But my drive kept strong. When my eyes met his, I could see he was livid. I rolled him on his back and plowed my head against his, but as soon as our heads connected, he flipped me onto my back and smashed the back of my head into the ground.
Finally, a guard’s whistle blew and hands were tearing us apart. I tried to fight off whoever grabbed me, craving this fight, needing to show them she was mine, but the arms were too strong.
667 and 140 wrenched me back, caging my arms. When I looked to the two new champions, they were pulling their leader back. His brown eyes were locked on mine, and his face was filled with fury.
“Impressive,” Master’s voice called out from above, as he clapped slowly. My gaze shot to his. He was grinning in excitement as he watched us brawl. His eyes narrowed on mine. “901, it seems we may have found a fighter to rival you, after all.” He then looked to the new champions and added, “Or maybe all three could.” When he faced me again, he said, “You may be the champion here in the pit, but that may be a limited title.”
My eyes next found 152, who was watching me, tears filling her eyes. My stomach turned on seeing her look so upset. She appeared in distress. Her hand lifted toward her forehead, but she quickly dropped it back to her side. Her skin was still pale. She broke her gaze from mine and looked to the scarred male. She shook her head, then turned away.
Master picked up 152’s hand to link her arm back through his own. She went with him, and it took all I had not to run after her and ask her why she stared at the new male so much.
A guard appeared at my back and pushed me with the nose of his gun. I reached down and picked up my Kindjals. I headed for the tunnel, followed by 667 and 140. 140 pulled me around by my arm. “Don’t do anything to fuck up your chances in the pits. You make it to the final, you get to take those fuckers down.”
I wrenched my arm back, then pounded to my cell. I sat on my bed for hours, until the guards arrived to tell us we could watch the opening fights from the observation cage. I left my cell. 140 and 667 walked beside me. I entered the cell that gave us a clear view of the pit. As I looked to the stands, every seat was full and money was changing hands. My lips curled in disgust.
“Cocksuckers, every one of them,” 140 hissed from beside me, as the other fighters moved aside to let us to the front. 140 rested his hands on the bars, and we watched as Master moved to sit on his seat, guiding 152 to sit on the floor in front of him.
My pulse raced at how beautiful she looked. Her hair was up on her head, and long curled tendrils hung to the sides of her face. She was dressed in a shouldered white dress, and long earrings draped from her ears. I couldn’t move my eyes from her as she sat looking sad and uncomfortable at Master’s feet.
She shouldn’t be here.
This shouldn’t be her life.
Low mutters came from behind us. When I turned around, the three new champions were cutting through the weaker fighters. My back bristled when they came to stand beside us. 667 and 140 closed in on me. They didn’t need to. I had heard the scarred male just fine. He was right. I would destroy him in the pit.
I focused back on the arena in front of me. This was my domain. They would be the ones to fall.
Master stood to signal the guard for the match to begin. Two males ran out, their weapons held in front of them—a sword and a spear. It was a slow match, neither male gaining the upper hand. Eventually the male with the spear caught a perfect shot to the other’s heart. The mortally wounded male immediately fell to the sand.
I would have slaughtered both in seconds.
The remainder of the fights passed in a similar way. With every match, I was convinced that I would get to the final. As I glanced across to the three new males, I thought that most, if not all of them, would make it, too. A strange regretful feeling spread inside when I thought of the fact that 667 and 140 would not make it there.
Talking to them over the past several weeks had not been bad. In fact, I found myself liking talking to the warriors. They understood this life. They understood what 152 meant to me.
With that thought, my attention drifted to where she sat. She wasn’t watching the match. Her eyes were downcast, her thoughts elsewhere. I frowned, seeing the confused expression on her face. I wanted to ask her what was wrong. I wanted to press my lips to hers and make her smile.
152 suddenly flinched. I immediately knew why, when Master pressed his hand to the back of her neck. He wore a severe look on his face as another fight passed without much excitement. He was hurting her. He was pissed that his fighters were not making their kills exciting.
152 was bearing the brunt of his anger.
A low curse came from my side. When I looked across the caged cell, the scarred Russian was watching Master holding 152 with obvious fury in his eyes. Unable to stand here and watch it, stand next to this ugly fucker gawking at my female, I turned and headed back to my cell.
When I arrived, I sat on my bed and waited. I waited and waited for 152 to come to me. But as the night dragged on, and the guards didn’t arrive, I frowned. Footsteps sounded from outside, and I stood waiting for her to enter. But she didn’t. Master stood in the hallway.
Alone.
“Champions,” he called. We all walked to our cell doors. I saw 667 and 140 glaring. He met each of our eyes and said, “Tomorrow you will face fighters that are no match to you. But as my champions, I expect you to give my crowd what they want.”
“Where’s my mona?” 667 asked.
Master looked to his face. “She won’t be joining you tonight.” He next looked to me, and I noted the victory in his expression. “None of them will.”