Britt showed me how to work the bar and warned me to stay away from the expensive champagne and vodka bottles, which were solely reserved for the high-ranking Bratva members in the VIP glass cabin on an upper level above the fight cage. Soon I busied myself with the hustle of a bar on a Friday night until my nerves were only a distant memory. While upstairs in the official bar, a DJ heated up the crowd with a mix of Latin American rhythms and Russian club sounds from the most popular places in Moscow, in this underground hellhole, Death Metal screeched from the speakers. My skin glowed from sweat as I meandered through the crowd. The odor of sweat pressed in on me, mixing with the pungent stench of foul breath from the men around me. They weren’t the kind of company I was used to. Our men mostly kept up an outward experience of normalcy, hiding the monster lurking within, but the guests of the Kazan’s underground arena screamed “criminal” from afar. Their leering smiles set my teeth on edge. Luckily for me, a large number of prostitutes kept their attention occupied.
I’d almost forgotten why I’d come to Miami in the first place when, shortly after midnight, the music was turned down for the announcement of the upcoming fight. A hush went through the crowd akin to the silence of the birds of prey when a raptor crossed the sky above their home tree. I froze, my eyes darting to the doorway.
Killer’s opponent appeared, a massive man with an unpronounceable name who strode purposefully toward the cage and climbed through the opening. He was a new arrival straight from Saint Petersburg. He looked monstrous, almost grotesque with his scarred, twisted face.
The crowd seemed to draw in a collective breath when, finally, Killer towered before us. My mouth ran dry at the sight of him. Now I got why they had to import his opponents from Russia. Everyone who’d ever seen him in person wouldn’t face him in a cage for all the money in the world.
The tray balanced on my palm became heavy, but I couldn’t deliver it to the next customers. My legs were useless.
Killer was even taller and more muscular than his opponent. Every movement accentuated the heavy muscle under his inked skin. He stalked by me on his way to the cage, his eyes capturing mine. My head thrown back to meet his intense gaze, I shivered violently as his arm brushed mine in the barest ghost touch. In the dim light of the patio, his eyes appeared black like bottomless pools. I felt the ridiculous urge to run my fingernails over his dark buzz cut, then slowly down the myriad of tattoos adorning almost every inch of his upper body. He wasn’t attractive in the conventional sense. His face too harsh, too many sharp angles and foreboding scars, and yet he oozed raw sexuality that called to a part of me forced into dormancy by the traditional rules of my upbringing.
Sucking in a sharp breath, I backed away, even if he had already passed me and stepped into the cage. My pulse galloped in my veins, a mix of animal fear and exhilarating rush. The referee threw the door of the cage shut with a resounding metallic clang that made me and half of the crowd jump.
He stepped between the fighters, explaining the rules. Then he left the cage, lifted a gun above his head and shot.
What happened after turned my insides to ice. The crowd screamed madly, calling for more blood.
Killer was more monster than man, and I had come here to ask for his help.
CHAPTER TWO
Killer
The cage had always given me a sense of belonging. I was born to fight, to stand inside this metal cage. Others called it a death pit… I called it home.
I made my first kill at eight years old. In a cage.
I won my first fight at eight years old. In a cage.
And I had never lost a single fucking fight since then. I had a love and hate relationship with this cage.
I loved it because it gave me a purpose.
I hated it… because it was a reminder that I was an addict.
The underground ring… this death pit called to me. My blood sang with the need to maim, to fight… to spill blood. To kill. They were right to call me a monster.
I owned this ring, I lived it, I breathed it.
The moment I stepped away from the shadows, the crowd scattered to make way for me. A path to the underground ring. My arena.
The cheers were loud, almost too loud… it was deafening. The crowd chanted my name.
Killer. Killer. Killer.
The men thumped their chests with their fists, roaring. The women screamed, wanting to be heard… craving my attention.
They knew I’d pick one of them tonight. After my fight, after my win.
