Taking his hand in mine, I nodded and said, “I am grateful for your friendship.”
362 smirked. He always smirked. “Promise me this. If you are victorious tonight, you will get your revenge… for the both of us.”
I squeezed his hand and said, “Only if you make the same promise.”
362 dipped his head in acknowledgement. Our hands separated; all feeling, all compassion, fell away and supercharged adrenaline took hold.
We stepped back. The guards relaxed. Only one rifle was raised again, to fire the shot signaling the restart of the fight.
I knew this fighter, how he moved, how he thought, his weak areas, his strengths. But he also knew me. For the first time ever, I felt a pang of fear. This man could beat me. As we began to circle each other, I knew by the look on 362’s face he was thinking the same.
362 suddenly lurched forward and struck my arm with his sai, the blade slicing into my skin. But he didn’t get away unscathed, for as he withdrew his sai, I pierced him with a glancing blow to his thigh. 362 stumbled back as it sliced nearly to the muscle.
I felt blood running down my arm. 362 suddenly charged at me, dragging us both to the ground. The crowd went insane, their fists banging on the metal links of the fence. 362 and I grappled on the floor, both struggling for dominance, both evenly matched.
But 362 was bigger and he managed to pin me down. His face tensed and his expression cooled as his sai came down toward my face. The crowd volume increased to fever pitch.
I tried to push back, but 362’s strength was unrivaled and his size unmatched. Every one of my muscles strained. I could feel my veins throbbing in my neck and temple, but the sai came ever closer to my throat. This would be a kill. 362 would pierce my throat and I’d be dead.
My head tipped back as I pushed harder still against 362’s downward moving arms. I caught sight of Viktor on the side of the cage, screaming for me to live, to get my revenge.
But beyond Viktor, and at the entrance to the hallway, was my Kisa… and Durov stood behind her, pinning her against his chest, forcing her to watch me fight as tears filled her eyes. Durov watched me with a sneer on his psychotic face. It was all I needed to completely fuel my defense.
Kisa tried to turn her head as I felt the tip of the sai press against my skin, but Durov grabbed her cheek in his hands and wrenched her unwilling attention back to me, his tight mouth barking something in her ear.
Her blue eyes filled with terror as she watched me. And like an over-taut cord pulled too tight, I snapped. Roaring out in frustration, I rolled my hips, knocked 362’s sai from his hand, and flipped him on his back.
I saw nothing but red as I straddled his waist and speared a first bladed fist into his neck. Felt nothing but rage as my second bladed fist skewered his temple. Felt nothing but single-minded determination to slaughter Durov as I lifted both fists and, pointing them straight down, plunged them into 362’s chest, the wheeze of his dying breaths assaulting my ears, wrenching me from my anger.
362 was bleeding like a river, my skin coated with his blood. His eyes shone at me. I noted approval in his stare as my hands fell to my sides, an ache constricting my chest.
“Revenge…” 362 uttered, choking on blood washing back down his throat. “Make him pay…” Then 362 was gone, his chest stilling. The crowd erupted. But all I could do was stare at 362 lying dead on the floor of the cage. I couldn’t move my arms and legs, a sharp pain dead center of my chest.
The steel door opened and Viktor ran in. He crouched before me. “Raze. Son, we need to move.”
I looked up at Viktor, then down at 362 beneath me. “I knew him,” I said, my voice breaking.
Viktor nodded and laid his hand on my shoulder. “I know, son. I knew it the minute I saw his tattoo and your reaction as you stepped into the cage.”
“He was my… friend,” I managed to blurt out, the term unfamiliar and bittersweet on my lips.
Viktor gripped my bicep and helped me to my feet. “We have to go, son.”
Viktor and I walked straight out of the cage and down through the crowd. Hands slapped at my back in congratulations, I kept my eyes low and I started to move faster until I was in the hallway. Then I found myself sprinting into my holding room. Once inside, I went straight to the bathroom and puked into the toilet, my body breaking out in cold sweats.
Viktor was at the door, cursing under his breath. I didn’t know what the fuck was happening to me.
I slumped to the ground, seeing smears of blood on the grimy floor tiles. Viktor wet two washrags and pressed one on my arm and the other on my throat.
I didn’t flinch. “You need stitches, son. That sai got you good in places.”
“Then do it,” I said numbly.
I’d never ever felt this… this… ache before. This pain… this guilt? Was it guilt? I’d always blocked out the kills. Those men I’d faced were just animals for the slaughter, and I was the man that brought death. There was no over thinking. Just instinct and duty to the Gulag carrying me forward.
But this time… I felt everything: remorse, shame, devastation… I felt like death. I felt dead inside too.
“Where are you living, son?” Viktor asked as he pulled out a needle and thread from the metal cabinet above the basin. He began to patch up my arm. I didn’t feel the needle piercing my skin. Didn’t feel the thread pulling together my spilt flesh.
“At the gym.”
Viktor paused and shook his head. “Damn, son. Just… damn.”