Wicked Misery (Miss Misery) by Tracey Martin Read Free Book Online Page B

participating in or betting on them, was enough to land a person’s ass in jail. They were every cop’s and Gryphon’s nightmare.
    And for a misery junkie like me, they were the equivalent of emotional crack. I couldn’t feed off the preds or their addicts, but the nonaddict humans who attended gave off enough rage and pain to reduce me to a spastic, bloody mess. Literally. Matches were not pretty. This wasn’t boxing or ultimate fighting or any normal kind of sport. This was no-holds-barred, beat-the-shit-out-of-your-opponent brawling.
    Nonaddicts fought nonaddicts. Addicts fought addicts. And men and women fought their own gender. But that was about it for rules. Pretty much anything else went, and there was no guarantee that everyone lived. Lots of people didn’t, and the more horrifically they went down, the louder the furies and their addicts cheered.
    In fact, it was about the time I saw some addict’s arm whoosh through the air that my gut couldn’t take it anymore. Powered by all that agony, I’d run the entire distance home. I hadn’t been able to stop shaking until I’d crumpled into a ball in the shower while hot water washed the blood off me. I’d never gone back.
    I had no intention of doing so now. And though I couldn’t deny that being surrounded by so much fury and anguish was a head rush, the fact that Note-writer enjoyed the violence squicked me out.
    I squeezed the knife handle tighter, sickened by the memories. Just because I relished the taste of agony didn’t mean I approved of violence. Totally different.
    “We should go together sometime,” Note-writer said.
    His voice was right behind me. I spun around, almost smacking my head against the gryphon’s wing. Luckily, I held the knife correctly in my hand, and I further adjusted my stance as I faced him. “I don’t like the Meat Matches. No thanks.”
    His hands were clasped in front of his body, and he had no weapons on him. Brown eyes glanced between the blade and my covered face. “Why not?”
    “I don’t like violence.” Said the woman holding a knife to the unarmed man. Hello, irony.
    “That’s too bad. I’ve made some good money betting on them. What do you do for fun?”
    Meet weirdos in the Common at midnight? “Sports. Sports bars are okay. Hanging out outside Fenway after a Sox loss is better.” Hey, there was nothing illegal, immoral or even icky about that, and the buzz from thousands of disappointed fans was wonderful. Not to mention guilt free and not in violation of anyone’s privacy.
    Nonetheless, Note-writer’s eyes seemed disappointed. He rested a hand near my boot. I flexed my foot and placed the tip of the knife by my heel.
    “I never thought about that. I’m not into sports. There’s a Match coming up soon. You should come with me.”
    “I told you—I don’t like violence.”
    “Maybe you’ll change your mind by then.”
    “Don’t count on it.”
    He sighed. “I thought you’d be more fun, all things considered.”
    “Sorry to disappoint. I’m not fun. No one who knows me thinks I’m fun.” Alas, when you got a buzz from other people’s unhappiness, it put a crick in your social life. I’d all but given up on dating, and Steph was the only person I hung out with regularly. Probably because she had as many issues as I did.
    “That’s a shame.” Note-writer backed up, staring warily at the knife.
    It crossed my mind that I could jump down there after him. I wouldn’t need a weapon to knock him to the ground, yank off his mask and search for a wallet. But it would take violence and I’d feel like an utter hypocrite. My only other option was to use my gift to magically seduce him, but even if the imp’s sting wore off in the next couple seconds, it would be of little use. If this guy was like me, and it sounded like he actually might be, he’d have more resistance to magic than the average human.
    So I remained where I was, squatting in the gryphon’s shadow, wondering if my