Zaal Kostava suddenly went still. The blond Russian noticed and looked to him. “What?” he asked.
Zaal’s jaw was clenched, but he dropped his head, his eyes darting from side to side like he was remembering something. “I think I know that number,” he said quietly, then looked up, face paling. “Jakhua. Jakhua had a mona, a slave … 152, I think? I think he used her to advertise the Type B drug.”
At his words all of the blood drained from my body and I said, “Master Jakhua? You knew Master Jakhua?”
Zaal this time replaced the blond Russian and said, “You knew him?”
My body stiffened, and I said, “He was my Mistress’s lover. He was the bastard that gave me the collar when I was twelve. He designed it for me, for my Mistress, when I was training in the Blood Pit. He was developing the serum there, in the labs. He turned me into this. A torturer and killer.” I smiled coldly, not even noticing Zaal too was lost in the memory. “But they never knew it only worked on me temporarily. I made them think I was completely under their control. But I remembered everything. I remembered everything, so when the day came I could get my revenge.”
I panted, my muscles braced for that fight, when I noticed that the room had fallen silent. I lifted my head to see the blond Russian and Zaal Kostava completely frozen on the spot. “What?” I asked.
“Where is the Blood Pit? What is it?” the blond questioned urgently.
“Georgia. It’s where the Arzianis bring all of the gulag champion fighters for the Ultimate Death Matches. It’s where they train the fighters from kids, the Ubitsy and the monebi—the sex slaves—before selling them on to the highest bidders, or keeping them in the pit for the gamblers’ entertainment.”
“Gulags?” the blond prompted, his voice now sharp and ice cold.
I nodded slowly. “The Arzianis run all the gulags around the world, and choose champions to bring to the Blood Pit for high-stakes gambling. They gamble on who will be the Blood Pit Champion.”
I looked to Zaal and said, “Master Jakhua developed the serum there with my Mistress. It was where he did his experiments on his subjects.”
This time it was Zaal’s turn to embody death. His face contorted and he growled, “Experiments?”
Remembering the three of us boys in the cages as children, I said, “There was me in the cages, along with two brothers, for years. Twin brothers. But by the time I arrived, one was already lost to the serum. They’d already been there years. I spoke to the other twin, but he had already forgotten his name and who he was. He lived for the day he would kill Jakhua. He would sit and repeat Jakhua’s name, trying not to forget. The serum didn’t affect him like his brother. But it began to take his memories more and more each day. It wasn’t enough; his mind never fully gave in. Jakhua eventually sent him away, leaving only his brother and me in the labs. When I was old enough, when I had finished my training, Master Arziani sent me out with his sister as his assassin.” I lowered my head, flicking my chin at the names on my body. “Each tattoo is the name of my kill. Mistress and Master Arziani wanted their victims to see the names of people whose hearts I have stopped. They wanted me as their savage ugly beast.”
Zaal looked pale and, towering over me, asked, “Do you remember the identity numbers of the twin boys in your cells?”
I frowned but nodded my head. “I remember it all,” I said darkly. “The Blood Pit is ingrained in my fucking brain. Every part of it. From the day I arrived to the day I left.” Zaal waited and I realized he wanted me to say the numbers. Sucking in a deep breath, pushing through the pain in my throat, I said, “362 and 221. They were Georgian. I knew nothing more than that. Neither did they.”
I heard a gasp from behind me, but I couldn’t see where it came from. It sounded female. Even if I could have turned, I wasn’t sure I would have. Zaal Kostava’s eyes burned with rage, and lifting his shirt, he threw it to the ground. He was panting hard and his muscles rippled with how tense his body had become.
My stomach fell when I stared at his chest. When I stared at his identity tattoo just like mine—221.
“You,” I whispered, my heart thudding in my chest, my hands gripping the arms of the chair. “You, 221, are Zaal Kostava? You are Zoya’s brother?”
Zaal nodded. It was obvious he couldn’t speak. Suddenly the reason for his hit made sense. “It was you that killed Jakhua. That’s why Mistress brought us to New York. That’s why she wants you dead. In revenge for you killing her lover.”
Zaal’s eyes closed and he breathed deep. The blond next to him stepped forward and removed his shirt. My head fell forward when I saw the tattoo on his chest—818.
I had found males like me.
Beasts like me.
I eventually met his eyes, and he said, “Alaskan gulag champion. Taken at fourteen.”
“Taken at twelve,” I said after a few silent seconds, my voice breaking. “Taken from my orphanage in the middle of the night. Along with my sister and about twenty others.”
Silence reigned until Kostava rasped, “Taken at eight. But made to watch my entire family killed first. Then grew lost to the serum until only months ago.”
I studied his face, and I could now see the young 221 in his expression. And I could see Zoya. He was dark skinned and dark featured like my kotyonok—but for his green eyes. “Where’s 362?” I asked.
Both men were silent, until Zaal simply said, “Dead.”
My eyes closed, and I whispered, “It will kill her to know that.”
“Who?” the blond pushed, his tone demanding.
“Zoya,” I replied.
That seemed to kick-start Zaal, and he moved before me. “Where is she?”
“Mistress has her and my sister. I was ordered to take you weeks ago, but I couldn’t get to you. You had too much protection. Mistress told me to take someone who knew you, if not you.” I paused, then said, “I saw Zoya watching you from across the street. I saw a photograph she had in her hand of you. I took her. I needed a way in, and judged she could provide it.”
Zaal flew forward and dug his fingers into my arms. “And what did you do to her? If you hurt her I’ll kill you.”
Shame ran through me, and I eventually said, “I fell in love with her, you Georgian prick. I fought the fucking serum that made me take her off the street, that made me obey anything that bitch Mistress wanted of me, and fell in love with the little Georgian.” My eyes briefly closed at the pain of what Mistress had done to her.
Trying to hold back my rage, I explained, “Mistress found out and came for us both. She has her held captive. Mistress will kill Zoya if I don’t come back with you. She wants you. This whole move to New York has been for you. You killed her lover—the man just as evil as her.”
Zaal searched my eyes, then stood up. “How many males does she have with her, protecting her?”
“She keeps ten men in her mansion, and three bigger better-trained Night Wraiths around her at all times. Zoya and Inessa, my sister, will also be in the house.”
“What are the Night Wraiths?” the blond asked.
Ice infused my blood. “The Wraiths are fucking made in hell. The Arzianis are not like other crime families. They’re like an army, with Master Arziani as their general. They all dress in black uniforms, the symbol of two daggers crossing marked on all of their lapels. They have no souls. All of them—dead inside. They come for kids at night, blending into the shadows, and throw them into hell—the Blood Pit is hell on Earth. We called them Night Wraiths in the orphanage, as the children believed they were evil ghosts that came to take you to hell—the reality wasn’t far off.”
I shook my head, trying to chase those memories from my head before I exploded. But I looked to Zaal and said, “If I don’t appear with you by the end of the day, Zoya and Inessa get shipped off to Georgia, to the Blood Pit. And they’ll be used—a lot. They’re both too beautiful to not gain Master’s attentions.”
Zaal was stone as I told him those words. His head fell slightly forward, and he whispered, “Zoya’s beautiful?” His voice sounded like he’d swallowed razors. My stomach clenched. I could see the protectiveness, the sibling love, he had for Zoya, the same as I had for Inessa.