The stamping of hundreds of feet shook the structure of the holding room walls in The Dungeon’s basement as Durov’s fight took place. I was skipping rope, warming up my body for my fight, when a huge cheer made me look to the door. I skipped harder, waiting for Viktor to come and tell me who’d won.
I didn’t have to wait long.
Minutes later, Viktor walked through, his eyes down. “Durov won,” was all he said, but by the green tint to his face, I could see that Durov had done more than kill. He’d toyed and played with his opponent, again. Probably sliced him apart with his dagger, but in a way that kept him breathing until the last strike.
Durov was “The Butcher” after all.
Viktor walked to the basin at the edge of the room and threw water on his face, then came to stand in front of me. “I got a look at Goliath. Got some stats.”
I kept my eyes on Viktor, but didn’t stop my warm-up.
“He’s Georgian, new this season to the underground. But he’s never lost a match. He’s ruthless, has minimum weaknesses. Has about twenty pounds on you and about four inches in height.”
I formed a picture of Goliath in my mind, visualizing bringing him down.
“Weapon?” I asked.
“A black sai,” Viktor replied.
I stopped skipping.
Freezing, I asked, “Is he Gulag?”
Viktor nodded. “Yeah. Saw one of the trainers from one of the West Coast gulags. He’s one of their prize fighters. They’ve taken him on the road. Entering him in the underground contests around the country.” Viktor handed me a water bottle and gestured for me to drink. “You’re going to have to be smart with this one, Raze. He’s quick. Undefeated. So are you. But by tonight, one of you will be dead.”
A knock rapped on the door, and the familiar words, “You’re up!” were shouted through the wood.
I took off my sweatshirt and slipped on my bladed knuckledusters, smeared under my eyes with Eye Black, letting the hot rage fill my muscles as I prepared for the fight ahead.
I heard the noise of the crowd grow louder, telling me Goliath had stepped into the cage. Viktor opened the door and led me out into the dim hallway. I glimpsed Durov in his holding room, an older man slapping him on his blood-covered chest, congratulating him. He looked like him. I just knew the cunt was his father. He looked just as fucking evil as Durov.
The hallway was dank, filled with the stench of death and trails of blood from previous fighters. I could hear my breathing in my ears, even over the roar of the crowd, and then I heard something else … the calling of my name.
“Raze!”
I looked to the side at the opening to another hallway. Kisa stood in the shadows. Viktor stopped dead and raised his eyebrow. Ignoring him, I rushed to the side and immediately lifted Kisa in my arms and pushed her back to the wall.
Kisa’s blue eyes hooded as my chest pressed against hers, and I leaned forward to run my nose down her cheek. “Kisa…” I murmured as Kisa’s hands played with my hair.
Her palms slipped down to my cheeks, and pulling my mouth to hers, she pressed her lips to mine. Growling into her wet mouth, I pushed my tongue inside until it met with hers. Kisa’s tits hardened against my bare skin.
Her hands pressed harder on my cheeks and she ripped her mouth away, panting. Her fingers stroked at my cheeks and my cock hardened, my hips thrusting against hers.
“Raze … I had to see you,” she whispered.
My nostrils flared as I smelled her scent, wanting to have it on my tongue.
“I want you,” I said, and I saw tears fill her eyes. I didn’t know what was wrong. All I could do was stare at her in confusion.
Kisa’s expression suddenly changed and she smiled at me, running her fingertip down my neck. “I love it when you do that—tilt your head to the side, I mean.”
My brows furrowed, not understanding what she meant, but I ignored it to ask, “Why are you crying?”
Kisa wrapped her arms around my neck and tucked her nose. “I’ve just got you back when I thought it was impossible and you don’t even know it yet.”
I felt even more confused. Then I pulled her back to face me, and, through her tears, she whispered, “I’ve seen who you’re fighting.”
I tensed. “So?”
“He’s huge, Raze. I asked around about him, and he’s never lost a match. He always gets his kill.”
“So do I,” I said tightly, not enjoying her lack of faith in my skill. I was a killer. Undefeated.
“I know, but…” She swallowed, staring into my eyes, leaning in to kiss the left one. “I’m terrified of losing you tonight. Abram had him brought in from under my nose. He’s scared, Raze. I know it’s because you could truly beat Alik in the final.”
My heart turned to steel as her words kindled my determination to beat Goliath. To fuck over Alik and his father.
Pressing my forehead to hers, I promised. “I’ll win.”
A sob escaped her mouth, but I caught it as I pressed my lips to hers.
“Please,” she spoke against my mouth. “I have so much to tell you. So much I want you to know. You need to survive.”
“I’ll win, Kisa-Anna,” I rasped again, feeling her fear for me pulsing through her slim body. But what she didn’t know was I thrived on fear. It pushed me further.
I wouldn’t lose … not when I had Kisa in my mind and her life to save from Durov.
“You’ll win,” Kisa said with a relieved sigh.
