And it was in this sphere where the bloodthirsty anger of what made a person survive came to the surface. It came alive, growing until it threatened to swallow you whole. And then you unleashed it within the metal cage, letting that blood and flesh cover your chest and soak the ground, a visual that you were strong, that you were here, that no one and nothing could take you down.

  It meant you were real.

  I sat on a small, bloodstained wooden bench in the corner of the cage and focused on my taped hands, my fingers extending and contracting as I flexed them. I hadn’t been to the Pit in several months, not feeling that darkness creep up on me.

  But ever since that all-consuming desire for Lina arose, I’d felt myself starting to unravel, to fray around the edges as it spread outward until I’d be nothing but tatters on the ground.

  The need to possess her had started to control me. And that was a very dangerous situation. I’d never given any part of myself to another person, never allowed anyone to have that kind of control over me.

  So this was what I needed, to brutally destroy, to feel pain… to allow someone to give it to me.

  And then my opponent stepped into the cage, a six-foot-five hulking beast who went by the Russian name Razoreniye. Or was simply known as Ruin in English. A killer for the Bratva, a man who was darker and deadlier than even me. He had no mercy, no empathy… nothing holding him back from being as dark as he wanted.

  And he was exactly the man I wanted to fight tonight. He’d be as violent toward me as I would be toward him.

  And right now I needed that more than anything.

  He stepped in close, the lifelike wolf head tattoo covering the entire front part of his chest and other Bratva insignia inked on his big body.

  The sounds of the bastards thirsty for the blood that would spill rang through the room. Bids for who would win this fight were shouted out in Russian, the words flowing together so they all sounded like the same string of notes through my head.

  I stood, rolling my head around my neck, adrenaline making my muscles feel bigger, more powerful. If Razoreniye could have smiled in sadistic pleasure, I was sure he’d do it now. As it was, we both faced off, neither of us giving anything away.

  And when the bell rang, all hell broke loose.

  We were two tornadoes slamming into each other, fists a blur, the punches coordinated, the pain a welcome retreat. I absorbed it all, letting Razoreniye hit me more times than I’d ever allow another person to. And it was because that was the only way my inner war was tamed.

  The only way I could gather any kind of fucking control.

  I had a busted lip, a cut above my eye, and the dark pleasure of the relief I’d yearned for coursing through me as I left Yama and stepped out into the night, cold fall night of Desolation, New York. The feeling of my cell vibrating in my coat pocket had me reaching inside and pulling it out as I made my way toward my Mercedes.

  I didn’t recognize the number that flashed across the screen, but it would have only been someone close to me, or the Ruin, as no other soul would have had this number.

  I hit Accept and put the phone to my ear, not saying anything. Whoever it was could either start speaking or hang up after all they heard was dead air.

  “We need your assistance, Arlo.” The deep voice was instantly recognizable. “We need your help with a cleanup.”

  Twenty minutes later I pulled to a stop in front of Butcher and Son, a decades-old abandoned slaughterhouse on the outskirts of Desolation. I parked my Mercedes and let the headlights illuminate the large bay doors. Although I didn't see any other vehicles, I knew what waited for me inside.

  After killing the engine and getting out, I scanned my surroundings, my hand tucked into the inner pocket of my jacket and my fingers wrapping around the grip of my gun.

  When I was confident I was alone, I went to the trunk, grabbed my duffel that held the basic supplies I’d need to clean up the body, and made my way toward the slaughterhouse.

  Once inside, the scent of age and mold slammed into my sinuses. My vision adjusted to the darkness, and I searched the large interior of Butcher and Son. I spotted the corpse in the corner, but the dark shape not far from it had my body coming even more alert.

  With my hand back on the grip of the gun, I moved toward the two bodies. It was when I was a few feet away that I stopped and focused my attention on one of the men lying supine on the slaughterhouse floor.

  Stone. Another associate of the Ruin. And he was alive. Really fucking interesting turn of events.

