18. Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Eighteen
Nikolai Volkov
“H ave you heard of the Til Death games?”
I frowned, staring at Mikhail over my brother's shoulder. It was midday and we were in Aleksandr’s office. Tatiana and I had arrived home early this morning for my mother’s birthday.
I was surprised when she offered to come back with me. Actually, “offered” was too tame a word. She’d demanded . Wouldn’t take no for an answer, actually.
“Have you been dipping into Arturo’s merchandise? Because you must be high as a kite if you think I’m not going to be there for you or my best friend on a day like this.” Then she’d thrown up all over my shoes.
Tatiana never could handle her alcohol very well. She’d had two-and-a-half cocktails at the Trivia Night we went to last night, and poof —enter drunk Tatiana.
I think it was a combination of the fact that she rarely drank and her extremely low tolerance for alcohol. It was a good thing I’d arranged to take our private plane for the flight, because I highly doubted a regular airline would have let her board in the condition she was in.
She’d spent the entire flight snoring her head off in the cabin.
Not that she’d ever believe that. She was adamant that she didn’t snore.
Even when I’d shown her concrete proof with a video of her sleeping, her mouth wide open and snoring so loudly that it sounded like a train going over its tracks, she still denied it.
“That’s not me. You edited it.” Then she turned around and went right back to snoring.
My brother’s voice pulled me back into the present. “No, should I have?”
“It’s a fight-to-the-death, gladiator style tournament that’s held once a year on a remote island off the coast of Europe. World leaders, politicians and the insanely rich gather to watch and place bets on who will win.”
Aleksandr glanced over his shoulder at me with questioning eyes.
I shrugged. I’d never heard of anything like that before.
I wasn’t surprised to hear Mikhail knew of it, though.
That man had his fingers dipped into everything.
He wasn’t a man I was scared of, but he was definitely one who required caution.
He was one of only a few people that had permission to enter the property without prior approval.
So, I wasn’t usually surprised when he just walked straight through the front door.
This time, however, was different. During his last visit, he’d punched Aleksandr clear in the face after hearing about what happened to his son.
Having lost a child myself, I understood better than anyone what he was going through.
That was the only reason why I let the attack go without retaliation.
If it had been anyone else, though, they would have been dead before their arm went back to their side.
It was my job to protect Aleksandr. Not only because he was now my Pakhan , but because he’d spent his entire life looking out for my siblings and I.
It was my turn to watch out for him . The chances of Mikhail doing anything else were slim to none.
But I still refused to let my guard down, watching him like a hawk.
“The man who oversees the games is called Talon,” Mikhail continued.
“A few weeks before the games begin, he sends out a roster of who will be competing, along with their stats. That way, people can make informed decisions about their bets. He sends little previews of what the fighters are capable of. Videos of them fighting, etcetera, etcetera.”
“Like horse racing?” I asked.
“Yes, but with people instead.” He pulled out a tablet, starting it up.
“These people in the games aren’t always there voluntarily.
Some are, but most of them aren’t. They’ve been trafficked specifically to enter into the games, to make them more entertaining.
Boxers. UFC fighters. Marines. People who’d guarantee a good fight. ”
My brain clicked the pieces together like a jigsaw puzzle as he spoke.
Why he was there, when I’m sure it was the last place he wanted to be.
Why he was bringing up some fight to the death game that we’d never heard of before.
The fact that he mentioned people were forced to fight against their will.
It all began to make so much sense.
“I’ve never attended the games, but I get notifications for when a new one is about to begin,” he continued.
“I received this encrypted email yesterday. It holds the roster for this year. It’s a small preview of what’s to come.
This is a clip of one of the fighters being put in the games.
” He handed the tablet over to Aleksandr. It was paused on a video.
I knew what it would show but I leant closer nonetheless, needing to see for myself if what I was thinking was right. It was one of those times that I was desperately hoping to be wrong.
Whoever edited the video made sure to keep faces out of it, just showing clips cut together of brutal strikes, arms swinging, fists connecting with soft flesh, legs flying through the air.