A cough sounded behind us.
Viktor stepped closer, shock etched on his face, and said, “Raze, we’ve got to go. You’re needed in the cage.”
I pressed another kiss to Kisa’s lips, took her finger and ran it down my stomach. “There’ll be another tally here tonight … and then I’ll have you again. When you come to me.”
Kisa tried to smile, but I could see the nerves racking her body. I stepped back into the hallway and pounded down toward the tunnel, right into the crowd, men moving back to let me through. I had the cage in my sight, filled with bloodlust and the need to kill. I saw my opponent already circling the ring but paid no mind to him. My only concern was for Kisa … surviving for Kisa. Surviving to protect and care for Kisa.
I ran up the steps and got to the steel door.
“Let me in!” I bellowed, banging on the door. A guard came up behind me and released the lock, and I immediately bounded into the cage, clenching my fists.
Then I looked up …
And my stomach dropped.
362?
362 was tattooed on Goliath’s chest.
As the door slammed shut, my opponent looked up. I saw the recognition flash across his face. He stilled. I stilled. And the gun fired a shot, telling us the match had begun.
Neither of us moved, too busy staring at one another.
He was your friend … Kisa’s words from last night ran through my mind.
“Friend?”
“Yes, your friend. You spoke with him, spent time with him. Confided in him … Liked him?”
“I trained with him. He helped me adjust to life in the Gulag. Taught me how to block things out. We would never fight. We were the Gulag’s two best fighters. When the riot happened, he came down and freed me.”
My heart beat faster than ever as I stared at 362 … Goliath? Kisa said he’d been my friend, and looking at him right now, sai in hand, for the first time ever in the cage, I couldn’t force my legs to move.
I couldn’t bring myself to fight …
* * *
“818, come. We’ll do weights,” 362 called from the other side of the gym. I cautiously joined him at the bench press and stood behind to spot him as he lay on the bench.
“You’ll train with me. You’ve got what it takes to survive. Training with those sniffling fucks you were brought in with will get you killed. They’re weak. Scared … They don’t belong in the cage.”
“You’re not afraid of fighting against me?” I asked.
362 smirked. “I’m older. It won’t happen. And when you get older too, if you become a champion like me, they’ll never pit us against each other. They’d lose too much money if they did.”
I nodded and spotted his first press. “Then I’ll train with you.”
362 smirked and began lifting his weights as though they weighed nothing. “Stick with me, kid, and together we’ll get out of this hell alive.”
“Why me?” I asked.
362 stopped and looked up at me. “Because I can see you didn’t do what you were brought in here for. It’s all over your face, in your eyes. You’re innocent, like me, but you’re strong, can fight, can survive … like me. Most kids here will die within the first few weeks, if not, by the end of their first year. But us, we’ll survive.”
“You want to get out for revenge on the one that put you here,” I said knowingly, because I felt exactly the same way.
“I do. And I’m going to have that day, as will you. Train with me, spar with me, and we’ll both get our revenge.”
362 got back to his weights, and we trained together for years, until we became the champions he envisaged.
We survived to get our revenge.
* * *
But now my revenge was blocked by my friend, my Gulag brother.
362 walked to the center of the cage, and my legs carried me forward too. My fists clenched, pointing the blades forward just in case he struck, but I could see in 362’s dark eyes that he wasn’t going to attack.
When we were face to face, his chest rose and fell rapidly, and he cursed under his breath. His face was pained, contorted.
“818,” he said quietly.
“362,” I said in return.
He lowered his head.
“This is your revenge? This is your path to the man who lied, who condemned you, who made you into one of us?”
I nodded. “And you?” I asked, beginning to hear the upheaval from the crowd, unease that we hadn’t started fighting.
“They caught me two hours away from the Gulag. I ran, but they caught me again. They’ve made me fight for them. Travel around the country, making me fight to the death. Then last night, I was sent here. To end the fighter who just stepped in the ring with me. I was told to make you suffer. To make it slow.”
I froze. “Durov,” I snarled.
362 narrowed his eyes. “The one who sent you to the Gulag?”
I didn’t reply. Hadn’t remembered the details yet, but Durov was responsible somehow.
Guards began to surround the cage, rifles at the ready. 362 moved closer still. “If I win tonight, I am to be freed. I will finally get my revenge.”
Closing my eyes, I understood what he was saying. We both wanted revenge. And only one of us was stepping out of this cage alive.
I opened my eyes, and 362 held out his hand. His face, for a brief moment, showed regret, and during that moment, I let slip a hint of compassion for my … friend.
Taking his hand in mine, I nodded and said, “I am grateful for your friendship.”
362 smirked. He always smirked. “Promise me this. If you are victorious tonight, you will get your revenge … for the both of us.”
I squeezed his hand and said, “Only if you make the same promise.”
362 dipped his head in acknowledgement. Our hands separated; all feeling, all compassion, fell away and supercharged adrenaline took hold.
