London Miller3.6 What Once Was - (Volkov Bratva novella

VALON: WHAT ONCE WAS London Miller

Valon: What Once Was Copyright © 2015 London Miller All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, distributed, stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, without

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express permission from the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes. This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person, living or dead, or any events or occurrences, is purely coincidental. Cover Image Copyright © CDPiC Used under license from dollarphotoclub.com

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Other titles by London Miller

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Volkov Bratva Series In the Beginning Until the End The Final Hour Time Stood Still Hidden Monsters (Out August 17, 2015)

H, Because you saw me through my own darkness.

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Author’s Note _________________

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Valon, or if you are familiar with my past works, you may know him as Luka, is not an easy person to understand. I had never intended to actually explore his story when he made his first appearance in Until the End. I loved him, yes, just as much as I loved Mishca and Lauren and Alex. It wasn’t until The Final Hour when he went to the bar and the subsequent events that followed, did I even begin to delve into who Luka really was. How could someone who seemed to care so deeply, be capable of what he did daily as an enforcer for the Bratva? That was the first question I asked myself when I made the decision to start from the beginning and see where it took me.

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Through the journey, I found myself questioning whether or not this was too much, whether it would be hard for any reader to truly understand the gravity in which Luka had suffered. Even I was a bit afraid to delve into the true horrors that my happy-go-lucky Luka had gone through… But to understand who he is now, I thought it was important to see it through his eyes. Not only did I acquire a better understanding of someone I thought I knew pretty well (hell, I’m the author), I now know that writing this, purging it from my system was worth every moment that I doubted myself and the pain I felt with each word. There are going to be moments in this story that will be uncomfortable, that will probably make you want to hit something,

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but if you make it to the end, it will be worth it. Trust me.

LM

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All changes, even the most longed for, have their melancholy;

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For what we leave behind us is a part of ourselves. We must die in one life before we can enter another. -Anatole France

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1 ______ Racing through the sloping and broken cobblestone streets, Valon Ahmeti felt the cold air whipping through his curling blond hair, his bag slapping against the back of his legs as he sprinted. Not far behind him was another boy, Fatos, one year younger, who tried his hardest to catch up, but with his much shorter legs, it was a losing battle.

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By the time they reached the corner—in which Valon would turn left and his companion would continue forward to his own home down the road—both were out of breath. Despite the two being the best of friends, Valon couldn’t help but feel a small thrill at his victory. Fatos, understandably, didn’t look as happy, his already reddened cheeks darkening further as he kicked a pebble out onto the street, the small stone skipping a few paces before settling. It wouldn’t be the first—or last—time he had come second to Valon. Even at the young age of eleven, Valon knew all too well what disappointment felt like, and while he could have gloated as many children did when they won at

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something, he opted to cheer his friend up instead. “You were close.” Fatos nodded, but he didn’t seem to take Valon’s words to heart. “But close is still not a victory.” Shifting his bag to his opposite shoulder, Valon silently pondered those words, knowing without asking where they had originated. They both had their own battles, he knew, since Valon was not the only one who spawned from royalty within The Organization. The only difference was that Fatos’ father, Bastian, was still a welcome name in those circles. Not knowing what else to say, Valon clapped him on the shoulder. “I will see you Monday.”

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With a wave of his hand, Valon headed off. He glanced back when he was a short distance away and saw Fatos still standing there, looking dejected, before he too continued on his way. Turning back, Valon’s eyes roamed over the sky, taking in the fading hues of twilight as the large apartment building he walked toward loomed ahead. Already, he could smell the heavenly aroma of pastries drifting from the one open window on the third floor. The decadent aroma made his stomach pinch with hunger. Since he and his mother were poor, and he often went without eating—sometimes for days at a time—Valon often looked forward to Fridays when he knew old lady Baton

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baked her custards and pies, always saving some for him once he returned from school. Truthfully, she was the only friend he and his mother had in the building, if only because the others thought themselves better though they too lived in squalor. With paperthin walls between the apartments, Valon often overheard the whispers and the names they called his mother, and just as often, though it did not have the same effect, the names they called him. Whore. Bastard. At one time, no one would have ever thought to speak so disrespectfully of Valon because of who his father was, but it was no secret that Ahmeti—as most referred to

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him—no longer had the respect of The Organization, let alone the community. Several years ago, before Valon was born, Ahmeti had the prestige he had always worked for with a crew of his own, but while he was reluctant to admit it, there were a number of mistakes on his part that contributed to his downfall. The first of which was his affair with Valon’s mother, Galina, a young Russian woman Ahmeti had met during his travels out of the country. ‘Met’ was a rather polite term when the truth was that Ahmeti had bought her time, and like many arrogant men before him, thought it was a good idea to bring his mistress back to his home country. Valon knew nothing about Ahmeti’s former wife, only that she was no longer around.

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No sooner had Ahmeti brought Galina to Albania that his fortunes began to dwindle. Law enforcement picked him up for one of his many crimes, but unlike the other times, he wasn’t able to skate by on a technicality nor were the police bullied into releasing him. The evidence had been overwhelming, and as a result, Ahmeti had spent ten years in prison, leaving Galina to care for herself and their unborn child. Ahmeti had always prided himself on being a good soldier, never revealing his secrets to those who meant them harm. So after serving his sentence, he expected to be accepted with open arms by the same men who watched him go away, but as the years passed, power shifted, and those who he had once considered his allies were no longer at

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the top of the chain. A group of men who were far less disciplined and cared not for the incarcerated men who could no longer serve a purpose were taking over. Arrogance was the downfall of man, and that could definitely be said of Ahmeti. He could not bring himself to beg, would never lower himself to that position, so he resigned himself to a life of solitude with his mistress and a son he did not know. Rumors spread of this quickly enough, and by the time they got back to Ahmeti, the truth of the situation had been warped to something that made him feel like less than a man. Since there was no way for him to retaliate against them, he sought out a bottle instead. And with the alcohol came the anger, anger in which he aimed at Galina, blaming

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her for his troubles. He did not shy away from using his fists to make his point, sometimes brandishing the small pistol that he still owned, a token of the past he still clung to. If Valon had the misfortune of crossing his path while he was in the throes of his anger, then he suffered under the onslaught as well, though his mother did her best to shield him. Valon was quite small for his age, a fact that Ahmeti constantly reminded him of, and he didn’t have to be told this to know how weak he was. He wished he could protect his mother as she protected him, but when he tried, he was batted away like a pest, making him feel all the more ashamed of what he couldn’t do.

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To say the least, the last year of his life had been filled with agony, and most days Valon wished he and his mother could steal away into the night. But he knew that without the resources, that day would never come. Resigning himself to another night of hell, Valon headed upstairs, stopping by old lady Baton’s apartment first to speak, accepting the pastry she shoved into his hands as she complained about how thin he was. When he reached his own home, fully expecting Ahmeti’s booming voice to echo into the hall—as it did many days and nights—he was surprised to find it quiet. Walking inside, he found his mother scrubbing dishes in the kitchen, singing an old Russian song she was fond of. Since the

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time he was a child, she had taught him her native tongue, always the patient one as he stumbled over words and meanings. Now, he was as fluent in Russian as he was in Albanian, a fact that made her proud. Hearing him enter, she turned with a ready smile, her blond hair pulled into a bun at the nape of her neck. She wiped her damp hands on the front of her apron, coming to him with open arms. While she might have been smiling, even Valon could see something was off in her eyes. “You’re home early, then,” she said in smooth Russian, never speaking in anything else unless Ahmeti was around—when she spoke it, it only set him off. “Yes.”

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He hugged her tightly, inhaling the familiar scent of her skin. What Valon lacked in strength, he made up for in height, as he was nearly as tall as she was. “Come,” she said turning him toward her bedroom, taking his bag along the way and setting it on the couch as they went. In the room, she set him down at her vanity, a place that was a comfort to her. Despite her less than ideal life, and even the one she had left behind, Galina was rather fond of her various makeups, not to mention the vintage pair of hair combs that she’d managed to hold onto after all these years. Valon could not be sure what they were worth—though he assumed they were worth a lot. He doubted the monetary value was

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more than how much his mother cherished them. Picking up one of her brushes, she smiled at him through the mirror, slowly moving the bristles through his hair gently, as though she were afraid she might hurt him. Though he normally only washed his hair and let it fall how it wanted—never putting forth much effort when it came to it—Galina always enjoyed brushing out his hair, humming softly as she did it. Most days it made him feel like a boy, oftentimes reminding him of the hateful words Ahmeti spewed at him whenever he was around. But for his mother, he would endure her ministrations, if only because she took such great joy in it.

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“My sweet boy,” she murmured, using her fingers to sift through his hair once the brush passed. “I wish great things for you. One day you will not know this life of pain. You will have everything you ever want, I promise.” Valon didn’t like the defeated sound of Galina’s voice and only wanted to cheer her up. “I will buy you a house one day, nënë, when I am not so small.” She laughed, the usual light and airy sound seeming more forced. “Not for me, but for the girl you give your heart to.” She crouched to his level, turning him around so that he was facing her. “And as you are honest with me, always be honest with her, yes? Show her the real you even if you hide from everyone else.”

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“Nënë, what bothers you?” He knew, without her having to say, that something was wrong. She was speaking of a future as though she would not be in it with him. He did not intend to leave her with Ahmeti, not if he could help it. “I love you, Valon, my precious boy. No matter what your father says, you were the best thing to ever happen to me.” Valon didn’t respond. He just watched Galina as she climbed back to her feet, smoothing out the front of her apron. Years had passed, he thought, since the last time he’d returned that sentiment, always finding it too soft for him to acknowledge his emotions, something that Ahmeti always told him was important.

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‘Never reveal your hand,’ he would say during one of his short bouts of lucidity, ‘lest someone cuts it off.’ With Galina back in the kitchen, Valon retrieved his book bag, reaching inside for a comic book that he’d been able to buy from a vendor on his way home from school many years ago. Before Ahmeti came back into their lives and used every spare cent to buy booze. It was American, the words written in foreign letters that his mother had told him was English. She’d translated as best she could, and what she couldn’t, Valon had made up. Valon was so absorbed with the pictures, imagining a life outside of his own personal Asgardian hell, that he hadn’t heard

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Ahmeti’s return. At least, not until he heard plates smashing in the kitchen. Galina had always told him to stay in his room if he ever heard them arguing, always wanting to protect him, but there was something different about this time. He could tell from the steely calmness in his father’s voice as he spoke to her. Though she wouldn’t like it, Valon cracked open his bedroom door, peering through the slight space to the kitchen where he could just make out his father, his back turned in his direction. He was drunk, that much was clear from the way he swayed, but when he moved, Valon could see his mother on the floor, surrounded by the broken shards of plates, her hands up as though to ward off blows.

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Except… this time she feared the small silver pistol that his father had aimed at her, not his fists. Valon hadn’t seen him with that gun in a while, and just like then, he refused to stand idly by. Valon swung the door open, preparing to run to his mother’s side to protect her when he saw Ahmeti’s hand tighten around the gun, his arm no longer shaking. “Look!” He shouted down at her, his voice rising. “Look what you made me do!” In slow, excruciating seconds, Valon watched helplessly as his father squeezed the trigger, a bullet speeding from the chamber. It hit Galina in the chest and blood instantly spilled from the wound.

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With blood rushing in his ears, Valon did not register that he was screaming, his feet bringing him closer to the chaos before him. Ahmeti turned, glaring down at him with hate in his cold black eyes as he once again raised the gun. Valon was ready for it, had anticipated the day that his father would kill him. He had longed for it, knowing that it would be a mercy to finally be away from him. But even now, with rage in his heart, Ahmeti would not give even that peace to Valon. Ahmeti, eyes bloodshot, stared him down as he turned the gun on himself and said, “I’ll see you in hell.”

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With the barrel tucked beneath his chin, Ahmeti once again pulled the trigger, sending this new bullet up through the bottom of his jaw. It exploded out the top of his skull, brain matter splattering the walls, some chunks hanging. He crumpled to the ground and didn’t move again. Valon was too shell-shocked to move, to do anything at all besides stare at his father’s dead body. He watched the blood seep into the carpet and drift over the old hardwood floors. He stood frozen there until he heard the slightest of noises, then his eyes cut to the side, seeing his mother fighting to live. The spell of death broken, Valon rushed to her side, kneeling in her blood as he tried to cover the wound on her chest as

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he had seen people do on television. He wanted to push the blood back inside of her, knowing that she needed it to live, but she grabbed hold of his hands, squeezing them with what little strength she had left. “Be free of this place, Luka,” she whispered, a river of blood spilling past her lips, painting them red. “Be free.” That was only a name she called him when they were alone, just the two of them. A special name she had always reserved for when she was telling him something important. “Nënë, I don’t know how to do that.” Her lips turned up at the corners as she reached up with one hand to cup his cheek. “You will.”

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Valon could not know then what he was witnessing, though the haunting scene was already plaguing his young mind. Galina’s hand fell away as her eyes lost their shine, her lips parting on a single gasp as she stopped moving entirely. He did not want to believe that she was dead, even as he continued to kneel by her side, his knees aching with the effort as he shook her gently. He called her name repeatedly, tears falling down his cheeks as he continued to try to rouse her. No, he did not want her to be dead because, in her last moments, he had never gotten to tell her that he loved her.

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2 ______ Hours passed, maybe an entire day, as Valon sat beside his mother, his arms wrapped around his knees as he stared out at nothing. He refused to look at the frozen, haunted look on her face. Despite the gunshots heard, in his neighborhood, it took the police a while to respond, if anyone had bothered to call. Valon knew, though he was

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fighting an internal war, that he would have to be gone by that time. No matter that he knew the truth of the dead bodies in his home, he would be treated cruelly, and would probably end up in one of the homes that were so prevalent in this part of the country. That, he felt, would be worse than anything the police could do to him. He didn’t have anywhere else he could go. There wasn’t anyone left in the Ahmeti family who had not moved away or been murdered, and Valon knew next to nothing about his mother’s family. But there was one place that he hadn’t yet considered while he sat there, and the longer he did, blood soaking into his jeans, the more he knew it was his only option.

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Climbing to his feet, stumbling a bit, Valon headed for the front door, but not before a sudden, undeniable urge struck him. He couldn’t do much for Galina, not with his limited strength, but he didn’t just want to leave without anything of hers. He knew, even with his limited knowledge, that memories faded. Though he could still recall good times with his mother if he tried hard enough, his father’s fury replaced most of them. He needed something good to cling to so, even in his darkest hour, he could conjure an image of Galina. Turning back to her bedroom, he went back to her vanity, his eyes sweeping over the surface, taking in everything resting on top. Sad to leave the rest behind, Valon knew

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he couldn’t take it all, though finally decided on just the combs. He wrapped them as best he could in an old piece of cloth and pocketed them. Without looking back, he left the building with only the clothes on his back, knowing that he would never be able to return. — Barefoot, wearing filthy clothes, his stomach rumbling after going so long without food, Valon finally reached the address that he had seen once in Ahmeti’s book of contacts. He knew Ahmeti had burned many bridges after his release, but Valon had no choice but to go to these people for help, even if it meant he was nothing more than a glorified maid.

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As he started toward the house, Valon tried his best to school the anxiety he knew was written all over his face. They were only men after all, and the worst thing they could do was turn him away…or kill him. He had contemplated that thought his entire journey there, and while he might have been strong enough to take his own life, maybe they could put him out of his misery. Maybe death wouldn’t be such a terrible thing. He knocked, gritting his teeth as he heard how timid it had sounded. He hit the door harder. Seconds later, it swung open, a gun immediately appearing in the crack of the door. It was aimed directly at his face, the owner of it glaring down at him from an impressive height.

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“Who are you?” the man asked, not caring that Valon was no more than a child. He kept his weapon in place. Valon cleared his throat, building the courage to speak. His eyes darted past the man, taking in the interior of the house, though there was not much to see from what he could tell. A stuffed chair, a coffee table with two ashtrays filled cigarette butts and ash sitting on top of it, and a shotgun off to the side, leaning against a wall. Crumpling the delicate paper that had the address on it in his hand, Valon spoke for the first time, his voice hoarse. “Here to see Bastian.” The man scoffed, looking Valon over as though he couldn’t see why. That made Valon wonder how many others had come

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here and encountered this man with the same inquiry. Glancing around, as though he was checking whether Valon had been followed, he fisted the front of his shirt and yanked him into the house. He stumbled before righting himself, the wood flooring a relief to his aching feet. The man—who Luka would call Gjarper for the snake tattoo that curled around his ear and over his bald head—slammed the door shut, turning each of the seven deadbolts. He gestured for Valon to walk ahead of him, his distrust of him quite clear. He instructed him on which hallways to take and which doorways to go through. Despite the rather modest and crumbling

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exterior, the inside was much bigger. Just like the sparse living room where Gjarper had been sitting, the rest of the house didn’t fare much better. There was hardly any furniture—only an old card table with a couple of folding chairs in the kitchen, a couch that looked like it was being eaten slowly by insects, and an old bed with a stripped, moldy mattress. But after spending the better part of the day traveling through heavy woods and the streets of Berat, Valon would have happily slept there. Gjarper stopped him when they reached another door, this one opening to a staircase that led down into a shadowed basement. Even from where he stood, Valon could just hear the voices carrying up from the bottom, and he couldn’t explain it, but

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another healthy dose of fear worked its way through him. With a slight shove from his escort, Valon walked down the stairs, resisting the urge to reach out for the handrail on his way down. He continued, following the sound of voices without having to be told. The basement was sweltering. The air smelled strongly of must and mildew. Eventually, he came to a room where two more men were standing outside the door, rifles in hand, sleeping hounds at their feet. At Valon’s appearance, the dogs’ ears perked up, their lips pulling back from their teeth as they went on alert, snarling as he got closer. They calmed, just enough, when Gjarper brushed by him, pushing the door open to what looked like an office.

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Sitting behind a desk of dark oak, his pants around his ankles, was the man known as Bastian, a lieutenant in The Organization, and once a friend of Valon’s father. Valon had never met the man in person, only recognized his image from newspaper articles. He had a very familiar face. At only thirty-eight, Bastian had made a name for himself, claiming enough territory for himself through money and bloodshed that he had become a rather untouchable figure. Even seated, Bastian was a rather heavy-set man with a large head and a prominent brow. His hands were large and meaty, his fingers currently gripping the strands of a woman’s dull brown hair, her face hidden in his lap.

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At their entrance, his gaze shot over to them, his eyes narrowing on Valon for several moments before grunting out a command to the girl on her knees, and she was just that. A girl. Barely as old as Valon. She pulled away from him, wiping her mouth with the back of her forearm, sparing Valon a single glance as she hurried out of the room. Bastian tucked himself back into his pants, not ashamed at all that Valon had just witnessed him with that girl. “Ahmeti’s boy, no?” Not knowing whether that was a question or a statement, Valon remained silent. His eyes narrowing on him, Bastian asked, “Why are you here?” How could he explain that he’d watched his father murder his mother then

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take his own life? And furthermore, would he even care? It wasn’t as if he and Ahmeti were on the best of terms, and now that he was there, Valon was beginning to regret his decision, but he doubted he would just be able to walk out again. Bastian laughed. “Do you speak?” “I have lost my mother,” Valon said softly though he’d intended to keep his voice firm. “And you thought what? That you could come to me for help? That I offer charity?” Valon was realizing very quickly that it was not going to be as easy as he expected. “I can clean—”

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“Clean? I have maids for that. Cooking? Plenty of women. What can you offer me that I don’t already have?” The silence stretched between them as Valon tried to think of a response, anything that would help him. He drew a blank, knowing he didn’t have anything nor was he of any value. Bastian spared him. “The answer you’re looking for is whatever I want…” Even with his limited knowledge, Valon knew that the possibilities that that statement entailed were endless, but even as dread filled his heart, he had no choice but to nod. A part of him knew he’d just signed his life away.

