by K. A Knight
Contents
The Wasteland
1. Welcome To Paradise
2. The Lost Boys
3. Tests and Talks
4. Give Them Hell
5. Blast from the Past
6. Facing Demons
7. The Dishonoured
8. A Berserker’s Word
9. Trapped
10. Barely Human
11. Bleak and Beautiful
12. The Blame
13. The Assassin’s Respect
14. Memory Lane
15. The Berserker’s War Song
16. New Friends and Old Enemies
17. The Summit
18. News from Home
19. War Party
20. Seeker Territory
21. The Warning
22. Sex and Bubbles
23. The Brands
24. Distractions and Death
25. The Decision
26. Don’t Say Goodbye
27. Welcome Back, Slave
28. Missed You, Pet
29. You Can’t Keep a Champion Down
Also By K.A Knight
About the Author
The Forgotten
About The Forgotten
Rules Of Paradise
Just Friends
The Summit (Their Champion Book Two)
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to places, events or real people are entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2019 K.A. Knight, all rights reserved.
Written by K.A. Knight
Edited By Jess from Elemental Editing and Proofreading
&
Kaila Duff of Duffette Literary Services
Formatted by Kaila Duff of Duffette Literary Services
Dedication
To my readers, your support and willingness to go along with my crazy is what drove me in this book. You pushed me to be a better writer, I hope I do you justice.
“Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; the most massive characters are seared with scars.”
-Kahlil Gibran
Welcome To Paradise
“What the hell is going on? How are you alive? Where are we? Where are my friends?” I demand, question after question pouring out of me as I eye my father.
He holds up his hand to stop my rapid-fire questions and walks towards me, I instinctively move back into a fighting position. Pain flashes through his bright blue eyes and he stops with an awkward smile, obviously unsure how to approach me. I bet I look like a wild animal compared to him; where he is put together and calm, my blood is racing with the need to fight. My body only highlights our differences, the scars and brands standing out against my skin in this pale room where his hair is perfect and styled, I can’t even remember the last time I brushed mine. I wonder what he sees when he looks at me. Does he see his little girl or a stranger?
“I know you have questions, kiddo. I promise I will answer them. For now, know that you are safe and your...erm friends are fine. Please, just calm down.” His voice is soft, the one he used to use on me when I was a scared child.
Calm down? That makes me want to stab him. The only thing stopping me is that I need his help. Is that bad? That I would be willing to kill my own father, even if he did abandon me? Shouldn’t I be happier to see him?
“I want to see them,” I grit out, straightening from my crouch but still watching him intently in case he moves towards me. He nods and holds his hand out. When I don’t take it, he frowns, the laugh lines around his eyes and mouth pulling taut.
“Okay, why don’t you get dressed and I’ll take you to see them.” His voice is smooth, his words slow like he’s trying to corner a wild animal. Well, that’s what I am after all.
Thorn falling to the ground flashes in my mind, as do Jax’s eyes as he watched me hopelessly. If they are hurt––or worse, dead––I will burn this fucking place to the ground and kill everyone. There would be no holding back the monster inside me, I would succumb and be nothing more than a bloodthirsty Berserker. I should have told them how I feel, I just hope it’s not too late.
Blowing out a breath, I let the death grip on my blade go, and look towards the chair where a god awful dress sits. I cringe at the thought of wearing it, but if it will get me to my men sooner...groaning, I nod. He smiles brilliantly at me like I offered him the world.
“Good, I’ll wait outside while you get dressed. You can keep the knife, the grey-eyed man said you wouldn’t feel safe without it. Just please don’t hurt anyone.” The last words are hesitant, as if he’s unsure whether I would or not. It only hits home how much I have changed and how he is nothing more than a stranger to me.
Wait, grey-eyed man? Only one man I know has grey eyes, Jax. My silent demon. Even his name has my heart speeding up and joy running through me. I would endure a lot more than that dress to see him again, to touch him, kiss him.
I rush to the dress as my father leaves the room and yank it on. I grunt and growl as I wiggle into the tight material. It’s silky but constrictive. Nowhere to hide any weapons at all. Why do people wear these things? If those motherfucking men of mine helped pick out this dress I’m going to put them in it, wounds or not. Then I might kiss them better. My knife glints at me from the chair and an evil smile reaches my lips. Grabbing it, I start hacking at the material, cutting the length until it’s short in the front and a normalish level at the back, making it easier to move. Material goes flying everywhere as I slice through it.
When I’m satisfied, I look down at the red material. It looks too much like blood for my liking, but I grin at the rough-edged dress. It looks like it’s been through the wringer and back, just like me. I’m betting Dray would love it. If I added a few swords he would die. Laughing, I freeze when I try to figure out how long we have been here. My brain trying to catch up with everything. The Summit was only days away when I left The Worshippers...
