy."

He thrust out a hand and I shook it. His fingers were rough, textured by time, grime, and probably years of hard work. He didn't seem the type to work for scum like Starr, which was an odd thing to think about someone I'd barely met. For all I knew, Tommy could be Starr's uncle. "I'm Poppy. Thanks."

He took Kade inside, and I headed back to my room to clean up. Neither Berna nor Nerida were there, but my bag was sitting on my bed. A quick check revealed that my clothes and underclothes had disappeared, but all my toiletries remained. Grateful for small mercies, I headed into the bathroom to clean up. Surprise, surprise, there were cameras here, too. I couldn't see any microphones, though. Maybe they figured not a lot of nasty talk could happen in a bathroom - which only went to prove the installers were men. All women know just how nasty bathroom conversation can get - especially when it centered on men. Though, given the man behind this whole weird show wasn't exactly chummy with linear lines of thought, maybe he just didn't care.

By the time I got back to the bedroom, Berna and Nerida were both there, the still-clothed bear-shifter prowling the room like a caged animal and the overall-clad fox-shifter lounging on her bed, reading Cleo. The cream overalls were extremely tight and left very little to the imagination, making me wonder why she bothered. Hell, her breasts were so tightly packed they were stretching the material to the max, making the pocket - and the gray and white hanky sticking out of it - stand out like, well, dogs ball's. If she thought the overalls would draw less attention, she was seriously delirious.

Both of them were studiously ignoring me, so I returned the favor and headed over to my bed to open the window. Fresh air drifted in, touched by the coolness of the oncoming night. But aside from the snorting or stamping of horses and the occasional crunch of a guard's footsteps, very little noise carried on the breeze. All the normal dusk sounds - like the warbling of magpies or even the singing of crickets - was nonexistent here, and that one fact sent chills up my spine. Anything that scared insects senseless was something to worry about, in my estimation.

At six forty-four, Berna reluctantly began to strip. She seemed big in her clothes, but she was positively huge out of them. And none of it was fat. She was just large in every conceivable way - huge shoulders, brawny arms, melon breasts, big hips, and chunky, muscular thighs and shins. She pretty much looked as if she could snap someone in two without effort between those legs of hers, which made me wonder about her earlier statement that she wasn't a top wrestler. How could someone be built like that and not be one of the best?

It wasn't a question I had the chance to ask, because she'd barely finished stripping when our escort showed up. He gave us all a once-over, nodded in what I presumed was approval, then motioned us to follow him.

Which, of course, we did. The remaining women who'd been on the bus were already in the hallway and being guided away, and amongst them were two women I didn't recognize. Probably two of the three women who had remained from the last group.

We were escorted along until we'd reached one of the arena doors, which had been locked against my earlier explorations.

According to the plans, the arena was designed after the old Roman gladiatorial arenas, though on a far smaller scale. But as we walked into the room, I realized the plans gave no real indication of the sheer scale of the place. Not only did everything soar in this room, but everything seemed oversized, as if the whole intent was to make the room's occupants seem small by comparison. Which was probably the effect someone as warped as Starr would want. The ceiling arched so high above us that without the spotlights it would have been shrouded in darkness, and the statues of naked men and women that lined the wall were at least double the standard sizing. The arena walls were high enough to prevent most shifters and weres from leaping out, though it wouldn't have stopped winged shifters. The arena's center was sand, but studded posts stood at either end, the wood chipped and stained. By what, I just didn't want to know.

Tables and chairs lined three-quarters of the arena. A long table dominated the far end, the white tablecloths, gold settings, and grandiose, highly ornate chairs that looked like something out of the courts of kings. Starr's seating area, obviously.

Though he and his entourage weren't here yet, a lot of people were. There weren't many women, meaning the whores probably didn't rate an invite to this little shindig. Some of the men I knew from the files Jack had given me on known Starr associates, but there were many more I didn't recognize. Just as well Rhoan was coming in with the camera - I had a feeling there were a lot of wanted people in this room.

Of course, with so many people already here, the babble of voices and reek of aftershave and humanity was almost overwhelming. But it was the underlying scent, the base rawness of death and despair that seemed to be leeching from the sand itself that had trepidation stirring.

This room wasn't about fighting. Wasn't about enjoying a spectacle. It was about control. About destruction.

Of hope. Of humanity.

I didn't realize I'd stopped until Berna shoved me from behind.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" she said, voice low and annoyed.

"You're a bear-shifter - can't you smell it?"

"Misery," Nerida said softly, her sharp gaze briefly resting on mine. In the amber depths of her eyes, fear flickered. "This place is drenched in it."

"Weres," Berna said heavily, "are very strange people."

"No. It's just that dogs of all kinds have noses designed to trap smells, and certain emotions are accompanied by strong scents. Fear, for example." I glanced at her as our guide led us to a table near the wall and the stained post. "I would have thought a bear-shifter would know that, given your olfactory senses are as keen, if not keener, than a wolfs."

She shook her head. "That may be true, but we are attuned to physical scents and sounds more than emotional ones. The click of a gun being cocked one hundred feet away or the scent of a carcass two miles away, for instance. Emotions have no scent for us."

"So this arena doesn't worry you?"

"I'm being paid good money to fight in it." Her gaze came to mine. "So are you."

"I love a good fight as much as the next wolf, but this arena isn't just about fighting."

She raised an eyebrow. "If that turns out to be true, then maybe the three of us should plan a little bust-out."

"With cameras on every corner? They'd catch us inside a minute." Though if I wanted to get out of this place, I'd damn well find a way, cameras or not. "And I'd be careful where you said that, because they have voice monitors as well as cameras in this joint."