Raze (Scarred Souls 1)

I shook him and his neck lolled back. Then I made him meet my eyes again.

“I don’t give a shit about your conscience. There’s no pussying out of this life. We kill. And you’ll add one more death to your bloodied hands: Durov’s. I won’t stop until he’s bleeding out from his throat. I won’t stop until he breathes his last breath, knowing it was me who sent him to hell. Then you can go and drink until your liver rots. I couldn’t give a fuck. But you will train me. You will make me win.”

“Why? Why is Durov so important? What’s his history with you, if you’ve been in the Gulag all your life?”

Viktor’s face wore a strange expression. Was he holding something back? But he looked away and the expression was gone. “Not that I’m complaining. The asshole is evil. The way he treats Kisa is disgusting. But why the hell is it so important to you to kill him?”

My mind clouded over; it always did when I thought too hard about revenge on Durov. Somehow Durov’s name was there in my conscience, a beacon shining red, telling me he had to die. “I don’t know why or how he did it. All I have is the need for revenge on Alik Durov. But I do know he took everything from me. I can feel it. I sense it. I just know he has to die. And I have to win. Nothing else matters to me but that.”

Viktor’s chin dropped, and as I released him to the ground, he ran his hand down his face. “Okay. I’ll train you. But you’re the last one. Fuck, maybe you’ll be my redemption. Finally righting what I’ve helped make wrong all those years.”

I didn’t care what the fuck he was talking about, what demons he fought. He was just a drunken fool. But I was going to defeat Durov if it was the last thing I ever did. And Viktor was going to get me there.

A hard knock sounded on the door, and a voice called, “Raze! You’re up!”

Viktor squared his shoulders as I slipped on my knuckledusters, rolling my neck to loosen up my muscles. I breathed in Kisa’s lingering scent, and it gave me the strength, the adrenaline kick to awaken my muscles.

Viktor opened the door and we went outside, storming down the tunnel like a fucking tornado coming to raze anything its path. I could hear the sound of stamping feet echoing off the cold walls. The tunnel was dark, but soon a light appeared, showing me the mouth of The Dungeon. The Dungeon that would help me carry out my vengeance.

Viktor glanced back at me as we approached. “Your opponent is new, unskilled, the Chechen Viper. He’s a sadistic murderer picked up by the Chechens to fight in exchange for keeping him from the Feds. Viper uses a bladed chain, so stay low, strike his torso, his vital organs, when he withdraws to swing the chain. Aim for a quick kill. No showboating. Make it quick and simple. Shock and awe, stun the crowd. Make the other fighters fear your efficiency. You do that, it’s a less-than-a-minute match. You’ll have shooed yourself in as the one to beat. The Bratva’s new star and a potential opponent for Durov. You only have a couple of fights to win to get to the final. Keep that in mind because Durov will always make the final.”

I drank in what Viktor said, taking note, locking the information down. I cracked my knuckles and cracked my neck, prepping for the fight. A nervous excitement surged through my legs and stomach, causing me to bounce on my toes, readying me for the addictive feel of fist hitting flesh, for getting in the ring and spilling blood. My pulse thumped as I visualized the first hit, the spray of my opponent’s blood on my chest, the crack of his bone under my feet. I would take down this animal, slaughter him and cut him up like meat.

Viktor slapped his hand on my face and my bulging eyes met his. “You’re Raze. You’re death. Let’s fucking RAZE HELL!”

Growling through my teeth, my pumped-up traps tensed, and with a determined focus, I stormed down the walkway to the cage, running up the steps and into the arena. The animal I was sent to kill paced the other side. I knew with one look this fucker killed for kicks, scraped off the street, no training in fighting to the death.

The telltale signs of his fucked-up mind were there: the twitching of the neck, the smug smirk on his mouth, the jumping of his muscles. His body needed to kill, needed to feel the rush that only comes with stopping someone’s heart. But this cage was my motherfucking domain, all I’d ever known. What this sadistic fuck, who probably killed women and kids by the boatload, didn’t know was I had killed bastards much more fucked up than him.

I killed because I had to. I had no other choice. I was already dead, no more than a number—stripped of morals, stripped of freedom, and stripped of life. I was an animal conditioned to inflict pain without remorse. And you couldn’t kill someone who had no soul.

The door to the cage slammed shut, trapping us inside, the bolt sliding into place. The red mist I used to defeat opponents infused my body. The monster I harbored deep inside was freed.

The Chechen Viper wrapped the chain around his fist, the triple spiked ball swinging in circles at the bottom.

He smiled at me, his teeth gleaming gold. I paced my side of the cage, waiting for the gun to fire so I could end this fucker’s life. A few seconds later, a member of the Bratva walked to the side of the cage. I didn’t lose focus on the Viper, my target. I never take my eyes off the walking dead.

The gun fired.

The crowd erupted, screaming at the top of their lungs. The Viper leapt forward, swinging his favorite chain above his head. As Viktor had predicted, the Viper showed a lack of skill as he hurried to get in the first blow. I ducked as the spiked ball traveled over my head. Using his raised arm to my advantage, I swung my right fist, piercing my blades deep into Viper’s kidney. Then with my left fist, I quickly pierced a lung. I kept walking forward, not looking behind. I watched the mouths of the crowd drop open and eyes widen at my speed. Then I heard the sweetest sound of all. The sick fucker I had to slaughter dropped to the floor; my blows had brought him to his knees.