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Another part of him hoped that it would be worth it. ____ Some time had passed since Bastian had sent Valon away, having Gjarper take him to a place he referred to as ‘the kennels.’ Valon didn’t know what to think of this place, at least until he was walked outside and through the heavily wooded area behind the house to a rather mundane looking barn. The closer they came, the more the sound of barking became clearer. Valon, almost belatedly, realized that the name was more than appropriate for the place he was going. The Kennels were located in a rustcolored barn, the peeling paint and vine covered exterior, giving it a rather decrepit

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appearance. Inside, located on either side, were rows of cages, and toward the back was a large fenced-in space, a space currently filled with at least a dozen dogs, all fighting for scraps of meat. Most of them were fairly large, each with teeth nearly the size of Valon’s fingers. His hands trembled as his gaze focused on them, and prayed that the ‘whatever’ Bastian wanted wasn’t dog food. However, before Valon could entertain that thought further, Gjarper went to a cage on the right hand side of the biggest cage. He pulled out a key ring, rifling through the keys until he found the one he sought and stuck it into the padlock hanging on the outside of it. Once he had it unlocked and unhooked, he yanked the gate open, turning to

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face Valon as he jerked his head in the direction of the cage, letting him know he was meant to go in. “No arguing, kid. Get in.” With no other choice, Valon did what he was told. There wasn’t much room for him to stand, so he had to sit on the dirt, his back against the cold metal as Gjarper slammed the gate closed, locking it back. Without looking back, he closed the barn doors behind him. Valon didn’t doubt that those were locked now as well. He was left shrouded in darkness. The dogs’ growls were the only noise being made besides their paws as they drew closer to him. He could practically smell the aggression on them, and with the sweat beading on

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his brow and the erratic rhythm of his heart, he knew they smelled the fear on him. For hours, he was left alone there, listening to the dogs, nearly jumping out of his skin whenever they lunged at the fencing at his side that kept them separated from him. He couldn’t see them well in the darkness—even when he tried to make them out, there was nothing but shadows—so he continued to stare forward, trying to distance himself from where he was. It was easier when there was the growling and snapping of teeth, but once they quieted—perhaps due to Valon’s calming heartbeat—the silence was worse. Because with that, he could better hear the voices in his head, see the memory of his mother that was already plaguing him.

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He squeezed his eyes shut, as though that would be able to better help him. He could still see her face in his mind’s eye, the shock, the fear, the acceptance that she knew she was about to die. And yet, despite how her death played again and again in his head, tears didn’t form. He wanted to cry—not because he was weak, but because he knew he would feel better—yet they never came. Maybe, he thought as he curled into a ball, shivering from the cold night air, just maybe he would never feel good again. — When he was sure he had lost his toes to the chill, someone returned, unlocking his cage to throw in a scratchy, wool blanket, and then locked him back up again. Not until

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the sunlight beamed through the gaps in the wooden walls did someone return. Whether they figured he was in the same as them, the dogs had long since grown quiet, just eyeing him peculiarly, like maybe he meant to steal their food. Feeding time for them had come again. Not only for them, but a plate was also given to Valon. He didn’t complain once it was tossed in and some of it spilled out onto the ground; he was too hungry to care. He wasn’t entirely sure what he was eating, only that the spicy meat filled his belly, along with the rather substantial helping of rice and bread. He could hear the dogs to his right, growling, wanting the food he’d been given as well as their own, but he

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ignored them, eating every last bit of the food he’d been given before licking his fingers clean. Wrapping the blanket tighter around himself, Valon waited, again, for someone to return. He had never given much thought as to whether he valued human company before. There was a time when he actually thought himself a loner of sorts, happy to be by himself. But, there was also his mother, whom he loved to be around, and even his friend, Fatos, that he wondered if he would ever see again. He didn’t realize how lonely he was until he was, in fact, alone. For the next two days, he struggled with that thought. Sure, someone brought him food, barked at him as if he was one of the dogs if he took too long to respond to

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their inquiries. When they realized that there had been no place for him to relieve himself—and he hadn’t wanted to do it in a corner of his new living space—and that he’d soiled himself, they beat him with one of the brooms they kept handy, never getting too close to him since the odor was so bad. It was only then that Gjarper returned, commanding them to leave him be. “Bastian needs him alive,” he said as Valon lay crumpled on the dirt floor, his blood now mixing with the dirt. “Come, kid. Let’s get you cleaned up.” Despite his words, Gjarper didn’t lead Valon into the house. He led him around to the side where there was a hose and a large metal pan for Valon to stand in. “Remove your clothes.”

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Valon’s face colored as he looked from the pan to Gjarper, shame making him look away just as quickly. It wasn’t as though he had been particularly kind to Valon since he’d arrived—as he had left him in the kennels like an animal—but he didn’t want to make the man think of him as less than a human at the very least. “You want fresh clothes? Move it.” Valon thought he detected a note of compassion in the man’s voice, but he dismissed that as wishful thinking on his part. As Valon began the slow process of removing his clothes, tossing the soiled and dirty garments into a pile a few feet away, he covered himself as best he could, climbing into the pan.

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With his back turned to him during this, Gjarper twisted the knob to the hose, water spraying out. His expression never changing, he sprayed Valon with the hose, making him turn in circles as he did so. Then he tossed Valon a bar of soap and ordered him to bathe. Though it didn’t smell nearly as good as the soaps his mother had used, Valon was glad for it, cleaning himself as best as he could in the limited space and with his audience of one. Once he rinsed off again, a towel was thrown at him, the rough material harsh on his skin. Finished with that as well, he was given a shirt, about a size or two too big for his lanky frame, and a pair of pants that he rolled a few times at the ankles.

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“Dump the water.” Valon did as he was told, walking back to Gjarper and waiting for his next order. This time, he was handed a gold-colored lighter, one that was engraved with a name. He silently pondered over that, knowing that despite any question he thought to ask, they would go unanswered. “Burn the clothes.” Seeing his hesitation, though not knowing the true reason for it, Gjarper said, “Do you wish to put them back on? Get this done and come to the back door. I’ll be waiting.” When he disappeared out of sight, Valon continued to stare at him, waiting for him to come back. When he didn’t, he dropped to his knees, rifling through the

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pockets until he uncovered the very thing he’d almost forgotten about. Valon uncovered the combs slowly, afraid that they might have been broken, but fortunately, they were still intact. Wrapping them back up, he stuffed them in his pocket, picking up his old clothes with one hand and walking several feet into the dense woods. It was a bit unnecessary, having to burn the clothes instead of just throwing them away, but as he watched them go up in smoke and saw the last bit of connection to his life back with his mother, a part of him understood the need for it.

-

3 ______ Waiting for him after Valon had finished his task was not just Gjarper, but Bastian as well. Unlike the first morning when Valon had come to him, Bastian looked like the businessman he was rumored to be, but that wasn’t to say there weren’t flaws in his appearance.

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He was standing tall as he gave orders to larger men surrounding him, but sweat discolored his collar, and his already small, beady eyes looked particularly narrowed as he tried to get his point across. They were dismissed rather quickly once Valon entered the room, and he briefly wished they would return, if only because of the way Bastian’s sudden attention on him made his skin crawl. Fear. Fear came in many different forms, but what Valon felt at that moment was as if someone was squeezing his heart, gradually loosening that hold over time. “Come, I want to show you something.” Bastian gestured for Valon to follow him, leading him through the house toward a

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hallway that Valon remembered from his first time walking through. Bastian stopped at one of the doors, turning the knob and shoving the door open, the wood creaking in protest. He stepped in, moving to the side to give Valon room to come in as well. Looking around, Valon saw that they were in a bedroom. The mattress was no longer on the floor, but on a metal frame, completely made up. There were two dressers in the room, along with a desk in the corner with a small lamp that lacked a shade. While it was not homely in any way, it was definitely a step up from the cage where he had been sleeping before. Maybe he had been stuck outside because they did not know whether they could

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trust him, or perhaps, Bastian had learned what happened to Ahmeti and he didn’t think Valon was still a threat. Bastian led the way to another property further into the woods, away from the barn that Valon had been sleeping in with the dogs. It was another crudely built barn of some kind, with a heavy chain and padlock, keeping anyone curious from being able to get in. He kept his mouth shut as Gjarper inserted a key, quickly removing the lock and chain. He pulled one of the doors open, stepping to the side so Bastian could go ahead of him. Valon didn’t have to ask if he was supposed to follow. It was dark where they entered, and it took a moment for Valon’s eyes to adjust.

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But once they did, he took in everything around him. It looked like a crudely built arena with various materials used to build a sort of wall between the center of it and where chairs were set up facing the ring, and when Gjarper hit a light switch, and the old bulbs hanging from wires flickered on, he saw that he was right. Their town was small, smaller than most even in Albania, and because of this, anything that happened here people talked about. None might have questioned what The Organization did to make their money, perhaps looked the other way when it came down to it, but Valon, over the years, had heard the rumors of what happened in this place. He never thought that he would actually see it in person.

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He didn’t dare question why Bastian would bring him to this place, but he did chance a glance back at Gjarper before facing Bastian once more. A predatory smile crossed his face as he gestured out around them. “What do you think of my work?” Valon opened his mouth but didn’t know how to respond. He mimicked Bastian, looking around at everything again. Luckily, he seemed to take that as answer enough. “In this place, I birth legends. I turn them into the very things that make up armies. In return, I give them everything they could ever want.” He came over to Valon, resting a sweaty but firm hand on his shoulder. “Your father may have been weak

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and an embarrassment to his people, but you do not have to follow in his footsteps.” Valon had never considered Ahmeti weak, not when his reign of terror had been so disastrous and ultimately deadly in the end, but if The Organization had felt he was weak, then perhaps Valon could learn from his mistakes and be better. He would do better, if only to be able to get the life his mother had wanted for him. “Now, if you can do for me, then I can do for you. In exchange for my compassion, letting you stay in my home, you will fight for me here.” After studiously avoiding blows from Ahmeti, Valon was sure that he could duck away from any opponent that came for him, and maybe land a few solid hits if he could. If

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his opponents were anything like him—in regards to never having fought before—then there was a possibility that this would all work out in the end, that he would be able to earn his keep here and not get thrown out onto the streets. Valon nodded his consent, but upon seeing the expressions on Bastian and Gjarper’s faces—one of barely veiled smugness and the other of contempt—he couldn’t help but wonder if he had made another mistake. __ Hours later, after Valon had been led away from that daunting place, taken back to the barn where he’d slept, the dogs that had kept him company over the night were gone, but he could hear their distant howling and knew they weren’t far. But he and Gjarper

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were not alone, four other men standing around, as though they had been waiting for them. Valon, not sure what was happening, looked at Gjarper, waiting for any sign of what was to come. But Gjarper was as stoic as ever. When they were close enough that Valon could smell the rancid scent of sewage on one of the men, Gjarper spoke. “Take him.” His first instinct was to flee, break away from them, and try to get away from whatever was awaiting him on the other side of those barn doors, but the men held fast, dragging him inside. The marks in the earth from where he’d dug his heels in for purchase was the last thing Valon saw as the doors were closed again.

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He was shoved into a chair, a man already standing behind it with a pair of clippers in hand, the cord plugged into an extension cord. Shaking his head, he was too afraid to voice a plea, even more afraid to jerk away from them as one flipped a switch and the clippers buzzed to life. They didn’t care that his mother had loved his hair, that she had painstakingly taken care of it because she had always wanted him to look his best—the fact that he looked more like his father when his head was shaved was left unsaid between them. As the blades glided over his scalp, clumps of curling blond strands hitting the dirt behind him, Valon felt like he was losing another piece of his mother. But he didn’t shed a tear, and though wetness pooled in

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his eyes at another loss, he didn’t dare let them fall. Not yet. Not even when the clippers snagged from the knots did the man take any sympathy on him, still pulling and tugging, even to the point where Valon felt the sharp pain of the razors cutting his skin. The time it took for it to be over was vast, but he had managed to get through it without making a sound. When it was done, and Valon could feel the cool breeze, only then did they let him go. One chuckled, another smirked, but only Gjarper actually commented on Valon’s new look. “Better, but you still look like shite. Come.”

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He had very little choice to do anything but get up and follow Gjarper back to the house into one of the empty rooms. He couldn’t help but touch his head, feeling for where his hair had been, and now it was cut so short he was nearly bald. Alone again, Gjarper pulled out a rusted old toolbox from the closet, setting it on the desk at his side. He flipped the top open and pulled out the contents inside. There were several small bottles filled with black liquid, and a small machine of sorts that Gjarper fitted a needle to. Valon had an idea what it was, or at least could guess. There was no one that worked under Bastian that didn’t bear his mark. It was a sigil of sorts, one of the Virgin Mary, that

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while pure in some faiths, was the only thing that was meant to protect them in this life. Gjarper gestured for him to take a seat, his expression unwavering. There was a moment when Valon hesitated, believing if he could just leave this place—try running again—then he would get away. Gjarper might have seen it in his eyes, the panic that was there, but he didn’t make a move to try and stop him—he didn’t tense in a way that made it look like he would chase after Valon should he try to get away. No, he just waited, letting Valon make the choice. After all, he would be the only one affected by the decision. But he had heard of those who ran from Bastian when he offered a helping

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hand. He wouldn’t get far if he left now, especially when there was nowhere else for him to go. Swallowing, he traveled the short distance to the chair and dropped down into it, folding his hands in his lap. He didn’t know what to expect as Gjarper’s heavy hand fell on his shoulder for a brief second, but it wasn’t until he heard the soft whirring of whatever Gjarper had pulled from his toolbox did his imagination run free. Again, Gjarper dropped a restraining hand on his shoulder, but this time he kept it there as he brought the clippers to Valon’s scalp. The vibrating blades made him jump, but the hand holding him steady didn’t let him get far.

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Carefully, his hair fell in rings on the dirt floor beneath his feet, and as the clumps fell in abandon, he couldn’t tear his eyes away. Not when he felt the cool breeze on his now bare head or when the vibrations stopped and Gjarper took a step back. The urge to feel where his hair had once been rode him hard, but he resisted the urge, balling his hands into fists to keep from doing it. Despite his fear of the unknown, he didn’t want to show weakness in this. It will grow back. At least, that was what he hoped. Not once had his mother ever taken off any more than an inch during any of the times she’d sheared his hair. Blinking away the sudden wetness in his eyes, Valon looked at Gjarper, waiting to see what was next.

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“Lay there,” he commanded, pointing to a table of sorts built into the wall. Valon was just light enough to climb onto it and stretch out, watching Gjarper from his position. While he had never seen one in person, he could guess what machine he was holding. He couldn’t bring himself to watch him prepare it, nor could he look away from the hole in the roof. Flinching when the cold, wet wipe swiped across his skin, Valon heard the click of the machine, his jaw clenching as Gjarper brought the machine closer to him. And as he lay there, under the grueling agony that was getting a tattoo at his young age, Valon kept quiet, knowing that this was just one more thing he needed to get past. He would survive. He always did.

-

4 ______ He had been just a boy when he’d ventured into the world that Bastian commanded, merely an outsider permitted to an unrestricted view of the horrors that took place there. Valon had managed to go unnoticed for some time, being the perfect little slave boy that Bastian wanted. Truthfully, he’d performed far better than he’d hoped in

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fear that he might be one of the few unfortunate souls who were tossed in the Pit and made to fight for their life. For months, in fact, he had gone unscathed, just another bastard child who had come to Bastian for help, at least until he made one fatal mistake. It was another cold night, one that Valon hadn’t anticipated. He’d snuck back into the house in search of another blanket as the other he had did very little to combat the harsh winds. He had always been quick on his feet, and he was almost back out of the house when he heard the grunting, then the sound of furniture being moved across the room, inch by inch. He’d always had an inquisitive nature, and though he knew better, he crossed the

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hall, walking closer until he could just peek through the crack in the door, and what he saw there made his stomach turn over. His pants pooled at his ankles, Bastian was thrusting into a girl—different from the first Valon had seen, but around the same age—whose face was turned in his direction. At first, he’d thought he had been caught from the way she stared, but soon he realized she wasn’t truly seeing him, or anything at all, since her eyes seemed to lack focus. No matter how Bastian shoved into her or palmed the back of her head as he yanked on the dark strands of hair that looked nearly matted, she didn’t react. With his weight on top of her, Valon didn’t even know if she was alive, and that thought made him lurch back, slipping on the smooth wood outside the

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door. He slammed back into the wall, making enough noise that Bastian heard him. Valon knew better than to try to run, but the idea of Bastian catching him made fear sink into his heart. He scrambled to his feet, trying to reach the door before Bastian came out, but he wasn’t fast enough. “Stop!” Valon was already apologizing before Bastian had even stormed over to him, his pants still unbuttoned, not seemingly to care that his junk was still on display. Now holding a revolver that made Valon’s breath quicken, his fury was evident. “What the fuck are you doing? Spying on me?” His eyes narrowed on Valon. Either he didn’t care about the blanket he held or he

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just didn’t notice because he asked, “Or do you want to take that bitch’s place?” “No, sir!” Valon vehemently denied, but Bastian ignored his words as he grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and dragged him into the room. The girl was slumped over on the floor, her eyes at half-mast now, but she still didn’t move at their entry. Valon was still a lanky boy and had yet to grow to the size his father was. Despite this, he refused to just stand there and let Bastian do to him what he’d done to the girl. So, he did the one thing his father had always wanted from him. He fought back. When Bastian made to grab him again, Valon shoved away, trying to dart

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around him, but what Bastian lacked in speed, he made up for in size. With one swift grab, he had Valon by the neck, his meaty paw squeezing tightly. He shoved him onto the desk, and no matter how he fought, he couldn’t get free. An age-old promise to himself flared to life in his mind, that so long as he lived, he would never beg another person for anything again. Valon often remembered the look of smug satisfaction in Ahmeti’s eyes whenever Valon begged for his mother. He didn’t want to give anyone else that kind of power over him. He never wanted to be brought that low, but as he was faced with what was about to happen, the plea was at the tip of his tongue.

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“Shh,” Bastian said from above him, his breath reeking of stale alcohol. “It’s won’t hurt for long.” With one hand, he still held Valon in place, and with the other, he was trying to get Valon’s shorts down. “If it makes it any easier, then I’ll go slow.” Tears sprang to life in Valon’s eyes, and just as he was about to break the promise he’d made to himself when the door was flung open, and Gjarper stood on the other side of it. Bastian released him, jerking his pants up in a hurry. He had never seemed to care about his blatant displays with the girls, but now that it was Valon, he face looked like he was caught doing something wrong. Gjarper’s gaze went to Valon then to Bastian, and for just a second, his disgust

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was clear for anyone to see, but he masked it quick enough. Bastian, who was quickly turning red in the face, fired off a quick explanation. “I caught this little shit trying to steal from me! After everything I’ve done for him when his pathetic excuse for a father killed himself. From now on, I want him in the Pit.” Valon’s face blanched as those words hung in the air. If he feared one place, then it was that ring of despair. He’d seen men die there from just a single punch. Having never truly been in a fight, he didn’t think he would survive a night. Gjarper, who didn’t look moved in the slightest by the fear now in Valon’s face, gave a single nod, gesturing for Valon to walk ahead of him as they both left.

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The entire way back to the barn, Valon was shaking but still didn’t cry. His blanket, the one he’d felt he’d needed was left forgotten, still on the floor back in that office. As Gjarper readied to leave, he faced Valon, gaze solemn. “Learn to survive, boy. Or at least die trying.”

-

5 ______ Spectators stood around the gate, spittle raining from their mouths as they cheered on the bloody battle on the other side, two fighters trying their best to survive the night. Even when blood sprayed, the smell of copper scenting the air, no one minded. They thrived on the gore.

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And yet, Valon couldn’t hear any of it, the blood rushing in his ears too loud. Fear had taken hold of him since he’d returned to the barn, and after a fitful night of sleep, spent mostly imagining the horrors he would face in the Pit, he was exhausted. But with the adrenaline coursing through him, at this moment, he couldn’t sleep even if he tried. With a hand on his shoulder, Gjarper led him through the crowds, his hulking presence giving them easy passage. He hadn’t spoken a word to him since his ominous warning the night before, but from his expression, Valon didn’t think that he was any happier about this than he was. But that could have just been wishful thinking on his part.