Fighting in this arena built up tension. Adrenaline that would course through my veins for hours, even after a bloody, well satisfied fight. A good fuck usually helped with the tension surging through my veins.
Tight pussy. Round ass. Pretty tits. Yeah, that usually did the job.
The women handed themselves over on a silver platter. Fuck, they crawled to me… with pleading eyes, begging for my cock.
The chants grew with an intensity as I got closer to the cage. The metal door opened and I stepped inside my arena. He was there already. My opponent.
He was big, but I was bigger.
His face looked like someone had fun with a burnt blade. His flesh didn’t heal properly, the scars looking like melted skin had been stitched together over his bones. He was an ugly motherfucker as he grinned, showing me his razor-sharp teeth. There was a look in his eyes, a look that told me… this man was absolutely deranged.
My lips twitched and I fucking smiled.
Yeah, this was exactly what I needed tonight. The last few fights, I had a bunch of pussies as my opponents. They barely lasted thirty seconds and they begged for mercy before I spilled their blood.
I eyed him, feeling my muscles tense. My fingers curled around my knuckle duster. My vision became a red mist. My blood roared and my heartbeat echoed in my ears.
My brain stuttered and I exhaled my humanity.
I inhaled…death.
The gun fired; he rushed forward and I grinned. He lunged, going for my throat.
I side-stepped him and elbowed his side. He growled, furious that I got him first. My opponent had skills… but he was slow.
I ducked as he aimed for my head and my knuckle duster slammed into his rib cage. I felt his bones crack. I swung my left fist and got him in the face.
We danced around each other and I dragged the fight out longer than I should have. He got a few punches in. My face felt swollen, but he was worse.
He got me in the stomach next and I felt my rib cage caving around my lungs. I stumbled back and hissed. He was bleeding far more than me and his moves were getting slower, less skilled, while I was barely out of breath.
Time to end this.
The next time he came at me, I lunged forward and threw my right fist up… the one with my brass knuckles. I slammed my fist into his throat and I felt it… his mangled bones. His throat caved in, his eyes widened, his breathing stuttered and he crumbled.
I saw a broken bone sticking out from the side of his neck.
His blood pooled onto the surface of the arena.
The gun fired again, indicating the end of the fight. The crowd roared at my win. My name echoed as the chants grew louder and louder.
The door opened and I stepped out of the cage. I took in the crowd as they spilled closer toward me. I growled in warning. No fucker better touch me. I was going to rip their arms out of their goddamn sockets. The adrenaline was practically bursting through my veins. I was fucking high – on this place, this crowd, the need to kill… to fuck this out of my system.
I scanned the spectators, looking for tonight’s fuck.
My heart pounded for a second. My gaze snagged on her. Like she had been calling to me, as if my body recognized her and told me, “Look, there she is.”
But she hadn’t been calling for me, nor did she belong here.
Long brown hair, round eyes, plump lips and so fucking small, the crowd was practically eating her.
The look on her face… she was appalled at wha
t she had just witnessed. A crowd roaring for blood and death. Me fighting. Me killing that man without a second thought.
She was standing against the farthest wall, as if she was trying to hide in the shadow, to blend in…
She trembled and her face paled as she brought a shaky hand up, covering her mouth. Her eyes flared with shock and… indecision.
This girl looked completely out of place. The innocence in her gaze and in the way she curled against the wall told me she didn’t belong here, in this underground death pit.
This little pixie had just unknowingly walked into a monster’s lair. It must have been her curiosity.
Too bad, her little curious mind brought her to me.
I took a step forward and the crowd parted for me. She noticed me, walking toward her. Her whole body was shaking and my lips curled, grinning at how frightened she looked.
I cocked an eyebrow, amused.
When I was merely a few feet away, her lips parted with a silent gasp.
Her eyes widened with fear and shock, then the girl turned on her heels and sprinted away.
She ran.
