Chapter 41

Scott was tossed into the cell. Chris caught him around the waist before he hit the ground.

"They want me to kill," Scott wheezed.

Chris looked over at Melanie. She sat, her knees cradled to her chest, leaning her whole body against the wall. She'd gone silent days ago. They'd been here for weeks. Scott lost counts of the days about a week ago. She had these periods. If she wasn't sitting there, she was doing push-ups, sit-ups and keeping in shape. Chris knew that both he and her didn't have the luxury to not kill their opponents. Getting smeared all over the mat wasn't ideal.

Chris set Scott down next to her. She kept her back to him. He leaned his head on her center of her back, between her shoulder blades. The blood from the corner of his forehead and nose bled onto her skin and over her tank top.

"We're going to be okay. We'll figure a way out." Scott told her, trying to comfort her.

He said that a lot. There was no way out truthfully. The fallen look on Chris's face attested to that. Melanie sniffled, but said nothing. Her lip was fat with a split. Her ankles were swollen from moving around so much to stay alive. Her right eye was almost done healing from a black eye while her left eye had a fresh one. She had claw marks across her chest and cheek. Yet it seemed like she wasn't even in there. Her breathing was hard. What was happening in there?

The cell doors opened and in came Sam, the ring runner, the big boss. He ruled this fucked up fighting ring. None of these people wanted out of here, but he kept promising that if we won and won, they'd be freed. So far, the only ones who'd been freed were the ones who died in the ring.

Melanie didn't budge. Chris turned his head, remaining his crouched position by the teenagers.

"It seems like we have a problem." Sam said, stepping into the cell.

Scuffling from the cells on both sides of them ensued and more people came to listen, curious and frightened. Each of the other trapped strangers were dirty in a mixture of blood from opponents and themselves. Hands gripped the bars from the dark.

"You're here to put on a show. You ugly things do your time and then you get out. You get to go home to wherever that is. It's simple. One of you has not been following the golden rule. You fight until you die OR until you kill your opponent."

Scott opened his swollen eyes and looked up at Sam who now stood over him. He flashed his golden beta eyes at Sam.

"This won't do."

Sam held his hand up and waved.

His two guards came up and reached for Melanie.

"What!? Let me go! I didn't do anything!" she screamed, wriggling in their beefy hands.

"Let this be a lesson," Sam said. Loud clanking made others in the cell cower and whimper. Scott got up to grab Melanie, but was kicked to the ground. Sam continued, "I will not stand for rebellion! There are consequences!"

The guards forced Melanie onto her knees and held her arms out, straining them, as if putting her on an invisible sacrificial altar. Her lips quivered with fear. Behind her, another guard held a rod and was holding a lighter to it. Sam knelt down beside her, whispering something in her ear as he pulled out a switchblade from his boot. Her eyes glistened and she looked up at Scott. He stood then moved behind her and cut down the back of her stained tank top, leaving her in her black sports bra.

Sam stared at her back.

"Beautiful scars." He said low. He touched her shoulder, a few inches below one of the scars.

His fingers were warm and sweaty, making her stomach twist. She could feel the disgusting admiration through them.

"To teach him, I have to do this."

He nodded and the guard handed him the rod, revealing a blazing orange brand at its tip. She could hear it hiss and sizzle against the dry air.

"All of you belong to me! You do as I SAY!"

Sam pressed the brand to the spot he touched into Melanie's shoulder. She lurched forward, screaming. The burning screams echoed out of the cell and down the halls to the dozens of others that were locked away.

"Stop!" Scott yelled. He stumbled forward as Sam pulled the brand away. Melanie slumped forward, her cheeks dripping tears that were louder than her screams. Scott's eyes widened and he grabbed her from the guards' grip. She trembled, whimpering. Her head fell to his shoulder. Her eyes lolled and her breath staggered as she struggled to stay conscious.

Blood trickled over the fabric of her sports bra down the rest of her back. The shape of the brand was two letters that stood side by side with a tribal mark that overlapped them.

"Next," Sam called.

The guards passed Scott and grabbed Chris. Chris threw a punch and received one in return. His mouth dribbled with blood and he was dragged to where Melanie had been and put in the same position.

He stared up at Sam, seething and not giving him a inch.