We stepped back. The guards relaxed. Only one rifle was raised again, to fire the shot signaling the restart of the fight.
I knew this fighter, how he moved, how he thought, his weak areas, his strengths. But he also knew me. For the first time ever, I felt a pang of fear. This man could beat me. As we began to circle each other, I knew by the look on 362’s face he was thinking the same.
362 suddenly lurched forward and struck my arm with his sai, the blade slicing into my skin. But he didn’t get away unscathed, for as he withdrew his sai, I pierced him with a glancing blow to his thigh. 362 stumbled back as it sliced nearly to the muscle.
I felt blood running down my arm. 362 suddenly charged at me, dragging us both to the ground. The crowd went insane, their fists banging on the metal links of the fence. 362 and I grappled on the floor, both struggling for dominance, both evenly matched.
But 362 was bigger and he managed to pin me down. His face tensed and his expression cooled as his sai came down toward my face. The crowd volume increased to fever pitch.
I tried to push back, but 362’s strength was unrivaled and his size unmatched. Every one of my muscles strained. I could feel my veins throbbing in my neck and temple, but the sai came ever closer to my throat. This would be a kill. 362 would pierce my throat and I’d be dead.
My head tipped back as I pushed harder still against 362’s downward moving arms. I caught sight of Viktor on the side of the cage, screaming for me to live, to get my revenge.
But beyond Viktor, and at the entrance to the hallway, was my Kisa … and Durov stood behind her, pinning her against his chest, forcing her to watch me fight as tears filled her eyes. Durov watched me with a sneer on his psychotic face. It was all I needed to completely fuel my defense.
Kisa tried to turn her head as I felt the tip of the sai press against my skin, but Durov grabbed her cheek in his hands and wrenched her unwilling attention back to me, his tight mouth barking something in her ear.
Her blue eyes filled with terror as she watched me. And like an over-taut cord pulled too tight, I snapped. Roaring out in frustration, I rolled my hips, knocked 362’s sai from his hand, and flipped him on his back.
I saw nothing but red as I straddled his waist and speared a first bladed fist into his neck. Felt nothing but rage as my second bladed fist skewered his temple. Felt nothing but single-minded determination to slaughter Durov as I lifted both fists and, pointing them straight down, plunged them into 362’s chest, the wheeze of his dying breaths assaulting my ears, wrenching me from my anger.
362 was bleeding like a river, my skin coated with his blood. His eyes shone at me. I noted approval in his stare as my hands fell to my sides, an ache constricting my chest.
“Revenge…” 362 uttered, choking on blood washing back down his throat. “Make him pay…” Then 362 was gone, his chest stilling. The crowd erupted. But all I could do was stare at 362 lying dead on the floor of the cage. I couldn’t move my arms and legs, a sharp pain dead center of my chest.
The steel door opened and Viktor ran in. He crouched before me. “Raze. Son, we need to move.”
I looked up at Viktor, then down at 362 beneath me. “I knew him,” I said, my voice breaking.
Viktor nodded and laid his hand on my shoulder. “I know, son. I knew it the minute I saw his tattoo and your reaction as you stepped into the cage.”
“He was my … friend,” I managed to blurt out, the term unfamiliar and bittersweet on my lips.
Viktor gripped my bicep and helped me to my feet. “We have to go, son.”
Viktor and I walked straight out of the cage and down through the crowd. Hands slapped at my back in congratulations, I kept my eyes low and I started to move faster until I was in the hallway. Then I found myself sprinting into my holding room. Once inside, I went straight to the bathroom and puked into the toilet, my body breaking out in cold sweats.
Viktor was at the door, cursing under his breath. I didn’t know what the fuck was happening to me.
I slumped to the ground, seeing smears of blood on the grimy floor tiles. Viktor wet two washrags and pressed one on my arm and the other on my throat.
I didn’t flinch. “You need stitches, son. That sai got you good in places.”
“Then do it,” I said numbly.
I’d never ever felt this … this … ache before. This pain … this guilt? Was it guilt? I’d always blocked out the kills. Those men I’d faced were just animals for the slaughter, and I was the man that brought death. There was no over thinking. Just instinct and duty to the Gulag carrying me forward.
But this time … I felt everything: remorse, shame, devastation … I felt like death. I felt dead inside too.
“Where are you living, son?” Viktor asked as he pulled out a needle and thread from the metal cabinet above the basin. He began to patch up my arm. I didn’t feel the needle piercing my skin. Didn’t feel the thread pulling together my spilt flesh.
“At the gym.”
Viktor paused and shook his head. “Damn, son. Just … damn.”
After my cut was stitched, Viktor forced me to shower and took me back to the gym. When he’d gone, I closed my eyes as I lay on my thin mat. All I could see was blood, blood everywhere. And 362 staring up at me as life drained from his eyes.
I’d never felt remorse, regret, but right now, I was drowning in it.