Chapter 1638


    In the private room 11.


    Arabe had sealed the deal, cash exchanged for goods with practiced ease.


    She slipped the medicine into her backpack and rode the elevator down to the lobby. Horace, spotting


    her, broke into a relieved grin.


    He''d been worried about the boss’s safety going upstairs alone. But there she was, walking out of the


    room 11 without a scratch.


    "Got it?" Horace mouthed, his face a picture of excitement.


    The ce was a racket, but Arabe caught his drift, nodding and tilting her chin up, signaling it was


    time to jet.


    In the massive birdcage arena, the heavyweight boxer - a brute over 200 pounds - had been mauled by


    the beast, chunks of his arm flesh hanging loose. Now, he was being carted away, while the victor was


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    rewarded with a feast of raw meat, retreating obediently back into its cage.


    Next up was a lopsided match: a muscle-bound fighter tipping the scales at more than 300 pounds


    versus a kid who looked barely strong enough to lift a feather.


    The kid, no more than five or six, was forced into oversized boxing gloves and shoved into the cage,


    his wails piercing the din, reaching Arabe''s ears. She nced over to see him clutching the bars,


    desperate to escape, as the crowd went wild.


    "These people are sick." A twinge of sympathy in Horace’s voice as he nced at the child,


    "Completely twisted."


    "Do you want to see a little one''s fight-or-flight kick in when he''s pushed to the edge?"


    The host was a foreigner whose words bore the meaning after trantion.


    The crowd roared back, "We do!"


    "ce your bets, folks - will it be our fighter, or the kid? Countdown starts now - five, four, three, two,


    one!"


    At the whistle''s st, the fighter picked up the kid like a ragdoll and mmed him to the ground.


    The crowd erupted, high on adrenaline. The kidy there, crying pitifully, calling for his "mommy," too


    hurt to stand.


    "Do you want to see more? Let’s see who wants to up the stakes. Who has the highest bet?"


    The giant screen shed with the bet stats: one thousand three hundred and fifty-one bets ced, the


    highest being thirteen grand. The host was clearly not satisfied, "Any higher bets? The thrilling moment


    will begin; are you ready for it?"


    "We are!"


    "Show me the money!" The host''s words had barely left his mouth when the screen shed a new bet:


    1 million, from private room 1.


    A hush fell for a split second, then the ce erupted.


    "It''s Sean! Sean''s in with a million!" The host''s voice was tinged with glee.


    Arabe narrowed her eyes in disdain. Sean? The jerk who was all over some woman upstairs, trying


    to get lucky? No surprise he was trash.


    "Let''s hear your cheers as the next act unfolds," the host was drowned out by the escting roar of the


    crowd as the fighter advanced on the kid.


    Horace turned, only to find Arabe had vanished.


    The fighter lifted the child high, parading him around the arena like a trophy, the audience''s cheers


    shaking the very walls.