“Talia,” the female opposite whispered as though she was shocked, attracting my attention. She smiled sadly at her friend and then smiled across at me. But I watched the male. I watched his unmoving expression.
“Luka,” Talia said, her voice suddenly seeming more powerful than before, “I asked you to come here today because Zaal has started having dreams, flashes of people and pictures he can’t explain. He wants to know why you freed him from Jakhua. He wants to know where he’s from. He wants to know who he is.” Talia’s voice never wavered, and she added, “I know some, but not much. I thought this would be best coming from you. That’s why I called you here today. It wasn’t for any other reason.”
Her steely gaze lay upon her brother, and I felt my chest swell with pride that she was by my side. “I didn’t want to get anything wrong. It’s important he hears it correctly. The whole truth, from someone who was there for part of it.”
My hot blood pumped in my veins as I listened to Talia speak, then it froze to ice, my lungs squeezing all air from my chest.
… he wants to know why you freed him from Jakhua. He wants to know where he’s from. He wants to know who he is.…
Talia’s brother rose from his seat. He walked toward us. Talia squeezed my hand so tightly that, for a moment, I thought she might fear her brother. Rage spiked in my blood at the thought of him taking her from me. I jumped to my feet.
I was taller than her brother.
Bigger.
I had size, but there was no fear in his eyes as he fixed his attention on me. My muscles tensed as he approached. One thought controlled me: protect Talia.
“Get back,” I snarled as he approached.
But he didn’t. He just kept coming. I braced on my feet and ignored Talia’s nervous breathing behind me. My head lowered in anticipation of the strike. Suddenly, staring me right in the eyes, the man ripped off his shirt, threw it to the ground, and halted only feet away.
My body couldn’t move, too overcome by the picture before me.
818. His chest read 818. His tattoo, his identity ink, just like mine.
The man lifted his hand and traced his number with his finger. “I am like you,” he said roughly. He took a step closer. “I was taken from my family as a child and forced into a gulag. I was made to fight against my will. Pumped full of drugs until I felt nothing but rage. Injected with more drugs to forget my home, my family. I lived only to kill. I was trained to maim, to slaughter, to annihilate. I was Raze, a champion death-match fighter. I was 818. I was death.”
I swayed on my feet. Never had I met anyone like me. Never had I met another with this tattoo who wasn’t a slave girl.
A shot of pain pierced my head and my hands gripped the side of my skull. A number pushed through to my mind, but I could not make out what it was 2 … 3 … 6 … no, it was scrambled, it was—
“Shh…,” Talia soothed, her hand running up my chest. I cracked open one eye and flinched at the bright light of the sun.
I wrapped Talia in my arms, gaining strength from her touch. I looked over her head at the man, at 818, and asked, “A gulag? I do not know what that is.”
Darkness swept over his face. “It is an underground prison. We were kept in cells, like you. Chained up, like you. We were forced to learn how to fight to the death, like you. The only way to survive was to win our matches. I won all mine. And I survived. I got free.”
The male swallowed as he said this. Something made him step back. I pressed my hand on my chest. “I am free now?”