“Why are we wasting time with all this shit?” he snarled, pointing at the maps we’d had constructed of the Blood Pit based on his memory. I never took my eyes off him. The map lay in the center of the table, our notes scattered around the edges of the wooden top. Our intel regarding Arziani’s pit was gradually building day by day.
“We sit here, like fucking fearful morons, as that prick sits on his throne, doing fuck knows what to my sister,” he roared, then stopped dead in his tracks. His fists shook so much that his entire body seemed to convulse.
As calmly as possible, I leaned back in my chair at the head of the table and said, “Arziani is the biggest threat we’ve ever faced.” I pointed to Zaal, then to myself, and finally to Valentin. “I’m not just talking about within the Bratva or the Georgian brotherhood. I’m talking about us three, too: in the gulag, under Jakhua, and with that bitch, Mistress Arziani. The Blood Pit is like nothing we’ve ever experienced.”
Valentin’s hot glare locked on me. He slapped his fist on his broad chest. “I know this more than any of you. I was raised in that hell. I spent day after day in those pits, until I was chosen as an Ubiytsa. Do not lecture me on what I had to endure.”
I chased back the annoyance of his disrespect. “Then I don’t need to explain why detailed planning is essential, why we need to know exactly what we’ll be facing. Above all, we need to find a way in. The Blood Pit is underground, heavily fortified, and manned by many, many guards. It’s impossible, unless we can identify a secure way in—unseen.” Valentin remained motionless while I talked. Leaning forward, I rested my elbows on the table and asserted, “We are heavily outnumbered. Besides us three, the males under our command are soldiers of the street. They fight with guns. They have no idea how to overcome an organization such as this, how to fight male prisoners like us. Even if we made it into the pit, the guards are too many. Even if we overcame the guards, the conditioned male fighters would surely tear them apart. And we would all die. Each of us is unbeatable in a death match, but even we cannot defeat hundreds of enslaved fighters and Ubiytsy.”
For a second I thought that I had gotten through to Valentin. But suddenly a pained roar burst from his throat, and he struck out at the mirror hanging on the wall. The sound of shattering glass echoed around the room. But Valentin didn’t stop there. Lost in his rage, he swept his arm along the mantelpiece, destroying Kisa’s ornaments.
Zaal looked to me in concern, but I slowly shook my head. Valentin was fresh from his long imprisonment. Worse, his sister was under the control of that sadistic bastard Arziani. The deep fear of this was steadily eroding any peace he could find, day by day, hour by hour, minute by minute.
When Valentin’s gaze snapped to us, I could see that he had been overwhelmed by the monster that lived within. I nodded my head. Zaal shifted on his seat, ready to fight. But there was only one person that could quell his rage. She brought with her the same calm each of us had found latterly in this dark hell of a life. She brought water to the fire, the balm to our conditioned rage.
“Zoya!” Zaal bellowed, never taking his eyes off Valentin, who was bracing to fight.
Light footsteps padded on the wooden floorboards of the hallway. In seconds there was a light knock on the door. “Enter!” I called. The doorknob turned.
Zoya Kostava entered, long black hair hanging to her back. She was dressed in black jeans and a sweater. Without any need for explanation, Zoya’s dark gaze zeroed in on an increasingly agitated Valentin. Zaal pushed back his chair, readying to protect his sister. But she gestured for him to stop. As she looked to her brother, she shook her head. Zaal stilled, though he remained primed to strike if needed. As was I.
Zoya stepped forward. As she did so, Valentin’s lost eyes slammed to greet her. She walked forward, no fear in her stride. Valentin’s muscled shoulders relaxed in response. His scarred face melted to one of deep sorrow.
“Valentin,” Zoya murmured softly, as she approached her male. Valentin reached out and drew her in to press against his chest. I watched as his eyes squeezed shut and he breathed in her scent.
Zoya’s hands lifted to run over his head. “You’re okay,” she murmured in Russian, speaking Valentin’s native language to help calm the savage beast within.
I could see the tension leave Valentin the second Zoya was in his arms. I glanced to Zaal, who was watching the scarred Russian like a hawk. Zaal had slowly, but steadily, grown to accept Valentin over these past few weeks. Worryingly, Valentin’s mood was unstable. A whole lot more unstable than either Zaal or I had been when freed from captivity. We knew that most of this stemmed from a desperate need to save his sister, Inessa. The rest was due to his many years as a slave killer for the Arzianis. Valentin wasn’t adjusting to the outside world as well as we had hoped. His conditioning to kill, only to kill, ran far too deep to undo quickly. But it was his anger that troubled us most. We all had anger. We all had to tamp down its burning heat. To be “normal” in this world was a challenge every unforgiving second, round the clock. But for Valentin, it was much worse. Only Zoya could tame his anger.
“You’re okay,” Zoya murmured gently. Rearing back, Valentin looked down at his female and sighed deeply. His hand cupped her face and he slowly nodded, an unspoken message of love traveling between them.
They stayed that way for several seconds, communicating silently. Then Zoya turned her head to me and asked, “Can we go home?” I could see the desperation in her torn expression. She needed to be alone with Valentin. She needed privacy to truly calm him.
I nodded. Zoya took Valentin’s hand in her own. Without another word, Zoya guided him from my office and out of the house.
As the front door closed, Zaal slumped back in his seat and pushed his long hair from his face. I sat back too, glaring at the blueprints of the Blood Pit, trying to figure out how the hell we could break in safely.