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

by London Miller

  Bastian sat in a chair above the crowd, raising his hand to silence the crowd. It only took a second. Once they were quiet, he gave Valon one last meaningful look before he nodded.

  It was time.

  If his training had taught him anything, then Valon knew not to run at his opponent, to wait, gauge his weaknesses and plan a mode of attack, but this other boy did none of that. No, he ran for Luka, hooking his arms around his waist and hurling him to the ground. It was an easy enough thing to do considering Valon was a little less than half his size.

  Bits of twigs and gravel bit into Valon’s back as he hit the ground hard, but he didn’t have much time to focus on that with this bloke on top of him, raining down blows, landing a solid one against Valon’s side that made his ribs protest.

  Pain. It was something he knew, something he craved, and as he suffered under the weight of his opponent, that pain started to call to him.

  Punch to the face.

  Valon smirked.

  Punch to the temple.

  An amused chuckle left his lips.

  The more hits that came, the more something died inside of him, and soon he was laughing outright, drawing cries of alarm from the spectators, their yells growing louder. Bastian was still seated, though he shook his head as though he knew Valon was about to lose this fight. It didn’t matter to him, not really. He had kept him around far longer than he would any other boy who had come to him, and now it was time to cut his losses and be done with him.

  No one, however, seemed to notice the fear entering the larger boy’s eyes as he realized that though he might have the upper hand in the fight, he was slowly losing his edge now that he was faced with someone who seemed to be getting off on the pain.

  He struggled to his feet, kicking Valon as hard as he could, wanting to end it, and it was a hard enough blow that Valon stopped laughing, clutching his side and rolling into the injury.

  Then, as many people did once they thought they were done, he turned his back to Valon.

  With a surge of strength, Valon leaped at the boy, pulling him down to the ground as he’d done him. He scrambled up his torso, planting himself on his chest as Valon used his fists in a way he had never done before.

  “Look what you made me do!”

  The words felt pulled from him as he landed blow after blow, bloodying the boy’s nose as he’d done to him. Valon could remember every blow he had taken just minutes prior, and delivered them just as the boy had done to him. The other boy could have gotten away if he truly wanted, but fear kept him paralyzed and his struggles were useless.

  Valon was laughing louder than ever, feeling the slickness of the blood on his hands, the way the bones in the boy’s face cracked beneath his fists. It was heady, the power this gave him, and he didn’t want it to end.

  His own blood dripped from his face, mingling with the rest of it flowing freely. His mind was free for once, lost in a haze that he wasn’t ready to come out of.

  He didn’t even notice when the boy stopped struggling beneath him. Valon was enjoying it too much.

  Someone hauled him up from behind, dragging him away from the bloody mess that he’d left behind.

  Through it all, Valon never stopped laughing.

  Everything was terrifyingly loud when the fight ended and he was dragged from the Pit, the warm, acrid scent of blood still lingering in Valon’s nose as he was led from that place of horror into the old house where he had once stayed. No one spoke, the silence hanging heavy around them. When they passed the occasional person in the hall, they shrank back, the sight of it making Valon laugh in spite of himself.

  He could only imagine what he must look like. Covered in blood. His face and body battered after the fight. But as quickly as that thought formed, he remembered what the other boy looked like…at least before he’d died beneath his fists.

  Not once, in his entire life, had Valon felt such power.

  When they finally reached a room at the end of the hall, Valon was shoved inside and instructed to “clean himself up.” It was a bedroom, but there was not much inside besides an old mattress on the floor and two dressers against the walls. Heading into the bathroom, he turned on the faucet at the sink, splashing water on his face before he gazed at his reflection in the cracked, hanging mirror.

  Red tinted water dripping into the basin, but still blood lingered in his hair and on his neck. Now he understood the revulsion he’d seen in their eyes as he was dragged through this place. He looked like a monster. And worse, he felt like one. Looking away, he grabbed one of the towels hanging nearby, scrubbing his face and chest as best he could to rid himself of the blood, wincing as he got around to his side. Now that the bloodlust was wearing off, the pain and fatigue was settling in.

  Finished, he left the towel on the edge of the sink, hitting the light as he left back out again.

  Not knowing what else was expected of him, Valon went to the mattress and dropped down onto it, stifling a groan as he stretched out. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been this comfortable. No…he did. The night he had walked in on Bastian and the girl.

  He almost wanted to get on the floor instead, not wanting to get used to this luxury when it was more than likely that he would be back in the barn before the sun came up. There was no point in enjoying it when it would just be taken away.

  Just as he was sitting up, the door swung open. Gjarper and Bastian walked inside, but it was the person who was trailing behind them that got Valon’s attention.

  Fatos.

  He hadn’t seen his friend since the day they walked home together, and seeing him now was like stepping into the past. And that only made him ashamed of who he was now.

  Fatos still looked the same, lanky with shaggy hair, but here Valon was, a brawler who Bastian had commissioned. And after this night, a killer.

  But while he was lost in thought about how much he had changed, Fatos had similar musings, except he didn’t look nearly as surprised to find Valon there as he thought he should. In fact, he looked rather annoyed to be standing there.

