Riot

  His expensive shoes tapped on the floor as he approached us, his two guards following closely behind. I stood between Zaal and Valentin. I almost choked on the hate pulsing from their bodies.

  Master stopped before us, and I got a good look at his face. I hadn’t been sure what to expect, but he was nothing special. It was the glint he had in his eyes that betrayed the true nature of his black soul. The glint that showed his ruthlessness was underneath, the male that took enjoyment from others’ pain.

  Arziani’s eyebrows rose as he roved his excited gaze over us all. His lip hooked into the briefest smile when he saw Zaal. He stepped closer to Zaal and lifted his hand to trace his tattoo—221.

  Zaal’s teeth ground together as Master’s fingers dropped down to his torso. When he looked back into Zaal’s eyes, he said, “One of the Kostava twins. We had long imagined you dead.”

  Arziani looked to Viktor. “The Volkovs gave him to you?”

  Viktor nodded. “Yes, Master. They wanted to use him to kill for them, but he was unsalvageable. Too far gone in the head.”

  Arziani stared back at Zaal. “He appears docile enough now.”

  “It is the drugs, Master. We bought the Type A from you. We use it to keep him obedient.”

  Arziani nodded his head, then looked to me. “And him?”

  “Our gulag’s ultimate champion. A Russian. Known as Raze. The previous Alaskan champion. We bought him after he was found by a smaller Georgian organization that knew of our gulag in New York.”

  “Is he good?”

  “Unrivaled.”

  Arziani smiled and said, “Good. My champion is a Russian, too. Taken as a child from an orphanage and raised to be exactly the kind of killer I dreamed about.” His face then flashed with annoyance. “Though he has lost my favor of late.” He stepped back, eyes bright. “This 818 seems he could perhaps give him a challenge. I will look forward to seeing it.”

  Master then moved to Valentin and his lost his humor. Valentin stared straight ahead, frozen to the spot. Master lifted his hand and brushed his fingertip over the scar on Valentin’s neck, but he didn’t stop there. He moved to his scarred face and traced the lashes that Valentin’s Mistress had meted out for his disobedience, permanently disfiguring his face.

  Master stepped back and regarded Valentin coldly. “So this is the mutant that slaughtered my sister?” Silence. The air pulsed with electricity as we waited for what would come next.

  I could feel our byki loosening their holds on our ropes. They expected a fight. So did I.

  But when Arziani’s lips spread into a wide grin and a booming laugh came from his mouth, that expectation fell away. Arziani slapped Valentin on the shoulder. “That woman was the bane of my life. You did me a favor by killing her.” He looked to Zaal. “And her asshole of a lover. The one you killed. You did me a favor. Jakhua had thought himself higher than his station. I had already issued his death warrant. You just beat me to it.”

  I waited as Arziani’s eyes fell back to Valentin. I waited for him to mention his sister. I waited for him to taunt him with the fact that he had her under his control and in his bed. But Arziani didn’t say a thing. I wondered why, then thought that maybe he didn’t know. Maybe he didn’t know Inessa was Valentin’s blood. Maybe his sister had never told him.

  Arziani looked to Viktor. “Your gulag must be strong. You are the last fighters to arrive, and none have males to rival yours. After the tournament we should talk.” He smiled. “We Georgians need to keep our business close to home, no?”

  “Of course, Master,” Viktor replied. Relief trickled down my spine.

  “We have quarters for you and your fighters. The tournament begins tomorrow. You will receive good fights. I’m interested how your males will stand up to my champions, but maybe they are matches for the later rounds. If they make it to the final round, they will be awarded the champions’ quarters, and you will be given better accommodations, too. We honor our victors here in the Blood Pit.”

  “Thank you,” Viktor said. Arziani flicked his wrist in dismissal. The head Wraith led us out of the hall and down the hallway. With every step, my blood pumped faster and faster around my body. This could actually work, I thought to myself.

  We walked through three long hallways, then arrived at a section filled with several large rooms. When I looked through the open doorways, fighters of all nationalities sat inside. They glared as we passed, holding their weapons or sitting drugged on the floor.