Swearing, I rush to the door. As I approach it, it opens with a whoosh, the air releasing from the room. If possible, the lights out here are brighter and guess what? More white. My father––that feels weird to say––smiles at me from the other side, but it soon turns into a frown when he gets a look at my face. He pulls his hands from his trouser pockets, and steps towards me as if to touch me. He hesitates at the last second and lets them drop, the space between us filled with tension and memories, but I have far more important things to worry about right now.
“What’s wrong, princess?” His eyes search mine, obviously seeing my panic.
My heart clenches at the familiar endearment, but I have no time for a trip down memory lane. “How long have I been out?” I ask quickly.
He rubs his chin in thought, his eyes calculating and intelligent. He always was a smart man, relying on logic. I remember how he used to say my mum was the heart and he was the brain. That despite all his logic, she convinced him that love does exist. He used to come into my room and read me books on everything and anything. From science to history, I loved it all. I absorbed it all, it was just us, our time. My mum said I had his drive and thirst for knowledge, and her big heart. I grit my teeth against the memories, it’s obvious seeing him again has brought up everything I have repressed.
“About a day, why?” He steps closer, but I’m too busy trying to figure out the timeline. It took us three days to get there. We spent a day at the cult. Say a half a day travelling, and a day here. Six days to be sure. That means The Summit is happening in six days. Four days until Dray starts looking for me. I have no doubt he will too. He will start with the Worshippers, burning any treaty that might be possible for the future. There will be nothing but a bloodbath in his wake. Then he will go to The Reeves. It will be a massacre, with my crazy ‘soulmate’ in the centre like some fallen angel. There will be nothing and no
one left to help us stop Ivar. I look at my father, someone I’m supposed to trust above anyone else, and hesitate. How much do I tell him?
“Nothing, just wondered,” I finish lamely, I’ve come too far to trust someone just because of blood. He hasn’t been in my life for years. I thought he was dead for god’s sake! I’m trying to ignore that thought, my whole being demanding I see my men before I question my father. Everything else can wait now that I know we still have time to get back to The Ring. He nods, but his face tells me he doesn’t believe me, his eyes imploring me to trust him. When the silence stretches and it becomes obvious I won’t say anything else, he deflates, his shoulders slumping and that twinkle in his eyes dimming. I refuse to feel guilty. How can he expect me to trust him when I don't even know him? I’ve seen too much, learnt lessons the hard way about trust.
“Come on, let’s get you to your friends before they burn this place down. Or kill someone looking for you,” he mutters the last, and it makes me smile. Those are my guys. Blinking, he looks at my torn up dress, obviously just seeing it, then back to my face. Wisely, he stays silent, his eyes asking what he daren’t.
My father offers me his arm, the distance between us begging me to take it. But I can’t, he’s still a stranger to me. I start walking, and he sighs before falling in next to me.
“We have a lot to talk about, after you check on your friends, of course,” he says after the silence starts to get awkward.
I nod mutely, my eyes wide as they take in wherever we are. We turn a corner and I freeze in shock, my eyes glued to one of the walls in the wide corridor. Like in the room I woke up in, there is glass from floor to ceiling. But it’s the people outside that makes me freeze.
Women and children are laughing and playing in what looks like a garden. So many children, more than I can ever remember seeing. No worries, no weapons, hell there aren’t even men out there. They seem genuinely happy, and their clothes! It’s like before the world died. Dresses, loose pants, shirts. You name it, it looks like an advert for the early 2000’s. Or a dream. A young girl runs past the window, her pigtails streaming in the wind behind her as her blue dress and white socks shine in the sunlight. Another young girl with blonde ringlets chases after her, laughing hysterically, her bright pink dress trailing behind her like a cape. Two older women, plump and clean, watch and laugh from the closest table, their smiles genuine, and their happiness almost palpable. The glass dividing us only reinforces our differences. Where they are light, I am dark. I can be happy, but I will never be that carefree. Not when I know what waits out there.
The grass is green, a vibrant colour like nothing I have seen in years, with flowers of all colours dotted here and there. Picnic tables are laid out in one corner, with a stone well in the other, a brown wooden bucket sitting on the rim. What looks like white stone, smooth and polished, encloses the garden on either side, reaching into the sky. The opposite end of the garden is covered in windows like the one I am looking out of. It looks like something frozen in time, unaffected by the devastation in the world. No worries, no cares, hell not even any dust or sand. But how can this be? And what does my father have to do with it all?
I step closer, my nose almost pressed to the glass and look up. The sun is streaming down through an open area of the ceiling, letting the grass grow and flourish. What looks like electricity runs the length of the opening in a net formation. For protection, or to act as a cage? The thought turns the scene before me sour.
“Tazzy?” comes my father’s hesitant voice. I turn to see him waiting at the end of the hallway. When he looks from me to the window, he smiles and walks to my side, joining me in watching the children play.
