Chapter 46
Zane
Four years ago
The Pit’s blood-stained exercise mat beckons me.
Chain-link fences rattle around me, construction lights blinding me to the crowd above. The smell of the barrel fires and sweaty bodies fill the air but all I can focus on is the blood.
Blood stains everything—the fences, the mat, the air itself. I taste it when I breathe. It gets me in the mood they came to witness.
As one of the camps favourite berserkers it’s always a huge crowd when they throw me in here.
They scream my name from the scaffolds above the makeshift arena of the concrete parking lot. Men without a scrap of humanity between them. A few dead-eyed women who’ve been dragged along by whoever claimed them tonight.
Most of them laugh, others just watch in anticipation, chewing stolen jerky and drinking whatever passes for booze these days.
A guard smacks the fence behind me, getting my attention. “Hope you’re ready to give ‘em a show pretty boy. They’re bringing your pound of flesh out now.”
I give him a slow menacing smile and he backs up a step, hand trembling on his gun.
The mat gives just enough under my boots, springy like it’s alive, feeding the energy in my muscles. My dick grows against the rough seam of my pants, eager before I’ve even seen her.
This isn’t my first time in the Pit. Not even close.
The first time, I vomited before they threw me in. The second time, I fought them until my arms were bruised black. The third, I started shutting it out.
That was nearly two years ago.
Now they don’t have to drag me in. The scent and the cheers are enough for me to tap into the beast they’ve made me. The Berserker. The Monster.
They told me this was coming. “For morale,” they said. “To keep me satiated.”
My nostrils flare and my blood runs hot as I pace in the pit. I’ve been waiting for tonight, needing an outlet, a release. Whimpers come from the cages nearby as they pick out a girl for me to ruin. And it’s like music to my ears.
But then I hear a familiar cry.
My eyes flash to the other side of the Pit where they’re dragging a skinny dark-haired girl. She’s trying her best to fight them despite the cuffs on her wrists, but they trudge forward, unaffected.
Then I catch a look at her face as her hair flies back.
Sasha?
My stomach heaves, and I stare, shellshocked, as they take the ball gag out of her mouth and uncuff her.
My hands clench, nails biting into my palms until they sting, but it does nothing to cool the heat flooding low in my gut.
She’s not one of the broken girls from the cages. One who stopped talking weeks ago, who doesn’t even cry anymore.
Sasha is one of our cooks. A valued member who keeps us all fed.
We had become friends in the past few weeks. Given each other a safe place to survive… they obviously noticed.
Why would they pick her? Are they punishing her? Testing me?
Now I watch as they shove her through the gap in the fences, too scared to step in themselves.
She stumbles and falls before glancing back just in time to see them locking the chains back in place around the two fences.
I can’t do this. Not to her.
But I know we have no choice. If we don’t play along… they have plenty of other games—far more sadistic than this—that they can force us to play.
She’s barefoot, filthy, bruised… and I know this one’s going to cut deeper.
Sasha climbs to her feet and adjusts her torn singlet. Then glances across the pit at me before looking down at her feet, chest heaving, thin arms hugging herself. Her nails scratch at her own arms, leaving fresh lines in bruised skin.
Something in me roars to life at her frail appearance. She looks far more broken than last time I saw her, hair tangled, knees scraped. An easy target.
The men on the scaffolds are already riled up.
“Oh shit! Zane’s gonna destroy her.”
“Fuck yeah, let’s go!”
“Reckon this bitch is gonna cry or scream? Ten credits says scream.”
Rolling my shoulders, I try to ignore the roar in my head as I begin circling her. My fists tighten, jaw locks. I don’t let myself look Sasha in the eyes until she’s close enough to touch.
I see it in her eyes right away. Full of fear, but no blame.
Her lips are pale, eyes wide, she’s shaking but stays rooted where she is. She knows what this is. How dangerous it is to be inside this cage right now. And that running would make it worse.
“Hey,” she breathes, hoping to reach me past the monster driving me.
She’s the first to succeed.
“Why?” I growl through gritted teeth.
Sasha shudders, eyes glassy. “Better you than one of the others.” Her breath fans over my chest, warm despite the tremor in her voice.
She’s right. The others wouldn’t hold back. I’ll try.
The crowd on the scaffolds screams at us to get moving. One of them throws a leather strap at my feet, shouting for me to whip her. Another slams a metal pipe against the fence, the clang echoing through my skull.
“Make it good!”
“Don’t be shy, sweetheart. Spread those legs. You’re about to be famous.”
My fists ball at my sides as my skin crawls, the haze falling over my senses again. My breath comes in hot puffs, like a bull ready to charge.
Sasha looks at me with a softness I don’t deserve. “Zane,” she whispers, forcing a tiny smile. “It’s okay. I know you have to. They’ll punish us both if you don’t,” she reassures, voice hoarse as she reaches for me.
But her voice doesn’t reach me anymore. “Don’t touch me,” I growl, catching her wrist before it lands on my scarred arm, twisting it behind her back.
Fragile bones shift under my grip as her cry makes my cock jump like I’ve been starved for the sound.
We hit the ground hard as I tackle her to the mat. The crowd explodes, jeers and laughter blur into static. They want the brutality. The violence.
“Let’s go, boy!”
“Rip off her clothes!”
Their voices pump through me like a second heartbeat, each shout tightening the vise already crushing my chest. My hips twitch forward on instinct, hungry to perform.
