I see the first obstacle ahead of us: a thirty-foot fishing net strung up on a frame. We’ll have to climb up one side and down the other.
August reaches the net first, leaping up and beginning to scale the front side. Nix follows hot on his heels. August climbs steadily at first, but as soon as Nix begins her ascent, the net undulates like a wave.
“Watch it!” August shouts down at her.
“I’m not making it shake on purpose!” Nix calls back up.
When I start climbing, the net jerks so hard that August loses his grip and drops five or six feet before he can scramble for purchase. His face is red and irritated but Nix doesn’t give a fuck, she passes right by him, climbing hand over hand as fast as she can. Furious, August grabs her heel and tries to yank her down, half pulling off her shoe.
“No interference!” I shout at August.
“He said no interference from the spectators,” August spits back at me.
“I don’t give a fuck,” I snarl. “Keep your hands to yourself.”
Ignoring me, August grabs for Nix again.
Nix retaliates by kicking back with her heel, hitting August square in the forehead.
“You fucking bitch!” he howls up at her.
While he’s distracted, I knock his feet out from under him. He loses his grip on the net, sliding all the way back down to the bottom.
Nix has flipped over the top of the net, descending the other side. We come face to face with each other, me going up and her coming down.
“You don’t have to help me,” she tells me.
“I’m not,” I say.
“Good,” she calls over her shoulder, dropping down. “Because I am going to beat you.”
“We’ll see about that,” I mutter, climbing faster.
Tristan has reached the bottom of the net. His bulk makes it sway like a gale-force hurricane. I’m seasick by the time I’m halfway down the opposite side.
August is also climbing again, with a heel-shaped mark in the middle of his forehead and a poisonous expression on his face. He’s only just reaching the top as I drop down from the net and start running.
I jog down a mile of winding trail before encountering the next obstacle.
I pound after Nix, using her as my pace setter, not really trying to pass her. From our previous run, I’ve got a pretty good idea of our relative speeds. If she’s going as hard as she can and I match her, I’ll be close to my redline.
The next challenge is a rig with twelve hanging rings set just far enough apart that you can brachiate from one to the next like a tree-dwelling monkey.
It’s fairly straightforward. Nix and I cross over without too much trouble, me catching each ring directly after she releases it.
When we drop down on the other side, Nix pants at me, “Who builds all this?”
“The grounds crew,” I say. “There’s fifty of them, and they’re mostly here for school security. But they do other shit too—tend the greenhouses and the gardens and all that.”
“Do they ever have to secure anybody?” she asks, jogging off down the path again, following the red markers hung from the trees.
“Yeah,” I say. “Miles Griffin—that’s Leo’s cousin—he got in pretty deep shit the year before last. They hauled him up to the Prison Tower for a week. And Ozzy Duncan . . .” I break off, not really wanting to relive that particular event. “He got in a lot of trouble, too. The Rule of Recompense is a real thing.”
Nix has slowed slightly, listening to me as we run. She frowns.
“Miles Griffin . . .” she says. “I know that name . . .”
I want to swallow my own tongue.
I hadn’t realized that Nix would have heard about the deal Miles cut with her father, handing over his drug pipeline to Dieter Prince and Alvaro Romero in exchange for breaking Zoe’s betrothal to Rocco Prince.
And Nix definitely doesn’t know I was there that night. Miles and I stole the Chancellor’s private speedboat, one of the only ways off this island. We snuck over to Dubrovnik in the dead of night, so Miles could meet with Dieter, Alvaro, and Moroz in person and work his persuasive magic to force them to take the deal.
I warned Miles not to include the Malina. I tried to tell him that Marko Moroz is not a partner you want to have.
But Miles was desperate. He was willing to risk anything to free Zoe from her loathsome engagement to Rocco. So he cut the Malina in on the deal—using their American dollars to launder the bitcoin from the online drug deals.
Little did he know, that’s not Marko’s money.
It’s my fucking money.
And I want it back. Along with everything else the Malina stole from us.
I should have known that Marko shares his business with Nix. Or at least, the parts he wants to tell her about.
“Miles is Caleb Griffin’s older brother,” I say, hoping she won’t make the connection.
“Hm,” she says, her brows still knit together.
“Anyway, quit trying to distract me,” I pant, putting on another burst of speed. “I can’t talk and run at the same time.”
I hear footsteps behind us—August Prieto with fire in his lungs and malice in his heart, trying to overtake us.
We’ve almost reached the third obstacle: five pillars, before which stand five spherical stones.
I’ve seen this before. It’s part of a typical strong-man competition, and also some of the Highland Games. I’ve seen it called the Atlas Stones, or the Dinnie Stones in Scotland.
You’re supposed to lift the rocks, one by one, placing them atop the pillars.
Each stone is heavier than the one before.
I can’t help casting a worried glance at Nix—strong as she might be, someone like Tristan will be at an obvious advantage in this part of the competition.
“Go ahead,” I say to Nix, nodding for her to try the lightest stone first, while I start with the second.
Nix braces herself, feet wide apart, so she can muscle up the awkwardly-shaped rock. It’s difficult to gain purchase on the smooth sphere.
I’m having the same problem with the second stone. I try several angles before bear-hugging the damn thing and lifting it up to the plinth, which is chest height for me and nearly head-height for Nix.
Grunting, Nix manages to lift her stone. It must weigh at least eighty pounds. The others only get heavier.
Once she’s completed the lift, Nix shoves the stone down again so August can take his turn. I do the same with mine, grimacing at how hard it falls to the ground, knowing Nix will have to lift it back up again.
I work my way down the line. Each stone feels twice as heavy as the one before, though I know that’s only my own growing exhaustion. The real difference in weight is probably only twenty to thirty pounds per rock. Still, it adds up quick.
By the time I get to the fifth and heaviest stone, I’m guessing it’s about two hundred pounds. I have no idea how Nix will lift it, and I have the sick sensation that this might be the end of her race.
Tristan Turgenev has finally caught up with us. He seems to view the stones as a pleasant break from all the hateful running. With an expression of relief, he easily heaves up the stones one after another with no break in between.
August looks like he’d like to kill Tristan. He’s still struggling with the fifth stone, having failed to lift it twice. He has to step aside to let Tristan finish.