Page 22 of Bratva Butcher

My suspicions were confirmed the moment we were shoved into the room.

There were only a few things in the world that had the power to rile up a crowd like that.

A gruesome fight match was one of them.

Smack dab in the centre of the room was a professional boxing ring—a bit of a history clash, considering the monument sitting above it, but whatever.

On one side of the ring, sitting on long, wooden benches, were other prisoners like myself. The chains made that obvious. On the other side was the crowd, cheering, gyrating and screaming for the people in the ring to continue fighting.

Based on the uniforms, I guessed they were other guards and soldiers.

In front of the ring sat three people, narrating the fight like commentators in the WWE, and then behind them were a few other prisoners, battered, bruised and bleeding. Several cameraswere recording the ring, making sure to catch the fight from every angle.

A pile of dead bodies sat off to the side.

It didn’t look good.

What the fuck was going on?

I stole a glance at Dimitri, but the fucker was unreadable. All I saw when I looked at him was a strong, confident stance and hard eyes.

“Move it,” one of the guards barked, shoving me forward.

We were directed to the bench with the other prisoners and roughly forced to sit down.

“And we have our winner!” the commentator with the bald head cheered as one of the men snapped his opponent’s neck, killing him instantly. “Give it up, ladies and gentlemen, for Reggie Green!”

The crowd roared in triumph. Reggie didn’t share in the excitement, though. He fell back in shock as if he couldn’t believe what he’d just done. He looked at his hands, shaking and covered in blood, tears welling in his eyes.

Guards rushed the ring, grabbing him and the dead body. Reggie was deposited next to the other prisoners behind the commentators—the winners from any previous fights, I suspected—and the dead body was dumped promptly on top of the others in the corner.

The next two prisoners at the front of the line were forced to take their places, and the whole ordeal began again. And again, and again.

“What the fuck is this?” I hissed under my breath.

Dimitri’s gaze flicked to me. Something flashed behind those cunning blue eyes.

He knows.

He knew what was going on.

“What. Is. This?” I repeated sternly.

He just smirked and said, “Pray you don’t get matched up to fight me.”

I glared. “I hope I do. That way, I can finally fucking kill you.”

“Right back at you,” he snapped.

I didn’t know what his goddamn problem was with me. He’d had it out for me since the moment he opened his eyes and saw me in Dominik’s dungeon.

We locked into our usual battle of scowling at each other as fight after fight took place. The commentators continued to describe every move, every action, congratulating every winner. Some of them had clearly killed before. There was no remorse. No hesitation. But others struggled with it, and ultimately paid the price for their humanity.

There was no room for humanity in an environment like that.

Two women were forced into the ring next—a tall blonde and a short, plump brunette. When the commentators announced the fight to begin, neither of them moved.

“We’re not fighting!” the blonde yelled out, shaking her head. She stood tall, trying to appear strong, but her voice quivered slightly.

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