My vision blurs as the monster overtakes me. Raw, hard movements, hands gripping hair, pinning her down as she fights me instinctively. The only foreplay is the wrestle as I tear at her clothes.
Maybe she should’ve run while she had the chance.
A red haze begins to cloud my mind, and I struggle to stay in control. To not hurt her too badly, just to keep them satisfied. Appease the audience.
But she’s working with me, faking trying to get away from me, scrambling on her front as I strip her.
At least I hope she’s faking… her screams, the fear in her eyes—it’s too real.
Straddling her legs easily, I keep a firm hand on the back of her neck to keep her still. Her pulse hammers under my palm, the vibration running through my hand and straight down my spine.
My vision narrows as my conditioning takes over. The crowd cheers at the way I pin her, but it’s my cock that betrays me, swollen from the power, even as my gut twists with shame.
She sobs loudly as I pull out my cock and line up, her teeth clacking together when I slam into her.
The crowd’s roar turns deafening. They’re chanting something, but it’s all just noise. My pulse drums in my ears, hot and hammering, until it feels like I’m vibrating with the Pit.
Every thrust grinds my pelvis against hers, the friction blistering but impossible to stop. My body lunges for the rhythm like it remembers what my head wants to forget.
Time fractures and the vision before me shifts.
Suddenly I have my foot pinning her head to the mat and a leather strap in my hand, whipping her back as I pound into her. Sasha digs her fingers into the mat, screaming and crying loudly with a battery powered torch stuck in her asshole, my own hand curled around the end.
My movements stutter and I throw the strap aside, pulling the torch out as gently as I can.
Then an idea pops into my head. It’s a risk, but it could get her out of the Pit for at least ten months if I succeed.
If she’s carrying a Berserker’s child, they won’t touch her.
Our bodies collide again and again, sweat and blood smearing the mat under us. The crowd grows louder as she does, relishing the sounds of her struggle.
I finish inside her like an animal—until there’s nothing left to give. Then collapse over her and for a second… we’re breathing the same air again and not surrounded by crowds of depraved, war-hungry men.
My thighs tremble with the force of it, muscles spent. Sweat trickles down my spine, slick between my shoulder blades, itching where I can’t reach. It drips onto her marked back, her hair sticking damp to my chest, strands glued by sweat and blood.
She shivers when I kiss her shoulder, remorse gnawing at me. “I’m sorry,” I whisper, but she won’t look at me.
They’re still cheering, throwing things. A bottle crashes near my head and Sasha flinches.
The guards come in to tear me off her but I’m already back in my right mind and haunted by the blood smeared between her thighs. My cock is still wet with it, softening against my thigh, a filthy reminder that my body chose this even when I didn’t.
“Sasha!” I yell, fighting the five guards on me as one lifts her limp body.
Fuck, I’ve split her lip too.
Roaring, I throw one of the guards off my back and struggle to push forward before a cattle prod digs into my ribs. My muscles seize, body convulsing as I watch Sasha carried away.
This is what I deserve.
But her empty eyes meet mine and she mouths the words, “Thank you,” before the darkness swallows me.
Six months later
The Pit smells like piss and iron.
Same as it always does.
But tonight, I’m not in it. I’m on guard duty, perched on the edge of the upper walkway with a dull rifle in my lap, eyes scanning a horizon I’ll never reach.
I’d almost rather be in the Pit tonight. Almost. But there’s a dark part of me that loves to watch as well.
Heavy footsteps sound behind me. I turn to see Crane, one of the lieutenants. A sadist. One of the worst. Always smiling like this is all a big fucking joke. As if other’s suffering is his version of a good time.
He spits before he speaks. “You hear about Sasha?”
My spine stiffens. “No.”
“Didn’t make it.” He grins like a wolf.
My stomach drops. “What do you mean she didn’t…”
“Pregnancy fucked her up. Fever, infection, whole mess. Bitch started convulsing this morning. Screaming… for you, apparently.” His tone pretends at sympathy, but that sick gleam in his eyes tells the truth.
The words hit like a crowbar to the gut. I stare straight ahead, jaw clamped tight, not trusting my face.
“She die?” I force out.
“Oh yeah,” he laughs like it’s the punchline. “Baby too. Should’ve just opened her wrists as soon as she missed her bleed.”
The rifle creaks in my lap as my grip tightens on it. The urge to shove the barrel through his teeth nearly overtakes me.
Crane claps me on the back like we’re mates. “Don’t pout, Zane. She was gonna die anyway.” He laughs his way down the catwalk, boots echoing until they fade.
I sit there for a long time. Until purple bleeds out of the sky and the Pit lights hum to life beneath me.
She screamed for me.
And I wasn’t there.
She gave me something I didn’t know I needed in that Pit—something I didn’t deserve. Dignity. Solidarity. A shred of humanity.
It’s my fault. I killed her. My stupid idea. But she was left to deal with the consequence on her own. Used and discarded like all the others.
But this time, numbness doesn’t come. This time, it actually hurts.
She was my friend.
The rifle lies heavy in my lap, metal cold against my thighs. I stare at it, and I swear I feel her blood on my hands again.
I can’t do this anymore. I can’t give them the monster they’ve carved out of me. If I don’t get out soon… I’ll rot into one of them completely.
No more.
I don’t care what it takes, who I have to kill, or how far I have to run.
I’ll get out.
And I’ll never hurt another innocent again.