“What the hell is this place?” I ask, my eyes drawn back to the garden. The innocence on their faces makes me feel like I am covered in blood and death, like an outsider.
“Paradise, Tazanna. It’s Paradise.”
The idea of Paradise is alluring, but I am not someone who belongs in a place like this. My soul is too tainted, my heart too cold. Paradise was always a rumour, a fantasy to keep hope alive, but for Paradise to exist, so must hell.
We both watch the women for a while before he goes to touch me. I jump away, my knife already palmed. Blinking, he stares at me sadly, his face turning heartbroken. The move was automatic, I’m still not used to people reaching for me or touching me. Ignoring him, I slide the blade away before straightening.
“What happened to you, Tazanna?” he whispers, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. Surely he knows the horror of the outside world, how could he expect me not to be tainted by it? To not be changed or have grown differently to survive out there? Anger flashes through me at the pity in his eyes. How dare he! He knows nothing of my life, nothing of the fight I’d had every damn day just to survive. Here he hides in this…bunker! This paradise and he has the audacity to pity me? No, I pity him. Because this won't last. Paradise will fall, and when it does nothing but death and rubble will remain, and he will have to adapt or die. He can pity me all he wants, but I am exactly the person I need to be, not only to survive in this world but thrive.
“The name’s Worth,” I say coldly, my mask sliding back into place. It takes longer than normal, so used to not hiding anything from my men, but when it does, I see him flinch. I look back at the women and children for a moment. What a nice life it must be with no worries, even if it is a lie. Shaking my head, I look at my father again, my eyes as cold as my heart for him.
“Take me to my friends. Then you owe me an explanation.”
We walk in silence for a while, him lost to his thoughts probably wondering what happened to the little girl he lost. Me? I'm checking this place out for weaknesses and escape routes, something so hardwired into me I hardly realise I’m doing it. The silence is uncomfortable, and I see him open his mouth more than once, only to close it again. A part of me feels sad that this is how we have turned out, but the other part is still angry with him.
The floor turns into tiles, and the walls remain white, which is stupid if you ask me. It will show blood way too easily, and definitely be stained by, well, everything. I catch the light of another camera. There is a camera, with the blinking red light, in the corner of every hallway. It creeps me out knowing someone is watching me, tracking my every move.
Back before everything went to shit, cameras, phones, hell technology, had taken over. People were always glued to the devices in their hands, ones which could track them, spy on them, and even be used to hurt them. The concept is so foreign to me now. How is that freedom? How do you know your privacy isn't being invaded, that people aren't listening or watching you? I guess the Wastes are good for one thing, you know when you are being spied on.
“Was that light that flared when we were fighting you?” I ask casually, my eyes constantly scanning everything as we walk. Two men walk past, their strides confident and stiff. They look like soldiers and I spot weapons strapped to each of their legs. Their eyes focus on me before flicking away, scanning everything like I am. I watch them turn the corner behind me. Are they patrolling? Why would you need patrols inside?
“Not me personally, it was a patrol who found you. They used floodlights and gas. They waited for the gas to clear then took all of you as you passed out. When you were brought back, you were put in quarantine like everyone else we encounter. I happened to be overseeing selection that day, and I saw you and well…”
“All?” I ask quickly, freezing on the spot. Surely he can’t mean the Berserkers as well?
“Yes, why?” He throws me a confused look before skirting around another soldier.
“Even the Berserkers?”
“Berserkers?” He sounds it out slowly, rolling it over his tongue.
“Never mind, we can talk about that after,” I mutter, but I stand up straighter, and my eyes scan everything faster, just in case. I don’t imagine he would just let them walk around, and I am betting they are as confused as I am, but I can’t be too careful. He nods, but he throws
me weird looks as we walk.
“You must be what, twenty-two now?” he asks, as if trying to start a conversation.
“Twenty-three,” I correct, uncomfortable with the small talk.
“Oh. So, erm are any of these men your...boyfriend?” He says the word like it's dirty and I wonder what his face would be like if I told him they all were. He would probably have a heart attack. I snort, but don’t bother to answer.
“Tazanna, I am trying here,” he says softly. Spinning, I stop in front of him and poke his chest, my face cold.
“We are strangers. I haven’t seen you since I was thirteen. Ten years. Just because we share the same blood does not mean I have to give you respect or my life story. You have to earn that. My life went to hell, and I thought I had lost everyone. So excuse me if I'm not all smiles and laughter at seeing my father back from the fucking grave. We can talk after I check on my friends. But you should ask yourself, what sort of person does not come for their daughter? Who doesn't fight for her and lets her think he’s dead for most of her life?” My chest heaves as I finish my rant and I realise that my anger is covering my heartbreak. How could he just walk away from me, leave me? Was is it that easy for him to give me up? I swallow down my tears, biting my tongue to stop them from falling when all I want is to demand he tell me why. The fact is, it would hurt me more to find out he didn't care enough to come after me, that is what stops me.
