Riot (Scarred Souls 4)

The air in the champions’ quarters thickened until I felt caged and hot. When I finally opened my eyes, unable to stand the tension crackling between us, it was too see 901 radiating with rage. His muscles were taut, protruding with veins. His teeth were gritted together. I could see he was about to explode.

I tried to capture his attention. I implored him to meet my eyes, but his gaze was transfixed on my thighs. It was only seconds later when 901 released a livid roar and charged the cell door that I shouted out as his shoulder slammed into the rigid metal bars. But Master didn’t move. He didn’t even flinch. When I glanced back to see Master’s face, it was lit with triumph. My heart stuttered in its beat. He wanted this. He was breaking his champion.

He had used me to achieve it.

I hated myself at this moment. But not as much as I hated Master.

901 reared back and hit the bars again. “No!” I called out. “Stop!” 901 immediately stilled, his chest rising and falling in rapid movements. He met my pleading eyes.

But Master’s smile had fallen. In its place was the male that had taken me only a short while ago. Dread infused me. By my plea I had shown that I cared.

“Get off her,” 901 snarled when Master moved to the side of me. My arms fell to my sides as I waited for what he would do. When Master reacted, I was unprepared. In a flash, Master balled his hand into a fist and rammed it into my stomach. White-hot pain splintered throughout my body. I leaned forward, gasping at this sudden loss of breath. I heard 901 shaking the metal bars, but I couldn’t straighten to ask him to calm.

That was quickly resolved when Master took me by my hair and forced me to stand straight. I bit my lip to hold back my cry. Just as my eyes collided with 901’s, Master’s hand swung out and slapped me across my face. My cheek burned at the feel of his strong backhand. This time I did cry out. The injury on my cheek pulsed, but Master wasn’t done.

Moving in front of me, his back to 901, he struck me again in my stomach with his fist, then again in my ribs. My legs gave way and I started to fall. Master’s arms caught me before I hit the floor, and he wrapped me in his arms. “Shh, petal,” he murmured, seeming to comfort me by stroking his hand gently through my hair. He acted as though he hadn’t just been the deliverer of my pain.

Over his shoulder, I saw 901 lift his blades. I watched in horror as 901 went to strike Master’s back. Sheer terror held me in its grip. 901 would die if he killed Master. As the blades readied to plunge through the metal bars, I pulled Master back and shouted, “No!”

Master moved with me, and I saw 901’s blades stop at my demand. The tip of the Kindjal froze halfway through the bar. Master turned his head to view his champion.

Master lost his footing as he held me but quickly regained his ground. I lifted my head in disbelief. In this moment, seeing how close he had come to death, Master was shaken.

In this brief loss of composure, I saw how much he feared 901.

Master straightened and pulled me back. He took me in his arms and smiled so wide when he looked at me. “Mona,” he whispered, “You saved me.” The expression on his face, the glint in his eyes was something knew. Something unexpected.

It was gratitude. It was pure affection.

Then it was gone. Whipping around, Master faced 901. 901 had lowered his blades. He too wore an unreadable expression on his handsome face. “You dare to strike out against me?” 901 ignored him and stared over Master’s head at me.

Master followed 901’s gaze and let out a harsh, mocking laugh. “You are nothing, 901. My mona saved me.” When he turned back around, Master stepped closer to the bars and said, “If you want to see her again, if you want to touch her again, you extend this match until I give you the signal.” Master slipped his hands into his pockets and said, “In fact, if you don’t comply, you’ll never see her again.”

I tried to capture 901’s attention, to tell him that I wasn’t saving Master, but I was saving him from certain death. But he wouldn’t look my way.

Master walked to me. He stood in front of me, pride clear in his eyes. He cupped my cheeks with the most gentle of touches and said, “You know I didn’t want to hurt you, but you made me. I had to test that you wanted me above all else. You proved to me that you do, petal. That you’re all mine.”

I whimpered as Master’s lips came down on mine. Master groaned in response. But he had mistaken my meaning. I kept my eyes open and stared at 901 to show him I was his. His eyes met mine as Master kept my head locked in place. My vision blurred with the tears building in my eyes, but I knew that 901 could see my discomfort. As Master’s back was turned, I discreetly held out my hand in 901’s direction. I blinked to clear my vision and watched his face lose color.

His light eyebrows pulled down as he edged closer to the bars. I stretched out my hand an inch farther and saw the moment 901 realized what I wanted, what I was trying to say.

I was saving him.

All his anger fell away; slowly and nervously, 901 held his blades in one hand. He reached his free hand through the bars and wrapped his fingers in mine. As Master’s kiss grew harder and deeper, I squeezed 901’s fingers tighter, never once breaking from our locked stare.

901’s raw and open expression was almost my undoing. It was as if the final barriers surrounding his heart had fallen away; he was letting me in. He was opening himself up to me. He was opening his heart.

Feeling Master beginning to pull away, I reluctantly broke 901’s hold. I panicked as he left his hand outstretched, unwilling to let go of me. The cutting look of pain and insecurity was fading. As Master’s mouth moved from mine, 901 drew his arm back into the cell and replaced my hand with his blade.

Refocusing on Master, I paled seeing my blood from a cut lip on his mouth. Clearly feeling the warm drop of liquid, Master licked it with his tongue, excitement showing on his face as he tasted it. Pressing his forehead to mine, he lifted his thumb and wiped away the remnants of my blood. I flinched at the pain it brought, trying my best to ignore the ache in my stomach and the tenderness of my ribs. My cheek pulsed in the wake of Master’s strike, but I held myself together. I didn’t want 901 to be punished because he liked me.

“Come,” Master said, taking my arm and linking it through his. He led me away from 901’s cell without another word.

Master walked us to the stand and up onto his seat. The stands were packed, and several males came up to talk to Master. A male with an unusual accent came up to Master and shook his hand. I didn’t listen to what they said as I tried to breathe through the pain from Master’s strikes. But I heard that 901’s opponent belonged to this male. He owned a gulag somewhere named Prague. 901’s opponent was also undefeated.

Nerves racked my body on hearing that fact. Fear and trepidation were wrapping me in their embrace. I knew that Master was not going to make this match easy for 901. He wanted to assert his dominance. He wanted his champion to obey.

Master moved to his seat and pointed to the floor at his feet. I sat down, lowering my eyes from the looks I was receiving from the male spectators. Master rested his hand on my head and lazily combed through my hair. A guard moved into the pit and Master signaled for the match to begin.

I heard the pounding of feet carrying through the tunnel. When a male broke through, my heart fell. This male was bigger than 901. He was covered in black tattoos and was dark skinned. As he ran around the pit, two daggers in his hands, I balked when I saw his back. Lash scars marred every inch of skin. The warrior drew to a halt. When he looked to his master in the stands, there was nothing in his stare. It was blank, devoid of life.

Like he had nothing left to live for.

Master signaled again to the guard. When the guard disappeared, it was only seconds before 901 came running out. My heart beat in a heady rhythm as his perfectly toned body entered the pit. His blades were drawn, and for a moment I feared he would slay 175, his opponent, in seconds. But as 175 ran at 901, he ducked left but left himself open to be struck. I winced as 175 sliced the edge of his dagger across 901’s chest. Master’s hand had stilled on my hair as 901 entered the pit, but seeing him complying with his demands, Master relaxed. I could do no such thing.

901 toyed with his opponent, circling the pit. His opponent didn’t move as quickly, nor was he as agile. But just as Master commanded, 901 took blows from 175. He gave serious, but not lethal, blows back.