She. Fucking. Ran.
I threw my head back and laughed. Tsk.
Instincts kicked in. The animalistic part of me growled at the challenge.
It had been a long time since I hunted someone.
CHAPTER THREE
Talia
What had I been thinking?
My God.
This man…no, this monster was something straight out of hell.
I didn’t stop running until I was upstairs in one of the bathroom stalls. My heart pounded in my chest, my pulse thudding fearfully in my throat. With a choked gasp, I opened the toilet lid and threw up my dinner. My stomach kept constricting. The smell of blood clung to my clothes like the memory of the man’s cruel end. How he’d bled to death at Killer’s feet who hadn’t shown a flicker of pity.
I wanted to return to New York, forget about my daring plan and just go on with my life.
But hadn’t I chosen Killer exactly because of his ruthlessness, his brutality? He was good at what he did, and I needed a man like him.
Slowly, I made my way back underground, glad to find Killer gone and a thinned-out crowd. If I wanted to stick to my plan, I needed to keep this job. It was my only way to get close to Killer.
Only, I was terrified of having him near me after what I’d witnessed today.
Over the next two days, I worked the official bar, deemed too squeamish for the underground service—which suited me just fine.
I didn’t see Killer on my shifts, but I couldn’t shake off the feeling that someone was following me. I had been asking Britt and a few of the other waitresses about him, trying to figure out how best to approach him with my request, but they had been evasive, only increasing my anxiety about the matter. When I walked home at night, I could feel a presence in the shadows, knew I was being watched by the way the little hairs on my neck stood on end.
I never saw anyone, but deep down I knew it was him. The way he’d looked at me after his fight…like a lion who’d picked out the one gnu out of a herd of thousands that appeared weak.
It was close to midnight on my fourth day, when the atmosphere in the bar shifted, turning frightful. My eyes searched the room until the source of the unease came into focus. Him. Killer.
Tonight, he wasn’t shirtless, a tight black t-shirt covered many of his scars and tattoos. It didn’t make him appear less imposing, though. His dark eyes settled on me and didn’t move on.
My hands began to tremble, the ice cubes in the glass beginning to clank together. I quickly set it down, worried I’d drop it otherwise, and looked down, away from the man who terrified and fascinated me equally.
From the corner of my eye, I saw him approach and the people in his way stepped aside almost reverently. Then he towered right in front of the bar, waiting for me to look up. Bracing myself, I lifted my face with a shaky smile “What can I get you?” My voice was too hushed, underplayed with an anxious tremor.
Killer took in my flushed face. It was a struggle to hold his penetrating stare. “Whiskey. Neat.”
A small chill passed my body at his rough, deep voice. Even that oozed danger.
I nodded hastily and reached for a bottle of whiskey.
“I hear you’ve been asking about me.”
My fingers clenched around the bottle. I set it down on the counter and busied myself pouring it into a glass, considering what to say. “I did,” I got out and shoved the glass over to him. He ignored it, his entire focus on me.
“Why?”
The word was demand, not question.
I looked up and was immediately captured by his intense gaze. Everything about him screamed danger.
Lie. Make something up. Anything.
I opened my mouth but he braced his arms on the counter between us, bringing us closer. The muscles in his strong arms flexed and beneath the ink on his forearms, countless scars glared at me, telling his story of death and brutality. His musky scent hit my nose. “The fucking truth.”
It was too much. The situation. Him. Being away from home and my bodyguards for the first time in many years. But especially him.
I shook my head. “Nothing.” I stumbled back and hurried through the backdoor toward the staff room, leaving the bar unattended. Only one of the bouncers sat at the worn-down table inside, having a smoke, despite the non-smoking rule.
He raised one brow, but a moment later, his expression flashed with anxiety. I knew why without turning around.
“Out,” Killer growled and the bouncer didn’t hesitate. He practically fled the room, leaving me alone with Killer. What was I supposed to do now?