  If I were a man who could be surprised, this would have been one of those times. As it was, I felt nothing but annoyance that this wouldn’t be an easy, quick fix like I planned, and instead I’d deal with two bodies instead of one.

  Stone was a man I didn’t know much about, but one who was just as connected with the Ruin as I was. Although he and I weren’t friends and had no connection other than the same crime syndicate, we’d crossed professional paths more than once, and I did hold mild respect for him because of that.

  I didn’t see him as even an acquaintance, but he also wasn’t my enemy, and because of the latter, I’d help get him the fuck out of here instead of killing him. Because if he were anyone else, any other poor bastard who was in the wrong place at the wrong time and allowed themselves to be vulnerable, I’d get rid of them so there wasn’t even more fallback.

  Stone was lying on the ground, the corpse not far from him. If I hadn't seen Stone’s chest rise and fall, I might have taken his otherwise still body as being long dead.

  When I was beside him, I crouched and just stared at him for a moment. I didn’t know what the fuck had gone down here for Stone to even be in this situation, nor did I care. He needed out so I could get my shit done.

  I said in a low, deep voice, “Wake up, dumbass.” He didn’t respond, and I said louder, “Open your eyes.” Stone groaned, and a moment later he obeyed, his eyes opening and the fuzziness in the dark depths fading as the seconds moved by and he got his bearings. “Come on, time for you to get the fuck gone, Stone.”

  “Arlo?” he prompted gruffly before coughing, blood spraying from his lips and covering my shirt with red droplets.

  I glanced down at the blood on my white shirt that looked black on the material from the ominous lighting. Fucking perfect. “Come on,” I said again and helped him off the ground. “Let's get you out of here so I can do my job.”

  Stone didn’t say anything as he looked at my face, his gaze taking in the busted lip and cut above my eye.

  “What the fuck?” he grunted out.

  I didn’t bother responding to the clear fact that I’d gotten in a fight. If you were part of the Ruin, you knew not to ask too many questions.

  He braced his weight against me. “But how? Why?”

  I didn’t know if he’d been hit over the head and that’s why he kept running his mouth, but I helped him out of the warehouse. Maybe some fresh air would clear his mind. “See, those are questions. And I don't want fucking questions.”

  “I don't understand.”

  I wasn’t sure what he was going on about, most likely private business. Either way, not my concern. Stone rested against the side of the slaughterhouse, and I grabbed my cell. After a quick call to the Ruin for a pickup, I disconnected the call and shoved my cell back in my pocket. I knew whoever wanted Stone dead would want confirmation, but that wasn’t my fucking concern.

  Ten minutes later a car’s headlights flashed, and the vehicle was coming to a stop beside us.

  “Just get the fuck out of here, Stone. You want to survive? Leave.”

  He nodded. “But what about you?”

  I shook my head and said nothing. I stared him in the eyes, seeing what a hardheaded bastard he was.

  I ran a hand over my face, feeling a rush of pleasure when my palm scraped over my busted lip.

  “Thanks.” He opened the back passenger-side door.

  I tipped my head in acknowledgment. Fortunately he didn't say anything else, just sat in the back and shut the door.

  I stood there and watched him leave, pissed that my otherwise “normalcy” of a fix had been met with extra strings tonight.

  When the car was long gone, the cloaking darkness closing in on me once more, I turned and headed back inside, about to do what I did best.

  Surround myself in everything fucked up.

  Chapter

  Eight

  Galina

  I curled my fingers around the edge of the newspaper, trying to stop my hands from shaking, but it was a losing battle. The black-and-white picture and headline started to run together the longer I stared at them. It was as if what I was looking at mocked me, reminding me that my life had never been easy, that I’d never get the happily ever after I’d read about in books.

  Michael Boyd. Thirty-nine years old. Convicted sexual assault and rape felon. Multiple drug counts. Two probation violations. Details not being released as of now, but homicide is being looked into.

