Valon: What Once Was (Volkov Bratva Novella)(9)

His pants pooled at his ankles, Bastian was thrusting into a girl—different from the first Valon had seen, but around the same age—whose face was turned in his direction. At first, he’d thought he had been caught from the way she stared, but soon he realized she wasn’t truly seeing him, or anything at all, since her eyes seemed to lack focus. No matter how Bastian shoved into her or palmed the back of her head as he yanked on the dark strands of hair that looked nearly matted, she didn’t react. With his weight on top of her, Valon didn’t even know if she was alive, and that thought made him lurch back, slipping on the smooth wood outside the door. He slammed back into the wall, making enough noise that Bastian heard him.

Valon knew better than to try to run, but the idea of Bastian catching him made fear sink into his heart. He scrambled to his feet, trying to reach the door before Bastian came out, but he wasn’t fast enough.

“Stop!”

Valon was already apologizing before Bastian had even stormed over to him, his pants still unbuttoned, not seemingly to care that his junk was still on display. Now holding a revolver that made Valon’s breath quicken, his fury was evident.

“What the f*ck are you doing? Spying on me?” His eyes narrowed on Valon. Either he didn’t care about the blanket he held or he just didn’t notice because he asked, “Or do you want to take that bitch’s place?”

“No, sir!” Valon vehemently denied, but Bastian ignored his words as he grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and dragged him into the room.

The girl was slumped over on the floor, her eyes at half-mast now, but she still didn’t move at their entry.

Valon was still a lanky boy and had yet to grow to the size his father was. Despite this, he refused to just stand there and let Bastian do to him what he’d done to the girl.

So, he did the one thing his father had always wanted from him.

He fought back.

When Bastian made to grab him again, Valon shoved away, trying to dart around him, but what Bastian lacked in speed, he made up for in size. With one swift grab, he had Valon by the neck, his meaty paw squeezing tightly. He shoved him onto the desk, and no matter how he fought, he couldn’t get free.

An age-old promise to himself flared to life in his mind, that so long as he lived, he would never beg another person for anything again. Valon often remembered the look of smug satisfaction in Ahmeti’s eyes whenever Valon begged for his mother. He didn’t want to give anyone else that kind of power over him. He never wanted to be brought that low, but as he was faced with what was about to happen, the plea was at the tip of his tongue.

“Shh,” Bastian said from above him, his breath reeking of stale alcohol. “It’s won’t hurt for long.” With one hand, he still held Valon in place, and with the other, he was trying to get Valon’s shorts down. “If it makes it any easier, then I’ll go slow.”

Tears sprang to life in Valon’s eyes, and just as he was about to break the promise he’d made to himself when the door was flung open, and Gjarper stood on the other side of it. Bastian released him, jerking his pants up in a hurry. He had never seemed to care about his blatant displays with the girls, but now that it was Valon, he face looked like he was caught doing something wrong.

Gjarper’s gaze went to Valon then to Bastian, and for just a second, his disgust was clear for anyone to see, but he masked it quick enough.

Bastian, who was quickly turning red in the face, fired off a quick explanation. “I caught this little shit trying to steal from me! After everything I’ve done for him when his pathetic excuse for a father killed himself. From now on, I want him in the Pit.”

Valon’s face blanched as those words hung in the air. If he feared one place, then it was that ring of despair. He’d seen men die there from just a single punch. Having never truly been in a fight, he didn’t think he would survive a night. Gjarper, who didn’t look moved in the slightest by the fear now in Valon’s face, gave a single nod, gesturing for Valon to walk ahead of him as they both left.

The entire way back to the barn, Valon was shaking but still didn’t cry. His blanket, the one he’d felt he’d needed was left forgotten, still on the floor back in that office.

As Gjarper readied to leave, he faced Valon, gaze solemn. “Learn to survive, boy. Or at least die trying.”





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5




Spectators stood around the gate, spittle raining from their mouths as they cheered on the bloody battle on the other side, two fighters trying their best to survive the night. Even when blood sprayed, the smell of copper scenting the air, no one minded. They thrived on the gore.

And yet, Valon couldn’t hear any of it, the blood rushing in his ears too loud. Fear had taken hold of him since he’d returned to the barn, and after a fitful night of sleep, spent mostly imagining the horrors he would face in the Pit, he was exhausted. But with the adrenaline coursing through him, at this moment, he couldn’t sleep even if he tried.

With a hand on his shoulder, Gjarper led him through the crowds, his hulking presence giving them easy passage. He hadn’t spoken a word to him since his ominous warning the night before, but from his expression, Valon didn’t think that he was any happier about this than he was.

But that could have just been wishful thinking on his part.