“Georgian,” the blond pushed as Kostava began to pace.
“Mistress Arziani,” I replied, “the sister of the Master of the Blood Pit.”
The blond man’s eyes pulled down. When he stood, he asked, “Where did you get the number tattoo, 194?”
My muscles tensed, but I replied, “The Blood Pit. When the Night Wraiths stole me and my sister in the night and drove us to that hell.”
“Explain,” the blond pushed again.
Taking breath, I said, “I have to get back. I have to save them.” Feeling the fog lifting from my head minute by minute, I could see Inessa and Zoya, both trapped with Mistress, and shouted, “You need to fucking let me go!”
The blond cracked his knuckles and said, “Not until we know who you are and why you tried to kill Zaal.”
I dropped my head, and as I did I winced at the raw pain of my skin. The pain faded when I realized … “You removed the collar?”
Kostava stopped and looked down at me but otherwise gave nothing away. “The serum,” I said. “Mistress gave me too much. Loaded the pellets with too much poison to ensure I got the kill. My head…,” I trailed off, wincing at the dull ache.
The blond informed me, “We removed it. The serum was an obedience drug. We have a male who has been studying it. He’s developed a serum to counteract the effects. Sometimes it works; sometimes it doesn’t. With you, we were fortunate. It brought you back fairly quickly.” I stared at the blond; then I remembered something that Zoya had said: My brother, Zaal Kostava, is marrying a Tolstaia. My brother, the Lideri of the Kostava Clan, is marrying into the Volkov Bratva.
“The Bratva,” I said quietly. “The Volkov Bratva.”
The blond didn’t look affected by what I had said, but he asked, “Who told you that?”
I flicked my eyes to Zaal and said, “Zoya. She said her brother was marrying a Tolstaia, a member of the Bratva. She said if we came to you, you would help us.”
“Help you what?” the blond pushed.
“Kill my Mistress and rescue my sister.”
“What’s wrong with your sister?”
“Mistress has her drugged and captured. She’s a mona—a sex slave. Mistress uses her to control me. She gives her to men to fuck, makes me watch, then promises that after my next hit she’ll let me see her again. It never happens, but I can’t leave her there alone. Mistress took her name, like she did mine, and also give her a number, 152.”
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 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 Russian blond 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