  We arrived at an empty room, its walls and floors made of dark stone. Several beds lay on the floor, with a side room at the back that was probably for washing. The head Wraith pointed for us to enter. Viktor hung back and was told, “Your food will be brought to you. You don’t leave these quarters until training. The fighters will be taken to the training pits and will be there all day. If they win, monas will be provided for relief.”

  Valentin growled beside me at that news. Zaal discreetly put his hand on his arm to shut him up. He did, but his body shook as he held back his need to kill.

  “No monebi,” Viktor said. “They don’t get females in our gulag.”

  The head Wraith’s eyes narrowed, then he shrugged his shoulders. “Your choice.” He stepped away and continued, “You’ll be told of your scheduled fights soon. There will be a viewing cage for your fighters to watch the other matches. We find that the fighters who watch the other men perform better when they enter the pit. The bloodlust makes for a more interesting battle.”

  Viktor nodded and the head Wraith walked away. Viktor hovered near the door until the coast was clear. The byki released our ropes, but we stayed sitting against the wall of the room, just in case we were being watched.

  Viktor sat opposite. Not looking at me, he said, “I have never seen anything like this place. Who would ever believe something like this existed?”

  “Me,” the three of us replied in unison.

  Viktor’s head turned to face us, and he nodded sadly. He sighed and said, “We should all get some sleep. We have to be focused tomorrow, in case you are announced as a first match.”

  “Agreed,” I said quietly. Before we all moved to our beds, I said, “No matter what happens in these few days, even if one of us falls, we carry on. We bring this place down.”

  “Agreed,” Zaal and Valentin said in unison.

  I moved to a bed without another word, slipping off my ’dusters and laying them at my side. The sound of fighters practicing echoed off the walls. A constant dripping from a leaky pipe splashed repeatedly on the floor. Hearing Zaal and Valentin moving to the beds near me, an image of Kisa’s beautiful face filled my head.

  I wondered if Zaal and Valentin were thinking of their females, too.

  Because if they were, if they were fighting to return home with everything they had, we couldn’t possibly lose.

  We had been thrust back into hell.

  But this time the only way out was to burn it in our wake.

  And we had only limited days to see it through.

  12

  901

  Everything about today felt different. I had awoken with 152 in my arms, like every other day. But today wasn’t like every other day. We had changed. Things between 152 and me had changed.

  I was changed.

  I had taken her every night for weeks because she’d needed me for the drugs. Last night I had taken her because she wanted me to. The most beautiful mona in the pit had wanted me.

  She had been taken to her quarters by the guard this morning, but before she left, she had pulled me out of view and given me a slow kiss on my lips.

  Even now I could taste her on my mouth.

  A guard came to the door and I stepped out. I walked to the hallway and, like every day, received my drugs. There was only me in the line, then 667 and 140 fell in behind me.

  “First day of tournament,” 667 said. “The rest of the fighters are being moved to another part of the pit. The training pits are just for the champions and tournament fighters.
”

  The chiri injected me and I walked forward toward the pits. I held my Kindjals in my hands. Noises of males training hit my ears. When I entered through the open doorway, I roved my eyes around the mass of movement. 667 and 140 arrived behind me, and I knew they were looking, too.

  Males of all sizes were sparring with their trainers. Every kind of weapon was being used: swords, daggers, chains, axes, hammers, sais, spears, knuckle-dusters.

  I watched a few of the males in action. None seemed threatening. I moved to my usual pit, 667 and 140 jumping into theirs beside me. Only three other males were in this section with me. Three males that, when I watched them train, instantly pulled my attention. One was darker in skin with long black hair. I stared at another and my eyes widened. He was huge, tall with broad shoulders. He had severely scarred skin, the most severe lash scars on his face. But around his neck was the red remnant, evidence he had once worn a collar.

  His hair was black, and in his hands he held two unpowered picanas, similar to what some of the guards held. When he turned his head, snarling in his sparring, I got a clear view of his face. His eyes were blue.

