Page 70 of Glutton for Punishment

“We’ve got an impressive lineup tonight,” he adds, glancing at me with a grin. “Arwen, I know you’ll enjoy this. Being Wrath and all.”

So he’s done his homework…

And he’s not entirely wrong.

Maddox looks like he wants to burn this place down with his bare hands, but the first fight pulls me in before I can stop it.

It’s brutal, but it’s clear that they are evenly matched in skill. Both fighters move like they want to be there. There’s strategy and precision to it, and I get lost in the trance.

The second fight is faster. Bloodier.

The third—better.

I lean forward without thinking, tracking movement, anticipating hits before they land. The crowd’s noise fades just enough for the rhythm to come through again.

For a moment, I forget where I’m even in Gluttony. I almost relax.

Mistake.

The lights flicker, signaling the next fight, and I lean forward again eagerly.

A fighter I recognize from the first round steps into the ring. He’s Massive and confident. Already bloodied, but smiling like he’s ready for more.

My attention shifts to the other side. For a second, I don’t understand what I’m seeing.

They lead him into the ring by the center of his handcuffs; the metal catching the light as he stumbles forward.

He’s much older. And small. They strip the robe off him, and the crowd laughs, and the sound crawls under my skin as my stomach turns.

There’s nothing underneath but thin shorts and skin stretched too tightly over sharp rib bones. His underfed body shakes uncontrollably.

“This guy volunteered?” I ask, my voice already off. “Why is he in handcuffs?”

I can’t look away from the ring.

“Oh no,” Kael says behind me. “This isn’t a volunteer. This is punishment.”

Bile rises in my throat.

“Punishment for what?” I ask, sharply.

Below, the old man folds in on himself, pressing his forehead toward his knees like he can make himself smaller. Make this go away.

My heart shatters for him as I recognize his fear.

“He took my merchandise,” Kael says, like he’s explaining a minor inconvenience. “Didn’t pay.”

I turn. “What do you mean—what merchandise?”

Kael launches into his story with the same big gestures and slurred words.

“This old man comes to me,” he says, pointing toward the ring, “says he needs a gun. Wants to protect his family, but he can’t afford to buy it outright.”

He laughs.

“I’m a generous king, you know? I take care of my people. So I offer him a payment plan.”

“What?” I ask, horrified.