The City: A Novella Collection (Volkov Bratva Book 4)

by London Miller

  Valon, almost belatedly, realized that the name was more than appropriate for the place he was going.

  The kennels were located in a rust-colored barn, the peeling paint and vine-covered exterior, giving it a rather decrepit appearance. Inside, located on either side, were rows of cages, and toward the back was a large fenced-in space, a space currently filled with at least a dozen dogs, all fighting for scraps of meat. Most of them were fairly large, each with teeth nearly the size of Valon’s fingers.

  His hands trembled as his gaze focused on them, and prayed that the “whatever” Bastian wanted wasn’t dog food. However, before Valon could entertain that thought further, Gjarper went to a cage on the right-hand side of the biggest cage. He pulled out a key ring, rifling through the keys until he found the one he sought and stuck it into the padlock hanging on the outside of it.

  Once he had it unlocked and unhooked, he yanked the gate open, turning to face Valon as he jerked his head in the direction of the cage, letting him know he was meant to go in.

  “No arguing, kid. Get in.”

  With no other choice, Valon did what he was told. There wasn’t much room for him to stand, so he had to sit on the dirt, his back against the cold metal as Gjarper slammed the gate closed, locking it back. Without looking back, he closed the barn doors behind him.

  Valon didn’t doubt that those were locked now as well.

  He was left shrouded in darkness. The dogs’ growls were the only noise being made besides their paws as they drew closer to him. He could practically smell the aggression on them, and with the sweat beading on his brow and the erratic rhythm of his heart, he knew they smelled the fear on him.

  For hours, he was left alone there, listening to the dogs, nearly jumping out of his skin whenever they lunged at the fencing at his side that kept them separated from him. He couldn’t see them well in the darkness—even when he tried to make them out, there was nothing but shadows—so he continued to stare forward, trying to distance himself from where he was.

  It was easier when there was the growling and snapping of teeth, but once they quieted—perhaps due to Valon’s calming heartbeat—the silence was worse.

  Because with that, he could better hear the voices in his head, see the memory of his mother that was already plaguing him. He squeezed his eyes shut, as though that would be able to better help him. He could still see her face in his mind’s eye, the shock, the fear, the acceptance that she knew she was about to die.

  And yet, despite how her death played again and again in his head, tears didn’t form. He wanted to cry—not because he was weak, but because he knew he would feel better—yet they never came.

  Maybe, he thought as he curled into a ball, shivering from the cold night air, just maybe he would never feel good again.

  When he was sure he had lost his toes to the chill, someone returned, unlocking his cage to throw in a scratchy, wool blanket, and then locked him back up again. Not until the sunlight beamed through the gaps in the wooden walls did someone return. Whether they figured he was the same as them, the dogs had long since grown quiet, just eyeing him peculiarly, like maybe he meant to steal their food.

  Feeding time for them had come again.

  Not only for them, but a plate was also given to Valon. He didn’t complain once it was tossed in and some of it spilled out onto the ground; he was too hungry to care.

  He wasn’t entirely sure what he was eating, only that the spicy meat filled his belly, along with the rather substantial helping of rice and bread. He could hear the dogs to his right, growling, wanting the food he’d been given as well as their own, but he ignored them, eating every last bit of the food he’d been given before licking his fingers clean.

  Wrapping the blanket tighter around himself, Valon waited, again, for someone to return. He had never given much thought as to whether he valued human company before. There was a time when he actually thought himself a loner of sorts, happy to be by himself. But, there was also his mother, whom he loved to be around, and even his friend, Fatos, that he wondered if he would ever see again. He didn’t realize how lonely he was until he was, in fact, alone.

  For the next two days, he struggled with that thought. Sure, someone brought him food, barked at him as if he was one of the dogs if he took too long to respond to their inquiries. When they realized that there had been no place for him to relieve himself—and he hadn’t wanted to do it in a corner of his new living space—and that he’d soiled himself, they beat him with one of the brooms they kept handy, never getting too close to him since the odor was so bad.

  It was only then that Gjarper returned, commanding them to leave him be. “Bastian needs him alive,” he said as Valon lay crumpled on the dirt floor, his blood now mixing with the dirt. “Come, kid. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

  Despite his words, Gjarper didn’t lead Valon into the house. He led him around to the side where there was a hose and a large metal pan for Valon to stand in.

  “Remove your clothes.”

  Valon’s face colored as he looked from the pan to Gjarper, shame making him look away just as quickly. It wasn’t as though he had been particularly kind to Valon since he’d arrived—as he had left him in the kennels like an animal—but he didn’t want to make the man think of him as less than a human at the very least.

  “You want fresh clothes? Move it.”

  Valon thought he detected a note of compassion in the man’s voice, but he dismissed that as wishful thinking on his part. As Valon began the slow process of removing his clothes, tossing the soiled and dirty garments into a pile a few feet away, he covered himself as best he could, climbing into the pan.

  With his back turned to him during this, Gjarper twisted the knob to the hose, water spraying out. His expression never changing, he sprayed Valon with the hose, making him turn in circles as he did so. Then he tossed Valon a bar of soap and ordered him to bathe.