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They stopped next to a line of boys, both older and younger than Valon, who were all waiting their turn in the Pit. None looked eager to face their opponent, and judging from the bruises already present, this wouldn’t be their first time. Valon, shaking with fear, watched the end of the current fight, momentarily frozen—or transfixed—by the sheer amount of blood present. The scent of blood hung heavy in the air, coupled with sweat and anticipation. There were only two in the center of the dirt floor—Valon had heard of there being more once—and only one was left standing, dark blood dripping from his mouth and at least a couple of his teeth missing. As the crowd cheered, he stumbled on his feet,

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almost seemed drunk as he stared down at the boy who lay in a heap, unmoving. He didn’t cheer his victory, but a dark gleam in his eyes burned itself into Valon’s mind. Six more fights, each bloodier than the last, went on before Valon found himself at the front of the line. He was trembling so badly that he garnered the attention of the handler at the front who was waiting for his cue. Noticing Valon’s fear, he smirked, revealing two rows of silver capped teeth. Though he didn’t mean to, Valon shrank back, wishing there was a way out of this for him. A bell sounded from a distance, but he could hardly hear it with the blood rushing in his ears. He could just see Bastian sitting high above the crowd, a glass of expensive

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liquor no doubt clutched in his right hand. His gaze shot to Valon, and when they locked, he smiled cruelly, moving to his feet. “Fresh meat,” he called to the crowd, riling them up further. “And his opponent…” A boy, at least six years older than Valon, stepped into the Pit, shirtless, and unlike the rest of the boys who had been brought forward before him, he looked eager for this. The handler, who’d still been smiling at Valon, gave him a shove, forcing him forward before he was ready. Not expecting it, he pitched forward, landing on his hands and knees in the dirt and sand. He didn’t know much about fighting, having only been on the receiving end of his father’s fists and witnessing the abuse his

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mother suffered, but if there was one thing he knew, it was to stay on his feet. On the ground he was more vulnerable, more likely to be kicked in the head, or worse. He had no chance of winning this, Valon knew, but at least he would do this on his feet. Pushing himself up off the ground, he eyed his opponent, trying to see what he was up against. The boy was a few inches taller and had at least fifty pounds on Valon’s smaller frame. Despite having lived in this place for years now, he had never seen him, nor could he recall actually crossing paths with any of the boys here. He doubted they stayed in the old house, but since he had yet to leave the

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property, he had no idea whether Bastian had another house somewhere that housed them. There was only one thing he was completely sure of as he balled his fists, lifting them in front of him. By the time this was over, he was going to hurt. Bad. One second he was trying not to pass out from the adrenaline, the next a bell was ringing and the cheers of the crowd grew deafening, and before he could blink, the boy was on him, landing a hit to his face that made him see stars. Valon didn’t have a chance to move away, not even enough time to lift his fists again. Blow after blow landed, pain exploding throughout his face, and after a particularly brutal punch forced the sensitive inside

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of his cheek against his teeth, blood poured into his mouth. He tried to fight back, but only managed to cover his own head from the hits, trying to protect himself as best as he could from the fetal position he was in on the ground. For one blissful moment, the hits stopped, and Valon made the mistake of dropping his arms, looking up at the boy looming over him. He saw the booted foot flying toward him, but he couldn’t stop it. More than that, he didn’t want to. He welcomed the blackness that came after. __ Seven hours of blissful unawareness, and then pinpricks of agony hit him, jarring

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him from his peaceful slumber. Valon couldn’t remember ever having felt such pain. The drunken hits from his father had been bad, and he still vividly remembered the bruises he’d suffered afterward, but that was nothing compared to what he felt now. He was alive, though he couldn’t say he actually enjoyed this fact very much, back in the barn with the dogs. Not sure how he’d arrived here since he didn’t remember much about the night before besides being beaten to a bloody pulp in the Pit, he didn’t question it. Carefully, he rolled over onto his back, almost thankful for the coolness of the hay. It was almost nice, laying there, feeling the pulses shoot through his body. They hurt and it was almost too painful to breathe,

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but for a reason unknown to him at the moment, he found comfort in that. Valon wasn’t sure how long he was there before Gjarper came into the barn, looking every bit of the enforcer he was. In all the years that he’d called this place home, while he might not have known everything about the structure of The Organization, he had picked up a few things along the way. Mostly about Gjarper since that was who he spent most of his time around. It hadn’t been easy—Gjarper didn’t willingly talk to anyone—but most of what Valon knew he’d caught in passing. Unlike Bastian, who had a top spot, Gjarper did most of the dirty work that others were too afraid to do; he went after people who owed The Organization money and refused to pay. And even

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without the title of Boss, Gjarper had managed to inspire fear in others when only his name was mentioned. Valon could only imagine the things he’d had to do to inspire that kind of fear. Gjarper didn’t waste time with pleasantries. Removing his shirt, he tossed it on the ground, and for the first time, Valon got a good look at the tiger emblazoned on his chest. It had incredible detail, from the snarling head to the way its claws looked like it was ripping through the skin of his chest. “On your feet,” he said, his word lacking any real emotion. Valon struggled to comply, wanting only to remain curled on the ground in his misery. The pain of his sore body made it nearly impossible to do anything more, but

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Gjarper refused to let him stay there. After last night, and the brutal way in which he’d been beaten, that had been enough to cool most of Bastian’s anger, but he was nowhere near satisfied. It seemed that, from this point forward, Valon would remain in the Pit, even if he ultimately died there. But whether he lived or died, Gjarper wanted to give him a fighting chance, and that meant working through the agony he was in. On weak arms, Valon pushed to his feet, his knees buckling slightly under his own weight. He might have thought the beatings he’d sustained from Ahmeti were harsh, but nothing compared to the brutality he’d suffered the night before.

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Gjarper, who was still frowning, shook his head as he circled Valon, like he might have been looking for anything noteworthy about him. He could have saved him those few seconds. There was nothing to see. “Make a fist.” Unlike the rest of him, his hands were mostly damage-free since he had been unable to get a hit in. He did as instructed, holding one up, but Gjarper slapped it down, the sharp sting making him yelp in surprise. “Don’t tuck your thumb unless you want to break it.” Gjarper showed him the proper way to do it, the thick scars and calluses of his hand speaking to his own life of fighting. Valon mimicked what he saw, bracing for the pain of another hit in case he had managed

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to do this wrong as well, but when the hit didn’t come, he could only assume that he’d done right. “Lesson one. The minute you enter that ring, you go in with the intent to kill.” The words but I don’t want to kill anyone were on the tip of his tongue, but he gritted his teeth, keeping the words at bay. He knew how he must look to someone like Gjarper. He didn’t want to seem any weaker than he already was. “Put it out of your mind,” he said fiercely, his gaze intent on Valon, as if he could read his thoughts. “If you don’t kill them, then they will kill you. You were spared last night only because Bastian called it before he could finish you off. Remember this.”

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How easy it would have been to die last night…and there was nothing Valon could have done about it. He’d been so easily subdued that even those who hadn’t known the true reason behind why Bastian had ultimately forced him into the Pit, at least understood that he wasn’t put in there for his skill or lack thereof. It was punishment, pure and simple. “Lesson two,” Gjarper went on before Valon had a chance to respond. “Pain is the only friend you’ll have in this place.” At the reminder, the pain flared up all over again, making its presence known. He couldn’t ever imagine that he would get used to this, but it was too soon to tell. “Now, put your fists up and come at me with the intent to kill.”

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Valon expected him to put his own fists up, to prepare himself for whatever Valon might do, but he only stood there, hands relaxed at his sides. There was no fear in him. He didn’t even seem to see Valon as a threat at all. Waiting for a heartbeat, Valon sprang into action, thinking to catch Gjarper off guard and gain the upper hand. Before he could even swing his fist, Gjarper had him on the ground, that same look of disinterest on his face. At least he wasn’t enjoying it like the boy from last night. “On your feet. Try again.” This time, Valon didn’t hesitate, he just came up swinging, attacking what was closest to him. But each sporadic swing was

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blocked with quick efficiency to the point that Valon tired himself out. Breathing heavily, Valon raised his hand out in front of him, silently asking for a moment to catch his breath, but Gjarper ignored this, grabbing him by the scruff of his neck and dragging him to his feet. Valon tried to ward off whatever hit would come next, but Gjarper was far bigger and stronger. “Is this where you want to die, boy?” he asked, applying pressure to Valon’s neck, nearly cutting off his oxygen. Shaking his head as best he could, Valon denied this though the idea of dying had crossed his mind before Gjarper had come in here. He didn’t realize how much he

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actually wanted to live until this very moment. When the hold at his neck suddenly disappeared, Valon crumpled, wheezing as he dragged in air to breathe. Gjarper crouched down, waiting until Valon stopped choking and was looking up at him with watery eyes before he spoke. “You’re weak, but born to Ahmeti and a whore, I expected no less.” Whore. The word made his blood boil, and not for the first time, an all-consuming rage overwhelmed him. He lurched forward, not caring that he would be hit and there was nothing he could do about it, but he would not allow Gjarper, or anyone else, to disrespect his mother. Not anymore.

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Gjarper shifted back just a fraction, just enough that he didn’t get hit, but he came back with a palm to Valon’s chest and a slap to his face. The hit wasn’t painful. It wasn’t done in retaliation, but more of trying to get his attention. “That,” Gjarper said, poking him in the center of his chest with a meaty finger, “is what you need to survive in this place. To everyone in this place, you’re mother was a whore, you’re father was a drunk, and you are a product of the two. Accept it. Either stand up and learn to fight like a man or lay there and die. What do you choose?”

-

6 ______ Pushing himself up on shaking arms, Valon held himself there for a few seconds, counting under his breath as he dropped down then repeated the movement. He’d been working out for the better part of two hours, pushing himself further than he ever had before. Ever since he’d been thrown in the Pit, besides the residual pain that clung

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to him even days after the bouts, he had changed physically just as he had mentally. He didn’t have to step on a scale to know he’d put on weight. The muscles in his chest and arms had grown, his shoulders broader, and if not from catching a brief glance at his reflection once while walking through the house, he would have known just from the way people did double takes. Not used to his new size, he still stumbled when he walked, and it hadn’t helped him in the Pit yet. But he was finally ready to help himself, after Gjarper had knocked him down that last time, giving up on him before Valon had even realized that he’d given up on himself. But with him reentering that ring tonight, he refused to just stand there and

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accept the abuse. No, tonight, even if he was still beat to a bloody pulp, he was fighting back. It wasn’t for Gjarper, even though he hoped he’d be there. Valon needed to do this for himself. He needed to prove that he wasn’t as weak as people thought he was. No matter what this fight yielded, when he walked out of the Pit tonight, he wouldn’t be the same person he was when he walked in.

-

7 ______ Soft whimpers carried over to Valon’s ears, and though he could barely muster the energy to open his eyes, the noise called to him and he couldn’t help but turn his head in that direction, blinking his eyes open. He had grown accustomed to the dogs now that he was back in the kennels with them, and they had grown to accept him as

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well…as long as it wasn’t feeding time, then it was to each his own. Only once did he have to show one of them who was in charge, and that was because one of the men who was in charge of bringing Valon his food had thought it funny to toss it in with the dogs and make him fetch it. They were fighting over a few steaks, but there were three, puppies in fact, who were trying to nose their way into the foray, hoping to partake of the food, only to be forced back as the bigger ones snapped at them and bared their teeth. Valon’s first thought was to leave them to their fate, knowing they wouldn’t live long enough to see the ring of their own with the condition they were in. Even at his distance, he could see their ribs, stark

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against their fur. But something—the decent side of him—could not leave them to die this way. Rolling over onto his stomach, Valon made his way over in that direction, boldly walking into the giant cage, not caring that he was back to being enemy number one while they were eating. Most of the men under Bastian’s charge were afraid to walk into the kennels, always having their guns at the ready with sticks to beat them with as well. Twice, Valon had seen two dogs put down just from fear of what these men had made them. He, on the other hand, didn’t mind their aggression, not anymore, and with his new life in the Pit, the pain of their bites barely fazed him.

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Pain had finally grounded him. It made him more alert to his surroundings. “Move,” Valon barked at them, giving a few a slight push when they wouldn’t move quick enough. Bushtër, a particularly vicious one, clamped down on his hand when it came too close to the bone she was gnawing on. He registered the feel of it, as Bushtër’s teeth broke his skin, but he only made a sound of frustration, using his free hand to grip her by the muzzle until she released him. Finally, he made it to the back of the cage, crouching down in front of the three puppies. They were wary of him, scuttling back, though one was bolder than his companions were.

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It came forward, small steps, its nose up as it sniffed the air, trying to scent him. It had ears that pointed straight up, a mixture of gray and white fur on its head, spreading down its back, with snow-white fur covering its belly. Its eyes, though, were as pale as Valon’s. And just as sharp. Valon took an instant liking to that one. He could definitely see the Siberian husky in it, but he doubted it was purebred. It was far too big. Not wanting to frighten it off, he waited a few moments before stretching out his hand, palm side up. He knew how best to act with them, and how he didn’t need to be violent to show his dominance. There was no

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need to force it to come, the moment his hand was out, the little hybrid came forward, nudging his hand with its nose. The other two—both German Shepherds—though still wary, followed in its footsteps. Now he had three pups at his heels, all looking at him with tails wagging. In the time it had taken him to enter the cage and get across it, the dogs were now done with their food, now looking for a way to take out their aggression. Not in the mood to play chew toy—despite his predilections—Valon scooped up the three pups, making his way back to his own sleeping place. He deposited them onto the floor as he reached for his tattered book bag, scrounging through it for what little food he had

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hoarded over the last two weeks. There wasn’t much, but it was enough to start. Smelling his offering, they nearly tripped over each other trying to get to him, and as they each took a bite of what he offered from his hand, Valon didn’t fight the smile forming. This was the closest to happiness he had felt in a while. ____ “Nope, eyes on me.” Valon stood tall, his hands outstretched, making sure that his new companions were watching his every move. Training them to follow his commands had been surprisingly easy in the last two weeks that he’d had them, but that might have just been because he had a lot of time on his hands.

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When he wasn’t fighting, he was left to his own devices until Gjarper came to him for training. During those visits, he would hide the three of them away. There was no rule that he could not keep them, but Bastian was growing more frustrated with his lack of effort in the Pit, and his agitation was beginning to show. Valon didn’t want to risk anything happening to them should Bastian happen upon them. No one had yet to learn his secret, and he hoped to keep it that way. He hoped that he’d train them long enough that by the time anyone noticed, they would be as big as the others. Timber and Rusk, the two German Shepherds, had taken a while to catch on to Valon’s commands, but that was because the

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pair had a tendency to fight amongst each other whenever the mood struck, but they were fun, and often tried to bring Valon into their battles—which was mostly him on his back and them climbing over him. Loki, aptly named after one of Valon’s favorite villains, was far easier to control, and since the moment Valon had started feeding and taking care of him, Valon found that he was far more affectionate than he looked. At night, when the sky was dark, and they lay in the dirt, Loki always rested his head on Valon’s thigh, never moving until the morning when they were all back again. Valon didn’t mean to have a favorite—they were dogs, after all—but if he had to pick one who he loved a little more than the rest, it would be Loki. When Valon

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spoke, Loki listened and did as he was told with little hesitation. Before he could continue his lesson for the day, Valon heard footsteps approaching, probably their first meal of the day. He snapped his fingers twice, almost smiling when the three moved toward the back of their little area, out of sight for the most part. He stood, heading for the gate, intending to intercept Strom as he came through the barn doors, holding three bags worth of food, two of which belonged to Valon. Gjarper had talked Bastian into feeding him more. If only so he could put on more weight and have that help him in the Pit. That wasn’t to say it wasn’t working. He had managed to put on at least two stone,

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changing his boyish, lanky frame to something bigger. He was even performing better when he trained with Gjarper. That was the thing. It wasn’t that he couldn’t fight. It was that he didn’t want to. He’d seen what blood sport had done to his father, and how it had warped him as a man. That fear plagued him constantly. The last thing he wanted to turn into was Ahmeti. When Strom crossed the threshold, grinning mischievously, Valon knew that this was not going to end well. Some people, such as Strom, liked to try their luck up until the very moment when it ran out. Valon had always held his tongue, refusing to speak out of turn for fear of what might happen, but he was tired of being afraid.

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It was time he set an example, even if it were just a small one because, in the end, he still didn’t want to attract attention to himself. “Looks like there’s good food,” Strom said shaking the bag, holding it out in front of him. It was clear that he intended to throw it to the dogs and leave Valon to fend for himself, but faster than he could react, Valon grabbed the front of his shirt through a hole in the fence, dragging him across until he was flush against the metal. It only took a second, but a second was all he needed to see the one thing that he hadn’t ever seen a day in his life. Fear. Someone was actually afraid of him.

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He hadn’t been sure why at first. It wasn’t like he was actively attacking the man, but it took him a moment to realize that Strom was struggling to get free. Yet Valon was holding him as easily as he held one of the dogs back. This small taste of power made him smile, just the slightest curving of his lips, but when he did, Strom froze. Valon didn’t understand why this was, how his initial need to get free had morphed into this. But he wasn’t going to argue the point, not when he could get what he wanted. “Drop the bags.” Strom did without question, and when Valon unclenched his fist, releasing the now wrinkled fabric of his shirt, Strom scurried

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back, nearly tripping over his feet to get out of there. He had seemingly forgotten his main objective of feeding the dogs in his haste to get back to the house, but having already brought more attention to himself than he’d intended, Valon watched him go, waiting until he was outside before he grabbed the first bag of food to disperse. ____ Despite working with Gjarper and the practice he did on his own, Valon still wasn’t winning in the Pit. Bastian seemed pleased in the beginning that he was getting the shit beat out of him every night, but now, he only seemed to grow more annoyed. It was only a week and a half later, after Valon had lost yet another fight. He was recovering in the kennels, his new

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companions resting next to him. It wasn’t common for anyone to come down to where he stayed and never in the middle of the night. And Bastian was definitely never in attendance. Valon had counted on this, knowing that Bastian would never allow him to keep the three, if only because he didn’t want him to have anything that would make him remotely happy. There was a chance he might have let them stay, but he would have bred them to fight, instead of being coddled, and if they didn’t perform well, they would be put down. “What is this?” Bastian spat out, looking from Valon to Loki and the others.

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Valon did well to hide his surprise, sitting up. He ignored the pain, a feat he’d learned. Loki’s ears perked up as he went on alert, baring his teeth the closer they came. Volk and Timber didn’t seem to notice the danger he was in. Gjarper stood off to the side, ever silent, ever watchful, but unlike the others, he didn’t look surprised to see the dogs, making Valon wonder if he had always known. “You cost me money every time you enter the Pit and lay on your back. Now you’re costing me money by feeding your pets?” The rage in his face was clear, but more was the sadistic gleam in his eyes. “Grab them.” “No!”

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But the moment he was on his feet, ready to fight for them, two of Bastian’s guard grabbed him, holding him in place as the others grabbed the smaller dogs. Only, when one of them made to snatch Loki, he snapped back, crouching low as though prepared to attack. He had grown bigger than both Timber and Volk, and his size intimidated the men. Bastian pulled a blade from his coat, wrenching Timber from the man’s hand, who struggled in his hold. Volk, however, seeming to realize what was happening, bit the man’s hand that was holding him. He scrambled to his feet, trying to run away, but the man brandished a small revolver, aiming it at him. Before Valon could even voice a

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protest, he shot Volk twice, dropping to the ground, blood already seeping from his fur. “Wai—” But it was too late. Bastian’s knife had already cut through Timber neck. He dropped him to the ground, uncaring that a line of blood was slowly seeping across the dirt toward Valon. The anguish he felt at the sight of them wounded Valon in a way that he couldn’t describe. He had stopped caring about things since his nënë’s murder, but he had allowed these creatures to become a part of him. He learned what it was like to feel again. And now that two of them were gone, he felt that void opening up inside of him…one he was afraid to look into.

