The man’s feet stepped forward and began to circle me, his sweat dropping on the cracked ground of the cellar. “You have managed to control this one? He seems feral.”
Master stepped forward; he came close, my body stiffening. He slapped his hand on my arm. “221 is my prized possession, my prototype, my dzaghii—my dog. He obeys anything I ask of him. Anything. He’s had a concentrated shot of the Type A drug this morning. Type A drug creates killers on demand, Type B, perfectly obedient slaves; slaves who will do anything you want.” Master’s voice lit with excitement. “221, here, kills with perfect efficiency. Complete annihilation.”
The feet of the man stopped, stood beside me, and I could hear his heartbeat race. “Prove it,” he said quietly.
Master laughed. “You brought the men?”
“They’re here,” the other man replied. “Bring them in!” he shouted, a command to someone at the entrance to the cellar.
He moved to stand beside Master. “I need trustworthy men by my side. Our war with the Italians is heating up. I need men who won’t question anything asked of them. Men who can’t be beat in a fight. I also want my stock to be obedient. I want them open to anything a buyer wants. If this drug you’ve created and its subject prove to be true, we have a deal.”
Master stepped away. A guard approached me and began to loosen the chains. My feet rocked from side to side as the chains dropped to the ground. Looking at my hands, I slowly clenched them into fists, the cracking of my knuckles echoing around the room.
Heavy breathing came from behind me. My lip curled … weakness …
“221, t’avis mkhriv.” Master ordered me to turn and my body swerved, head down, legs bracing in his direction.
“221, mzad.” Master demanded me to get ready. My chin lifted. Six men stood before me. Six men smirking, holding daggers.
As another jolt of lava swept through me, a growl rumbled in my chest.
Klavs, klavs, klavs.
“221, t’avis mkhriv,” Master called again. The guard thrust a pair of black sais into my hands. I never took my eyes off the men who stood before me—they were nothing but prey. I rolled my neck from side to side, legs parted, ready to attack my prey. My blood rushed faster and faster, my hands itching to slice these fuckers open.
The man with Master spoke. “These are some of the best men I have. If your dog can defeat them, we have a deal.”
“How many do you want dead?” Master’s voice enquired.
The man sputtered. “How many? You’re telling me he will kill them all, if ordered?”
“He’ll kill until I order him to stop.”
The man moved to stand in front of me, his small dark eyes glaring into mine. I bared my teeth and snarled. He immediately stepped back.
A smile eventually pulled on his thin lips as fire lit in his eyes. “I want to see him slay every last one.”
“221,” Master commanded. My body tensed, my fingers gripping the sais. “Sasaklao.”
Slaughter.
My feet lurched forward, just as the six men ran at me at once. A red mist clouded my eyes as I made the first strike, blood spattering my chest.
I sliced.
I gutted.
I culled.
I fucking slaughtered them all.
Chapter One
Luka
The Dungeon
Season Opener
Brooklyn, New York
I blinked … I blinked again. It didn’t fucking work. Didn’t remove the images from my mind.
Reaching up, I clawed at the knot of the silk tie I’d been forced to wear and loosened it off. I couldn’t fucking breathe.
Every muscle in my body was tense as I sat up in this suffocating private box, looking down on the Dungeon’s cage, the wide window giving me the perfect fucking view of the two fighters ripping each other apart.
The crowd noise was deafening; screaming and clamoring for spilt blood, as the first match of the season kicked off.