  The picture I currently looked at was the same drunk who’d accosted me in the alley. It was a mug shot, one where he looked just as deranged as he had every time I’d seen him in the diner. I closed my eyes and breathed out slowly as memories of that night in the alley played back. With it only being a couple of days since the attack, it was still very fresh, but all my life, I’d learned how to bury those feelings, that fear and anxiousness, the heavy weight that could make you suffocate.

  “It’s crazy, right?”

  I opened my eyes and blinked a few times to look at Laura, who stood beside me. She was staring at the newspaper, her brows pulled low.

  “Crazy?” Was she talking about the fact that it was a murder so close, or because she recognized him? I knew she’d seen him harass me. It was hard to miss when he was loud and obnoxious and didn’t exactly hide that he was an asshole whenever he’d come in.

  She tipped her chin toward the paper. “That’s the same asshole who came in here and was a prick to you. I remember what a bastard he was. I can’t say he didn’t get what he deserved.” She pointed to the charges he’d been convicted of.

  “Yeah,” I said softly and folded the paper up before shoving it under the counter. I didn't want to look at it anymore. Laura blinked a few times as if pulling herself out of her own thoughts.

  “I really hate this fucking city most days.”

  I snorted. “Most days?”

  She gave me a tight nod. “Ninety-nine percent of the time, okay.”

  I laughed softly. I’d only been here a couple of months, and I despised everything Desolation stood for. The only positive thing about this hell was that it helped keep me hidden.

  “Anyway,” she said. “Good riddance.”

  I couldn’t help but smile warily. I was tired, just really damn tired. I wanted to save up as much as I could so I could move to a better place, a place where I’d reinvent myself, a place where the past wasn’t always chasing me.

  But that seemed like such a pipe dream and not at all realistic. The truth was I’d probably be dead before my twenty-fifth birthday, and that was being optimistic.

  “So…”

  The way she paused made me think she was hesitant to ask me whatever was on her mind.

  “Total subject shift, but you want to make a little—easy—extra money?”

  My interest was instantly piqued, as if she’d read my mind on needing money to get out of here. But my hesitance had risen instantly. Earning money was never easy.

  “You wouldn’t have to do anything illegal, nothing depraved or that goes against your moral compass.” She laughed a little, but it wasn’t forced.

  “I’m listening,” I said slowly, cautiously.

  “So I waitress at this bar sometimes, and they’re looking for a couple of extra hands.” When I didn’t say anything, she continued, “It’s that Russian bar called Sdat'sya.” I shrugged, never having heard of it. “They are short-staffed, and it’s basically just serving drinks to a bunch of old, rich, Russian businessmen.”

  Old, rich, and businessmen all in the same sentence would always have warning bells going off.

  “The tips are incredible, especially the drunker they get,” she teased. “One time I made over five hundred in just a night.”

  I would’ve said no right away, simply because a lot of red flags shot up when I thought about going to some obscure bar and serving drinks to old, rich men. But the money aspect had me not declining right away. “So what’s the catch?”

  She grimaced. “Sometimes, they can get a little handsy. But they have staff—bouncers, I guess—who have always made sure nothing gets out of hand. Not unless you want to make a little extra money.” She lifted her eyebrows.

  Sex for money was what she implied. I slowly shook my head. “I’m not a prostitute, Laura.”

  She shook her head. “Neither am I. I’m just saying that's some of the stuff you could see—exchanging of money and… yeah, all that.”

  Now it was my turn to grimace at the thought of crusty old men trying to cop a feel or worse, thinking I’d put out.

  “I don’t want to pressure you, but I know you need the money just like me.” At my no doubt surprised look, she snorted and shook her head. “Come on, you don’t have to actually tell me you need money for me to know. You live in Desolation. Enough said.”

  True enough. Although she’d mentioned at one point the possibility of us living together, I didn’t know what my future held. And with Henry and his thugs no doubt coming after me at some point, I didn’t want Laura thrown in that mix and dragged down.