  Valon didn’t have time to consider this before Bastian began speaking.

  “You did well tonight. You have finally earned your keep for once.”

  More than, Valon assumed. Before he’d been tossed in the Pit, he’d thought he’d heard someone offer two thousand dollars on his opponent. Considering Valon didn’t really have anything of his own in this place, took the occasional shower, and ate only when he was allowed to, it cost very little to care for him.

  “For tonight, this room is yours. Relax. Enjoy it. I’ll even have my men bring you something to eat. After tonight, you have earned this.”

  Meaning, after he killed someone. He put that reminder out of his mind for the time being.

  “And I even brought your friend. See? I am good to those who are good to me.”

  Clapping Gjarper on the shoulder, who merely nodded in acknowledgment to Valon, the pair left the room, leaving Fatos standing in their wake.

  What did he say to someone he hadn’t seen in what felt like a lifetime? Was he meant to explain how he got here? Or did he already know?

  “How did you know I was here?” Valon asked, keeping his voice down in case anyone lingered out in the hall. He didn’t want them to think Fatos meant something to him. Otherwise, they would just take that away as well.

  “My father told me the day after you got here,” Fatos said as he looked around the room. “Bastian wanted to have you killed, but I told my father you were too important to die.”

  Valon prided himself on not reacting to that revelation. He remembered getting here, being forced to sleep out in the barn like an animal, but he had never thought it was because he was going to die. He’d just assumed it was the way things were done.

  “But I’m no one.”

  He wasn’t saying that for pity because it was true. As Gjarper had told him once, he was born of a drunk and a…no, he couldn’t bring himself to call her that, not even now.<
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  Fatos looked surprised for a second before his brows knitted together as he looked at Valon in confusion. “Are we not friends?”

  He spoke as though nothing had changed, but Valon knew that he had to know what happened to his mother and Ahmeti. They all did.

  “Of course we are, but—”

  “Then if you’re important to me, you’re important to them. Don’t forget that.”

  Not important enough to actually sleep in a bed for the last eight months…

  But Valon didn’t voice this thought, shoving it back down into the recesses of his mind instead. Fatos couldn’t have done anything about this. He was only a boy of twelve, though neither acted their age.

  “Good for you though,” Fatos went on. “My father is letting me join the family business, so I’ll be here with you more often.”

  Truthfully, Valon didn’t know exactly what the family business was. Of course, he knew the rumors, even Ahmeti had gloated about the things he had done in a distant past, but he still didn’t know what, exactly, they all did.

  “I’m glad I have at least one friend here,” Valon said truthfully and gave a reluctant but genuine smile.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Fatos headed for the door but paused when he was on the other side of it. He glanced back at Valon with a playful smile, but his eyes were guarded. “I was sure you were going to lose like last time when you stepped into the Pit tonight. My father didn’t let me hear the end of it after I lost his money.”

  Valon wasn’t sure how to respond to that, so he just watched him walk away.

  Valon lived to see another day and so did Loki, but that didn’t mean that nothing had changed from the night before to the present.

  Everything had changed.

  Valon had two days of healing, and then he was back in the ring, fighting for his life as much as he was fighting for Loki’s. Now that Bastian knew how to get to him, he used that as ammunition to get what he needed from him, and it worked. Before Loki, Valon had lost the majority of his fights—after Loki, Valon didn’t lose one.

  Fighting better and earning more money for Bastian did have its advantages. He was no longer regulated to the kennels and had been given a room in the bigger house. It wasn’t much to look at really—just a twin bed that barely fit Valon’s towering frame, a couple of blankets, and a single bulb hanging from the ceiling. Bastian had ordered that Loki needed to stay in the cage with the others, but for once, Valon didn’t have to fight for the right to keep his companion. It was actually Gjarper who came to his defense, arguing that since he’d fought better after his arrival, he should be allowed to keep him. Valon might not have heard this argument himself, but when Loki was in his room one night after he’d gone a round in the ring, wagging his tail in happiness, Valon had just assumed.

  This went on for four years. He fought, he won, and he went to his room. In that time, he had changed, not just physically—he had grown several inches, nearly towering over everyone but Gjarper, his hair was shaggier, the ends nearly reaching his shoulders, and his body had gone from that of a half-starved boy to a man’s—but mentally. He had learned to shut it all down. When he was in the ring, he lived in that moment. He did what he needed to do. When he was alone in his room, he wasn’t as successful with that tactic.

  Silence.

  That was the difference between the ring and his room. In the former, there was the crowd, the man he was fighting, everything around him was making noise constantly, but when he was in his room, there was only silence, forcing him to think about it, no matter if he didn’t want to or not.

  Fatos remained close, and unlike the first time when they had been reunited, there was a difference with him as they both hovered beneath the spotlight that was Bastian. Sure, Fatos got most of the favor since he was the son of a renowned member of The Organization, but it was to Valon that most gave their respect.

  Over the years, he had garnered the respect he had always craved, thanks to his time in the Pit and his now legendary skill. Since his first win, he hadn’t returned to the barn, and now that people knew what he was capable of, the disdainful looks ceased and no one dared to threaten him.