  A third male suddenly slapped him on his back. My attention then went to him. He had blond hair and brown eyes. He was broad and tall. He didn’t look as severe as the other two males, yet there was something in the way he stood that made me think he would be the most threatening of them all. He had a calmness that betrayed his comfort at being inside a pit. The way he led the other two males he trained with told me he was used to taking control. Attributes like this always made the hardest warriors. The ones that could effectively stop the beating of your heart when you least expected it.

  As if feeling my stare, the male turned around. His dark eyes watched me, and they narrowed. I watched him clench his fists. He wore bladed knuckle-dusters as his weapon of choice. I had fought many with them on before. They could be just as deadly as a dagger if you knew how to wield them correctly.

  “Our biggest competition,” 667 said, arms folded across his chest.

  140 flanked my other side. “They wouldn’t have been given this space if Master hadn’t found them worthy.”

  “He is right. They are worthy. They move better than any other fighter in this pit. They are seasoned and effective.”

  818, the male that looked to be in charge, was suddenly joined by the other two: 221 and 194. The three of them stared at us, we three stared back.

  I tried to show I was unaffected, but my eyes kept drifting to the heavy scarred male. Not because he caused me fear or worry, but because of his eyes. His eyes were too similar, too familiar. The same color as 152’s. I turned away. I had to get her from my mind. She had no place in this pit. She would be a distraction, one I couldn’t afford to have.

  A short male came toward the three fighters and pulled them away. My trainer arrived, and as was routine, I followed him to the pit. We began slowly, warming up my muscles. Before long, I was in the zone, smashing my Kindjals against my trainer’s shield.

  Hours passed, and my body dripped with sweat. Movement caught my eye from the walkway that circled the training pit. My heart slammed against my chest when I looked up and saw 152 approaching. My blood instantly boiled when I saw her being paraded on Master’s arm. Her face was blank. She stared straight ahead. Master was holding her close, a smug smile on his fucking face.

  I growled low and used my anger to strike out at my trainer. I smashed my blades with rapid force. I heard 140 snarl. He turned to see Master watching us train. He eyes casually left his three champions and landed on the three new fighters under the control of the short Georgian.

  Seeing he was distracted, I used this moment to look to 152. I expected her to be looking back, stealing a glance. But instead, she stared at the three new fighters. A strange expression crossed over her face, one I couldn’t read. Her cheeks had drained of color. When I followed the path of what held her attention, it was to arrive on the scarred male. He was training hard, his huge body attacking the trainer’s pads with perfect form. He was relentless as his powerful strikes almost knocked the trainer from his feet.

  He turned in the pit, his position now directly facing Master. His eyes were still focused on the task. But when the trainer called for him to halt, 194 glanced up, and his gaze collided with 152’s.

  And it never left her.

  Possessive shivers broke out along my skin when I looked to 152 and saw that she was trapped in his stare. Master watched the other two males sparring with an excited glint in his eyes. He hadn’t noticed the scarred male watching his mona.

  Watching what was mine.

  152’s eyes were narrowed, the same action she made when confused. When I looked to 194, a strange expression set on his face.

  My hands shook against my Kindjals, jealousy ripping through me like a fever. My feet braced to move. I looked to 152 once more, and this time saw Master following her gaze. His jaw clenched when he saw that her attention wasn’t solely on him.

  Turning on his heel, Master flicked his wrist to the guard. The guard stepped forward. “Move!” he commanded and pointed to the center pit. 152, still caught up in 194’s stare, was dragged to follow him. I moved to get him to remove his hands, when 667 gripped my arm.

  I spun around, ready to attack, when 140 stepped in between us. “He was saving you from fucking up and putting your female in danger. You go after Master in this pit, and you’ll find yourself waking up in hell.”

  My muscles tensed, knowing he was right. They watched me, ready to stop me again, when I reluctantly nodded. 140 slapped me on the shoulder, and we moved to the center pit. The three other males followed, standing slightly behind us. The other competitors gathered, too. But I had no time to take notice of them. 194 had all my attention now. The fresh meat that had his eyes on my female.

