She stepped out of the stall and looked at the men.
“What is going on?”
They just motioned her to the doorway they had come through.
They returned to the main area, where Pine saw Mercy come out of another area of the building wearing clothes nearly identical to her own. Her twin stared back at her, obviously as confused as she was.
They were led over to the tarp.
And that was when Buckley appeared. He was dressed in khaki pants, a tan sports coat with a yellow crew neck sweater underneath, and sturdy brown boots.
Pine glared at him. “What in the hell is all this about?”
In answer, Buckley motioned to a man standing in a far corner, his hand on a metal lever connected to a machine with a flywheel and a chain. The man pulled on the lever, and the space was filled with the whine of engaged hydraulics.
They all watched as the tarp, attached to a chain at its pinnacle, was slowly lifted. Revealed underneath was something very familiar to Mercy.
A UFC cage. She glanced over at her sister, her mouth agape.
The tarp was swung away from over the cage and deposited on the ground.
Pine looked at Buckley. “That doesn’t answer my question.” “This will,” said Buckley. He motioned to another man. He disappeared from sight, but came back about ten seconds later, leading a blindfolded and gagged Carol Blum.
“Carol!” exclaimed Pine. She tried to reach her, but a wall of armed men barred her way.
Blum was forced to sit in a chair next to the cage and her blindfold was taken off, but her gag remained. As her eyes adjusted to the light, she saw Pine, and then Mercy, and her eyes widened to the extreme edge of their range.
Pine whirled on Buckley. “Look, just let her go. Your beef is with us, not her. Just let her go.”
Buckley stayed silent for a moment and then said, “Are you finished? Because I have a schedule to keep.”
Pine just scowled back.
“Good. Now, as you can see, you are about to engage in battle with your sister.”
“The hell I am!”
He looked at the man next to Blum and nodded. The man took out a serrated-edged knife and held it against Blum’s neck.
“If you don’t fight, your friend dies and then you both die, too. It’s up to you.”
Mercy stepped forward. “I killed your brother, not them. Let me fight one of your guys. Hell, I’ll fight all of them. But you don’t have to hurt my sister or Carol.”
Again, Buckley remained silent for a moment. “Are you finished?”
Mercy glanced at Pine but said nothing.
“Let me introduce you to your referee.”
From out of the shadows stepped Britt Spector. She was dressed in a striped hoodie with a kangaroo pouch, and black pants that hung loosely on her, with a knapsack over one shoulder. Her hair was tied back. She came to stand next to Buckley. Spector didn’t look at Pine or Mercy. Her gaze just stared out.
Buckley said, “Now for the rules. There will be four rounds. Five minutes each round. If, at any time, I feel that you are not fighting your hardest . . . ” He turned to the man next to Blum. “Jason over there will make an incision on your friend’s skin. Each subsequent incision will be deeper and draw more blood. The ending of this is easy to see. The more times I request the cuts, the more blood she loses. A tipping point will be reached and that will be that. But I will be fair in my calls.”
“Sure you will,” snapped Mercy.
“And how exactly does this end?” said Pine.
“If one of you wins by knockout, you live, as does Ms. Blum. And the other one dies. If neither of you clearly wins, you both die. Along with Ms. Blum.”