The Wasteland: Their Champion Book One

by K. A Knight

  His usual suit is in place, making him look like a gangster from one of those old movies, the shirt and pants only showing a few wrinkles; evidence of his rush here. His hair is greying at the temples and his face has more wrinkles than before. He must be about forty now. Regret and sadness chase each other in his brown eyes until he drags his gaze from me, flicking over everyone else as if it pains him to watch me. He waits until I’m in front of him before talking.

  “You causing trouble?” He asks, but smiles to show he’s joking.

  “Always,” I sigh and decide to at least be polite. After all, he never let anyone hurt me outside the pit when I was here. What happened outside his territory he couldn’t control, but in here, he stopped it-to an extent. He carries on smiling at me, the one he shows the world, reminding me of a shark, then snaps his finger at the other guard and points at the kid. The guard runs over to him and grabs him, yanking, so he stands next to me.

  “You blocking our champ?” He asks. His voice has lost his teasing edge and the kid must be stupid not to hear his death in it. I look at the kid, as his eyes widen. He swivels them from me to Major, his mouth flapping open.

  “She’s the champ?” He squeals. I roll my eyes and grab one of my knives. Major watches me as I start to clean my nails with it, beyond bored. I flash my teeth at the kid and wait.

  “This is your third infringement.” Major’s voice is casual, as if discussing what to eat. With a sigh, probably because he hates getting blood on his suit, he pulls his gun. He and Nan are the only ones I know with them. Realistically, I know there are more, but you don’t see them around. Before the kid can say anything, he shoots him point blank in the face. I get blood splatter on my right arm and face but don’t flinch. He holsters his gun and looks back at me, ignoring the body. Guilt flashes in his eyes before he straightens again.

  “Sorry ‘bout that, kid. You here for work or pleasure?” He tugs on his sleeves, making them straight as he asks. The nickname has me gritting my teeth against the old familiarity. It has my hackles rising and the facade I put on in front of everyone else returns full force. I push the pain at seeing him deep.

  “Why can’t it be both?” I wink. He laughs, but it’s strained and he almost flinched at the mask I slid into place. He wipes his face clean, and then turns to the other guard exasperated.

  “Get rid of the body. Inform the others the champ is here.” He smiles back at me. “I’ll see you inside, kid.” He stops, and with the soft smile he saves for me, he lets me see past his facade to the tenderness below. “I missed you.” He spins on his heel, which is good because I don't know what I would have said. Our relationship is so complicated, I don’t even know where to start.

  He walks slowly back into his kingdom. Ignoring the body, I step towards the gates of purgatory, my old home of sorts. I guess I should feel something about the kid’s death, but it’s just the way the world works. For three infringements with Major, he has to have raped, killed or started a clan war. Poor kid was destined to die.

  “C’mon.” I shout, not bothering to wait for the guys.

  ◆◆◆

  You can hear the crowd from here, their drunken blood lust coating every shout. The path to the pit, which is what the fighting ring is called, is short. I reach the edge of the crowd and look around for potential problems. The pit used to be an enclosure of some kind. Major build a rickety circle to contain the fight and the general spectators are pushing against each other to the get to the front. Tables are dotted here, there and everywhere, with three in the back on a hill, offering the best view. The higher ups of clans stand or sit where the visitors to the zoo used to watch the animals; I guess we are the animals now. The steel barrier separates them from us, the way I like it. I could go and sit up there, Major would love it, but he knows better. I always sit with the “common folk”, as he says. I can blend in, and at least I know what to expect from them. Plus, it’s less likely that I’ll run into anyone from my past.

  Satisfied with my surveying, I turn and walk through the crowd with the men hot on my heels and head over to the tables on the hill. The noise from the fight and cheers from the crowd permeate the air along with the smell of blood, death, and unwashed bodies. I push my way through to a table high up, and with a snarl and a flashed knife, kick out its inhabitants. I sniff the jug on the table, and with a shrug, pour myself a glass. Looking over the crowd again, I notice some usual’s.