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There was only Loki left and Valon couldn’t—wouldn’t watch him die. “Whatever you want,” he said desperately. “You want me to win a fight, I’ll do it. Or anything.” Only two people in that room knew exactly what Valon was truly offering, what those precious words meant. And while he had meant what he said, Valon didn’t dare look to Gjarper to see his reaction, knowing there would be shame there. But there was nothing more to offer a man who had everything he could possibly want…except for something he had previously tried to take. The silence had stretched between them before Gjarper broke it. “If the boy

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fights tonight, and wins, then we stand to make a large profit if we bet on him.” “Look at him,” one of the others sneered. “He can’t fight in this condition. They’d kill him in minutes.” Valon didn’t respond to the criticism. To some, Loki might have meant nothing. But at this moment, Valon would give anything to save his only friend, even if it meant offering up a piece of himself. Bastian considered the man’s words, studying Valon with dark eyes. “You fight. You win. If you lose, it dies, and I kill you myself.” He waved the others away, and they followed behind him as they all left the barn. “Get him ready,” he called over his shoulder. “He fights within the hour.”

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Only when they were out of sight and Gjarper was the only one left to see it did Valon wince, wrapping an arm around his middle as though that might help the pain he was in. After fighting for so long, he knew what certain injuries felt like, and he knew that tonight he would be fighting with sore ribs and a well-placed hit might actually break one of them. But he had no choice. He wasn’t just fighting for himself. Loki crept forward, sniffing around his dead companions, whining as he nudged them, wanting to get up again. “I’m sorry.” There was no need to apologize. It wasn’t as though Loki could understand him

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anyway, but Valon felt the need to do so because he was sorry. Sorry he couldn’t help save them. Sorry he couldn’t help save himself. But maybe, and he was hoping, he would get them through the night. “You need to prepare,” Gjarper said from his position by the doors. But for the time being, Valon ignored him, going over to a corner in the back of the barn, getting down on his knees before digging his fingers into the dirt. The dirt was hard already, made even harder due to the elements, but Valon didn’t stop his process as he dug the first hole, shredding his fingers in the process. When he finished the first, he immediately started the second, and only when the two were done, he carried Timber

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and Volk over one by one, laying them inside before covering them up. “You are as dumb as you look,” Gjarper said once he returned, seeing the condition Valon’s hands were in. Shrugging, Valon didn’t offer a response as he followed Gjarper back out, heading to the room where Gjarper usually readied him. Inside, Gjarper removed his tools from the box he kept them in. First, they cleaned and bandaged Valon’s hands, carefully wrapping the gauze so that it wasn’t too tight. Since they had first begun training together, Gjarper had changed, and while Valon could never say they were friends, he was the only man here he at least could talk to without fear of punishment or Bastian finding out.

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“Don’t forget what I told you,” Gjarper said quietly, the same thing he always said before Valon entered the Pit. But this time, there was an edge to his words that wasn’t there before. “If you lose…there is nothing I can do for you.” Valon stared down at his bandaged hands. “I won’t lose.”

-

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8 ______ Valon entered the ring, the shouts of the spectators loud in his ears. Some were there for him—he recognized their faces—and knew that they had probably bet against him considering his odds in his last three fights. Which meant, if he won, then Bastian stood to make a lot of money, more than enough really. His competition was a beast of a boy. He looked like he had been fighting since the time he was able to walk. Scars covered a good majority of his body, and when he turned his focus on Valon, it was clear that he was ready for things to get bloody.

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It was the same boy he’d been forced to compete against in his first fight. So much was the same, but a lot was different since the last time he’d entered the ring with him. First, Valon was not as afraid. Yes, he knew this fight would not be an easy one, and it was doubtful that this would be over in seconds like the last time, but Valon wasn’t the same. The boy didn’t look as big as he once did, and even he seemed to notice the difference in Valon as well. He still had at least twenty pounds on him, but Valon had grown taller so they matched more evenly. The roar of the crowd, money waving in the air, dogs barking in the distance—it all added to the atmosphere, but Valon, though plenty of incentive filled him, still couldn’t

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bring himself to want this. He hated fighting, not because of what he could potentially do to the other person, but because of a sweet, dark emotion that it sparked to life inside of him. Bastian sat in a chair above the crowd, raising his hand to silence the crowd. It only took a second. Once they were quiet, he gave Valon one last meaningful look before he nodded. It was time. If his training had taught him anything, then Valon knew not to run at his opponent, to wait, gauge his weaknesses and plan a mode of attack, but this other boy did none of that. No, he ran for Luka, hooking his arms around his waist and hurling him to the ground. It was an easy enough thing to

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do considering Valon was a little less than half his size. Bits of twigs and gravel bit into Valon’s back as he hit the ground hard, but he didn’t have much time to focus on that with this bloke on top of him, raining down blows, landing a solid one against Valon’s side that made his ribs protest. Pain. It was something he knew, something he craved, and as he suffered under the weight of his opponent, that pain started to call to him. Punch to the face. Valon smirked. Punch to the temple. An amused chuckle left his lips. The more hits that came, the more something died inside of him, and soon he

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was laughing outright, drawing cries of alarm from the spectators, their yells growing louder. Bastian was still seated, though he shook his head as though he knew Valon was about to lose this fight. It didn’t matter to him, not really. He had kept him around far longer than he would any other boy who had come to him, and now it was time to cut his losses and be done with him. No one, however, seemed to notice the fear entering the larger boy’s eyes as he realized that though he might have the upper hand in the fight, he was slowly losing his edge now that he was faced with someone who seemed to be getting off on the pain. He struggled to his feet, kicking Valon as hard as he could, wanting to end it, and it was a hard enough blow that Valon stopped

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laughing, clutching his side and rolling into the injury. Then, as many people did once they thought they had done, he turned his back to Valon. With a surge of strength, Valon leaped at the boy, pulling him down to the ground as he’d done him. He scrambled up his torso, planting himself on his chest as Valon used his fists in a way he had never done before. “Look what you made me do!” The words felt pulled from him as he landed blow after blow, bloodying the boy’s nose as he’d done to him. Valon could remember every blow he had taken just minutes prior, and delivered them just as the boy had done to him. The other boy could have gotten away if he truly wanted, but fear

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kept him paralyzed and his struggles were useless. Valon was laughing louder than ever, feeling the slickness of the blood on his hands, the way the bones in the boy’s face cracked beneath his fists. It was heady, the power this gave him, and he didn’t want it to end. His own blood dripped from his face, mingling with the rest of it flowing freely. His mind was free for once, lost in a haze that he wasn’t ready to come out of. He didn’t even notice when the boy stopped struggling beneath him. Valon was enjoying it too much. Someone hauled him up from behind, dragging him away from the bloody mess that he’d left behind.

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Through it all, Valon never stopped laughing. ____ Everything was terrifyingly loud when the fight ended and he was dragged from the Pit, the warm, acrid scent of blood still lingering in Valon’s nose as he was led from that place of horror into the old house where he had once stayed. No one spoke, the silence hanging heavy around them. When they passed the occasional person in the hall, they shrank back, the sight of it making Valon laugh in spite himself. He could only imagine what he must look like. Covered in blood. His face and body battered after the fight. But as quickly as that thought formed, he remembered

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what the other boy looked like…at least before he’d died beneath his fists. Not once, in his entire life, had Valon felt such power. When they finally reached a room at the end of the hall, Valon was shoved inside and instructed to ‘clean himself up.’ It was a bedroom, but there was not much inside beside an old mattress on the floor and two dressers against the walls. Heading into the bathroom, he turned on the faucet at the sink, splashing water on his face before he gazed at his reflection in the cracked, hanging mirror. Red tinted water dripping into the basin, but still blood lingered in his hair and on his neck. Now he understood the revulsion he’d seen in their eyes as he was

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dragged through this place. He looked like a monster. And worse, he felt like one. Looking away, he grabbed one of the towels hanging nearby, scrubbing his face and chest as best he could to rid himself of the blood, wincing as he got around to his side. Now that the bloodlust was wearing off, the pain and fatigue was settling in. Finished, he left the towel on the edge of the sink, hitting the light as he left back out again. Not knowing what else was expected of him, Valon went to the mattress and dropped down onto it, stifling a groan as he stretched out. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been this comfortable. No…he did. The night he had walked in on Bastian and the girl.

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He almost wanted to get on the floor instead, not wanting to get used to this luxury when it was more than likely that he would be back in the barn before the sun came up. There was no point in enjoying it when it would just be taken away. Just as he was sitting up, the door swung open. Gjarper and Bastian walked inside, but it was the person who was trailing behind them that got Valon’s attention. Fatos. He hadn’t seen his friend since the day they walked home together, and seeing him now was like stepping into the past. And that only made him ashamed of who he was now. Fatos still looked the same, lanky with shaggy hair, but here Valon was, a brawler

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who Bastian had commissioned. And after this night, a killer. But while he was lost in thought about how much he had changed, Fatos had similar musings, except he didn’t look nearly as surprised to find Valon there as he thought he should. In fact, he looked rather annoyed to be standing there. Valon didn’t have time to consider this before Bastian began speaking. “You did well tonight. You have finally earned your keep for once.” More than, Valon assumed. Before he’d been tossed in the Pit, he’d thought he’d heard someone offer two-thousand dollars on his opponent. Considering Valon didn’t really have anything of his own in this place, took the occasional shower, and ate only

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when he was allowed to, it cost very little to care for him. “For tonight, this room is yours. Relax. Enjoy it. I’ll even have my men bring you something to eat. After tonight, you have earned this.” Meaning, after he killed someone. He put that reminder out of his mind for the time being. “And I even brought your friend. See? I am good to those who are good to me.” Clapping Gjarper on the shoulder, who merely nodded in acknowledgment to Valon, the pair left the room, leaving Fatos standing in their wake. What did he say to someone he hadn’t seen in what felt like a lifetime? Was he

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meant to explain how he got here? Or did he already know? “How did you know I was here?” Valon asked, keeping his voice down in case anyone lingered out in the hall. He didn’t want them to think Fatos meant something to him. Otherwise, they would just take that away as well. “My father told me the day after you got here,” Fatos said as he looked around the room. “Bastian wanted to have you killed, but I told my father you were too important to die.” Valon prided himself on not reacting to that revelation. He remembered getting here, being forced to sleep out in the barn like an animal, but he had never thought it

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was because he was going to die. He’d just assumed it was the way things were done. “But I’m no one.” He wasn’t saying that for pity because it was true. As Gjarper had told him once, he was born of a drunk and a…no, he couldn’t bring himself to call her that, not even now. Fatos looked surprised for a second before his brows knitted together as he looked at Valon in confusion. “Are we not friends?” He spoke as though nothing had changed, but Valon knew that he had to know what happened to his mother and Ahmeti. They all did. “Of course we are, but—” “Then if you’re important to me, you’re important to them. Don’t forget that.”

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Not important enough to actually sleep in a bed for the last eight months… But Valon didn’t voice this thought, shoving it back down into the recesses of his mind instead. Fatos couldn’t have done anything about this. He was only a boy of twelve, though neither acted their age. “Good for you though,” Fatos went on. “My father is letting me join the family business, so I’ll be here with you more often.” Truthfully, Valon didn’t know exactly what the family business was. Of course, he knew the rumors, even Ahmeti had gloated about the things he had done in a distant past, but he still didn’t know what, exactly, they all did.

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“I’m glad I have at least one friend here,” Valon said truthfully and gave a reluctant, but genuine smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Fatos headed for the door but paused when he was on the other side of it. He glanced back at Valon with a playful smile, but his eyes were guarded. “I was sure you were going to lose like last time when you stepped into the Pit tonight. My father didn’t let me hear the end of it after I lost his money.” Valon wasn’t sure how to respond to that, so he just watched him walk away. ____ Valon lived to see another day and so did Loki, but that didn’t mean that nothing had changed from the night before to the present.

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Everything had changed. Valon had two days of healing, and then he was back in the ring, fighting for his life as much as he was fighting for Loki’s. Now that Bastian knew how to get to him, he used that as ammunition to get what he needed from him, and it worked. Before Loki, Valon had lost the majority of his fights—after Loki, Valon didn’t lose one. Fighting better and earning more money for Bastian did have its advantages. He was no longer regulated to the kennels and had been given a room in the bigger house. It wasn’t much to look at really—just a twin bed that barely fit Valon’s towering frame, a couple of blankets, and a single bulb hanging from the ceiling. Bastian had ordered that Loki needed to stay in the cage

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with the others, but for once, Valon didn’t have to fight for the right to keep his companion. It was actually Gjarper who came to his defense, arguing that since he’d fought better after his arrival, he should be allowed to keep him. Valon might not have heard this argument himself, but when Loki was in his room one night after he’d gone a round in the ring, wagging his tail in happiness, Valon had just assumed. This went on for four years. He fought, he won, and he went to his room. In that time, he had changed, not just physically—he had grown several inches, nearly towering over everyone but Gjarper, his hair was shaggier, the ends nearly reaching his shoulders, and his body had went from that of a half-starved boy to a man’s—but

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mentally. He had learned to shut it all down. When he was in the ring, he lived in that moment. He did what he needed to do. When he was alone in his room, he wasn’t as successful with that tactic. Silence. That was the difference between the ring and his room. In the former, there was the crowd, the man he was fighting, everything around him was making noise constantly, but when he was in his room, there was only silence, forcing him to think about it, no matter if he didn’t want to or not. Fatos remained close, and unlike the first time when they had been reunited, there was a difference with him as they both hovered beneath the spotlight that was

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Bastian. Sure, Fatos got most of the favor since he was the son of a renowned member of The Organization, but it was to Valon that most gave their respect. Over the years, he had garnered the respect he had always craved, thanks to his time in the Pit and his now legendary skill. Since his first win, he hadn’t returned to the barn, and now that people knew what he was capable, the disdainful looks ceased and no one dared to threaten him. It was as if he was an entirely different person, though he didn’t feel it. No, that wasn’t true. He could feel the difference in him. He smiled less. He wasn’t prone to jokes and antics as he had been. And when he took a moment to himself in the middle of

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the night, he found that he was consumed with a rage he couldn’t force away as he had before. He didn’t know when he had become such an angry person, nor did he really like who he was, but he did like the benefits that the new him got him. More importantly, he was no longer afraid to enter the Pit and do what needed to be done. For Bastian, there was no going too far. He just let him fight until he was spent and could barely lift his arms. It was doubtful that his fights were even bid on anymore since his competency had been spoken of far and wide. If he had to guess, then Valon thought the men who were forced onto the dirt with him were meant to die because even when he wanted to, he couldn’t bring himself to pull

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away long enough to just end the fight with his opponent unconscious. No, he made sure they ceased to exist. What would Galina think of you? That question often plagued him when he was coming down from the high that was hurting others, but before the idea that she was ashamed of what he had become could consume him, he needed only to think of one thing to get past it. Galina was dead now, and she wasn’t thinking about anything.

-

9 ______ Valon was lying on his back, hands stacked beneath his head, staring up at the ceiling, letting the pain in his hands calm him. His fight last night had been brutal, one that he had let go on for far longer than necessary. He had needed it though, the extra hits and the damage that had been done to his body. After the last three fights, stopping

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from killing his opponents only because someone pulled him off, Valon had been trying to find a way to keep from losing himself in the bloodlust. The only thing that could center him was pain. He hadn’t realized this at first. During his fight, he’d been thinking about his training for this, how whenever Gjarper landed a solid punch to his face, his vision became clearer and his thoughts more coherent. Running with that idea, he let his last opponent land a number of punches, a few to his face, another half dozen or so to his body, and when he was pulled back from the abyss that threatened to consume him, Valon knocked the man out with a single punch to the jaw.

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While Bastian didn’t look particularly thrilled that his opponent wasn’t as bloody as they normally were, he could not complain about the results of it. He’d been left to do as he pleased for the rest of the night, and for Valon, that meant staying awake until his body gave out and he finally passed out. It was going well until he heard multiple pairs of feet outside his door and soft curses that were aimed at someone he couldn’t see. Before, Valon had always jumped at the slightest sound, always worried that someone would try to sneak up on him and attack, but with the tales of his skills traveling far and wide, there was no need for him to be afraid anymore.

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Even injured, he could kill with his bare hands. The door was shoved open without warning, Bastian strolling in as he always did. Everyone else knocked because once when Strom barged in and startled Valon out of his sleep, he showed him how that was a bad idea. Not moving from his position on the bed, Valon turned his head in Bastian’s direction, his face not giving anything away as a girl was shoved into the room behind him, two of Bastian’s men taking up the doorway. Valon barely spared her a glance as he asked, “Am I needed?” “No, no.” Bastian chortled though no one else laughed. “I’ve brought you a gift.”

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Valon wasn’t particularly fond of the gifts he liked to give, but he wasn’t stupid enough to turn him down. “Oh.” Bastian snapped his fingers and the girl was given another shove, closer to Bastian this time. It became abundantly clear, though it wasn’t said, that the gift was whoever this girl was. She was barefoot, much as Valon had been when he’d first arrived, but unlike him, she had a sheet wrapped around her body, held closed by tiny fists. She had large eyes, almost too big for her oval face. She was trembling, more from fear than cold. That fear only made worse when Bastian gave a yank on the sheet she held, pulling it away from her body, revealing her nudity.

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He might have been a killer and was particularly brutal with his fists, but he had morals…questionable morals, but morals all the same. Valon kept his eyes on her face for a long moment before looking back at Bastian and the pleased smile on his face. “She is beautiful, no? Firm breasts and I was guaranteed she is untouched.” Neither of those descriptions meant anything to Valon. “Okay.” “Don’t worry,” Bastian explained, misunderstanding his lack of a reaction. “She’s legal.” Now that did mean something to Valon after seeing the girls that Bastian preferred, but he would never take his word for it. “What do you expect me to do with her?”

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Bastian laughed loudly, looking back to his men who cracked a grin at his expense. Despite their entertainment, they didn’t turn their laughter on Valon. They couldn’t even meet his eyes. “Enjoy her. I’ve forgotten what little you know since you’ve been so lucrative for me over these years. I’m sure she’ll teach you everything you need to know. Or would you prefer someone break her in first?” To that, Strom perked right up, his eyes sliding over the girl in blatant, though malicious, interest. The girl, whoever she was, shook her head, still trying to shield her nudity as best she could with her hands. Whether she had formed her own conclusions about Valon, she clearly saw him as less of a threat.

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While he might not have looked at her directly, Valon did notice the way she was turned in his direction, clearly wanting to get away from the ones who had brought her in. He shouldn’t have given a shit about her. No one had ever given a shit about him since he’d arrived in this place, but even still, he found himself saying, “I’ll keep her.” Bastian clapped his hands together, looking entirely too pleased about that. “Good. I’ll leave these for you. Lock her up once you’re done. We don’t want our new friend to try anything while you’re sleeping.” He tossed Valon a pair of manacles, winking at him as he and the men headed out, but before he was gone, he slapped the girl on the ass.

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Once they were gone and the door was closed behind them, Valon climbed off the bed, rolling his shoulders as he finally took the time to look at the girl properly. Her eyes widened as she realized just how tall he was, her eyes flickering over him, lingering on his bloody knuckles. As he walked forward, she took an equal amount of steps back, whispering a plea, thinking that he intended to hurt her. He merely reached for the sheet that Bastian had thrown down and tossed it to her. He climbed back on the bed, getting right back into the position he’d been in before she was brought to him. While he might have been looking back up at the ceiling, he was very aware of her still hovering in that same spot.