  The sound of Master climbing to his podium made me look up. When I did, he took his place, towering above us all. But this time he brought 152 with him.

  Her head remained lowered as Master paraded her in a dark red dress in front of his males. She stood to his left, timid and meek.

  My heart swelled on seeing her looking so beautiful. I focused on her face and saw that her bruises and cuts had been covered with makeup. That angered me. Master had hurt her, then disguised it.

  “Warriors!” Master shouted, and held out his arms with a smile on his face. “Welcome to the Blood Pit!” Males around me rocked from side to side as they stared up at Master, fueled by his words.

  Master dropped his arms. “As you know, the tournament begins tonight. If you are to fight first, you will have already been told by your trainer.” Master paused for effect, then said, “It is a four-day-long battle. You win, you will progress to the next round. If you don’t…” Master trailed off and shrugged. The males muttered and growled around me, bloodthirsty for the kill.

  Master drank it in, getting high from the tension in the room. “You will be paired for all fights but the final. Four males will reach the end stage of the championship and will battle it out in a winner-takes-all war.” Nodding, he added, “Then the male that wins, that slaughters the three left in his path, wins the ultimate prize.” Master walked farther forward, peering down, and said slowly, “He wins his freedom.”

  Louder voices cut through the pit this time, males pushed to their limits. They wanted freedom. As I cast my eyes over the tens of males, I could see that this chance to be freed from their chains was everything. This tournament was their chance to become more than they were—killers, animals bred for slaughter.

  Master’s gaze then landed on his three champions and the males that had been beside us in the pits. “Tomorrow will be your turn. The champions with the lowest odds will take to the arena.” My blood’s temperature spiked at the thought of taking on any one of them. Master then looked to another six males at the opposite side of the center pit. He pointed to them and declared, “And you will be their opponents.”

  My lips rolled back over my teeth
in frustration. I glanced to the side to glare at the scarred champion, only to find him staring up at the podium. I knew what I would find when I followed the path. I was right—it was 152 that held his attention. When I saw a possessiveness flash across his face, my stomach cramped with the need to rid him of his head. But when 152 lifted her head, and stared back at the male, an equal interest in her blue eyes, I felt my anger overrun my resistance.

  Why the fuck was she staring at him? Why was he staring at her?

  I didn’t hear Master dismiss us. My blood was too loud in my eyes as it rushed like torrents in my ears. I didn’t notice the fighters returning to their pits. All I could see was a red haze, the need to stake my claim on 152.

  Storming forward, my shoulder crashed against 194’s. The large male growled low at the contact and whipped to face me. Before he could react, I threw my Kindjals to the ground, seeing him doing the same with his picanas. I charged, I ran to where he stood, and plowed my fist across his jaw. His head snapped back like I hadn’t even made a mark.

  In seconds he had hit me too, his crazed blue eyes boring into mine. Slamming my chest into his, I warned, “Keep the fuck away from her. Don’t you ever dare look at her again.”

  He pushed against my chest. “Get back.”

  “She’s mine,” I hissed, and struck out again. I smashed my fist into his lip, immediately drawing blood. He lifted his hand to his lip, and his already fucked-up face contorted with rage. His muscles tensed until they shook with the effort. But just as I braced for him to strike, a firm hand landed on my chest and pushed me. I stumbled back, before righting myself. The blond champion in his party was pushing the scarred one away. The scarred fighter tried to push past him to get at me.

  “Retreat,” the blond male ordered 194. I was surprised when I heard them speaking in Russian.

  “I’m going to kill him,” 194 snarled, and glared at me over the blond’s shoulder. “He called her his. He fucking called her his.”

  At his words, I rushed forward just as the one with long black hair wrenched the scarred Russian out of my path. Instead, the blond leader turned on me and swung. His heavy fist collided with my cheek. I swung back, striking him in return. Blood dripped from his mouth, and he smiled. Blood coated his white teeth, as I tasted blood on my tongue.