As if feeling my stare, 901 glanced up. Blue eyes met mine. But these were not kind blue eyes. They were cold and devoid of life. No warmth lived in that stare. No, all that glared up at me from this pit were the eyes of a killer. A brutal, and what appeared to be the most successful, killer under Master’s command.
Master squeezed my hand and announced, “901 is my prized champion. The undefeated ‘Pit Bull’ of the Arziani pits. No one can touch him. He’s infallible.” Master stopped abruptly, his jaw tensed. “Or so he tells me,” he added. I noted a hint of venom in his voice. Master dropped his head to the side as he stared at his champion, and he said, almost to himself, “But he has a weakness. I just need to find it.”
Then Master appeared to freeze. When I looked down into the pit, trying to fathom what held him so captivated, I once again found the cold, hard stare of 901. He was still looking at me.
My heart pounded under 901’s scrutiny. I ducked my head to the side, edging closer to Master. He did not make me feel much safer, but 901’s rawness and harsh attention seemed the greater threat to me right now.
Then Master glanced to me. His eyes watched me and his lips curled in anger. Before I could understand what had triggered his rage, he called, “901, come here.”
Master’s loud command caused me to flinch, and I almost whimpered aloud as his grip on my arm became unyielding, to the point of pain. I kept my eyes down but heard the heavy thud of footsteps crunching on sand, approaching our vantage point.
A fresh scent washed over me, then I saw two large bare feet stop in my line of sight. Master eventually slackened his grip on me to guide my head up with a finger under my chin. I obeyed this silent order and lifted my head. But Master wasn’t watching me. His attention was on the male standing a mere foot in front of us.
“901, this is my new High Mona, 152,” Master announced. My attention remained with Master, but then Master’s thumb and forefinger gripped my chin and forced my head to turn. Turn and meet the blue eyes of the champion of the pits.
If I had thought 901 huge before, it was nothing to how he appeared now, standing before me. His chest was double my width, and his height towered above me, my head in line with his chest. Every inch of him was ripped with muscles, wide veins cording in his arms and neck. Despite myself, I noticed his face, mostly how handsome he could be if his stare wasn’t so cruel. Master was beautiful, his dark features staggering and elite. But 901 was the epitome of rough and raw; every inch of skin was marred with the scars of cruel tattoos: blood drops, decapitated heads, and what looked like images of shreds of torn flesh.
My pulse raced as he held his stare. I felt a blush creep up my cheeks and sprout, clearly, on my skin. As Master’s grip tightened, I winced at the pain. “Petal, meet 901, the Pit Bull of my arena.” Master leaned closer to 901 without letting me go, then added with obvious disdain, “My most successful pet.”
My eyes, of their own accord, examined 901’s face for a reaction. None was forthcoming, save for the slightest creases that formed at the corners of his severe eyes. And then I knew. I knew that being called Master’s pet had struck a nerve.
Master stepped closer to me, released my face, and leaned down to press a wet kiss on the side of my neck. 901 remained stoic, unmoving and completely unshaken. “What do you think, 901?” Master asked, as he pressed against me, his lips still grazing my skin. “Don’t you think my mona is simply the most beautiful creature ever created?”
Master then kissed up along my cheek. I breathed through the discomfort his touch brought.
Realizing 901 wouldn’t react, Master withdrew his hand and flicked his chin. “Get back to training. You have a match this weekend.” He leaned in closer to his fighter and added, “Remember what I said. We have high rollers attending that night. I want them to return.”
901 said nothing. Eventually Master flicked his wrist and 901 marched away. He reentered the pit, picked up two short-bladed weapons, one in each hand, and commenced sparring. Master guided me to leave by his hand upon my elbow. As he did so, I glanced back to the pit, where a now familiar face was looking my way, his hard blue stare penetrating mine.
As Master guided us around the pits, it took all that I could muster not to look back to the champion’s training area. To the large beast that dominated its domain.
The male with the cruel eyes.
The infallible killer.
The Pit Bull of the Arziani empire.
Master’s living god among men.
3
LUKA
Brooklyn, New York
“So are we talking thousands or hundreds?” I asked Valentin.
He, Zaal, and I were stationed around the table in my house.
Valentin’s eyes narrowed in thought. I watched the newest member of our Bratva as he straightened in his seat.
Cracking his wide neck from side to side, he replied, “Hundreds, one or two depending if there is a match. Master Arziani brings in more of his males if his associates come in. They fly to the pit from all over the world, many traveling days to get there.” Valentin’s fists clenched on the tabletop, large muscles bunching under his black shirt.
The veins in his forearms corded with the anger ripping through him. I glanced to Zaal, who studied his new brother-in-law. Zaal briefly met my eyes before leaning forward and saying to Valentin, “Be calm. Breathe through it.”
Valentin’s nostrils flared. I could see that Zaal’s words were having no effect on him whatsoever. Instead, Valentin rose from the table and began to pace back and forth in front of the fireplace. He was panting with rage. Given his sheer size and scarred face, and the permanent raised red scar collaring his neck, Valentin appeared every inch the monster he was renowned to be.