Page 3 of Devotion

Lovely.

“You gave us good chase. Now you give us good entertainment.”

“You really don’t want me to start singing,” I wheeze, rolling onto my side. Right before four rough hands drag me up to my knees.

Crovak looms over me, his face bruised, his shirt off.

Whoa.

Dude is a graffiti artist’s dream of tats.

He cracks his knuckles crouching to look me in the eye. “New blood. Normally we just haze you. Steal your possessions, make you our slave for week.”

“What?” I ask, playing dumb. Or maybe not playing.

“He means, you fucks up!” Another massive brute growls off to the side, grinning.

“I do that pretty frequently. Could you elaborate?”

The fist that takes me across the cheek sends me sprawling. The hands hold tight, dragging me back to center. Just in time to take another strike across the jaw.

“Th-thanks, fellas…” I mumble, spitting blood.

“Crovak, that’s enough…” someone mutters, and I see Matvey step forward, looking grim.

“Et tu, douchey?” I glare at all three of him blurring in front of me.

“I tell you when it is enough.” Crovak gets right in his face and the younger man backs down, shaking his head.

“Get it over with then.” He turns away, almost looking sorry for me. Just for a second.

This can’t be good.

“Bring him!”

“I can walk!” I snap, and the hands let me go. Funny. I thought I could.

The cold floor greets me like an old friend. He even keeps me company as they spin and drag me down the hall, torchlight flickering in strange shadows on the blackened ceiling. They really need to hire somebody to clean up.

Ice-cold air whips into the corridor, snapping me back to clarity.

“Now,mertvets, you get up.” One of my assistants drops my leg, kicking me softly in the ribs. Gently, like a sledgehammer.

Still, I gather my strength and pull myself up, forcing air into my lungs. Staggering forward, I step through the open doorway, waiting for another barrage of blows to take me down.

Instead, I find an arena of sorts ahead of me.

It’s surrounded on all sides by bleachers filled with screaming inmates. Cheering as I see what might be boots dragging in the dirt and disappearing through the far door.

A ring of torches lights the packed dirt, stained and darkened with probably not blood and gore. I glance to my right, noting the wicked look on Crovak’s face.

“You are bold, Diamante. Hopefully bold enough to survive.”

“Could we start over? I think you got the wrong impression when I kicked you in the nuts. That’s how we say ‘I love you’ where I’m from!”

His grin twists, a flare of rage passing through his face.

“Insolent bastard, aren’t you?!” He rattles off a string of what I can only assume are curses in Russian. “She put you here for reason. But I do not care.”

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