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She still didn’t move from the position she was in, almost as if she thought he was toying with her and the moment she did actually try to cover herself, he would attack. But he wasn’t thinking about her. Rather, he was wondering what in the hell he was going to do now. ____ It was like having a fucking pet, except he didn’t want this one. While Loki was free to roam around—no one dared tell him otherwise—she was kept locked in his room whenever he left, and even when he was there, she still sat in the same spot on the floor, bundled under a sheet. As the temperatures were steadily decreasing, Valon frowned at the sight of her there, knowing

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from experience how cold those floors could get. But she didn’t know what he had done to earn this bed, a luxury that most people even older than him took for granted. Some nights, he woke up delirious, the feel of the bedding on his skin like the blood of those he faced in the Pit. Maybe it was their close proximity, or the fact that up until this point, he had done her no harm, but while the moon still hung heavy in the sky, the house quiet for the time being, Valon shot awake once again, sweat bracketing on his skin. He tried to see clearly, scrubbing a hand down his face, but the more he tried to calm himself, the more he sunk deeper into the nightmare that was slowly seeping into his reality. He couldn’t think, he could hardly

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breathe as face after face flashed through his mind on a continuous loop, forcing him to confront memories he wasn’t ready to deal with. A hand came down on his shoulder, startling the hell out of him. Without taking a moment to see who the person was, Valon had a hold on their wrist, yanking them off balance. Springing from the bed, he had a hand around their throat before they could even take a breath, dropping them to the floor, using his full weight to keep whomever it was pinned there. He could feel them struggling to breathe beneath his hold, nails scoring down his arm for purchase as they struggled to get free. It was only then did anything penetrate

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his fog. None of the men he knew had long nails, nor were their hands this small. He repeatedly blinked , the image of the girl coming into focus, her face bright red from her lack of oxygen. He jerked his hand away, still staring at her as she took in deep breaths, coughing as she choked, her hands flying to her own neck as if she could still feel the phantom weight of his own. Valon frowned down at her, not because she was making a lot of noise—noise that would probably wake up others—but because a foreign sensation raced through him, one he hadn’t felt in what seemed like ages. “Sorry.” As soon as he’d uttered the apology, Valon could see the surprise on her face as she finally got her breathing under control.

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Considering he had barely spoken ten words to her in the short time she had been with him, he could understand why his apology for hurting her was met with this reaction. Undoubtedly, she had heard about who he was and what he did while she was being transported here by Bastian or whoever had brought her. She’d looked frightened enough, and he was glad for it, but now, he just wanted her gone. He got to his feet, extending a hand to help her up. She gazed at it warily, and then after a few seconds, she placed her hand in his, allowing him to pull her to her feet. He let her go a second later, looking away as he tried to fight past an emotion he hadn’t felt in a long time. Embarrassment.

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Valon never had to worry about someone witnessing his night terrors as no one bothered him during the wee hours of the night. Except for this girl. “Do you speak?” he asked angrily, scrubbing a hand down his face as he walked to the bathroom and turned the light on. He didn’t realize that she was watching his every move until after he’d splashed his face with water and came back out. “Do you understand what I’m saying?” It would be just like Bastian to find an American girl and bring her here. If she didn’t understand what they were saying, then she couldn’t provide information to anyone who asked. And even if she could

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vocalize something she saw, she wouldn’t live long enough to see the outside of this place. “M-My name is E-Elena,” she said in English, her speech hesitant. His mother had taught him the language, but he still didn’t understand some words and phrases. For the moment, Valon was just glad she was talking. “Valon…” he said carefully, purposefully not giving her his last name. Actually, he didn’t know why he was introducing himself in the first place. With the sheer amount of people who called his name a day, she probably already knew it. Clearing his throat, Valon rubbed his hand across the back of his neck, looking away from her. “Did you need something

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when you were…” He trailed off, waving his hand, hoping she understood what he was asking. “Just trying to wake you up.” He didn’t detect any malice in her voice…and she had a nice voice. Soft. Kind. A change from the barking and the male voices he heard every day. “Sorry.” That was the second time he’d apologized. A record, even for him. He moved around her to sit at the foot of the bed, all too aware of the way she still kept her distance from him, but after he had nearly choked her to death, he understood why. He wanted to tell her that he wouldn’t hurt her, that he wasn’t like the others…but wasn’t he? Didn’t he step into the Pit

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countless times to murder people just because someone told him to? She was right to be afraid of him. Not liking the silence stretching between them, Valon said, “You don’t have to stay on the floor.” He gestured back on the mattress. “I’m not going to hurt you if that’s what you think.” Valon just wasn’t built that way. He could hurt people with his fists, sometimes reveled in it, but never a female, and not in that way. Not that he knew how even if he wanted to. She only hesitated a moment before she walked the few, short steps to the mattress and sank down. He was surprised she was still okay due to the fact that she still didn’t have any

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clothes and it didn’t look like anyone was going to give her any. It was the least he could do… Back up again, he grabbed one of his old T-shirts and a pair of shorts that were probably too big for her, but it was the best he could do for now. Tossing them to her, he pointed to the bathroom. “You can change in there.” She disappeared through the door, leaving the light off, but when she emerged, he actually felt better. “Thank you.” Her gratitude made him uncomfortable, and even she looked uncomfortable. Her because she probably thought he wanted something from her now. Him because he didn’t want anything from her. Especially

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her gratitude. He might be a killer, but he wasn’t so bad that he was going to use a ruse to get something from her. Again, they both fell silent, but it took every ounce of self-control for Valon not to ask her questions. Where was she from…did she have any family…was anyone looking for her, or had she chosen to come here expecting something different… But he couldn’t bring himself to ask because not only was he afraid of the answer, but what else could he do about it anyway? Sure, there was a train station a few miles from here, but the likelihood of them reaching that place before anyone noticed they were gone was unlikely.

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Valon didn’t know how long they sat there, his thoughts wandering when she finally spoke. “You’re really not like them, are you?” He wanted to agree with that assertion with every fiber of his being, but he had never been much of a liar, and he wasn’t going to start now. “I’m worse.”

-

10 ______ Fatos was waiting for him in the kitchen a few days later, smirking when he noticed Valon’s entry. He’d been around far more often now that he was working his way into the Organization. When he’d first shown up, Valon thought he would be glad for his company, but now he had grown tired of his former friend.

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Not because he did anything in particular, but it was just the smaller acts that annoyed Valon now that he was around Fatos far more than when they’d been children. One trait about Fatos was becoming abundantly clear. He hated to lose. Whether it was a mere game being played between friends, or if he lost a bet, he did not handle it well, and Valon was seeing a side of him that he never thought he would. But more curious was that he never lost his temper with Valon, not once. Even when Bastian asked something of Valon that Fatos wanted, he took it in stride. But let it be anyone else, and Fatos made them pay. But because Valon was loyal to those he considered his friends, he turned his back

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on Fatos’ actions. After all, he had someone to look after. Since the night of her waking him up, things hadn’t changed much between them, but she did, at least, make eye contact with him, and spoke to him, even if it was to only say ‘thanks’ for the food he brought her. “What are you doing, brother?” Fatos asked as he watched Valon pull a plate down from the cabinets, pulling the contents out of the refrigerator to make a sandwich. Valon just glanced at him, letting his actions do all the speaking. “Is that for the girl?” “If it is?” He frowned. “Since when did you start caring about the girl?”

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Valon, still focused on his task, said, “I never said I cared.” Fatos held his hands up. “I merely ask…if you are too busy, I won’t bother you.” Irritated, he finally gave in, knowing that Fatos would keep bothering him until he had a conversation with him. Sometimes he forgot how needy he could be. “What’s doing, Fatos?” “Xavien is gone.” Valon racked his brain, trying to remember where he had heard that name, and then it clicked. Since he had grown so used to think of Xavien as Gjarper, he had actually forgotten the man’s real name. “Oh? Where is he? For a moment, he feared the worst, thinking his mentor had

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been killed for a transgression that he didn’t know about. “On assignment with my father. It’s doubtful he’ll be coming back for a while.” At least one of them could get out of this shithole, Valon thought. While he wasn’t sure what the assignment was exactly, it had to be better than waiting on Bastian hand and foot. Good for him. “Okay.” Slapping some meat between the bread, Valon took it and a bottle of water, leaving Fatos staring after him. He didn’t notice the way Fatos’ eyes lit with a dangerous fire. Elena was just exiting the bathroom as Valon reentered. She hesitated a moment, and then gave him a small smile that made

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him look away. It wasn’t embarrassment that made him do it. At least that was what he told himself. “Thought you might be hungry.” “What about you?” He blinked, looking back at her as she crossed the floor to sit beside him. “What about me?” “Well, aren’t you going to eat, too?” He forced the plate into her hands, dropping the bottle of water onto her lap. “I’m not hungry.” He didn’t know what to make of her. Besides her first few nights, she didn’t seem to fear him, not even when he’d come into the room covered in blood, or like the other night when he’d nearly choked her to death. She just seemed to take it all in stride.

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“If you say so.” She carefully took a bite of the sandwich, smiling shyly at him when he looked at her. Since she seemed to be more receptive—or maybe because he wasn’t glaring at her—he decided to try to appease his curiosity. “Can I ask you a question?” She chewed some more, swallowing before nodding. “Sure.” “Where are you from? I don’t think I’ve seen you here before.” He thought he would have remembered someone like her. Clearing her throat, she stared down at the sandwich thoughtfully. “I don’t know…or at least I don’t know where I was born. When I was nine, my parents died in a car accident, and I was sent to an orphanage.

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When I was sixteen, I left, thinking I could make it on my own.” She sipped the water, looking uncomfortable as she discussed a past she probably didn’t want to reveal to him. “I met a man who promised to take care of me, pay for anything I wanted, if I did a little work for him.” “What did you need to do?” Valon asked, then immediately regretted it when he realized what she meant a moment later. “You don’t—” “No, it’s okay. He wanted me to sleep with some of his friends first. That was my test, to see how I performed. When I…passed…he made me one of his girls. It wasn’t so bad,” she said as she read the look on his face. “He was never terribly cruel to

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me. It was only when I was short on money that he ever hurt me.” “And Bastian? How did he find you?” “Trenton, that was his name, he owed Bastian a debt. I fulfilled it.” Valon nodded, leaning his head back against the wall as he digested everything she had told him. It made him think of his mother and what her life must have been like before she was bought by Ahmeti and brought here. Was it better there? Had she been happy? Elena, misunderstanding his silence, looked down at the plate she had now set on the floor. “Do you think less of me now?” He wondered whether she thought if he did think less of her, would he treat her differently. Would he become cruel like the

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others and start calling her a whore because that was what she was… Truthfully, he didn’t care about any of that. Even if she had been an innocent, he would still never hurt her. If anything, this would only make him treat her better. “No,” he answered honestly. “Thanks.” But she shouldn’t have to express her gratitude for that. He was only being a decent human being. “And you?” Shaking his head, he laughed without humor before telling her a condensed and clean version of how he had come to be in this place. She listened intently, never taking her eyes off him until he had finished.

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If anything, that seemed to make her pity him. “I’m sorry about your mother. It sounds like she meant the world to you.” And she had. That was why, shortly after he had come here and gained enough freedom that he could walk the property without being followed, he’d taken her combs and wrapped them in a spare strip of cloth he’d found in the barn. In the dead of night, he had ventured from his bed into the woods behind the house, letting the light of the moon guide him until he was deep enough that he felt they would be left unfound. Though no one had tended to bother his things at that time, he still didn’t trust how long that would last.

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He was spending too much time running errands for Bastian to watch over them. When he had found a rather secluded area, he had crouched beside the thick trunk of the tree, digging into the hardened earth with desperate fingers until he had made a significant hole. He had had some time before anyone would be looking for him, so he had taken advantage of that. On his knees, he took a second to unwrap the folds, taking a moment to peer at the jewel-colored combs with their incredible designs. He had almost been too afraid to let them go, knowing what these had once meant to his mother and now to him. Despite having given up everything else from his former life, he hadn’t wanted to give those up, too.

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Not yet. Down they went into the hole, and then he covered them in dirt until there was nothing left to see. At the time, and even now, he didn’t know whether he would ever return for them, but he hoped…One day, he hoped. “Yes,” Valon answered after some time. “She was.” “Thank you.” He looked at her, confused. “Why do you say this?” “You trusted me with something that I doubt you’ve told anyone else. So, thank you.” Though the action felt foreign and out of place, Valon smiled. ____

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From that day on, things had shifted between them. She was less of a pet and more of an…ally? Valon wasn’t quite sure what to call her, but he knew one thing. He was glad to have her in his life. Now that she was there, he didn’t feel that same grueling pressure at the end of the night when he left the Pit. He actually looked forward to returning to his room. Even if it was just for a few short hours every night, she helped him forget the Pit and the demands Bastian put on him. And in return, she gave him her undivided attention. No one bothered her now that it seemed he had taken more of an interest in her, and the one time that Strom thought to

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harass her while Valon was busy in the Pit, Valon made sure to teach him yet another lesson on why that was not a good idea. Time slipped by as they grew closer, and before Valon realized it, that first awkward week between them had turned into six weeks, and they were closer than he could have ever thought they would be. No one else seemed to mind how Valon had changed since he had developed a relationship with her. To them, he was no longer a ticking time bomb. Now, he was a bit more friendly and no longer looked like he was ready to murder them at the slightest provocation. Everyone, that was, except for Fatos.

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He seemed to grow more agitated the longer she stayed around and the more attention Valon gave her. But like he always did, he ignored Fatos’ agitation, dismissing it as he always had. One night, after a fight, Fatos was waiting for him at the side of the ring. “How about we celebrate your victory,” he offered with a wide smile. Valon glanced over at Bastian who was laughing and joking with a man who was handing over a large stack of money. When he looked over, Bastian nodded, interrupting the man as he rudely walked off and came over. “Good work, boy. Maybe I should have given you pussy long before now, yes? You would have performed better.”

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He laughed at his own joke, but both Valon and Fatos remained silent, watching him walk off again. “What do you say?” “I’m busy,” Valon said as he turned his back on his friend. “I’ll see you—” “What is it that has you so enthralled with that whore?” Fatos spat out. Before the consequences even crossed his mind, Valon swung at him, hitting him square in the face. Fatos didn’t go down, but his head did jerk to the side with the force of his punch. Valon instantly regretted it, but it was too late to do anything about it, and he wouldn’t offer an apology he didn’t mean.

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He had always hated that word, whore, and more than anyone else, Fatos knew this. “Back off,” he warned him. The only warning he would ever give. He was conscious of the attention that he was now getting, but he ignored the lot of them as he headed for the house. No one stood in his way, and when he reached his room, he closed and locked the door. “Valon?” Ignoring Elena until he could get his anger under control, he disappeared into the bathroom, turning on the shower, listening to the old pipes rattle as water began to spurt out. He calmed the worst of his agitation beneath the spray of water, washing the

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night away. By the time he got out, he was far calmer. Dressing quickly, he headed back into the bedroom, ready to apologize to Elena, but there was no need. She didn’t look upset with him. Sometimes, during moments like these, he remembered that she was too good for someone like him, someone who had his penchant for violence. Maybe one day he could offer her more than this. “Valon…” She touched him, startling him to the point that he jumped, looking over at her sharply, but she merely held her hands up like she wanted to appease him…make sure he knew that she wasn’t trying to hurt him like so many others had.

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Shame and embarrassment filled him as he sat with her, seeing the surprise in her eyes. But pity didn’t follow. When she reached for him, he grabbed hold of her hand before she could touch him, but didn’t move it away. “Has no one ever touched you with kindness?” For a moment, thoughts of his mother came to mind, but they were gone just as quickly. Maybe if he tried hard enough, he could conjure a memory of what it had felt like to be around her, how it had felt when she’d brushed his hair. Valon shook his head. “Not in a very long time.” She just stared at him for some time until she seemed to reach a conclusion.

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Carefully, she stretched out her hands, making sure he was watching her the entire time as she cradled his face, moving closer so that they were only a breath apart. A fraction of a moment passed as he considered what she was about to do, but he was careful to keep himself still, the muscles in his arms flexing as he resisted the urge to touch her in return. Not sure of what she planned, he didn’t want to risk hurting her. Very gently, almost as if she was nervous for this, Elena pressed her lips to his, only to pull away a second later. It was short, tentative, but in that one second, he felt more than he could have ever dreamed. He felt that kiss in every part of his being, and even if he had never been kissed before, he knew that this was different from

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anything he had ever experienced. This wasn’t about aggression or taking something that wasn’t offered. “That was okay, yes?” Valon nodded, rubbing a hand over his shaved head. Truthfully, he wanted more, but was too afraid to ask for it. But she read his desires like they were his own and kissed him again. This time, it was more languid, and as he attempted to mimic her movements, the kiss grew deeper until they were clinging to each other, sharp breaths leaving them. When she rocked against him, he hissed, one hand immediately dropping to the curve of her hip, wanting her to repeat the motion, but she broke away from him, staring into his eyes.

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Valon deflated. He worried that he might have done something she didn’t like, or worse… “Are you afraid of me?” Valon asked carefully. For once, he didn’t want someone’s fear, not like in the Pit when he was fighting for his life. He wouldn’t go as far as to say he wanted someone to be happy to see him, but maybe someone who didn’t feel the need to recoil when he entered the room or wary in his presence. …Just someone who would make him feel less alone in a house full of people. He wanted her to want him as he did her, not because she was scared of what he might do otherwise.

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“Of course not, Valon,” she whispered as she came closer. “There’s nothing about you that scares me. Not anymore. They’d warned me about you, when they took me from the house with the other girls. They said you were a monster, and you got off on the pain you put others through, so you wouldn’t hesitate to hurt me.” She cradled his face, kissing him lightly. “But you have only ever been good to me. And I want to give you something in return.” When she pressed her lips to his this time, he didn’t pull away, no longer wanting to resist what she was offering. Valon didn’t feel as confident here as he did when he entered the Pit. This was

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uncharted territory for him. But he was willing to learn. Her hands slipped beneath his shirt, her fingers skimming over his chest, her nails dragging along the contours and lines. A heavy breath left him as he gave himself over to something that wasn’t pain. Lifting his arms, he helped her get his shirt off, tossing it in a corner of his room. He was usually a stickler for having things in their place, but at the moment, he couldn’t care less about that. While she was bold in her exploration of him, he was careful as he touched her in return, too afraid of hurting her to do much more than leave his hands at her waist. These hands were bred to only give the maximum amount of force possible. How was he

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to know what was too much, and what wasn’t enough? “It’s okay, Valon,” she whispered against his lips as she pulled away. “You can touch me.” He licked his lips. “I don’t…I don’t know how.” She didn’t laugh, nor did she make fun of him, but instead, she held his hands with her own, showing him exactly what to do. Each article of clothing they wore came off, one by one, until there was nothing between them. He was careful as he caressed her skin, listening to the breathy moans she let out, using that as an indication of what she liked. Adrenaline was coursing through him,

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making him far more aware of what was happening. Elena reached between them, lifting up as she guided him inside of her. “Don’t worry,” she said with a smile on her lips. “I won’t hurt you.”

-

11 ______ Fatos stood off to the side, arms folded across his chest as he watched Valon, once a friend and the only person who Fatos truly cared for, stand over the boy he’d just defeated, his hands bloody, the rest of him with matching splatters.

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The men of their organization cheered. It was more money earned for them. Fatos couldn’t care less about this, but he did care that his work, the work he had been doing for the better part of two years was being overlooked. But that was only because Valon was making strides to belong in their world. He could ignore his own ambitions for a while, just so that his friend could prosper. That was just the type of person he was. He had done everything in his power to make Valon’s life enjoyable here ever since he’d learned what happened to his parents. Did he ask for anything in return? No. But Valon could have at least given him his

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loyalty, but the moment a pretty little distraction came forward, Valon acted as though Fatos didn’t exist. Fatos might have considered letting the transgression go, if not for the fact that he was forced to see her every time he attempted to see his friend. Fatos didn’t mind Valon having a pet, if only that pet knew its place. His friend was too nice, Fatos decided as he watched him get ready for the fight. If he couldn’t do what needed to be done to make sure that she knew her place here—which was nothing more than a glorified hole to be filled whenever someone felt like it—then he would make it his duty to show her exactly what that meant.