  It was as if he was an entirely different person, though he didn’t feel it.

  No, that wasn’t true. He could feel the difference in him.

  He smiled less. He wasn’t prone to jokes and antics as he had been. And when he took a moment to himself in the middle of the night, he found that he was consumed with a rage he couldn’t force away as he had before. He didn’t know when he had become such an angry person, nor did he really like who he was, but he did like the benefits that the new him got him.

  More importantly, he was no longer afraid to enter the Pit and do what needed to be done. For Bastian, there was no going too far. He just let him fight until he was spent and could barely lift his arms. It was doubtful that his fights were even bid on anymore since his competency had been spoken of far and wide.

  If he had to guess, then Valon thought the men who were forced onto the dirt with him were meant to die because even when he wanted to, he couldn’t bring himself to pull away long enough to just end the fight with his opponent unconscious. No, he made sure they ceased to exist.

  What would Galina think of you?

  That question often plagued him when he was coming down from the high that was hurting others, but before the idea that she was ashamed of what he had become could consume him, he needed only to think of one thing to get past it.

  Galina was dead now, and she wasn’t thinking about anything.

  Chapter 9

  Valon was lying on his back, hands stacked beneath his head, staring up at the ceiling, letting the pain in his hands calm him. His fight last night had been brutal, one that he had let go on for far longer than necessary. He had needed it though, the extra hits and the damage that had been done to his body. After the last three fights, stopping from killing his opponents only because someone pulled him off, Valon had been trying to find a way to keep from losing himself in the bloodlust.

  The only thing that could center him was pain. He hadn’t realized this at first. During his fight, he’d been thinking about his training for this, how whenever Gjarper landed a solid punch to his face, his vision became clearer and his thoughts more coherent. Running with that idea, he let his last opponent land a number of punches, a few to his face, another half dozen or so to his body, and when he was pulled back from the abyss that threatened to consume him, Valon knocked the man out with a single punch to the jaw.

  While Bastian didn’t look particularly thrilled that his opponent wasn’t as bloody as they normally were, he could not complain about the results of it.

  He’d been left to do as he pleased for the rest of the night, and for Valon, that meant staying awake until his body gave out and he finally passed out.

  It was going well until he heard multiple pairs of feet outside his door and soft curses that were aimed at someone he couldn’t see. Before, Valon had always jumped at the slightest sound, always worried that someone would try to sneak up on him and attack, but with the tales of his skills traveling far and wide, there was no need for him to be afraid anymore.

  Even injured, he could kill with his bare hands.

  The door was shoved open without warning, Bastian strolling in as he always did. Everyone else knocked because once when Strom barged in and startled Valon out of his sleep, he showed him how that was a bad idea.

  Not moving from his position on the bed, Valon turned his head in Bastian’s direction, his face not giving anything away as a girl was shoved into the room behind him, two of Bastian’s men taking up the doorway.

  Valon barely spared her a glance as he asked, “Am I needed?”

  “No, no.” Bastian chortled though no one else laughed. “I’ve brought you a gift.”

  Valon wasn’t particularly fond of the gifts he liked to give, but he wasn’t stupid enough to turn him down. “Oh.”

  Bastian snapped his
fingers and the girl was given another shove, closer to Bastian this time. It became abundantly clear, though it wasn’t said, that the gift was whoever this girl was.

  She was barefoot, much as Valon had been when he’d first arrived, but unlike him, she had a sheet wrapped around her body, held closed by tiny fists. She had large eyes, almost too big for her oval face. She was trembling, more from fear than cold.

  That fear only made worse when Bastian gave a yank on the sheet she held, pulling it away from her body, revealing her nudity.

  He might have been a killer and was particularly brutal with his fists, but he had morals…questionable morals, but morals all the same.

  Valon kept his eyes on her face for a long moment before looking back at Bastian and the pleased smile on his face.

  “She is beautiful, no? Firm breasts and I was guaranteed she is untouched.”

  Neither of those descriptions meant anything to Valon. “Okay.”

  “Don’t worry,” Bastian explained, misunderstanding his lack of a reaction. “She’s legal.”

  Now that did mean something to Valon after seeing the girls that Bastian preferred, but he would never take his word for it. “What do you expect me to do with her?”

  Bastian laughed loudly, looking back to his men who cracked a grin at his expense. Despite their entertainment, they didn’t turn their laughter on Valon. They couldn’t even meet his eyes.

  “Enjoy her. I’ve forgotten what little you know since you’ve been so lucrative for me over these years. I’m sure she’ll teach you everything you need to know. Or would you prefer someone break her in first?”

  To that, Strom perked right up, his eyes sliding over the girl in blatant, though malicious, interest.

  The girl, whoever she was, shook her head, still trying to shield her nudity as best she could with her hands. Whether she had formed her own conclusions about Valon, she clearly saw him as less of a threat.

  While he might not have looked at her directly, Valon did notice the way she was turned in his direction, clearly wanting to get away from the ones who had brought her in.