Chapter 29 #3
But the truly sinister betting pools sat farther down the screen beneath a heading labeled Acquisition Rights.
That was where the real fortunes were changing hands.
The winner of tonight’s fight wouldn’t just take the purse.
Depending on how the contracts played out, they could claim temporary ownership rights over the loser or sell those rights to the highest bidder.
Wealthy patrons were already placing offers for exclusive purchase options.
Some bids appeared tied to companionship and sexual arrangements, others to personal security acquisitions or debt transfers between criminal organizations.
The defeated fighter wasn’t being treated like a person.
He was an asset being evaluated in real time, his value rising and falling with every projected injury the crowd anticipated he would suffer.
“Why would Aistov do this?” I asked.
Was he somehow not making as much as we thought? Something about the entire situation didn’t sit right with me. The stakes were too high for a man in Aistov’s position to be involved as a partaker instead of a spectator.
“Don’t let his appearance fool you. He’s a beast.” Gusev glanced over his shoulder with amusement. “The man enjoys a challenge. Besides, half the people here tonight specifically came to watch him fight.”
This was a regular for Aistov, then? I was fairly certain Maxim had no idea about this.
The deeper we moved into the estate, the louder the atmosphere became. Wealth wrapped around everything. Crystal chandeliers glowed overhead. Servers carried trays of champagne through rooms full of politicians, businessmen, socialites, and criminals, all mingling together seamlessly.
The arena itself sat below the main structure, hidden beneath the paradise Gusev had built above it. Massive doors opened to reveal tiered seating circling a lowered black pit surrounded by reinforced glass.
Nik leaned forward slightly against the railing as we entered the private viewing section. “Okay,” he admitted quietly. “This is actually fucking insane. I’m impressed.”
A buzz of excited chatter surrounded us, and Gusev excused himself as a woman with short brown hair, dressed in an elegant pantsuit, entered behind us.
I had to do a double take to confirm that it was indeed Judge Chloe Felfe, whom Aistov personally seated.
He barely raised his hand, and instantly, a woman in her mid-twenties appeared and took a seat on the judge’s lap.
Hmm. Gusev’s contacts ran deep.
Beautiful women, all dressed in red leather, moved among the seats, offering drinks and companionship. I took it all in, and like Nik next to me, I couldn’t help being impressed. To be able to pull off this kind of feat for so long, Gusev was even more strategic than I would have thought.
After a few minutes, he returned, followed by yet another woman who offered us flutes of champagne from a server.
Nik and I turned her down. The place might be crowded, but we knew better than to drink anything we didn’t see being poured or that we didn’t pour ourselves.
We were in unfamiliar territory and had to keep our wits about us.
“Here he comes now,” Gusev said, taking a seat next to me and crossing one leg on the other knee.
Down below, Aistov had entered the “pit,” shirtless.
His semi-nude form only served to show how much more vulnerable he appeared compared to the brute of a man who entered from the other end.
Aistov’s long hair was wrapped up tightly in a bun, the hairstyle sharpening his cheekbones so he seemed almost delicate.
He was what some would call beautiful.
Why the fuck was he doing this?
“So who did you bet on?” Gusev asked.
Nik mentioned the other man’s name. “There’s no fucking way Aistov can take him.”
“Sergei?”
“My bet’s on Aistov,” I said quietly.
“You seriously think he’s going to win?” Nik asked.
I shrugged. “That’s why it’s a bet. But winning a fight is more than size. It also requires skill and being hungry enough for victory.”
I hadn’t always been the bigger one when I used to be in the ring, but most times I only got paid if I won, and punished if I didn’t, so I had no other choice but to win. And I bet that whatever drove Aistov to compete like this meant he had the hunger for this kind of violence.
“This is actually an interesting bet,” Gusev announced, raising his flute to his lips and taking a sip of the champagne.
“How so?” I asked.
“Aistov only fights for one thing. Ownership of his opponent.”
That caught my attention. “Ownership? What does that mean?”
“If Aistov wins,” Gusev continued, “the other man belongs to him.”
“And if he loses?”
“He has to pay his opponent several million.”
Nik whistled under his breath. “Hell of a gamble just to own someone. What does he even do with them?”
“Why, he keeps a harem of men, of course,” Gusev said with a laugh.
A buzzer went off, and Aistov moved before I could ask for clarification. He was lithe on his feet and fast. With little effort, he ducked beneath a swing aimed at him, drove forward, and wrapped himself around the larger fighter’s back like a cobra.
He was going to win. I could feel it in my gut. Just how many men did Aistov own anyway? He was rich enough that he could buy anyone he wanted, so why work this hard for it?