  Some woman is bent over on the next table, her fake moans spurring on the fat bastard fucking her. He ruts on her and with a groan, comes. She rolls her eyes and stands up when he moves away. He slaps her ass and goes back to watching the fight as she prowls for her next prey.

  “What the hell is this place?” Drax asks. They have finally sat down. Drax, Jax and Thorn opposite me with Maxen sitting next to me. Smart man sits to my right, not blocking the view. My smile is genuine, but more a baring of teeth. This place was my home for years. I thought more than once that I would die within these walls. Yet, I’m comfortable. Call me crazy, most people do.

  “Welcome to purgatory, boys. Drink up.” I demonstrate by downing my cup and pouring another. Thorn pours one hesitantly. I watch as he takes a sip then spits it back out in disgust.

  “That’s horrible.” He groans. I just laugh, home-brewed spirits aren’t for everyone. They do the job though.

  “What, not hell?” Jax asks, looking disgusted at the men near us. My smile disappears, and my face closes down.

  “Hell is to the north, and you wouldn't make it out alive.” With that, I turn back to the poor bastard getting the shit beat out of him in the pit. The sand in the pit absorbs his blood as he’s dragged away, and another is thrown in. The cheers increase, and people start screaming out bets and encouragement. A man wanders up, a bottle clutched in his hands.

  “On the house, not that piss excuse for a spirit for the champion.”

  I nod at the man as he puts the full bottle down in front of me. He wanders off through the crowd.

  “They call you the champion, why?” Maxen asks.

  I laugh bitterly as I answer him. “Because I’m the only one to ever make it out of the pit alive.” They all look from the pit to me and back again. I carry on before they can ask, it’s not like its not common knowledge.

  “You can win your freedom when you’re a slave, like I was. The man who owned me threw me in the first time as punishment. He found it amusing when I won my first fight, and I made him some good money, so he did it again, and again. He never expected me to live, but I did. I kept on living, fight after fight. Not even he could argue against my freedom then. It’s the rules.” I down some of the bottle and refuse to make eye contact with them. I don’t need to see their pity.

  “How many did you have to win?” Jax asks, his voice normal and steady. I look into his eyes and he lets me see his emotions. I see no pity, but there is plenty of respect.

  “Thirty,” I say solemnly. I hear someone inhale and someone else curses, but I don’t look away from Jax.

  “You’re a survivor.” His respect is evident, and it smooths some of my jagged soul.

  I nod. “I do what I have to, I always have.” My voice is quiet.

  “Not many people could.” Jax takes a drink and I look back to the fight as the screaming gets louder. I hear them whispering between themselves, but I tune them out, lost to the rhythmic sound of flesh hitting flesh. It reminds me of my life here. The constant pain, the fear, the determination to never lose. The man I lost along the way.

  “Who’s that?” I follow Maxen’s eyes to see he is looking at the balcony. I drag my eyes across until I stop dead in my tracks at the ghost there. Dray, the man I thought I would never see again-and he’s looking straight at me.

  “Fuck.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Pain or Pleasure

  I quickly look away, letting my eyes run over the people on the top layer. Luckily, I recognise no one else. Looking back to where he was standing, I notice he has dis
appeared. A tension I didn’t realise I was carrying disappears with him, but something in me was happy to see him again. I never knew why he came to all my fights, I was always too afraid to ask him. His stare felt like he could see into my soul, when everyone else flinched and whispered words like ‘monster’ when meeting my eyes, he looked proud. It was the time in the changing room that confused me more than anything. I had just finished a fight. It had been easy, two low-level scavs trying to prove themselves. I only got a couple of wounds, one being a split lip. I was in the middle of changing when the door opened.

  I turned to give whoever it was a bollocking when Dray walked in like he owned the joint, his cold eyes already on me. He drank me in like he was a starving man as he prowled straight up to me. He asked if I wanted my freedom, I said yes. He told me to agree to his contract and he would free me. I was confused as hell, but nodded anyway. I would do anything to be free from Ivar and this place. I heard the sound of the gate to the pit opening again, and he must have too. He put his finger to my cut lip and rubbed it, brushing my blood across my lips like lipstick. My lips automatically parted, and he smiled, full of promise. He told me he would be back, and then I never saw him again. I won my freedom the next month.

