Master’s anger didn’t show; instead a wide smile spread on his lips and he assured, “I promise you this was an even match. But I take your point, 901 is a highly exceptional fighter.” He paused, then his livid gaze fell on me. “Perhaps even the best fighter my empire boasts.” His head tipped to the side. The anger that lay in his eyes gradually faded.
His hand dropped to his side. As my eyes followed the action, he ran his hands through the High Mona’s dark hair. The mona stiffened as he did so, and I had to work hard to restrain a sudden urge to rip his arm off.
I felt my teeth grind together of their own accord. Before I showed my anger toward Master, I masked my expression. But as I refocused on him, I caught him watching me closely, very closely. My stomach sank as his lips hooked into a brief smirk. Then, as if nothing had transpired between us, he held out his hands to the crowd and announced, “To show that my pit isn’t rigged, I shall stage a death-match tournament, the likes of which you have never seen before. It will be the greatest of challenges, pitting together my empire’s skilled and most ruthless killers. No rules, no restrictions—any weapon of choice, but no guns, of course.” The crowd cheered Master’s turn of phrase. “Any man can fight.” Master nodded in excitement and looked directly at me. He continued, “Then we shall truly see who is the best death-match warrior of all. We shall call on the champions from each of the gulags”—he turned to the male who had complained and added—“and my associates, that would be you, are free to enter whomever they wish.”
The male whose fighter I had just slain didn’t react, save to curtly nod his head. “Deal,” he replied, then flicked his wrist for his entourage to follow him out of the stands surrounding the pit.
Master reached down and took hold of the mona’s arm. He pulled her to her feet, and without dismissing me as protocol demanded, he moved in for a kiss. The mona submitted, as did they all. But as I watched Master’s eyes open and stare at me without breaking from her mouth, scalding fire traveled through my already twitching muscles.
When he pulled back, he dragged the mona away from the stands, flicking his wrist my way, my signal to leave the pit. Turning on my heel, I jogged to the tunnel and ran all the way to my cell. Just as I was about to reach the door, Master walked through a side door to meet me. Alone. He stopped directly in front of me.
He glared. I could see his intense hatred of me in every tense muscle under his suit. I stood fully upright, glaring right back at him, very obviously standing my ground. His jaw clenched. “You disobeyed a direct order,” he hissed coldly.
I didn’t flinch. I didn’t react. I didn’t do shit.
He stepped closer. “You have fucked me over for the very last time, 901. I have needed you these past few years, and you’ve known it. You wouldn’t dare act this way if you didn’t know. You are unrivaled here in the Blood Pit, that’s beyond question. And now you have forced my hand with this fucking Ultimate Death Match.” Then he smiled, his head tipping to the side. “But now that I’ve calmed down, the more I think about it, the more it feels … right.” He paused, then shrugged. “Think of all the gulag champions, brought to Georgia, fighting in my Blood Pit. Think of the money that will be made from them ripping one another apart.”
His eyes flared and he inched closer. His warm breath washed over me, then he added, “Among the gulag champions, or my business associate’s own fighters, there may be one that can defeat you.” His cheek twitched. “Imagine that? Imagine finding a diamond in the rough, one that is stronger than you, quicker than you, more skilled.” He stepped even closer. “One that is obedient, bends to my will. Not one that is ungrateful and rebellious.” My anger boiled. Ungrateful.
As if reading my mind, he held out his arms and said, “I’ve made you into what you are: a fighter no one can match. I’ve given you this life, a warrior for the modern age. In this place, to the spectators I bring in, you are a champion.” He paused, then added, “You are a god.” He dropped his arms, his face switching back to a livid expression. “I gave you it. And this is how you repay me?”
I bit my tongue, forcing myself not to snarl that I bore no gratitude whatsoever to my master for condemning me to this hellish life. That I bore no gratitude for being drugged and forced to fight as a kid. That I bore no fucking gratitude to the male who had bestowed on me a life of solitude, where having feelings toward someone else made you weak.
No gratitude, only red-hot hatred.
So I welcomed this tournament. Maybe Master would bring me a fighter to finally end this life for me, save me from being Master’s pet. But I wouldn’t go easily, and that was his problem. My honor was all I had left, the only thing he could take away. I had fought and killed hundreds upon hundreds of opponents—so many I had lost count. But not once had any of them come close to ending me.
Master stepped back at my silence and laughed. “You think you can beat them all, 901? Is that why you disobey my every order, because you don’t fear death? You really believe you’re unbeatable.”
My hands tightened on the handles of my Kindjals. Master noticed and another laugh burst from his lips. “You do. You really believe you can’t be beaten, do you?”
I lowered my eyes to focus on the ground. When Master didn’t speak, I raised them. I detected something in his gaze. Inhaling, he folded his arms and declared, “Then you’ve just raised the stakes.”
I fought a frown at what he meant. But Master didn’t say anything else. Instead he clicked his fingers at a nearby guard. My cell door was opened and I was locked inside.
I watched Master turn on his heel and leave the champions’ quarter with a sadistic smile on his face. As much as I tried, I couldn’t help but wonder what that smile had in store for me.
*