Enraged at what I’d been forced to do—at what I’d allowed myself to do—I stood and gripped my Kindjals. Enough was enough. I’d toyed with this fighter too long. It was beneath me to play with this male any longer.

It was time for him to die.

419 swayed on his feet, on the brink of passing out. His ax hung by his side, his slackening fingers barely able to hold the heavy steel. Needing to see him fall, see this male breathe his last, I charged forward, and in a double movement of my blades, I sliced across his stomach and stabbed a Kindjal down and through his skull. My blade cut through him like butter, and the feel of his large body submitting to death sent the best drugs to my veins.

The crowd jumped to their feet as 419 hit the bloodied sand beneath our feet. It was the loudest response I had ever received in the pit. And when I looked to 152 in the stands, the guard slowly removed the knife from her throat. I snarled, abruptly wrapped in a cocoon of pure hate, when I saw a faint bloodied line on her skin.

And I knew. In that moment, I knew Master hadn’t been faking this threat. If I had failed to obey, he would have slit the High Mona’s throat. He was crazed and unstable, but he was obsessed with the female. Yet to break me, to see me bow down to his feet, he would have slit her throat without a second thought.

A mixture of anger and some cavernous feeling I couldn’t describe swirled in my stomach. Because I knew, by this match, that I had given Master a hold over my mind. The realization hit home. He hadn’t sent 152 to me weeks ago to make me want her, then hurt me by taking her away. He had given me her to threaten her life. His High Mona, the female he stared at like he wanted to completely possess her soul. He had given her to me to force me to yield to his control.

And it had worked. As furious as that made me, I couldn’t deny the truth: I had played right into his hands. Even as I stood here now, seething, almost splintering apart with the most intense rage, my eyes kept drifting to 152, dressed in a sheer deep purple dress. She was frozen to the spot, but she watched me, too. Her eyes were a mixture of confusion and pain, but they were fixed on me. Solely on me.

Her attention only made me break more.

I hated myself for submitting like a mewling bitch.

And despite myself, I hated her for being the cause of this truth.

Snapping my eyes away, I ranged my gaze over the crowd. I wanted nothing more than to jump into the fray and tear them all apart. I wanted to shred their limbs and snap their bloodthirsty necks. Then my eyes found Master, still sitting in his seat, staring down at me, looking every inch the Blood Pit King.

Focusing on me, his champion.

The one he now controlled … in every way possible.

As if knowing what I was thinking, a slow victorious grin pulled on his lips. My legs physically shook as I tried to keep from sacrificing my life just to take his life first. But as his wide, glittering eyes looked up to 152, standing like a broken child behind him, I planted my feet into the sand.

A wave of protectiveness washed over me when I saw who 152 was looking at: me. And I saw Master’s livid reaction to who held her gaze. This time when he looked at me, there was a new fire in his stare. He had given his mona to me—but he didn’t want her to want me. He wanted her affection all to himself.

My cheek twitched as I fought the smirk threatening on my lips. Master caught it, though. His knuckles became white as he gripped the arms of his seat. He leaned forward, his hard face showing how much he wanted to order my death. For a moment, when he rose to his feet and the crowd quieted down, I thought he would see through his biggest wish.

Then a darker man, dressed in strange clothing, stood beside him and shook his hand. The male was smiling wide, nodding his head at something Master said. As I glanced to the dead male beside me in the pit, I saw the similarities to him and the strangely dressed male. It was his Master. The one my Master had needed me to win over.

I had done as Master planned.

The crowd grew restless as the males talked. When Master finally looked back my way, he dismissed me from the pit with a quick flick of his wrist. Turning on my heel, I jogged out of the ring and down the warriors’ tunnel. I forced myself to look unaffected. But when the tunnel darkened and I knew I was out of the spectators’ view, I drew to a stop and clenched my teeth at the pain stabbing at my body. I glanced behind me and saw my bloodied footprints on the sand. I raked my gaze over my body and growled low when I saw I was littered with gashes, deep slices showing more than a few hints of open flesh.

I hadn’t been touched in five years. Hadn’t sustained a scratch since I became champion and simply decided that no opponent would ever touch me again. I knew this match had just made the excitement for Master’s sick spectators that much stronger. The champion, the Arziani Pit Bull, had just been wounded in the show rounds.

It would raise expectations. More investors would join, eager to have their champions bring me down once and for all.

I heard the guards beginning to move in behind me. I kept going, struggling to walk all the way to my cell. As I passed 667’s cell, I heard a high-pitched giggle drifting into the hallway. I stopped dead as his mona laughed again. The sound cut through me like a knife. Not because I couldn’t stand the sound, but because I’d rarely heard that sound in my entire life.

As his mona laughed again, 152’s beautiful face came into my head. I saw her tears, I saw her fear … I didn’t see her laugh. My heart stuttered as I envisioned her smiling at me or laughing at something I’d said. I couldn’t breathe as I was trapped in that dream.

It fell apart when I caught 140 moving to his cell door. He stared at me with his vacant, lifeless eyes, as his arms threaded through the bars and hung across the horizontal bar.

When 667’s mona laughed again, 140 moved his attention to the other champion’s cell door. He spoke without looking at me. “It’s only a question of time,” he said coldly, his body still bathed in his opponent’s blood. “When Master feels like it, needs something, or simply wants to fuck with his mind, he’ll kill her.” 140 pointed at 667’s cell. “He’ll start by taking her away from him every now and again. He’ll expect her and she won’t arrive. When she does, she’ll be hurt and bruised. She’ll be quiet. He’ll bring her to his cell door or have him brought to the mona quarters. Then, with 667 restrained, Master will take her or stand by as he orders another warrior or guard to do it for him. 667 will slowly begin to break, seeing his female being forced to take another male’s cock.” His hands moved to tighten on the bars, then he bit out, “He’ll kill her in front of him. And he’ll die along with her.” He looked to me, but I knew his eyes were still locked in the past. “Only he’ll be forced to still live in this pit, waking each day and fighting some other man-made animal he doesn’t give a shit about in the ring. And the worst part is, Master won’t even think of it again. He’ll move on to play with another warrior’s head. Because that’s what he does. He created this empire to toy with us, his slaves.”