  I couldn’t deny it. She was right, of course. But I had to weigh the pros and cons of putting myself in a position where things could escalate and worsen.

  “I just wanted to offer it to you. We are there to serve drinks, not give handjobs… not unless you want,” she said on a laugh, and I couldn’t help the way my lips twitched in amusement.

  A little sliver of reality interjected itself into my thoughts because I knew I couldn’t afford to pass up an opportunity like this. I never got chances to supplement my income. And to be honest, any extra income was better than nothing. I’d be closer to leaving Desolation. And maybe if I did a good enough job, they’d let me work other nights there.

  “Okay,” I said, and she grinned wider. “I don’t have anything nice to wear though.”

  She waved off my words. “No worries. They keep a wardrobe, because they prefer the waitresses to wear certain things to keep up with the aesthetics of the place.”

  I was feeling a little less sure about this. What kind of place was this where they had expendable clothing all because they wanted to keep up appearances? I understood uniforms, but I doubted this place gave everyone the same drab apparel, especially if they catered to rich and powerful men.

  I should’ve just assumed the night in question would probably end up coming back to bite me in the ass. That’s usually how the events in my life went. But beggars couldn’t be choosers.

  And I was absolutely a beggar at this point.

  I’d left work twenty minutes ago, making quick time as I walked the dark, septic streets of Desolation. I’d been convinced someone would attack again, but fortunately aside from a few catcalls, I was left relatively alone.

  Once I was inside my apartment building, I still didn’t let go of my canister of pepper spray. The sun would be rising soon, my feet ached, and my head hurt, but I couldn’t wholly complain. I’d made decent tips and even snagged some food from the diner so I wouldn’t go to bed hungry and wouldn’t have to stop at the convenience store for some prepackaged shit. And I had a job lined up that would—hopefully—make me some decent money.

  I started taking the narrow, trash-laden stairs, the scent of stale cigarette smoke, old liquor, and the remnants of what was probably piss and vomit lingering in the air. I could hear the heavy bass of rap music playing from one of the apartments on an upper level. A couple was fighting loudly, and in another, there was the sound of glass breaking—normalcy in this building.

  Once I got to the landing of the floor my apartment was on, I took a moment to catch my breath before I made my way to my front door.

  I rounded the corner, and my steps faltered slightly when I saw my neighbor leaning against the interior frame of his door. A cloud of smoke filled his apartment and spilled out into the hallway, a dirty haze that made my vision slightly fuzzy. He brought his cigarette to his lips and took a long drag from it as he stared at me, the small cloud of smoke leaving his mouth as he exhaled.

  He wore a stained, what was once probably white T-shirt, dark pit stains under the arms, a brown ring painting the collar, and a slight gut protruding from underneath the otherwise stretched material. His jeans looked like they hadn’t been washed since he got them, and his feet were bare, his toenails too long and too yellow. And the entire time he had his focus latched on to me like a damn leech, refusing to let go.

  I averted my gaze quickly and stopped at my door, fumbling with my key for a second before I pushed it into the lock and opened the door. I shut it behind me, turned the deadbolt, and slipped the chain lock in place, then leaned against it.

  The domestic shouting sounded louder and right down the hall, and I closed my eyes and thought about what it would be like to be someone else.

  But fantasies weren’t real. They were fine when you thought you could escape, but once reality slammed back in, that pain was even stronger than before.

  Chapter

  Nine

  Galina

  The cab pulled to a stop in front of the bar where Laura had told me to meet her. She’d said to be here at ten, which might have seemed late as hell to start a shift, but when you were in the city, it was when the darkness really settled in that life started to come alive.

  “We’re here,” the cab driver said in a thick Eastern European accent. I handed him the amount it cost for the trip, an expense I normally wouldn’t have spent, given the fact that I was trying to save up, but I wasn’t about to hike it across town at this hour. Going a few blocks from Sal’s to my apartment was one thing. Walking to this bar would have been suicide.