  Most people would be terrified to have his attention. After all, his reputation alone is enough to make a grown man piss himself. He is wild like the world we live in, and something in me loved that. Maybe my own wildness. He didn’t apologise for his brutality and it called to the darkness in me. The way he watched me, his eyes never leaving me while burning a path across my skin, drew me to him. I wasn't stupid enough to try and get involved, knowing it would result in my death, but it would have been a hell of a ride.

  “No one you need to worry about,” I pass the bottle to them and gesture for them to drink.

  “So, who are you here for?” Drax asks. I go to answer when a hand lands on my shoulder, the heat and rough skin burning into mine like a brand. It echoes Maxen’s move from earlier that triggered me, but I’m able to control myself to a certain extent this time. I instantly unsheathe my knife and spin, putting it to the person’s dick. I look up into those cold eyes that I had just been thinking about. Dray, The Seekers’ leader. My heartbeat speeds up, I can never tell whether he wants to fuck me or fight me. I don’t think he even knows. He rubs his dick against my blade and I lick my lips without thinking.

  “Haven’t seen you in a while?” His voice is deep, deeper than even Thorn’s. Its smooth like honey and there’s a lilt to it that I could never work out. Like the remnant of an old accent. I focus on his words. He’s right, I haven’t been back to The Ring since I won my last fight.

  “Why are you here?” I tilt my head to him, keeping the knife on his balls. Not that he cares. In fact, he seems to like it.

  “Got a fighter.”

  I feel a little silly with my knife to his balls, but I’ve heard the stories of him ripping people to shreds; so yeah, the knife is staying. He leans down and whispers against my cheek.

  “Your knife is turning me on.”

  Again, not lying, the evidence is pressed against the sharp tip of my blade. I thought I was crazy, I don’t have a patch on this guy. He stands back up.

  “You going to chop my balls off?” He seems more curious than anything.

  “I’m thinking about it.” With a sigh, I drop the blade and lean back into the table, keeping my eyes on him. He’s like a wild animal, and you don’t ever turn your back to a wild animal. He licks his finger and leans towards me. What the hell?

  He swipes my cheek and it comes away red. Ah, the blood from the guard.

  “This yours?” He doesn’t seem overly bothered. I shake my head mutely. He pouts. This grown ass mass who has two swords strapped across his chest actually pouts at me. Sands below, I’m terrified and turned on all at the same time.

  “Shame.”

  “Who is this?” Maxen asks from next to me.

  I manage to hold the narrowing of my eyes in slightly. What the hell did I say to him about not talking? Dray’s eyes flick to him, a different kind of predatory gleam in them. He’s looking for a fight tonight, the menace rolling off him in waves. His muscles are tight and strained. Did I mention he’s shirtless? Why does he have to be so hot? He has those delicious V lines that make me want to drool - or stab him - I haven’t decided. He strokes the blades strapped across his chest like you would stroke a cock. Ok, why am I turned on by this? I wasn’t always this fucked up, I promise. Or was I? Either way, my panties are toast. They don’t notice my internal debate, but carry on.

  “Who are you, high school musical?”

  My mouth drops open. Did he just call Maxen high school musical? I don’t even know how to respond. Clearly, Maxen has the same issue.

  “Who’s your fighter?” Safe conversation changer. He sighs, and stops stroking his blades.

  “Some lowey. I need him to die.” He leans over me, grabs the bottle from the table, and takes a swig. I watch as he swallows. Jesus, even that is making me all hot and bothered. It has definitely been too long.

  “You look like you’re ready for a fight,” My voice is low, the one I use when threatening someone. Or fucking. He looks me up and down and licks his plump lips.

  “You offering?” The lust in his voice not covered at all. I’ll admit I’m curious about who would win, but not that damn curious, and I’m not even going to think about the fucking part. I feel like that would be a fight all in itself, but my nipples have other ideas and pebble beneath my shirt.