  Though it didn’t smell nearly as good as the soaps his mother had used, Valon was glad for it, cleaning himself as best as he could in the limited space and with his audience of one. Once he rinsed off again, a towel was thrown at him, the rough material harsh on his skin.

  Finished with that as well, he was given a shirt, about a size or two too big for his lanky frame, and a pair of pants that he rolled a few times at the ankles.

  “Dump the water.”

  Valon did as he was told, walking back to Gjarper and waiting for his next order. This time, he was handed a gold-colored lighter, one that was engraved with a name. He silently pondered over that, knowing that despite any question he thought to ask, they would go unanswered.

  “Burn the clothes.” Seeing his hesitation, though not knowing the true reason for it, Gjarper said, “Do you wish to put them back on? Get this done and come to the back door. I’ll be waiting.”

  When he disappeared out of sight, Valon continued to stare at him, waiting for him to come back. When he didn’t, he dropped to his knees, rifling through the pockets until he uncovered the very thing he’d almost forgotten about.

  Valon uncovered the combs slowly, afraid that they might have been broken, but fortunately, they were still intact. Wrapping them back up, he stuffed them in his pocket, picking up his old clothes with one hand and walking several feet into the dense woods.

  It was a bit unnecessary, having to burn the clothes instead of just throwing them away, but as he watched them go up in smoke and saw the last bit of connection to his life back with his mother, a part of him understood the need for it.

  Chapter 3

  Waiting for him after Valon had finished his task was not just Gjarper, but Bastian as well. Unlike the first morning when Valon had come to him, Bastian looked like the businessman he was rumored to be, but that wasn’t to say there weren’t flaws in his appearance.

  He was standing tall as he gave orders to larger men surrounding him, but sweat discolored his collar, and his already small, beady eyes looked particularly narrowed as he tried to get his point
across.

  They were dismissed rather quickly once Valon entered the room, and he briefly wished they would return, if only because of the way Bastian’s sudden attention on him made his skin crawl. Fear. Fear came in many different forms, but what Valon felt at that moment was as if someone was squeezing his heart, gradually loosening that hold over time.

  “Come, I want to show you something.”

  Bastian gestured for Valon to follow him, leading him through the house toward a hallway that Valon remembered from his first time walking through. Bastian stopped at one of the doors, turning the knob and shoving the door open, the wood creaking in protest.

  He stepped in, moving to the side to give Valon room to come in as well. Looking around, Valon saw that they were in a bedroom. The mattress was no longer on the floor, but on a metal frame, completely made up. There were two dressers in the room, along with a desk in the corner with a small lamp that lacked a shade. While it was not homely in any way, it was definitely a step up from the cage where he had been sleeping before.

  Maybe he had been stuck outside because they did not know whether they could trust him, or perhaps, Bastian had learned what happened to Ahmeti and he didn’t think Valon was still a threat.

  Bastian led the way to another property further into the woods, away from the barn that Valon had been sleeping in with the dogs. It was another crudely built barn of some kind, with a heavy chain and padlock, keeping anyone curious from being able to get in.

  He kept his mouth shut as Gjarper inserted a key, quickly removing the lock and chain. He pulled one of the doors open, stepping to the side so Bastian could go ahead of him. Valon didn’t have to ask if he was supposed to follow.

  It was dark where they entered, and it took a moment for Valon’s eyes to adjust. But once they did, he took in everything around him. It looked like a crudely built arena with various materials used to build a sort of wall between the center of it and where chairs were set up facing the ring, and when Gjarper hit a light switch, and the old bulbs hanging from wires flickered on, he saw that he was right.

  Their town was small, smaller than most even in Albania, and because of this, anything that happened here people talked about. None might have questioned what The Organization did to make their money, perhaps looked the other way when it came down to it, but Valon, over the years, had heard the rumors of what happened in this place. He never thought that he would actually see it in person.

  He didn’t dare question why Bastian would bring him to this place, but he did chance a glance back at Gjarper before facing Bastian once more.

  A predatory smile crossed his face as he gestured out around them. “What do you think of my work?”

  Valon opened his mouth but didn’t know how to respond. He mimicked Bastian, looking around at everything again.

  Luckily, he seemed to take that as answer enough. “In this place, I birth legends. I turn them into the very things that make up armies. In return, I give them everything they could ever want.” He came over to Valon, resting a sweaty but firm hand on his shoulder. “Your father may have been weak and an embarrassment to his people, but you do not have to follow in his footsteps.”

  Valon had never considered Ahmeti weak, not when his reign of terror had been so disastrous and ultimately deadly in the end, but if The Organization had felt he was weak, then perhaps Valon could learn from his mistakes and be better.

  He would do better, if only to be able to get the life his mother had wanted for him.

  “Now, if you can do for me, then I can do for you. In exchange for my compassion, letting you stay in my home, you will fight for me here.”

  After studiously avoiding blows from Ahmeti, Valon was sure that he could duck away from any opponent that came for him, and maybe land a few solid hits if he could. If his opponents were anything like him—in regards to never having fought before—then there was a possibility that this would all work out in the end, that he would be able to earn his keep here and not get thrown out onto the streets.