Perhaps it was to build up the suspense, waiting until the last possible moment to reveal the fighters, thus ensuring the viewers’ complete and total attention.
It definitely worked. My eyes were plastered to the screen, cataloguing everything I saw, waiting for that one little detail that would confirm my suspicions.
The commentator narrated what was going on as it happened.
“Oh, what a brutal uppercut!” the male voice said, a crowd of people cheering in the background.
“I don’t think he’s going to get back up from that one folks!
Oh, wait, he’s going to try again! What a fight!
” A deafening crack blared through the speaker, one so loud that it could be heard over the roaring crowd as a set of hands grabbed a man's head and twisted sharply, breaking his neck in one clean move. “And we have a winner!”
The camera panned out, showing a man standing in the middle of the ring, back gleaming with sweat and muscles bulging. He dropped the dead man in his arms and turned to face the camera.
I exhaled in defeat.
“Your winner, ladies and gentleman, The Bratva Butcher!”
The crowd went absolutely wild. Screaming, chanting, clapping. The camera stayed on my father for a few seconds longer and I committed every detail to memory. The blood dripping down the side of his head. The anger burning in his eyes. The heavy rise and fall of his chest as he breathed hard.
The screen went black.
“Fuck,” Aleksandr cursed. He swiped across the screen, moving to another video, but this one was of someone else. “Are there any others?” he asked, continuing to swipe and swipe.
“No.” Mikhail took back the tablet. “That’s the only one of Dimitri. The rest are of the other competitors.”
“How many?”
“Twenty-four in total.”
“Why did they send this to you ?” I asked, stepping closer.
“Talon and I have a bit of a…rivalry, I guess you could say. We went to boarding school together. Me, him and your father. We all used to be friends, actually.”
“What happened?” Aleksandr questioned.
“The same shit that always happens at elitist schools like that. He thought he owned the school and everyone in it, including Dimitri and I. The first few years, he wasn’t so bad, but when we were seniors he tried to order us around like we were nothing but worker dogs.”
I scoffed, shaking my head. There was no way my father would ever let some random kid walk all over him like that, even when he was technically a kid himself. He had too much pride, even at that age.
“Our reaction exactly,” Mikhail said, pointing at me.
“We fell out hard our senior year. Talon’s the type who loves control.
He thrives on the ability to get others to do whatever he wants them to do through fear and intimidation.
That shit didn’t work on us though. Your father is the son of one of the most brutal men in Russia.
And me? Well, I just hate being told what to do.
So, when we didn’t blindly fall in line like all the others, things got violent.
He set fire to our dorm room…with us inside it. ”
“Jesus Christ,” Aleksandr blew out.
“We had to jump out of our four-story window to escape. Fucker had barricaded the door so we couldn’t get out. Dimitri broke his leg and I broke three ribs and dislocated my shoulder. Talon was given a week’s detention as punishment.”
“A week’s detention? ” I repeated, my voice rising in exclamation. “For nearly killing two students?”
“Talon comes from old money. The type of money that can make problems disappear at the drop of a hat. His dad owns several big oil companies, and just threw money at the school until the whole thing was forgotten.” Mikhail ran a hand through his blonde hair, pushing it out of his face.
“After graduation, he fucked off to Europe. I didn’t hear his name again until a few years ago.
He’d amassed his own empire by then, built entirely on his daddy’s money.
He bought himself his own private island. From what I hear, he never leaves.”
Aleksandr leant forward, elbows braced on his desk. “”Where is it? This island?”
“Your guess is as good as mine. I’ve been trying to find it since the first moment I found out about it.”
“Didn’t you say the games are held on this island?” I asked with a frown. “So someone somewhere must know where it is.”
“You’d think, wouldn’t you?” he sighed, leaning back.
“His security protocols are off the charts. You need an invitation to board the plane that takes you to an undisclosed location. From there, you’re taken to a dock and put on a boat that takes you to another boat, and then another boat.
All while being blindfolded to ensure you have absolutely no idea where you’re going. ”
“Talk about thorough,” Aleksandr grunted.
“And the email is the invitation?” I guessed.