  “I’m retired,” I keep eye contact, not showing any weakness. It’s a game I learned early on. One of his lackeys comes up to him. I know it’s one of his because of the similar cut down his face. It’s said it’s a ritual for when you pass into the higher ranking of his clan.

  “Two fighters up for you.” His voice is even and he flicks his eyes at me before flicking them down. A submissive move. My lips twitch. Dray unstraps his blades and hands them over to me. His lackey looks shocked. I bet he’s not the only one. To offer someone your weapons is the highest honour. Only lovers or clan brothers do it.

  “Hold these.” Not waiting for a reply, the bastard struts to the pit edge and expertly jumps over the short wall. My eyes are locked on him, unwilling to look away. I’ve only ever seen him fight once; it was magnificent. He was sleek, fast, and brutal. I’ll admit to watching some of his moves and trying to replicate them for myself.

  He doesn’t bother with any show boasting or playing the crowd. He stands there on the balls of his feet, hands loose at his sides, with a crazy smile twisting his lips. If I had walked into the ring to that, I would run the other way.

  Two big men step through the gate, less gracefully than Dray did, and stand next to each other. One has his hands balled into fists at his side, the other has a knife in his hand. The bell rings and I find myself unable to look away from the brutality that is Dray.

  He plays with them, circling, and sneaking in for the odd punch. Dray darts out of reach every time and laughs as they try and corner him. The one with a knife manages to get a cut on Dray’s arm and its like something breaks free in him. His smile is more a flashing of teeth and I can barely breathe as he sprints at the two men. Grabbing the knife from one man, Dray stabs him in the eye. He falls to the floor, covering it, and screaming. Dray turns to the other, who is standing there, looking horrified. The man tries to run, but Dray isn’t far behind. He grabs the back of his shirt and flings him like a rag doll across the arena. He’s on him in a second, pummelling him with both fists. Even from here, I can hear the bones crack. Blood splatters everywhere and coats him like some kind of demon. Finally, he stands, his chest heaving and his fists clenched at his side. He rocks his head back and howls. It’s returned by his brethren in the crowd, who start stomping. The man on the floor lays dead at his feet. Dray turns back to the other man and glides towards him. The guy tries to scramble backwards, but it’s too late. He has his prey in sight.

  He ya
nks the knife out of the other man’s eye, taking it with him, hanging onto it like a trophy.

  “Stand.” He says loud enough for everyone to hear. The crowd stops stomping and silence reigns. No cheers or claps for this fight. The man somehow obeys, but I can see his body shaking like a leaf from here. I also see it when he pisses himself. Dray stabs the blade into the man’s stomach. Disembowelling him, he lets him feel the pain for a while as he plays with him. Stepping back, he eyes his handiwork before sliding forward and slitting the man’s throat. Dray turns his back on the man and drops the knife on the ground.

  Dray looks directly at a man on the balcony. I have never seen him before. I file that away for later. Then he looks to me. He doesn’t break eye contact as he hops the wall and walks towards me. His chest and arms are covered in blood, his eyes alight with his kills. He likes it, that much is clear to see and a dark part of me whispers that I do as well. This wasn’t just about pleasure though, he might be a bastard, but he doesn’t usually play with them. This killing was for a reason, I just don’t know what the reason is. He holds his hand out and then frowns at the blood coating his hands, obviously not wanting it on his precious blades. Before I can hesitate, I stand and step up to him. This close, I can smell the copper tang of blood on him and see his chest heave as he catches his breath. His skin shimmers in the light with his sweat, and I have the strangest urge to lick it. I quickly strap on the holster, not caring about the blood on my hands. It’s not the first time, nor will it be the last. I can feel his eyes boring into me, so I watch him as I fasten the buckle. His eyes heat, the lust and longing evident as he watches me. I can’t seem to look away and neither can he, the monster in me wants to rise. To fuck and fight and show these bastards how it’s done. It’s like he can see the internal fight and takes pity on me.