Chris groaned, gritting his teeth as the hot brand was put in the same spot. Sam pressed it extra hard then tossed him to the ground. Scott still cradled Melanie who stared off in to the distance.

Sam smirked down at Scott.

"Dogs are supposed to learn tricks." He said.

Scott's face shifted, his ears pointing, and facial construct wolfing out. He roared at Sam who only laughed subtly. Sam turned and walked out of the cell unfazed. The guards closed the door.

"Scott, don't worry about us." Chris breathed as he tried to look at his shoulder. The brand was swollen and tender.

"What will he do next if I don't listen?"

"Don't worry about us Scott," Chris repeated.

Chris moved over to the wall, glaring at others staring at them like they were superheroes or villains..

Melanie shrank away from Scott's arms and sat beside him, the neutral look returned to her face and she slumped nearly lifeless. She had given up. He didn't know why. She fought, surviving, but she'd given up like the fighting ring had won.

Melanie struggled so hard not to shake, to ignore the chills that crawled down her skin from the cold concrete walls. She cradled her knees to her chest. There'd be another fight tonight. Another determination of whether she'd live or finally cave in and let one of her opponents kill her. Death would be better than this. It had to be.

Isaac stared at the polka dotted map. Each dot represented similar disappearances. No bodies had been found. People were just gone without a trace. He lingered on the one at Derek's address. She wasn't the only one.

"Staring isn't going to bring her back."

Isaac turned as Derek was coming up to his side.

"We'll find her," Derek said.

Isaac shook his head, lacking hope. He was more tired than anything.

"Deaton doesn't have a single clue of what could be doing this. It's completely unrelated to the darach," Isaac said.

"We'll get them all back," Derek said.

"He doesn't know," Isaac repeated, wondering if he was understanding the point he was trying to make.

Deaton was supposed to know things. That was his job, yet he was just as clueless as they were. If he didn't know then who did? They were screwed. Isaac let out a seething huff. He was acting like it wasn't a big deal. He hadn't given any strong effort about the situation.

"It's going on three weeks. The police station declared them dead a week ago! How the hell do you think we're going to find them?!" Isaac yelled. "Are you even doing anything?! From where I'm standing, it looks like you're just sitting there. We're doing the work!"

Isaac stormed to the loft door and flung it open forcefully. He looked over his shoulder.

"Do you even care?" he mumbled.

Derek stared at the map like he'd been doing for a few days as if it would tell him where they were or make them appear. He didn't say how Braedon was checking in every three hours on her progress or that Cora was out with Stiles using herself as bait. He told her not to, but she insisted.

Melissa was hanging by a thread. Isaac brought her lunch every shift. She'd gone from working fourteen hour shifts to eighteen hour shifts. She was afraid that one of them would be coming into the hospital. Though she didn't say it aloud, she wanted to be there if one of them did.

Deaton had been working overtime, utilizing all of his resources, including his untrustworthy sister, Marin. Nobody even knew he had a sister, but he said she was bad news. There wasn't a lot of reason why, but neither Isaac nor Stiles doubted the man and his word.

Isaac left the loft.

Derek's fists clenched. He was right to be angry. They all were right to be angry. Every single person on this map disappeared with nothing to be found except for Melanie's glasses. He turned to go after the beta, but was blocked. Peter leaned against the loft door, his arms crossed over his chest.

"I wouldn't take it personally. Anger is just a tool." Peter stepped toward him, eyeing the map. Derek watched him carefully. Not once had he lifted a finger to help them. This was the first time he'd made his presence known in the last two months. Derek had hoped the bastard had left town for good. That was obviously too much to hope. "It's to excuse his shifting allegiance from one alpha to another."

Derek's eyes narrowed at his uncle. Another alpha. Who? It couldn't be Deucalion could it? Melanie would never forgive him for it. They were gone. It couldn't be them. Derek's mind raced, trying to find the answer.

Peter smirked that condescending, knowing smirk, making Derek growl. His fingers played with the stubble on his chin as he watched Derek tense up with more questions that would keep him up at night.

"Get out," Derek growled.

I hope you enjoyed the chapter. I know there are a few readers out there. I'd appreciate your thoughts so leave a review.