The door clicked and then the lock turned.
Running was no longer an option.
My heart hammered wildly as I faced Killer. He simply stood there, his expression hard. “You need something from me,” he muttered.
I shook my head mutely. He took a step closer and I backed away. Something flashed in his eyes, as if I’d awoken the hunter, and he stalked toward me.
I stumbled into the wall, terrified of him. He stopped right in front of me, so close, that if he took a deep breath his chest may have brushed mine. “Tell me.”
I had to crane my head all the way back to meet his gaze. It had been years since I’d been this close to a man and that hadn’t been by my choice either. I swallowed, tipping up my chin to feign bravado. “I told you it’s no—”
He reached out and tugged at one of my locks, his knuckles brushing my cheek in the process. I sucked in a shocked breath. His closeness was overwhelming in so many ways, my breathing came in sharp exhales.
“Tell me what you need, Little One.” The name sounded like an insult coming from his harsh lips. His eyes mocked me.
And I lost it. I’d been scared out of my mind before, had watched my father getting shot in front of me, had been given away like a piece of furniture. I had survived and wouldn’t let anyone treat me like a stupid child ever again. “I need you to kill someone for me,” I blurted.
CHAPTER FOUR
Killer
When I asked her what she needed from me, that was the last thing I expected her to utter through her plump, red lips.
She needed me to kill someone? For her? Was this a fucking joke?
“What did you just say?” I asked, my voice rough and grating to my own ears. I tugged onto the lock of hair wrapped around my finger. There was something about her nearness, her warmth… her sweet fucking smell that made my cock throb.
They called me an animal for a reason. I sleep. I eat. I hunt. I kill. And I fuck. Hard.
Talia smelled of innocence and I wanted to rip it away from her; I wanted to bathe her in my depravity; I wanted to show her why little girls like Talia shouldn’t step foot into my world.
She swallowed hard, her pale throat bobbing with the action. I stepped closer, forcing her back… trapping her against the wall and my body. Her whole
body trembled against mine and her teeth sunk into her bottom lip.
Talia held my eyes for a mere second before she dropped her gaze to my chest. “I need you to… kill someone… for me.”
A little whisper, her sweet fucking voice, candy breath and brown eyes filled with uncertainty and fear – Talia had absolutely no idea what she just walked into.
“Why?” I demanded.
She struggled to speak and her chest rattled with a harsh inhale. I tugged on her hair, a little harder than before. A silent warning. Talia shuddered, almost violently. She seemed to want to cower but couldn’t, since she was trapped.
“Because he’s a bad man,” she whispered.
Little one, so innocent… so young…so trusting… so fucking naïve.
“Because he’s a bad man,” I said aloud. Talia nodded, not realizing that I was indeed mocking her words.
If he was a bad man – whoever he was – then what am I?
“Why is he a bad man?” She squeezed her eyes shut and swallowed hard. I saw her fighting for composure. Hmm, interesting.
Bringing my other hand up, I grasped her chin and tipped her head up. Her eyes opened and our gazes locked. Her pupils grew larger, a look of fright in her eyes. But there was something else…
“He hurt me and humiliated me,” Talia confessed, her voice so soft that I almost missed her words. “He doesn’t deserve to live.”
“How did he hurt you?” I don’t know why I asked the question since I never cared before. When offered a job, I never needed or asked for details. I only needed a name and location, then I made my kill.
Talia flinched but responded to my question anyway. “He…treated me like dirt, like I was less than a human to him, he hit me… and threatened me…. To hurt me...”
I let out a small, dry laugh. “Do you know who I am, Little One?”
“Killer,” Talia whispered my name.
“Do you know what I am?”
She bit on her lip, her shaking becoming worse. Poor girl was so frightened she was practically mute. She shouldn’t have come here. She shouldn’t have put herself in my path… or asked for my help.
Tales of Darkness & Sin: An Anthology Page 23