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Turning on his heel, Fatos headed back to the house, leaving the screaming, clamoring men who had nothing better to do than watch someone beat another to death behind, ignoring the curious glances he received in return. It was rare that he ever ventured away from Valon’s fights. The only time he’d avoided them was when Valon was first put in there with those animals. He might not have been able to do anything about it then, but he had enjoyed, probably more than the others, when Valon bashed his skull in. The house was relatively empty since most of the men were attending the fights in the back barns, but a few were hanging around, notably Strom who was sitting at a small folding table, an even smaller

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television playing the latest match sitting on top of it. He was eating a bag of chips, cheese crumbs dusting his beard and the front of his black shirt. Strom could never be mistaken for anything more than a well-trained soldier, only ever doing what he was told, and probably had no ambition to acquire more than whatever paltry sum he was paid now. But because he was not the brightest, it made instructing him to do something that much easier. Seeing the mess that Strom had made of himself, Fatos withheld his sneer, forcing a smile so that he at least looked somewhat kind. “I need a favor, Strom.”

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He looked up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, then rubbing said hand onto his pants. Disgusting slob. Ignoring him for the time being, he opened one of the cabinets, pulling out the industrial-strength ammonia that was stored there. Carefully, he poured some into an old water bottle, securing it back with the top before replacing the jug back beneath the sink. He smiled at the bottle in his hand a moment before focusing back on Strom. “The girl that Valon has, where is she?” Strom already had wide, almost bulbous eyes, so whenever he was surprised, it only emphasized this feature. “In his room, no? He doesn’t let her leave.”

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For good reason, thought Fatos. Even he knew the kinds of men who walked in and out of this place, and if not for fear of what Valon was capable of, many might have ignored his rule of entering his room and taken the girl themselves. After all, she was one of only three who had stayed in this place for more than a few weeks…and the only one not addicted to heroin or whatever else Bastian forced into their bodies to make them more pliable. That was how he had gotten the girl here, but Bastian should have known that Valon was not like the rest of them. He didn’t get off on hurting women, and before being put in the Pit, he didn’t get off on hurting anyone.

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“I wanted to give her something, but I wanted to make sure that we were uninterrupted. You know how Valon can be about his things…and that dog of his.” Of course, Fatos had known where the girl was—who didn’t?—but it was his worry about that damned beast of a dog that he’d needed to deal with. He was in no mood to be bitten, and seeing the way Valon had trained it, Fatos had a pretty good idea its orders were to attack first. “Right, right. I’ll get it.” Strom got to his feet, tossing the bag he held on the table as he led the way to Valon’s bedroom. Fatos stood back, watching Strom as he boldly opened the door, nearly laughing at his hesitation when the dog’s growling could be heard even at his distance.

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“Let’s go, you mangy—” Strom yelped in pain as the dog opened wide then latched onto his arm. He did, however, take it in stride, dragging the dog out of the room with very little argument. When Fatos stepped into the doorway, his gaze was immediately drawn to the girl, frowning as he noted that she was wearing Valon’s clothes. Looking at her, he didn’t know what Valon saw in her. There was nothing particularly striking about her, none that Fatos preferred anyway. Besides, they were all whores, her more than others. She only sought to use Valon, but he wasn’t going to let that go on. There had been fear in her eyes when Fatos entered, but that had dimmed when

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she saw him, as if she thought Strom was the bigger threat. “Fatos?” she asked hesitantly. “I think Valon called you that?” He frowned, not liking the sound of his name coming from her mouth. Did she think them equals? But it did pride him to know that Valon spoke of him. “Valon is a dear friend of mine.” He turned to look at her, making sure she understood the gravity of that statement. “And I can’t let someone like you destroy that. You understand, don’t you?” “I’m not—” “I didn’t ask you to speak!” His voice raised at the end, scaring her as she visibly flinched away from him. He took a breath, calming himself. “He is not yours. Bastian

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brought you here, not just as a gift to Valon, but as a gift to us all. In fact, I urged him to do this, but not so you would think you have some kind of power over him. So, if you want to remain here, then it is time you show your appreciation.” Fatos stepped further into the room, closing the door at his back. He placed the bottle on the bedside table, motioning with his hand for her to come closer. Whether out of fear or some other varying emotion, she did as commanded, her face lowered as she carefully moved toward him. He might not have found her attractive, but her show of weakness, her meekness, called to him a way that nothing else did, and made his dick hard. Maybe, if she acted

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appropriately, and as a good whore should, he wouldn’t need to hurt her…as much. Her hands were in tight fists when she was finally seated on the edge, still looking down instead of at him. Reaching for his zipper, he tugged it down, the sound of it impossibly loud in the silence of the room. Fatos only had so long before Valon returned. He smiled, reaching to pet her hair as he pulled his semi-erect penis out of his boxers. She just held it for several moments, making his anger ignite, but as he was about to slap some sense into her, she twisted her wrist with strength he didn’t know she possessed, making him see stars as he yelled with pain.

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Scrambling away from him, she’d almost made it to and out the door when he spun around and grabbed the length of her hair, yanking her back with strength she didn’t know he possessed. She screamed, fighting for all that she was worth, but she had mistaken his kindness, and now, she would get what she deserved. “You fucking bitch!” He forced her onto the bed, straddling her chest. As she struggled, he used one gloved hand to smash the side of her face into the bed as he reached for the bottle, struggling to take the top off with one hand, but he managed it. Some of the ammonia spilled on the floor as she jostled him, but he was in his

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element now. He didn’t bother with pretty words to explain why she deserved this. They both knew the truth. She was nothing, would never amount to anything, and more importantly, he wanted to make sure that she understood exactly what they all thought of her. Flipping the bottle upside down, he poured it onto her face, laughing as she screamed as her skin immediately started reacting to the chemical. He was a decent man. He didn’t want it to damage both sides, just one. Truthfully, he didn’t even want her to die. That would only upset Valon. Plus, he wanted her to see exactly what he had done to her.

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When there was nothing left, he tossed the bottle, pushing his way off her, but he didn’t leave. No, he remained, enjoying the way she writhed on the bed, using her hands to try to wipe off the liquid as though that would help. Feeling a moment of compassion, if he were to call it that, Fatos headed for the bathroom, filling a bucket with water before exiting and throwing it on her face. She choked and gagged, now crying quite loudly, a fact that annoyed him. He filled it once more and repeated the process before dropping the bucket on the floor and watching it roll over to a corner.

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Tugging off the gloves he’d worn to protect his own skin, he tucked himself back into his pants and zipped up. Fatos shook his head at the sight of her before walking to the door. “Whores need to learn their place. Valon doesn’t need you destroying everything he’s built for himself.” Two of Bastian’s men came running to the door, undoubtedly drawn by her screams, and when they caught sight of her, their eyes widened in horror, and when they looked to him, there was fear there. Not fear of him, he soon realized, but fear for him. Did they truly think that Valon would hurt him over some whore?

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Then they were as dumb as they looked. He wouldn’t choose someone like her over him. Their friendship went back years, and there was no one, not now or in the future, who Valon would ever put above him. “Get her cleaned up and clean up the mess.” To anyone else, they might not have had to follow his request, but because of who he was, or because of who his father was, they rushed to obey. As he left the room, Fatos felt rejuvenated, better than he had over the last couple of weeks since that girl had arrived. The food chain had finally been corrected, and now everything was back in its proper order.

-

12 ______ Valon used to draw out the fights, make his opponents believe they had a chance at beating him, but with the thought of Elena waiting back for him in his room, he was eager to get this over with. With a kick to the sternum, he sent the unfortunate man who was in the ring with him to the floor, walking over him

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without looking back. The crowd wasn’t as keen on him leaving the way he was, especially since he hadn’t drawn as much blood as he normally did. They didn’t care that the man was unconscious on the ground; it was about the show for him. Over his last few fights, Bastian had shown his displeasure with the way Valon was fighting, but he had never vocalized it. Tonight, however, Bastian was back to his usual self, though there was a calculated gleam in his eye that bothered him, but instead of paying it any mind, Valon waited for his nod of approval before leaving the ring. Walking the short distance back to the house, Valon swiped a hand over his shaved head, his muscles aching at the movement. As he got closer, he frowned seeing Loki

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sitting outside, his ears perking up as he noticed Valon’s approach. Even during the rare times that Loki was waiting for him, his tail always thumped wildly, but tonight he whined and even when Valon rubbed his head, he still made the noise. “Let’s go.” Entering the house, Valon couldn’t help but notice the startling odor that permeated the air. Everything was quite the same day in and day out in this place, so whenever there was something different, no matter how small that change was, he noticed it. The house was quiet, a little too quiet, but this was usually the case when he had a big fight. Most came out to watch or bet on him. Surprisingly, however, Strom wasn’t

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sitting at the table watching television as he usually did. Putting it out of his mind, Valon turned the corner and ran into Fatos. He was one of the few who never seemed bothered by the sight of the blood covering him. Sometimes he wondered if they shared the same sickness for brutality. With a chin nod in his direction, Valon moved to walk around him but came up short when Fatos blocked his path. “What do you want?” “Have you no time for me anymore?” he asked, his eyebrows drawing together as he regarded Valon. An emotion was in his eye that Valon couldn’t quite read. Maybe on another day,

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he would have cared to find out what it was, but tonight he was busy. “I’m busy, Fatos.” Just over his shoulder, he could see men walking out of his room, and when they caught sight of him at the end of the hall, they paled and hurried off, but not before he noticed the sheets and towels they carried, one stained red. “Where’s Elena?” Valon asked Fatos, and his tone was anything but playful despite the fact that Fatos was now smiling at him, an expression that did nothing to quell the anxiety Valon felt. “Don’t worry,” he said placing a hand on his shoulder. “I made sure she understood.”

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Valon didn’t think before he had his hand around Fatos’ throat and shoved him back against the wall with enough force that his head bounced against it. “What the fuck are you talking about?” “She was trying to distract you from what’s important. I—” His heart beat just a little faster as he looked from Fatos to his door, and then squeezed his eyes shut as his hand tightened reflexively. “Fatos, what did you do?” As he waited for the answer that he knew he wouldn’t like, Valon was suddenly struck with a memory from grade school, of a time when Fatos hadn’t gotten what he wanted. They were different then, just two boys smaller than the others. As it had always been, Valon was usually picked on by

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the older boys, not just because of who his father wasn’t, but because of who his mother was. Fatos, in his blind loyalty, had never taken well to anyone bullying Valon, especially if he could do something about it. One night, Fatos had two of his father’s men kidnap the worst of Valon’s bullies and had them tie him to a pole in the middle of town. Fatos had dragged Valon out with him on this night to this place, and seeing the boy, whose name was Esteban—a name that Valon would never forget—he had promptly asked what was going on. Fatos had merely smiled, then began picking up rocks on the side of the road and started pelting the boy with them with no explanation.

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Oh, Esteban had begged, promised to never say anything against them ever again, but Fatos never stopped, never stopped throwing those rocks until the boy was bloody and unresponsive. At one point, he had asked Valon to join in, to hurt the boy the way he had hurt Valon. But Valon, who was too shocked to do anything more than stand there, never lifted a finger. He should have known what Fatos was capable of, and he should have warned Elena about it, but he had been too arrogant, believed too much in his own strength that he’d never thought the one closest to him would hurt him. Not like this. Shoving away from him before he could answer, Valon hurried to his room,

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Loki at his heels, ignoring Fatos calling him back. Fear choked him for the first time in years as he stood at the mouth of the door, too afraid to face what he knew was awaiting him. But whatever Fatos had done, Valon would fix it. She was on his side, her back to him, but it was obvious that she was in tremendous pain from the way she trembled. Soft moans passed her lips, but a cloth that was stuffed in her mouth muffled them. “Elena…” He kept his voice low, but even so, she flinched, making him feel worse than he already did. Slowly walking toward the bed, he tried to prepare himself for what he might find when he got to her. He wouldn’t put it

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past Fatos to rape her, and while he might not have been able to fix that, he could be there for her to help her heal. “Elena,” he called her name again, laying his hand gently on her shoulder as he turned her over. She didn’t resist, didn’t fight back, but as her face came into view, he realized why. He might not have known what Fatos had used, but he saw the grisly result of it. Nearly half of her face was burned, from her forehead to her chin, and even spots on her neck as well. Valon didn’t realize his hands were trembling until he took the cloth out of her mouth. “Hurts…it hurts.”

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Slipping out of the bed, careful not to jostle her, he went to the bathroom, wetting a rag, and grabbing the first aid kit from beneath the sink. He bandaged her wounds as best he could, gingerly cleaning off the blood, applying the only ointment he had available to him before applying the bandage and taping it into place. Whether from fatigue or pain, she remained silent through most of it. Valon had grown used to others staring up at him with sad, pleading eyes as they tried to find any way they could for them to avoid death. And yet, as Valon moved to sit across from her, regret heavy in his heart, he didn’t see any of that from her. No, she looked resigned, as though she didn’t care whether she lived or died.

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Something, a piece of him that he had thought had long since died inside of him clicked back on. For once, he felt remorse for his actions. “What can I do to fix this?” he asked though he knew, despite everything he was capable at this point, there was nothing he could do to give back what she had lost. There was a void in her eyes as she faced him. She didn’t even seem to notice him gently stroking her hair. “Kill me,” she whispered. Her words could have been yelled and they would have had the same effect on him. Valon pulled his hand away. Every part of his being rebelled at the idea of ending her life. “I—” “Please…I can’t…please.”

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She had never begged for anything since she had arrived, not even her freedom, which only told him of the strength of her desire to die. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered. And that was the only thing he could say because there were no other words he could offer. Reaching into the bedside table, he pulled out some of the pills Gjarper had given him, ones that were meant to numb the pain he felt after his brawls. Instead, he helped Elena sit up, placing both on her tongue, then pouring just enough water in her mouth to wash them down. She didn’t resist for a second. It took a few minutes, but they finally began to kick in as her body relaxed in his

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arms, and no sooner than that, she finally passed out. Valon left her there, alone on the bed as he sat in the corner, the same place she had occupied for the better part of six weeks. So quickly had her walls worn down, had she opened herself to him, becoming the one thing he’d needed to escape the darkness he had fallen under after years under Bastian’s care. He had failed her. He was meant to protect her from this, from what being with him would cause. She had trusted him with so much of herself…and what had he done. Gotten her hurt. Disfigured. And undoubtedly, she would suffer more the longer she remained with him

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because this was only a warning. Fatos was capable of much worse and could have done much worse. Once, he had considered helping her but banished the idea. Now? Now he had no choice.

-

13 ______ “Elena…Elena.” Valon woke her up gently, his hand on her shoulder, his body hovering over hers. She came awake violently, lurching away from him until she realized that it wasn’t Fatos above her. But even as she calmed, she still didn’t look particularly happy that she was there with him, not like she used to.

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In the span of a couple of days, Fatos had managed to take away the only real friend Valon had made. He had ruined her in a way that no matter if she looked in the mirror, or if she even looked at Valon, she would always think of Fatos. But as Valon lay awake over the course of the night, consumed by guilt, he refused to let this be the end for her. She had asked him to kill her, to end the pain that she was going to live with if she remained here…he would give her something better. “We have to go.” “Valon…what are you talking about?” Her eyes were closing again, probably from the drugs he had given her last night,

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but if he was going to get her out of this place, they needed to go. Now. “Elena!” But she was too groggy to do anything more than nod her head. Sliding out of the bed, Valon slipped an arm beneath her legs and another around her shoulders, lifting her as best he could. She groaned with the moving, blinking her eyes open as she squinted at him. “What are you doing, Valon?” “Do you want to leave this place?” That seemed to finally get through to her. “Are we leaving?” No, Valon probably could never leave this place. “Yes,” he lied because he didn’t think she would go if he said only her. “Can you walk? Do you need my help?”

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He set her down as he asked, checking her bandages as he did so. “I’m fine. Let’s just go. Where’s Loki? Are we bringing him?” He almost smiled. She cared as much about him as she did their own safety, but Valon needed Loki to stay there and guard the door. It would buy them more time. Luckily for them, there wasn’t much for them to take since she usually wore his clothes, and it wasn’t like he was leaving anyway. Outside his bedroom door, he crouched down so that he was eye level with Loki, making sure he got his command across. “No one goes in, understand.”

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He didn’t have to tell him twice. Loki made a little circle then sat in front of the door. Grabbing hold of Elena’s hand, he led her through the hallways, out through the back where the least amount of guards were stationed. Valon had learned the layout of this place, and the woods that made up the backyard were second nature to him. As they crossed through, however, he did make a stop beneath a giant oak tree, digging his hands into the dirt until he uncovered the little sack he had buried so many years ago. He didn’t have time to go through it; he just stuffed it in his pocket and kept going. From his old apartment, the train station was about a thirty-minute walk, but

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adding in the distance from Bastian’s compound, it was much further. Valon didn’t complain, and when it grew to be too much for Elena, he carried her on his back until they reached the station. Because of the sheer amount of times he had won in the Pit, Bastian had begun to give him small stipends. Since he lived in the compound, there was very little that he bought himself. At the counter, Valon looked the frightened old woman in the face. “Ticket to anywhere, and I’ll give you two hundred euros if you make no record of it.” He might have looked dangerous, but most people cared more about money than looks.

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When the ticket and boarding pass was printed, Valon walked with Elena over to a vending machine, getting her a soda and a bag of chips, and then he handed over the jacket from when he was thirteen that no longer fit him, but probably would fit her. When she had it on and zipped, he pressed all the money he had to his name into her hand. She looked from it to him, and he saw the very moment when she realized that he wouldn’t be coming with her. “Valon, they’ll kill you.” “Maybe.” “Why won’t you come with me?” she asked, tears welling in her eyes. “We can start over somewhere.”

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“They’ll look for me first, and that’ll give you more time to get away from here. Otherwise we both die and what good would that do us?” He pushed a strand of hair out of her face. It didn’t matter what Fatos had done to her, she was still beautiful to him. “Be free for the both of us.” A train horn blared in the distance, growing ever closer. When she still looked reluctant to walk away from him, he said, “When this is all over and every single one of them is dead, I’ll find you.” He drew her into his arms, kissing the top of her head as the train came slowly into the station, the doors opening as others stepped off and more stepped on. It was time for her to go.

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“I love you, Valon.” He smiled brokenly, accepting her words, even when he knew she didn’t mean them. It was his fault she had gotten hurt. And it was his fault that her face would never look the same again. No, she couldn’t love somebody like him. No one could. Letting her go, he took a step back, urging her with his eyes to get on the train. After a brief hesitation, she did exactly that, handing over her pass to one of the people inside. He didn’t know how far she would get, but he hoped for her sake that she at least made it out of the country. As the train whistled again, announcing its departure, he held her gaze and

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mouthed the words, ‘I love you, too.’ She had been a true friend to him, and now that he knew what that was like, he would cherish this memory. He remained there long after he had lost sight of her, thinking of what he’d given up but also of what he had gained. There was no question that what he did was the right thing to do, but the guilt still ate at him for how long he had allowed her to suffer—even if he had been blind to it—and ultimately, the price she’d had to pay for his selfishness. ____ Valon tucked his hands into his pockets, his head held high as he headed back to the place he’d called home for the last five years. He’d turned a blind eye to the life he’d

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led in that place, becoming the very thing they had wanted, but now…who was he now? He wasn’t a mindless killer like they wanted… He wasn’t the man Elena had wanted him to be… Maybe one day he would find out. Maybe one day he would be better than he was. Valon saw the car coming toward him but didn’t bother to move out of the way, a part of him hoping that he would get hit and end it all. He had been wandering for hours, so the likelihood of them knowing which train Elena was on was slim, not to mention they couldn’t have known what time they’d left.

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Stopping, Valon waited, a smile spreading on his lips when Strom climbed out of the backseat and pointed a gun at him. That little grin made him unsure, but he merely tightened his hold, more assured when Fatos got out next. Unlike Strom who looked angry, Fatos looked…disappointed. “Bastian is waiting for you.” Valon shrugged and started walking toward the car, ignoring their looks of surprise. Did they think he would run? He didn’t care much about anything anymore, not even his life. The ride back was uneventful and unbearably quiet, but Valon just rested his head against the glass window and thought about

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where he would have been if he’d gone anywhere but to Bastian. There were more waiting when they arrived back, most staring at him as though they couldn’t understand his actions. No, they wouldn’t. Valon didn’t need the escorts because he wasn’t afraid to face Bastian’s wrath. He was waiting inside the barn, his face flushed red with anger. “Where’s Loki?” “Oh, shut—” When Strom moved to grab him, Valon struck first, dropping him with one hit. They could do this one of two ways. Either he got the answer he wanted and he accepted whatever punishment Bastian decided on, or he would break every single

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person in the room and not think twice about it. “He’s still locked in your room. No one has touched him.” His answer given, Bastian nodded for the others to tie him up, and this time, Valon didn’t fight back. “Women,” Bastian said conversationally as he ignored the men zip-tying Valon’s wrists, hefting him up onto one of the hooks dangling from the ceiling. “They can destroy the best of partnerships. No, the best relationships. Have I not been good to you, Valon? Have I not given you everything you have asked for and more? Where is your loyalty, boy? I hand you the world, and you spit in my face.”

