Finally, he held up his hand, balled his fist, and dropped his thumb downwards.
The crowd went insane, screaming and calling out, “Kill him! Kill him!” as the man looked around with a snarl fixed on his face. He was a monster of a man, with straining muscles that bulged as he squeezed even tighter.
The crowd reached a crescendo pitch, and the man stood up, dragging the other man with him. He tightened his hold, hooked his chin in the palm of his hand, and jerked hard.
I squeezed my eyes shut as I figured out what was about to happen. I couldn’t handle seeing it in person right in front of me, and I’m not embarrassed to admit it.
From the screams of frenzy that erupted all around me, I knew the deed was done. I opened my eyes, looked down, and felt a tear stream down my cheek. The unconscious man was lying on his back in the dirt. He was very visibly dead now, with his head lolling off at an unnatural crook, his eyes open, dead and staring.
The victor was triumphant, and Ilya was true to his word. Two men in guard uniforms approached the man in the pit with a black duffle bag. One of them held it while the other opened it to show bundles of money, the bonus he was promised.
He raised one of the stacks, kissed it, and smiled widely to expose a mouth full of missing and broken teeth. He saluted Ilya and followed the men in suits off the dirt fighting floor through a side door.
“That was fucking amazing,” Maksim said, motioning to the staff to gather the bodies in the ring. “Clean it up!”
Ilya sat back with great satisfaction, his money was won, and his blood lust was somewhat satiated, but still, there was more.
The crowd was served drinks and bits of food while the servants attended to the pit below. They came out in black robes, dragged the bodies to the side, and carefully raked the blood and viscera to the side, leaving a clean, smooth sand surface for the next fight.
Once the pit was cleaned, Ilya leaned over to look at me. His eyes were hooded and predatory, intense and terrifying.
“And now we make bets on these fighters,” he said with a dry chuckle. “You’re going to enjoy this next group.”
I felt a sinking in the pit of my stomach at his declaration. Nothing good was coming my way, and I could practically taste it in the air.
The first fighter walked out, a mountain of a man with a shaved head and a gold grill replacing his front teeth. He raised his hands and walked around, hyping the crowd up to a fever pitch once again.
“This is Sergei. I found him in a prison in Siberia,” Ilya told me. “He’s never lost a fight. He’s like a monster, that one. He’s the fighter who tore the face off the other man. Hooked his thumbs into the corner of his mouth and just pulled.”
I stared at Sergei and ignored Ilya. Ilya was thankfully too drunk on the wine that kept flowing or drunk on his own power, so he didn’t need my approval or attention to keep him fired up.
I watched as two more men came out, guards once more, one with a chain and the other with a roll of duct tape. I frowned and wondered what Ilya was up to, but Avery exclaimed, “Yes! Deathmatch, I love these. They always end quickly.”
Another door to the pit opened, and the crowd all craned to see who had come out. There was an excited hush around the pit as they all leaned over, hoping to find out the identity of Sergei’s next victim. I felt sick to my stomach with worry. There was a reason Ilya had called me here, he was making a point, and he wanted me to get it. It was a blunt tip, though, because as soon as I saw who was walking through, I thought I was going to pitch forward into the pit and join them.
My Kings limped through the open door, each one of them injured in some different way. And each one of them looking much thinner, haggard, and exhausted. They must have been tortured in the short time we’d been apart. They were all suffering the same way.
Ryker and Kingston were in the lead. Ryker propped Kingston up as they walked, Kingston was walking with a noticeable limp, and he was holding his arm awkwardly as if he’d injured his shoulder again. Ryker appeared to have it together a little better, but to my practiced eye, I could see the pain he was in. He’d grown up having to hide any weakness or accept the consequences of being beaten down, either by his father or his brothers or whatever foster family he was in at the time. He was tough, but I could see that he was hurting.
Behind them, Archer and Valen were walking slowly like two old men. They were stiff, and I could see dark bruises along their arms and their exposed chest, and each of them had a black eye. Archer also had a split lip that was swollen so much that he didn’t seem to be able to close it properly. I could imagine him mouthing off the guards and getting punished for it.
All of them were hurting, and it all felt like it was my fault. I was the one who fucked up Seymour’s quiz and then yelled at her. I was the one who ended up in jail and needed to be broken out. And I was the one who had led us here, had been the prey they baited this trap for in the first place.
And I was the one laying around in luxury upstairs with the madman who was going to be my husband if I wanted my Kings to live. I was the one who had cheated by not fighting back when he’d forced Avery to do that thing. I could have knocked the gun out of his hand, and I could have used my training and taken him down. I could have tried harder and not let it happen.
How could I ever face them again, knowing what had happened when they were being tortured? How could anything ever be the same if they found out about my horrible, incestuous act?
I gagged to myself even now, just thinking about it, and I felt so dirty it was like ants crawling under my skin.
“What are you doing to them?” I demanded as the guards forced my Kings to line up. “What’s happening?”
I tried to stand up, but Maksim squeezed his knees tight and kept me locked in place at his feet, trapped between his legs.
“We are going to let them choose their tribute,” Maksim said. The smug tone in his voice made me want to scream. “We have told them if one of them doesn’t fight Sergei, then we will start removing your fingers and making your men eat them, one by one.”
“You wouldn’t!” I exclaimed. “You can’t do that to me!”
Maksim leaned forward. He was in one of his worst moods, I could tell. Being around his father and feeling the pressure of needing to perform for the crowd did that to him. He would make things extra cruel if he could.