A shroud of silence descended around us. Valentin was the first to step forward and speak. “I’m going in. That asshole made me this … this thing I am today. And he has my sister. I’m going in. And I won’t die. I won’t die until his heart stops.”
I nodded, then looked to Zaal. Arms crossed over his chest, he confided, “I don’t want to fight again. I want my life to be with my Talia. But…” He sighed and I saw his inner demons shine through. “But Anri and I were tested upon there. Made to fight in the childhood pits.” He shook his head. “Until Arziani and this Blood Pit are destroyed, we’ll never be truly free, will we? Everything each of us has been through stemmed from this enterprise.” Zaal looked to my father and Kirill. “Arziani is bigger than even the Volkov Bratva. If we are to keep our standing here, if we are to give our females good lives, safe lives, we have to stop this male now. Before he comes for us. Let’s take the fight to him.” Zaal’s face clouded with the need to kill, and he concluded, “before he comes for us.”
Every word Zaal said hit my heart. I turned to Viktor. “When is the tournament?”
“Four weeks,” he replied, “It lasts four days. Two-man matches until four fighters reach the final. No man will be paired with a gulag-mate unless they meet in the final. Then it’s a four-man battle for the championship. Winner gets his freedom. Arziani’s tournament prize is freedom.” I raised my eyebrow at that. Freedom for males captured and forced to fight would make them fight that much harder. It would make them that much more difficult to beat.
“We all need to make it into the final battle,” I said, and looked to Valentin and Zaal. They both nodded. “We can use the next few weeks to understand the pit and plan how to attack.” I looked back to Viktor and said, “Contact your male. We need to be sure we have them as our allies, then use their influence when we’re in there with those not committed to Arziani and his cause. Promise them whatever they want. Money, a life here in New York, anything, just get us into the Blood Pit. We’ll take it from there.”
Viktor nodded and rushed out the Dungeon’s door. Zaal and Valentin came to stand beside me. Zaal laid his hand on my shoulder. When I met his eyes, he nodded his head, no words were necessary. I could see the conflict haunting his eyes—as much as I could feel my own.
We were different males now. Had different lives. Yet at the same time, until Arziani—the puppet master of our personal hells—was dead, we would always be the same captured males we had been for most of our lives. We would be forever imprisoned by our pasts. We would never truly move on.
Addressing Valentin, I said, “We need to use the four weeks to train you.” I then spoke to Zaal. “We need to train ourselves again, too. Ask Viktor to get us ready. We have no choice but to come back to our females. To do that we need to defeat every fighter that gets in our way. It’s the only way we can go—we go to win.”
Zaal held out his hand and I shook it. Valentin did the same. As we looked to one another, a surge of excitement welled up in my heart. In four weeks’ time, for four days, I would once again be Raze.
I had missed being Raze. I had missed and craved the blood I would shed. For two weeks, I could be the gulag champion again; then I would forever leave him in the past.
Turning on my heel, I jumped from the cage, and my father stepped in my path. Kirill fell in behind him, a look of serious concern on his face. But it was my papa to whom I gave my attention. The sad yet stubborn expression on his face was hard to ignore.
“I won’t allow it,” he said, and shook his head. “Your mama and Kisa won’t want this, Luka. What the hell are you thinking?”
Glancing down to the floor, I then looked back and said, “How many more kids are in gulags around the world? How many are stolen from group homes or the streets and being forced to fight?” I held on to my father’s arm and said, “How many papas are searching for their lost sons? Not knowing, never believing they could be under the control of some fucked-up psychopath who has a delusion of being a sadistic Caesar from ancient Rome?” My father paled, but I kept going. “It’s not over, Papa. Even though I’ve been back here in New York with you, Kirill, Mama, Talia, and Kisa, I’ve never been fully present.”
I searched for a way to make him understand. Kisa’s face filled my mind’s eye. I pictured my hand on her stomach, which punctured a hole in my heart when our baby had kicked. Pushing the lump from my throat, I said, “Kisa is due to have our baby soon. I can’t live in a world with my child while being haunted by the past. To be the father I want to be, the father you are, I need to end this once and for all. The Arziani empire must fall. And I must be the one to do it.” This time I looked to Kirill and said, “To be the Pakhan of our Bratva, I have to rid myself of all the pain I still carry with me. Arziani is the root of all of this evil. He’s the snake. And I’m going to rip off his fucking head.”
“Luka,” my papa rasped, and placed his hand on the nape of my neck. He brought my forehead to his and said, “I’m proud of you, son. But I cannot rest until you have taken this bastard down and returned home safe. For good this time.”
“Thank you,” I hushed back. Lifting my head, I met his worried gaze and said, “I’m Raze. I’m the champion. I don’t lose.” I thought of my beautiful wife and our child. I thought of Zaal and Talia, Valentin and Zoya, and I knew I wouldn’t fail. This was my family now. And we would all survive. We had to, there was no other choice.
Kirill walked around my father and kissed my head. He didn’t speak, but I didn’t need words to see the pride on his face. Kirill had been the Pakhan for decades. He knew that leaders sometimes had to sacrifice a part of themselves for the greater good. And killing Arziani was for the greater good.
I had four weeks to recall and embrace the savage killer I had pushed down deep.