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Valon, all the while Bastian was speaking, stared at the ground, not in fear, but because he didn’t feel the heaviness he normally did. When he finished a round in the Pit, there was always that sinking feeling in his gut that kept him awake at night. But this…this act of defiance had taken some of that away. Finally, after condemning so many to misery or death in this place, he had managed to help one person get away. She was smart, smarter than anyone here had given her credit for, so he didn’t doubt for a second that she would run for as long as it took. Just the image in his head of her staring back at him through the small window of the train brought a small smile to his face.

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Whatever punishment Bastian wanted meted out, he would gladly accept it. “Fatos.” Valon’s body tensed as he heard his friend’s footsteps, and then looked up into his face as he came around to his line of vision. “You did this to yourself,” Fatos said with a frown. And the part that baffled Valon the most was that he actually looked like he regretted what he was about to do…but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t enjoy it. His shirt was cut away, landing in a pile on the dirt floor. It was worth it… That was what Valon had to remind himself of as he heard Fatos pick up a blade,

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even as that same blade scored down his back, ripping his flesh open. He tried…he tried desperately not to vocalize the pain he was in, but with each cut, the pain multiplied and before he knew, he was screaming…but he didn’t beg. Valon was done begging anyone for anything.

-

14 ______ Three years later… Valon trailed along behind Fatos and Bastian as they were led through the mansion where the infamous Besnik family lived. It was grand, bigger than any home Valon had ever seen, but while Fatos looked around in open envy, Valon was unfazed. He didn’t think anything could impress him anymore.

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Now that he was known beyond their small circle for what he was capable of—notably for how he lacked emotion while doing it—apparently, he was being offered a job that only someone like him could pull off. But Valon didn’t believe that for a second. There were plenty of fucking idiots who wanted to do this, kill just because, especially if they were getting paid to do it. But since Bastian wanted him to do it, he had no choice. “Stay here.” Valon remained outside the door as Bastian and Fatos disappeared behind it, their voices muffled behind the heavy door. Unlike Bastian’s place of residence, the Besnik family had armed guards everywhere,

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and none of them looked like they had ever smiled a day in their life. He couldn’t have been standing outside of the room for more than a couple of minutes before he heard, “Bring him in.” Remaining silent, he trailed behind the two who were leading him in, digging his hands into his pockets to fight the urge to fidget. He wasn’t nervous, but something about this group of men made him wary. Bastian’s men were like open books. Give them alcohol and semi-conscious women and they were satisfied. This lot seemed far less obvious. All eyes were on him as he entered the room. Bastian and Fatos were seated at a table with two other men. It was clear which

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one was the boss, the other just seemed far too young. “Valon, yes?” the boss asked with an easy smile, gesturing for him to take the lone seat available at the table. “I’ve heard great things about you. I am Jetmir Besnik.” That he could kill with his bare hands…and when he was really inspired, he could drag out that death for hours. This trait wasn’t something he thought was great. Not responding, Valon just waited for him to go on. “I have a little problem, you see. I have been asked to do something for a couple of friends of mine, the Volkov brothers. Perhaps you have heard of them? And while I would not mind doing it, I need someone with your particular skills.”

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Apparently, someone needed to die if he was coming to Valon about it. He had to admit, he was a little intrigued. And he had, actually, heard of the Volkovs, though he didn’t know much about them or their operation. Mikhail and Viktor, he thought their names were. “Who?” “A man by the name of Mishca Volkov. He has information that I need to expand my business over in the United States, but he has been unwilling to share this information with my associate, so my associate has come to me to fix it. You can see my problem, yes?” Valon shrugged. No, he really didn’t. Jetmir reached into his inside coat pocket, pulling free a photograph and sliding

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it across the table to Valon. When he picked it up, he studied the black and white image and the man featured in it. There was not much he could tell from the photo, only that the boy had dark hair and dressed well, and he was a year or two younger than Valon. Dropping the picture, Valon looked at Jetmir, meeting his gaze. “Why do you need me for this? You have capable men here?” This was an assumption on Valon’s part. Just because a man carried a gun didn’t mean he knew how to use it. Strom was the perfect example. “This boy you see, he is a captain in the Volkov Bratva. You may or may not have heard of them but know that they are deadly, and if one were to go after them, they need to

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send the best. You are the best at what you do.” His smile was a contradiction to his words. “And you do not know fear.” That wasn’t right, actually. Valon did know fear. He had felt it many times in his life. It was that he didn’t show weakness in the face of those fears. That was what made him different from each man seated at that table. “How much?” Bastian frowned at him, but Valon ignored him. Otherwise, the fat man would help himself to whatever it was Jetmir intended to give him in return for completing this job for him. “Thirty-thousand U.S. dollars.” Nodding once, Valon asked, “When do we start?”

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____ Having never flown on a plane, or even left the countryside that he’d grown up in for the last twenty-three years, Valon felt out of sorts. Luckily, he had Loki with him, though he had been regulated to a crate during the ride. He had requested that stipulation for this assignment. Bastian had been annoyed by this fact, but Jetmir had readily agreed. With what Valon was doing for him, he hadn’t cared if he brought all the fucking dogs in Albania. Landing in a place that he had only ever read about, it seemed far busier than he expected. And louder. Everything just seemed almost too bright for someone who was used to the silence of everyday life. But he didn’t mind it. He actually liked it, and if

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he were here for any other reason than to kill someone, he might have enjoyed it more. From the plane, they took multiple cars to a brownstone building in Brooklyn—or at least that was what Strom said—and climbed out. Valon opened the gate for Loki to jump out, laughing when he stretched in the way only dogs did, stopping abruptly when Fatos clapped a hand on his shoulder. Either he didn’t notice the glare or he just ignored it as Fatos said, “We need to go over strategy.” Shrugging off his touch, he headed into the building, Loki trotting at his heels. “I’ll drive,” Strom offered as they began discussing what the night would entail. “You two wait in back and surprise.”

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Considering Valon had learned how to speak better English in a few years than Strom did after more than thirty, he really needed to do better, but that might have just been because Valon had wanted more for himself after Elena had gone. It hadn’t taken long before everything was forgiven and things had gone back to normal. When police didn’t show up for those first six months, they’d figured that she was smart enough to just disappear. In three years, Valon had learned how to drive—though he wouldn’t say he was particularly great at it—and read any book that he could get his hands on. He could be a slave, but at least he would be a smart one. “He won’t know what hit him!” Fatos exclaimed on a laugh, again looking at Valon

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as though he would find some kind of camaraderie. There was none. “Let’s get this shit over with.” ____ Quiet and observing, Valon leaned back against the wall of the van, his ski mask shoved up to bunch at his hairline. The others had been excited about what was going to happen tonight. They were too eager, which meant that they would be prone to making mistakes. Valon didn’t feel such things. He didn’t relish in the pain he was going to inflict by the night’s end. He was resigned to it. He definitely felt for the poor bastard who was going to get taken tonight. They were heading out of Brooklyn, toward the location where the Russian was

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supposed to be for the night, but before they had gotten far, Strom suddenly exclaimed from the front seat, “There he is!” Since there were no windows in the back of the van, Valon didn’t know whether this was true or if Strom was just an idiot. If he had to wager, he’d bet on the second. “Are you sure?” Fatos asked, already reaching to tug down his mask. “It is, but there is the girl with him.” Shit. There wasn’t supposed to be any witnesses. If— “We’ll bring her, too,” Fatos said. “Circle the block so he doesn’t get suspicious.” “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Valon asked as Strom follow his instruction. “The girl wasn’t part of the plan.”

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“If you get squeamish, then I’ll take care of it.” Fatos laughed as if he was joking, but they both knew he was serious. Strom suddenly sped up then hit the brakes hard, shouting, “Go!” Fatos shoved the side door open, jumping out, Valon quickly following behind. Valon only caught sight of the boy’s face for a second, the shock and fear clear for anyone to see, before he was shoving the girl in the opposite direction and yelling, “Run!” That struck Valon as odd, not that he was trying to protect the girl, but because he lacked the distinct Russian accent that he was supposed to have. He sounded…well…American.

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When Fatos rushed him, the Russian cocked his fist back and let it fly, nailing him in the face that had Fatos cursing him as he stumbled backward. The girl was running, screaming down the street, but Strom was rushing after her, his big body slowing him down. Valon just waited, watching the fighting. Fatos had recovered quick enough, charging at the boy, sending them both to the ground. They were grappling on the snowslick concrete, trying to dominate each other, but they were evenly matched. Strom had finally snagged the girl, restraining her as she struggled. “Niklaus!” Valon wasn’t sure whom she was calling for—no one there went by that

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name—but suddenly the boy looked in her direction, all the fight leaving him. Valon could see the moment when he was going to get away from Fatos to get to her, but he stopped it before he could even move. With one well-calculated hit to his face, Valon knocked him off balance, watching as he hit the ground, his head hitting harder. But he was still conscious, still fighting to go toward the girl. Valon admired his tenacity, his resilience. But they were out of time. Kicking him in the face, this time he made sure he was out. Fatos was still struggling to his feet as Valon hauled the boy up, practically carrying him over to the van. The girl was still

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screaming, though the piece of cloth that Strom had stuffed into her mouth muffled the sound. Reclaiming his feet, Valon stretched out his legs, folding his arms across his chest. Fatos glared at him, and Valon didn’t pretend not to understand why that was. He was jealous of what he was capable of, but Valon wasn’t going to apologize for being better than he was. Not ever again. With their two prey in the van, Valon looked at Strom. “Let’s go.” The address Jetmir had given them led to a large industrial warehouse in the middle of nowhere. Nothing was located in immediate vicinity of the place, so whatever happened inside was unlikely to be heard.

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The perfect place for misery and death.

-

15 ______ Standing back away from the others, Valon watched every single person in the room. Sometimes, especially during moments like these, he hated that he saw so much. Just a flicker of emotion in a person’s eyes always gave away their true feelings. And one thing that he had read on every last one of them was just how much they had

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enjoyed taunting the girl as soon as she woke up. Valon hadn’t felt moved either way. If she wanted to lie in bed with a mobster, then there were risks that came with that, but that didn’t mean he had to enjoy what he was going to have to do to her. She was pretty, young, and probably had a life outside of all this, and if Valon was in Jetmir’s place, then he might have let her go, just to save himself the headache of a female crying, but the darker side of him knew that the best way to get the Russian to talk was to hurt the girl. Or at least, he hoped that would work. It all depended on what she meant to him. Turning his attention back to the Volkov boy, he studied him, wondering when

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he would finally rouse. He hadn’t hit him that hard, but sometimes Valon didn’t know his own strength. Maybe he needed to work on that… Just as he was about to look away, the boy stirred, a soft sound slipping past his lips as his head moved, jerking fully awake when he realized that he was being tied to the chair. Valon could practically smell the fear on him, but it wasn’t until the boy noticed his lover that he truly began to realize the true horror of his situation. He struggled anew, but he couldn’t break free. The boy’s eyes went over each of them, lingering on Jetmir for some time. It was an easy enough guess as to who was in charge. Jetmir dressed the part in a charcoal gray suit with a long, black overcoat on top.

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The rest of them wore variations of jeans and T-shirts. Jetmir studied him in return, nodding almost imperceptibly. “You did well.” The compliment was aimed at both Valon and Fatos, for their work in actually finding and bringing him here. Fatos, ever the eager one, ripped his mask off, smiling down at the boy. “It was nothing.” The boy visibly paled under the insanity that was Fatos and for good reason. Valon had learned what he was capable of when he was bored. If he were inspired? There was no telling what he would do. Since the mask no longer seemed necessary, Valon pulled his off, making eye contact with the boy. He wondered what he

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saw when he looked at him. Did he see the same crazy that he saw in Fatos? Less? More? They were two halves of the same coin, but Valon liked to pretend he was better than his counterpart was. “Were you seen?” Jetmir went on. “Nope,” said Fatos. “They were alone. He didn’t even have guards on him.” Which had seemed strange to Valon. If this was the Bratva Captain, then wouldn’t there be at least one bodyguard with him at all times? Leaving the compound back in Albania, Bastian had felt the need to leave with at least three, not including Valon. But maybe he had left him behind because of the girl he was with. Then he was stupid… “How sure are you of this?”

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Fatos readied to answer this inquiry as well, but Jetmir turned his back to him and looked at Valon for an answer. For just a second, there was a flash of fury in Fatos’ eyes before he hid it. Valon wished he hadn’t seen it. Folding his arms across his chest, he briefly met the gaze of the boy before looking at Jetmir once more. “They were alone. Surprising, considering who he is.” He hoped to convey that he thought it was strange, but the boy being alone was all that seemed to matter to Jetmir as he snapped his fingers, one of his men wheeling in a tray. Jetmir shrugged out of his coat and jacket, passing them both off to someone else.

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“I am Jetmir Besnik, of the Besnik family, but I am sure you already know this.” There didn’t seem to be any recognition in his eyes, but Valon kept this observation to himself. “You possess information that I need. If you tell me, then I will release you and your friend here. If you do not, then I will force you to tell me.” His gaze shifted to the girl whose eyes widened in fear. “By any means necessary. Have you anything to say?” The boy swallowed visibly, his eyes darting around the room as though he might find sympathy in one of them. Once, he might have found it in Valon, but that pity had been ripped from him the day the one closest to him took a knife to his back.

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“I don’t know who you think I am, but if this is about money, I’ll give you everything I have. We—” Jetmir sighed, shaking his head as though he was disappointed in the boy, but the boy was too afraid to do anything more than beg some more, not even when Jetmir reached for a pair of knives sitting on the try, turning them over in his hands as he stepped forward, and closer until he was just inches away. “Please, make this difficult for me. I want to enjoy this more.” Valon could see it in the boy’s eyes, the need to beg to get free. He remembered how he’d felt when he begged Bastian for anything, the weakness that consumed him.

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And though he pitied the boy for what he was about to endure, he didn’t pity his weakness. In the blink of an eye, Jetmir stabbed the boy, just below his collarbone, a scream ripping free from the boy’s mouth as he tried to lurch away. Jetmir didn’t pull it free, just left it embedded in the boy’s chest, and before he could recover from that first assault, he stabbed him again, parallel to the first on the opposite side. “Bleed for what you believe in,” Jetmir said in a low voice. “By the end of your time here with me, you’ll die for it as well.” Jetmir stepped away, having said all he needed to say. As he turned his back on the boy, he looked to Valon, telling him everything he needed to know with one look.

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It was his turn, and before Jetmir came back, he was meant to break him. By any means necessary. Valon, for his part, kept his expression neutral. There was a hook bolted to the wall, one Valon knew could hold the weight of the boy. If he was going to do this, then he might as well get started. It took seven minutes to get the boy from the chair to the wall, binding his wrists together, and then stretching them out above him. Valon didn’t bother removing the knives Jetmir had left in his chest, merely cut through the back of his shirt until the material split and he had unrestricted access to the length of his flesh.

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While Valon headed for the tray of tools, Strom stood next to the girl, the smile he sent her way making renewed fear spark in her eyes. Fatos…he stood back, watching Valon’s every move. He would undoubtedly join in on the fun soon enough, but he seemed content to just observe for the time being. Picking up a blade that was at least six inches long with a cold, steel handle, Valon turned it over in his hand, getting used to the feel of it. He’d never had much of a predilection for knives until one was used on him. But now? Now, he liked them more than his own hands. These cold, inanimate things could do more harm than his fists could any day. This knife was an extension, something that was

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not quite a part of him but made up so much of who he was. “What are you doing?” Fatos asked in Albanian so that the boy wouldn’t understand. Valon picked up a bottle of vodka that had been left behind, dousing his hands and the knife in the liquor. “Wouldn’t want it to get infected,” he muttered, too busy concentrating on his task to pay Fatos much attention. Spinning the knife around in his hand, he went back over to the boy, leaning back against the wall so that he could see him. His eyes were on Fatos as he spoke, but his words were low enough for only the boy to here.

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“Tell them what they want to know,” he ordered, for his sake as much as the boy. Sometimes his self-control even surprised him, but Valon didn’t know what he was capable of when he used a knife, and after what he had suffered because of one of them…he wasn’t sure he could rein himself in before he did more damage than he meant. Maybe he could end this before it even began. The boy’s eyes darted frantically, but when he couldn’t offer a response, Valon couldn’t wait any longer. Pushing off the wall, Valon circled him until he was at his back again, staring at the wide expanse of his skin. Using the very tip of the blade, he ran it across the boy’s

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skin, following a pattern that was all too familiar to him. He pictured what he was going to do first, each line he was going to carve… Before he could check the impulse, he dug the blade in, watching as it sunk in easily, cutting through his skin with ridiculous ease. Pulling back after a second, he watched the blood drip down his skin, the red coloring stark. A shudder rippled through him as he felt the ghost of a knife going through his own back. “Do you have an answer?” Valon asked, ignoring the shaking of his own voice. He desperately wanted the boy to answer now, just so he could avoid what he had to do next. With just one careful line, he felt

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that familiar draw, the need to hurt someone else the way he had been hurt, but he rationalized it in his own head by thinking he was giving them an out, something he hadn’t been given. Valon liked to believe he gave him a chance to answer before he started back in, but he didn’t remember because once he made another cut, he was lost.

-

16 ______ In the last few years where he had learned how best to make a person hurt and the various ways he could achieve this, Valon didn’t think he had seen anything like this. Over the course of two days, Valon had done unmentionable things to the boy, had lost himself a time or two throughout the torture, but through it all, the boy held out.

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That wasn’t even to mention what Strom had done to his lover. Valon might not have shied away from what he and Fatos did to the boy, but he refused to take part in the gang rape. His morals might have been questionable at best…but he did have some. After only a couple of hours of sleep on the first floor of the house they were in, Valon headed back upstairs, ready to begin it all again. Ignoring the others, he looked at the boy as he always did; feeling that familiar stab of guilt at what he’d endured. He was sitting in a puddle of his own urine, his face a mass of bruises, and Valon didn’t have to see what his back looked like…he’d done that himself.

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The girl was passed out, unlike the boy, and Valon was glad for this. It was enough that the boy was suffering. She didn’t have to, too. He was nodding off, his dark, sweaty hair hanging around his face like a dark halo. Valon was not in any mood for carving his back up any further, so he kept to the back of the room, giving him a reprieve for as long as he could, but that idea was short-lived as Jetmir came charging up the stairs, a bucket of water in his hands. His every step was clipped as he moved across the room, a desperate gleam now present in his eyes. If Valon had to guess, then he was frustrated as to how long the boy was holding out. Not many people would have been

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able to keep quiet with the sheer level of pain Valon had put him through, not to mention what the girl had suffered. So, either the boy was a masochist…or there was something else, something that Valon was beginning to consider… There was a timeline. Valon remembered that much from the day they’d visited the Besnik mansion to get the details of their assignment. Since he had held out for this long, they were running out of time. Without a word to anyone, Jetmir tossed the water on the boy, stepping back when he lurched awake, his gaze shooting around the room. When he realized not much had changed, his entire body slumped with defeat.

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“Your time is up,” Jetmir announced as he tossed the bucket to a corner. Valon became all too aware that something big was about to happen as Fatos and Strom finally entered the room. Fatos was carrying a can of gasoline. The boy noticed this next as his eyes widened in fear. Jetmir gripped the boy’s hair, forcing his head up so that he had a clear, unobstructed view of the girl, and then motioned for Fatos to come and take his place. Valon knew what he saw once he had a good look at his lover, especially since during a good amount of what she had suffered, he’d been passed out. How, if he showed such weakness as he gazed at her, could he not tell them what they wanted to know, if only to spare her?

