Free Dark Taste of Rapture by Gena Showalter Page A

the bowl clean—because they were never given a spoon. Now his stomach was twisted into itself, no longer growling but burning. Burning so bad .
    “Hector,” Dean whispered .
    Hector met his brother’s gaze. Tonight their cages had been placed one in front of the other. “Yeah,” he whispered back out of habit .
    The Zoo Keeper—the man responsible for their “care”—had already done his nighttime check, so they didn’t have to be quiet. Besides, kids were moaning and groaning all around them, some even sobbing. One girl was praying for someone to help her .
    This was her first time in the cages, and Hector didn’t have the heart to tell her that no one ever would .
    “Dad told me I have to kill the first person I fight this round,” Dean said .
    A sharp intake of breath. The smell of disgusting things filled his nose. From himself, from all the others. They were never taken out to go to the bathroom. “No.” He shook his head, dirty hair scratching at his cheeks .
    “He says I have to.”
    “No!” That’s the one thing they’d never allowed themselves to do. Kill another kid. A kid in the same situation, locked away, forgotten when he was lucky, forced to fight for every scrap of food when he wasn’t .
    Dean’s golden eyes—eyes so like his own—were grim. “You know what’ll happen if I disobey him.”
    Yeah. Hector knew. A whipping far worse than anything they ever experienced inside the ring. “At least you won’t feel guilty or hate yourself.” Hector might cry sometimes after hurting another kid, but Dean shut down. He’d cut himself, and wouldn’t speak for weeks. Not even to Hector .
    If Dean delivered that final blow … he would never recover. Hector knew that, too .
    He and Dean had tried running away together, but their dad had caught them two days later. At some point during the beating that followed, Dean had thrown himself over a blacked-out Hector, and gotten his arm broken for his daring. An arm Dean had had to treat himself. An arm that was still bent at an odd angle, six months later .
    “Who are you fighting?” he asked .
    Silence .
    “Just… don’t kill him, Dean. Please. I don’t want you to suffer about it later.”
    Again, silence .
    “I’ll do it, okay? I’ll do the killing. Whoever I fight, I’ll kill him, I promise. You just … don’t. Okay?”
    Silence .
    Hector tried reaching his brother another way. He worked his arms through the bars, gripped Dean’s cage door and shook . Rattle, rattle. “Listen to me. After this round, we’ll run away.” Risking another beating had to be better than this. Living on the street would be better than this. “This time, he won’t find us. I won’t let him.”
    “I just wanted you to know,” Dean finally said, his voice low and emotionless .
    Hector spent the rest of the night telling his brother how wonderful things would be when they were on their own, but Dean never said another word. Then the sun was gleaming brightly in the sky, illuminating the crumbling barn filled with dirty cages, listless kids, and human waste .
    Outside, Hector heard what seemed to be a thousand cars drive up, and even more doors slam. Footsteps shuffled. Carefree laughter drifted to his ears .
    There was an arena set up in the surrounding field. The bleachers were always overflowing. Beer and popcorn would be sold. Just the thought of that popcorn made Hector’s mouth water .
    People would watch the fights, cheering and booing. That always set Hector’s already raw nerves on edge. Why didn’t they help? Why didn’t they realize the cruelty of what they were doing? Watching? Why didn’t they care?
    His own mother used the money she made off his and Dean’s fights to buy her drugs. Hector hated her for that. Why couldn’t she love him? Why couldn’t she love Dean?
    Dean was the best person in the whole world. Smart, kind, generous. A few times, Dean had pretended not to be hungry so that Hector could have his portion of slop.