  Valon nodded his consent, but upon seeing the expressions on Bastian and Gjarper’s faces—one of barely veiled smugness and the other of contempt—he couldn’t help but wonder if he had made another mistake.

  Hours later, after Valon had been led away from that daunting place, taken back to the barn where he’d slept, the dogs that had kept him company over the night were gone, but he could hear their distant howling and knew they weren’t far. But he and Gjarper were not alone, four other men standing around, as though they had been waiting for them.

  Valon, not sure what was happening, looked at Gjarper, waiting for any sign of what was to come. But Gjarper was as stoic as ever. When they were close enough that Valon could smell the rancid scent of sewage on one of the men, Gjarper spoke.

  “Take him.”

  His first instinct was to flee, break away from them, and try to get away from whatever was awaiting him on the other side of those barn doors, but the men held fast, dragging him inside. The marks in the earth from where he’d dug his heels in for purchase was the last thing Valon saw as the doors were closed again.

  He was shoved into a chair, a man already standing behind it with a pair of clippers in hand, the cord plugged into an extension cord. Shaking his head, he was too afraid to voice a plea, even more afraid to jerk away from them as one flipped a switch and the clippers buzzed to life.

  They didn’t care that his mother had loved his hair, that she had painstakingly taken care of it because she had always wanted him to look his best—the fact that he looked more like his father when his head was shaved was left unsaid between them.

  As the blades glided over his scalp, clumps of curling blond strands hitting the dirt behind him, Valon felt like he was losing another piece of his mother. But he didn’t shed a tear, and though wetness pooled in his eyes at another loss, he didn’t dare let them fall. Not yet.

  Not even when the clippers snagged from the knots did the man take any sympathy on him, still pulling and tugging, even to the point where Valon felt the sharp pain of the razors cutting his skin. The time it took for it to be over was vast, but he had managed to get through it without making a sound.

  When it was done, and Valon could feel the cool breeze, only then did they let him go. One chuckled, another smirked, but only Gjarper actually commented on Valon’s new look.

  “Better, but you still look like shite. Come.”

  He had very little choice to do anything but get up and follow Gjarper back to the house into one of the empty rooms. He couldn’t help but touch his head, feeling for where his hair had been, and now it was cut so short he was nearly bald.

  Alone again, Gjarper pulled out a rusted old toolbox from the closet, setting it on the desk at his side. He flipped the top open and pulled out the contents inside.

  There were several small bottles filled with black liquid, and a small machine of sorts that Gjarper fitted a needle to. Valon had an idea what it was, or at least could guess. There was no one that worked under Bastian that didn’t bear his mark. It was a sigil of sorts, one of the Virgin Mary, that while pure in some faiths, was the only thing that was meant to protect them in this life.

  Gjarper gestured for him to take a seat, his expression unwavering. There was a moment when Valon hesitated, believing if he could just leave this place—try running again—then he would get away. Gjarper might have seen it in his eyes, the panic that was there, but he didn’t make a move to try and stop him—he didn’t tense in a way that made it look like he would chase after Valon should he try to get away.

  No, he just waited, letting Valon make the choice.

  After all, he would be the only one affected by the decision.

  But he had heard of those who ran from Bastian when he offered a helping hand. He wouldn’t get far if he left now, especially when there was nowhere else for him to go.

  Swallowing, he traveled the short distance to the chair and dropped down into it, folding his hands in his lap. He d
idn’t know what to expect as Gjarper’s heavy hand fell on his shoulder for a brief second, but it wasn’t until he heard the soft whirring of whatever Gjarper had pulled from his toolbox did his imagination run free.

  Again, Gjarper dropped a restraining hand on his shoulder, but this time he kept it there as he brought the clippers to Valon’s scalp. The vibrating blades made him jump, but the hand holding him steady didn’t let him get far.

  Carefully, his hair fell in rings on the dirty floor beneath his feet, and as the clumps fell in abandon, he couldn’t tear his eyes away. Not when he felt the cool breeze on his now bare head or when the vibrations stopped and Gjarper took a step back.

  The urge to feel where his hair had once been rode him hard, but he resisted the urge, balling his hands into fists to keep from doing it. Despite his fear of the unknown, he didn’t want to show weakness in this.

  It will grow back. At least, that was what he hoped. Not once had his mother ever taken off any more than an inch during any of the times she’d sheared his hair.

  Blinking away the sudden wetness in his eyes, Valon looked at Gjarper, waiting to see what was next.

  “Lie there,” he commanded, pointing to a table of sorts built into the wall.

  Valon was just light enough to climb onto it and stretch out, watching Gjarper from his position. While he had never seen one in person, he could guess what machine he was holding. He couldn’t bring himself to watch him prepare it, nor could he look away from the hole in the roof.

  Flinching when the cold, wet wipe swiped across his skin, Valon heard the click of the machine, his jaw clenching as Gjarper brought the machine closer to him. And as he lay there, under the grueling agony that was getting a tattoo at his young age, Valon kept quiet, knowing that this was just one more thing he needed to get past.