Free Dark Taste of Rapture by Gena Showalter

asked.
    Shit. Distraction wasn’t going to help his cause. “All right. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
    “Oh. Okay.” Eyes gleaming, she lifted her tank and bra. “I’ve got thirty-six C’s.”
    The male trainees might have whistled, the females might have gasped. Hector couldn’t be sure because he lost focus of them. Lost focus of everything but those perfect breasts. Honest to God, his thoughts derailed, his nerve endings going white-hot throughout his body.
    Rose-colored nipples, beaded and ripe for sucking. She had no tan lines, was the same sweet cream and honey all over. And she was closing the distance between them, jiggling, those breasts staring at him, tempting him, daring him, almost within reach. Totally within reach.
    He flexed his fingers; he wanted to reach.
    She double tapped him in the mouth so hard he was spitting blood as he fell. Stars winked through his line of vision before he landed. And then, when he hit, his skull cracking against the same rock he’d tripped over,the stars vanished and thick black cobwebs took their place.
    Night, night, Hector.
    However long passed before he blinked open his eyes and saw a flame of white flashing over him, he wasn’t sure. All he knew was that his temples throbbed and the stars had decided to do an encore.
    More flashing.
    Seriously, what was—Understanding dawned, and he growled with barely suppressed rage. The white flame was from a fucking camera phone. Humiliating .
    Scowling, he grabbed the device and crushed it into multiple pieces.
    A grinning Noelle bent down, looming over him and blocking the sun, becoming all he could see. “That’s okay, Agent Mean. I’d already emailed myself a copy.”
    “Fuck me,” he breathed, the words slurred past his rapidly swelling lips.
    That grin brightened. “I can’t. You’re Ava’s.”
    He was … Ava’s? Wait. What?
    “So,” Noelle said, grinning slowly, wickedly. “Do you want to know where you went wrong now, or should I wait and tell you later?”

Seven

    E IGHT-YEAR-OLD HECTOR BECKHAM GRIPPED the bars of his cage and peered over at his ten-year-old brother, Dean. Dean lay in his own cage, not asleep but not moving either. He’d lost more weight. Bones protruded sharply on his bruised and dirty face, making him look like a skeleton with hair .
    Hector probably looked just as bad. Why wouldn’t he? All the other boys and girls around him did. Also like him and Dean, they were trapped in cages and utterly helpless .
    There were twenty-six cages in total, some lined side by side, some stacked on top of each other. Old, rusty cages once used to contain dogs. But then, that’s what they were. Dogs .
    A week before every fight, they were all locked inside their new “home” and placed in this barn. That way, they were good and feral when they were released. They were purposely starved, even though that left them weak, because hunger made them do very bad things .
    Plus, what better way to reward them for a job well done? Turn your friend’s face into pulp, and earn a sandwich .
    Yeah, Hector had made friends with most of the kids in here. After all, some of them had been doing this for over a year and they were the only ones who understood his pain—the only ones he could ever talk to about what happened. Come tomorrow, though, when the fights started up again, he’d forget he liked them and they’d forget they liked him .
    Until it was over and all any of them would want to do was cry .
    What are you, a sissy? his dad’s voice suddenly screamed inside his head .
    How many times had Hector heard that particular question? Too many to count. Not that he knew how to count. He’d never been to school, had never learned to read .
    Well, he wouldn’t cry tonight. Or tomorrow. He was better than that. And, well, he just didn’t have the strength .
    He hadn’t been fed today, and the only thing he’d gotten yesterday was a single scoop of slop. He’d hated the bitter taste but he’d licked