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“I’m sorry,” he said hoarsely. “I’m so sorry.” She sniffled, shaking her head as a tear fell down her swollen and bruised face. “I have given you ample opportunity—more than, if we are being honest—but you have continued to defy me. To what end, only you know.” With Fatos now holding the boy secure, Jetmir crossed the room. “What more must be done before you break?” Jetmir pulled a black lighter from his pocket, the pad of his thumb drifting over the onyx casing and the engraving that Valon was too far away to see what it actually was. Each time Jetmir flipped the top back, the flame igniting, flickering in the darkness of the room, a sliver of anxiety slid down Valon’s spine.

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This…this was not going to end well. “Tell me what I want to know,” Jetmir said, all traces of anger gone from his voice as he made the same request from the first day. The boy, who seemed to detect the very thing that Valon did, sat up straighter, shaking his head once more. “I’m not who you’re looking for. I don’t even know what it is you even want!” Sighing, as though the boy had once again disappointed him, Jetmir grabbed the red, plastic container from the floor, walking the short distance to her. Whistling as he unscrewed the cap, he dumped the contents onto her head, laughing as the liquid soaked her hair and washed away the traces of red on her thighs in seconds.

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Whatever spell had kept her quiet up until this point wore off as she struggled, coughing behind the gag that was stuffed in her mouth. When the acrid scent of gasoline hit him, the boy began begging in earnest. “Please…I’m not who you think I am. I live in Florida. I work construction! Whatever you want! Money? I can get it for you! Anything. Just please, let her go.” Jetmir ripped the gag free from the girl’s mouth, her sobs now loud enough for them all to hear. Valon, not even realizing it, took several steps back, until his hands curled around the banister, the wood unrelenting under his grip.

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Again, he held up that lighter, the flame dancing and sparking, as if it too was anticipating the moment of contact. “One last chance.” The couple met each other’s eyes, their helplessness clear. And for just a moment, Valon could see it in her eyes, the moment when she knew she was about to die, and instead of fear, there was acceptance. Valon flinched, feeling like he had intruded on a moment he was not meant to witness. He wanted to turn away, to not scar himself further by witnessing this, but it was as if he was glued to the present. He had to know and accept what he had caused.

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Her lips were moving like she was trying to say something, but she never got the opportunity. “Please…” The word had barely passed the boy’s lips when Jetmir stepped away and tossed the lighter. As it clattered to the floor, it was barely a second later before the gas ignited and the girl was consumed. She screamed as the flames licked at her skin… He screamed as he watched the girl he loved burn to death… And Valon watched it all, dying a little inside. He had to get out. He had to get out. He had to get out.

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Before it consumed him, too.

-

17 ______ For the last six hours, Valon had sat alone in a dark corner of the building, listening to the one they had thought was the Volkov boy sob. While he usually took pleasure in the sounds of others’ suffering, especially if they were in the ring with him, this was…this felt wrong—not to mention the fact that a girl had been burned alive mere feet

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away from where he stood. Despite the amount of time that had passed, he could still smell her burning flesh, and even the charred scent of the rest of her, and could still hear the echoes of her screams. Valon had a decision to make. Something dark inside of him had festered, true, but even that had been hard for him to watch. After lighting her up, Jetmir had placed the blindfold back on the boy, walking away from it all without a glimmer of regret. The others still doubted the words this—what did he say his name was?—boy spouted, but there was no Vor that Valon knew who could withstand this amount of torture and not talk. For what? He was going

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to die anyway. He seemed to know this, so what more did he have to hide? Carefully, Valon got to his feet, walking the short distance between them until he was at the boy’s side, staring down at him. The boy knew he was there, could see it in the way his shoulders went tight with fear, but he didn’t beg. He had stopped pleading with them ages ago. It had been Valon’s job to break him, to make him tell what he knew, but he had failed in that regard. Except, Jetmir had failed as well because, despite the gruesome act he had performed, the boy still hadn’t broke. …Which only made Valon believe that he wasn’t who they thought he was. When they’d put the blades through his shirt, into his chest where his stars were

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meant to be, they had yet to be removed, and now that Valon was thinking about it, no one had bothered to check to make sure they were there. Now was the time to change that. With a jerk of his hand, he dislodged one of the knives, wiping the blade off on his jeans. The boy tried to stay silent, gritting his teeth against the pain, but that added pain made him cry out, lurching back, trying to escape, but there wasn’t anywhere for him to go. Deciding it was best to get the other out as quickly as possible, Valon fisted the other free and repeated the process. Blood, both old and new, coated the front of the boy’s shirt—very much like Valon’s—but not fazed by it, he pulled the

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fabric from his body, revealing the man’s chest for the first time, and promptly cursed. Nothing. He even swiped his hands over the areas, smearing the blood further so he could see more clearly, but he wasn’t mistaken. There was nothing there but sliced skin and no hint of a tattoo. What the fuck? There had been no reason for them to verify that this person was actually Mishca Volkov. Mikhail nor Viktor had ever made any mention about a twin—unless that was his plan after all. Have them—or Valon in particular—do his dirty work and start a war that they weren’t prepared for. And more importantly, there was no loyalty. They would more than happily hand

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Valon over as their pawn since he was the main one who had done most of the damage. From the very beginning, it seemed, this had been set up, and he would be damned if he stayed here to bear the wrath of the entire fucking Vory v Zakone on his own. It almost seemed curios that on this day, Fatos had gone with Jetmir for a conversation that Valon hadn’t been privy to… Leaving him, Valon traveled down the stairs, carefully, not wanting to be heard. Strom was standing guard at the bottom of the staircase, his back to Valon. While he might have, technically, been one of them, Valon knew that he would never be able to leave, especially not with their prisoner still living, and the fact that he held knowledge about all of this.

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Palming one of the knives he’d just pulled from the boy’s chest, he crept behind him, and as the man made to turn, Valon struck, using one hand to cover the man’s mouth as he brought the glinting blade around and slit his throat. As the blood sprayed along the walls and floor, Strom could only try to stop the flow to fight Valon off. Either way, he was a dead man. There was only one other guard left, and with a knife through his throat, he died just as quickly. Valon patted the man down, relieving him of his gun and the set of keys in his pocket. Outside, Valon checked his watch, knowing he only had a short time before Jetmir and the others would be back, but he

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needed to get the hell out of there before they did. Climbing into one of the two cars still parked outside of the warehouse, Valon started it up, speeding out of the lot, heading back the way they had come to get there. In under thirty minutes, Valon was back in the city. He thought of making a stop first, but with his limited time, he knew he needed to get Loki before anyone realized he was gone. The safe house was not far from where he was currently, and when he got onto the street, he parked a few blocks down, abandoning the car where it was. With the gun in hand, he headed into the brownstone, finding the door easy enough. Stepping out of view of the

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peephole, Valon banged his fist on the door, not stopping even as he heard a shout from the other side. Marco had always been ill-tempered and prone to irrationality. Today, that was on Valon’s side as the door swung open. Marco, never the wiser, came out blindly, thinking to intimidate whatever unfortunate soul was on the other side. Without even a single blink, Valon shot him in the face, his gun barely making a noise with the new silencer attached to the end of it. Stepping over his body, he stuffed the gun in the waistband of his jeans, grabbing Marco by the arms and dragging him back into the apartment, then carefully the door shut. Drawn by the noise, two more

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appeared and Valon made quick work of them. Struck from behind—as he had left his back to another door as he made his way deeper into the apartment—Valon abandoned the gun and used brute strength, reminding those that had seemed to have forgotten how exactly he had made it here in the first place. By the time there was no one left, Valon almost felt moved by the blood splattered on his chest. He could hear whining over the loud television, and for the first time in at least three days, Valon felt a shred of calmness worm its way through him. But before he could let Loki out, he needed to get a few things first. Hunting through the apartment, he emptied the safe of its contents, not a lot

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by their standards, but enough to give him a head start. Finished with his task, he went room by room, taking anything—what little there was—that he’d brought with him from Albania before opening the rather small cage they’d stuffed Loki in once Valon was gone. Loki didn’t jump all over him as he was prone to do if Valon were gone for long periods of time, as if he could sense something was wrong. He just sat alert, waiting for a command. Valon took one last look at the space, no flicker of emotion hitting him as he eyed the dead bodies that covered the floor. Leaving them, he headed back to the truck, Loki trailing behind him, hopping into the cab when he got the door open. Starting

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it up, he pulled out onto the street, not looking back at the old brownstone even when he turned the corner and it finally disappeared out of view. He drove for a while, formulating a plan as best he could, knowing that he needed to get out of the city before nightfall. While he couldn’t be sure how long it would take for Jetmir or one of his other men to catch up with him, he knew eventually they would, especially since he knew the truth about what happened to the boy. Before he left, however, he needed to make a phone call. Until he could do that, he needed a change of clothes. Pulling up to the curb, he undressed, tossing his clothes in the backseat, and then looked at Loki. “Stay.”

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He wasn’t the least bit concerned as he walked into the store wearing only a pair of boxer-briefs. At this hour, it was relatively empty. The few associates behind the registers and stocking the shelves gawked as he came in but couldn’t seem to form words as he went hunting through the store, grabbing a pair of jeans and the first shirt he saw that didn’t have a logo on it. Valon went to the register, slapping enough cash down onto the counter to cover the costs of the clothes as he met the eyes of a young woman, no older than he was, who couldn’t tear her eyes away from his chest. Any other time, he might have been amused, but now, he was annoyed.

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“Restroom.” She didn’t seem to hear him, so he repeated, a bit more forcefully, “Restroom.” She pointed in the general direction, her eyes snapping up to his, and if anything, that only made it worse. Valon was used to the way women reacted to him. He’d slept with enough to know, but—like many parts of him—that attraction, that need for another person. He could turn that off in himself as well. Heading in the direction she’d pointed, he didn’t stop until he was in the men’s room, the door locked behind him. He went to the sink first, splashing water on his face, over his hands and arms, absently washing away the day as best he could.

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Maybe he had always known that it would come to this, or maybe his life was so dismal that he didn’t have to worry about leaving anything behind back home. Everything he valued, he’d brought along with him. He didn’t know for how long, could be a few hours, could be days, but for the first time in his life, he was finally free of the hell he’d lived for the better part of twenty-three years. Drying off with the paper towels, he pulled on the clothes, shoving his fingers through his hair to push it back out of his face. Staring at his reflection in the mirror, Valon tried to see something other than the monster they created, but with each mark,

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every imperfection that made up his appearance, he saw the trials he’d endured for a life he never wanted. Valon had never wanted to follow in Ahmeti’s footsteps, knowing what it would ultimately do to him. Did… Because at this point, he was already that man, even if he didn’t want to be. ____ Lighting up a cigarette, he inhaled the nicotine, holding it in his lungs for several seconds before exhaling and relishing the burn. Loki was asleep on the seat, oblivious to the tension inside of Valon. He turned the cell phone over in his hands, contemplating what his next move would be and whether it was worth it. He had done some questionable things over the

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length of his life, more than he had thought himself possible of, but now he had the opportunity to do something good, very much like what he had done for Elena. This was small compared to the damage he had done to some people, but it at least was another way to pay for his sins. They might have thought he wasn’t listening, but Valon had retained everything they’d said and knew exactly who to call. Valon was not stupid enough to call Mishca Volkov himself. No, he needed to call someone close to him, but one who wasn’t close to the Pakhan. Hunting through the contacts in the phone, Valon found the name he was looking for and dialed the number. It rang three times before someone picked up, and the gruff voice on the other

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end sounded impatient and had a heavy Russian accent. “Vlad.” “Tell your boss his brother is dead,” Valon said slowly, laying on his own accent to make sure his voice couldn’t be recognized. Over the man’s sputtering, he gave him the address repeating it twice to make sure he heard it, then hung up and tossed the phone across the field. That was the thing about people. It didn’t matter that they knew Mishca did not have a brother, but their curiosity would ultimately force them to go and see what Valon had told them. Today was the last mistake he would ever make for The Organization. ____

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For the second time, Valon walked toward the tattoo artist, carefully pulling off his shirt as he tossed it in a nearby chair. This time, she was better at hiding her reaction to the scars that covered his back though there were still questions in her eyes. For the past three months, Valon had come to this place, slowly erasing the physical reminders of his life back in Albania. His hair was growing out once more, concealing the ‘slave’ brand on his scalp, and now with the help of the artist, the long jagged scars were being covered in an intricate back piece, complete with color. Nicole had done other pieces for him. A week after he left The Organization, he’d wandered into this shop and had a snarling tiger head inked onto his chest. He might not

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have wanted it this way, but there was nothing he could do about it now. Whether rightfully acknowledged, he was an enforcer as much as Gjarper had been. If there was one person he missed from that time, it was him. He had helped him in ways that he hadn’t fully understood at the time, but now that he was free and could truly think back, without Gjarper, he didn’t know where he would be. Nicole pulled on a pair of gloves, pushing her glasses up her nose with the back of her wrist. “Ready to finish this?” Without a word, Valon climbed on the table, waiting for the first line. It hurt like a bitch, worse than when he was fighting, but he never protested, never took a break, just remained still until their session was up.

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He deserved this pain, needed it so that it could erase the painful reminders already embedded in his skin. The scars would always be a part of him until the day he died, but he didn’t need another visual reminder of the person he had been before he had found his way out of the darkness.

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Epilogue ____________ Valon took one last drag of the cigarette he’d lit a few blocks from the restaurant he was approaching, tossing it down onto the sidewalk and grinding it out with the toe of his boot. He stood there for a while, blowing out a long stream of smoke as he thought of everything that had brought him to this

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point, starting with the legacy of a man who had hated him since his birth. He recalled Ahmeti raging about it one night, that Valon would be the reason that he became the laughing stock of The Organization. Valon’s mother was not a woman who was seen favorably. She was only meant to be used as a toy and nothing more, but father bastards with her. Having them be his only heirs, Ahmeti hated Valon for that though it hadn’t been something he could control. It was funny, really, that while he was a dead man walking, Valon still had all of the fear and respect that Ahmeti had craved up until his death.

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But none of that mattered anymore. They were dead and Valon had to forget about them. Lowering his hood, Valon walked into the restaurant, already noticing a few of the Russians watching him. He merely nodded to the hostess who was preparing to offer him a menu, heading toward the back of the restaurant where the kitchens were, along with a secret back room that the Pakhan used for meetings. Valon could hear the Russians calling out to him, but he ignored them, making it through the kitchen doors before they could reach him, but outside of the closed door of the office were two armed men, hands already on the guns at their sides when they saw Valon coming toward them.

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He held his hands up, trying to appear non-threatening though that was difficult considering he was a good few inches taller than the pair of them. While they wore suits—even standing in the blistering hot kitchen—they assumed he couldn’t have been one of them since he was dressed as if he’d just walked off the street. While true, they really didn’t know what they were up against. “I’m here to see your boss,” Valon said before they could ask. “Do you have an appointment?” one asked in return. Valon shrugged. “No.” He could already see the man about to deny him, and while he thought about arguing with the man until he was allowed

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inside, he needed to make sure he got this job. The only way he could be sure he would was if he sent a message. Valon smiled, slow and easy, and jerked his head. “On your left.” Both of the idiots looked in that direction, giving Valon enough time to disarm the first one, using the butt of the man’s gun to hit him in the temple, sending him to the ground in seconds. The other was still fumbling to free his gun from the holster as Valon reared back, sending his booted foot into the man’s chest, the force of the kick sending the man through the door. Valon’s brows lifted in surprise at how easily the door gave away but didn’t complain as he merely stepped over the groaning man’s body into the office where a number of

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men were sitting around a circular table, all smoking cigars and now looking at Valon as he interrupted their card game. He recognized Mikhail immediately from the pictures Bastian had shown him before the job. He had the same dark hair as his son, about the same length though he kept his slicked back. Cold gray eyes met his from across the room as Mikhail looked at him without an ounce of fear. Instead, interest lit up his gaze as he looked Valon over. While in the two months that Valon had been living off the grid, he’d acquired a number of tattoos that covered majority of his arms and upper torso, to the trained eye, the marks of The Organization could be discerned. There was no mistaking what some

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of them meant, a few even crossing with the meanings of the Russians’ own. Especially the one Valon had done on his chest. Gripping the collar of his T-shirt, Valon tugged the fabric down, just enough so that they could see the beginning of the striped head, and then released his hold. A small smile had formed on Mikhail’s lips as he saw that tattoo. Flicking the ash off the end of his cigar, he took a few long puffs, taking his time as he regarded Valon. “Are you looking for a job?” he asked after some time. Valon shrugged, answering, “Something like that.” He might have had the right ink—it was the only reason that he was still

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breathing since he was sure that at least two of the six men at the table had their guns aimed at him beneath the table—but even with that, he couldn’t be accepted automatically with them. He still had to prove himself. Mikhail nodded, his smile disappearing as he rested his cigar on the edge of an ashtray. His eyes cut to one of the men at the table, one that didn’t look as at ease as everyone else. His hand coming down rather harshly on the man’s shoulder, Mikhail smiled at him, giving him a little shake. “This man, my good friend, Vitaly, has been doing business with me for the last twelve years.” Vitaly forced a smiled, clearing his throat as though he were uncomfortable.

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“He has made me plenty of money over the years, but he has betrayed the Bratva, and I want him dead.” Vitaly started to protest, shaking his head as though that would help his case, but before he could utter a word, Valon unsheathed one of the knives he kept on him, tossing it with unwavering accuracy, watching as it sunk into the man’s chest like butter. While Mikhail didn’t outwardly show he was impressed, the others tried in vain to close their gaping mouths. Valon could practically hear their thoughts. He was a lot faster than they originally believed. He stepped toward the man, jerking his knife free, plunging it in one last time and giving it a jerk to the right before pulling

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it free again. The man sputtered for half a second before slumping forward, blood oozing from the wound in his chest. Wiping the blade off on the back of the man’s jacket, Valon went back to his spot by the door, rocking back and forth on his heels as he shoved his hands in his pockets, looking at Mikhail expectantly. It was pretty clear that no one seemed to know what to think of him. No one had ever just walked in and killed someone without any hesitation. For all he knew, he could have just murdered an undercover cop or someone who had significant power in this state, but no one could do to him anything that hadn’t already been done, and there was nothing for him to fear.

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Looking mildly impressed, Mikhail asked, “What is your name, boy?” If he gave him his real name, Valon knew that wouldn’t work in his favor, especially since Mikhail had been the one to give the kill order in the first place, though he had never bothered to show at the meetings himself. From this point on, he had to bury his past as best he could. Start over and live as freely as he could until the Albanians found him or they discovered the truth of his identity. It was stupid, it was reckless, but Valon had never been one to follow the rules anyway. “Luka,” he answered, thinking of his mother one last time, and the name she had always wanted for him. “Luka Sergeyev.”

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Acknowledgements ____________________

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First, as always, I have to thank my readers. Without you all, I would not be able to do what I love most (and that’s writing books if you didn’t know!). Where would the Volkov Bratva be without every single one of you?? Next, of course, there’s H. Thank you for always lending an ear while I spazzed out trying to write this thing. I would have given up a long time ago without you. Jenny, without you, this thing would have been riddled with errors, but you are an editing goddess, and I love you. (Please always remember this when I send you a manuscript at the last minute because I’m sure it’s bound to happen again.)

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Love, LM Facebook Twitter Website

Next in the Volkov Bratva… August 17, 2015

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Until Luka… Aleksandra Volkov happily escaped into the oblivion that alcohol and pills provided, longing to forget the memories that plague her. But sometimes, it takes someone as equally broken to mend the fractured pieces of her life. Until Alex… Luka Sergeyev willfully courted death by living in the midst of the very people who would have him killed if the truth of who he was ever came out. But he would gladly take that risk if it meant she would look at him like he mattered for just a little while longer.

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When it comes to life within the Volkov Bratva, love comes at a price, secrets are common, and most of all, one’s survival is not guaranteed. <<<<>>>>

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