“I’m tired,” Autumn whined. She sat on the ground of the training arena at my feet, drawing idly in the sand with her finger.
I sighed, irritated. “You’re supposed to be watching the other fighters.”
“I am.” She was still doodling.
“No. You’re not. You’re fucking drawing in the sand, not even looking at the others.”
“If you must know, Your Royal Grouchiness, I’m using my peripherals.”
I ground my teeth together. Despite the fact that we’d somewhat connected the night before, sharing a moment together that neither one of us had wanted to acknowledge, we still argued like crazy because there was nothing else to fucking do. It was like some kind of fucked up source of entertainment. The back and forth. The push and pull. It was oddly addicting—something that had come as quite a shock to me, to be honest.
Her past resonated with me, and I could understand how she would have felt in that moment, knowing the two people who were meant to love and protect her ended up throwing her to the wolves instead.
My father, my mother, my brother; they’d all betrayed me in some way. Let me down. Fucked me over. And if given the opportunity, I would kill them, too.
Well, maybe not my mother.
Deciding the best thing to do would be to ignore the infuriating woman before me, I ran my eyes around the room again, taking note of everything. I didn’t want to spend too much time thinking about our conversation from the night before. So we had a few things in common. So we’d connected. So we’d shared some kind of moment together. It didn’t mean fuck all. She still pissed me off just by breathing.
It was pretty much the same as the day before. Majority of the pairs practising, training while the others were curled up in the corners of the room, their arms wrapped around their knees, rocking back and forth, sobbing.
In retrospect, I understood. The entire thing would be a lot for normal, everyday people to deal with. Criminals like myself? Well, we had a slight advantage. We didn’t have that pesky little voice inside our heads, telling us it was wrong to murder.
That was how I knew who the biggest threats in this game were.
I’d been listening to conversations not only there but in the cells as well, so I knew almost all the prisoners by name.
Roger Ward, Harrison Sheln, Oliva Nulan, Marcus Hook, and Pearl Verish were the ones to watch out for. One look at them was all I needed to see they held little to no mercy. That they had no problem doing whatever they needed to survive. An all too familiar darkness lay deep in the depths of their eyes. One I recognised within myself.
“Three o’clock,” Autumn whispered without raising her head, her finger drawing small circles in the sand.
I casually glanced in the direction she so subtly indicated. One of the male prisoners was making his way towards us. Scratch that. Towards Autumn.
My spine snapped straight, eyes narrowing. I recognised that look. That hungry flare in his eyes. There was one thing and one thing only on his mind.
Anger burnt in my veins, hot and unrelenting. He didn’t pay me any fucking attention. It was like I was invisible. Like I wasn’t even there. Like none of us were there. The way he was looking at Autumn, undressing her with his eyes… I wanted to rip his fucking throat out.
“Hey.” She glanced up at the man’s greeting. “I’m Mac.”
Autumn smiled. She fucking smiled. Why had she smiled at him? He’d barely fucking said anything.
“Hi Mac, I’m Autumn.”
“A beautiful name for a beautiful woman.”
I rolled my eyes. That was a line if I’d ever heard one.
Autumn laid a hand on her chest, drawing Mac’s gaze right to her breasts. “Oh, thank you,” she gushed.
“I’m going to cut right to the chase. We’re all probably going to die within the next few days. Wanna bang one out?” Classy. Real fucking classy. “You know, one last fuck before it all ends?” he smirked, giving her his best “come hither” look.
Autumn arched an eyebrow. “Very forward of you, Mac.”
She didn’t say no. Why didn’t she say no?
He shrugged. “What can I say? Imminent death tends to remove any shred of embarrassment from a person’s mind.” He ran his tongue over his bottom lip suggestively, and I wanted to cut it out of his mouth. “So? What do you say? You’re hot. I’m hot. Wanna fuck?”
One side of Autumn’s lips hiked up into an amused smirk. She opened her mouth.
An emotion I hadn’t felt in over a decade barrelled through me with such force that it made me take an involuntary step forward. “No, she doesn’t,” I growled.
Surprise flitted through me next. Followed by anger. Why? Why had I said that? Why did I react that way? Why did I give a fuck what Autumn did? Or, more specifically, who Autumn did?
I shouldn’t have. I shouldn’t have given a shit.
And yet, I did.
I hated her. She was rude. Obnoxious. Self-centered. Annoying.
There was also something about her that excited me. Made my heart race. Made my skin buzz. The extremely territorial being I was didn’t like the idea of another man making a move on her. She was my partner in the games. Mine to torment. Mine to fuck with, and eventually, mine to kill.
Autumn spun her head around to face me, her eyes glaring daggers at me.
Mac finally decided to acknowledge my presence, his brows raised in surprise. “I didn’t realise you were already spoken for.”
“I’m not,” Autumn snapped, jumping to her feet. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Butcher?” she hissed, moving closer to me.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, woman?” I hissed back angrily, scowling down at her. “He’s the enemy, in case you forgot. Our competition. You don’t fuck the competition.”
“Who I fuck is none of your goddamn business.” She went to turn around to go back to Mac, and I gripped her arm, stopping her.
“As you so eloquently stated previously, our fates are firmly tied together. That means your fuck ups are my fuck ups. I don’t want to risk you getting some kind of soft spot for him in the middle of that arena and hesitating to do what needs to be done,” I spat. “It could cost me my life.”
Yes. That was it. It wasn’t because I was jealous. Because I definitely wasn’t. It was just because I didn’t want her putting me at risk. That made a lot more sense.
Amusement twinkled in those bewitching green eyes. “You don’t need to worry about that. I’ve got no problem killing a man I’ve fucked. I’ve done it before.”
“That’s great. You’re a praying mantis,” I replied dryly. “Thing is, I don’t care. You don’t fraternise with your enemy. That’s common fucking knowledge. If you’re too stupid to realise that, you deserve to get killed in that arena.”
Her brows slammed down into an angry frown. She flitted her gaze between me and Mac, then smiled. It was a victorious smile. As if she’d just won some kind of long fought battle. “Fine. I won’t fuck him, but you need to give me something in return.”
My body zinged to life. Heat flared in my eyes. Involuntarily, my gaze moved to her lips. She can’t possibly mean—
Her smile widened. “That’s not what I meant, but good to know where your head’s at.”
Anger was quick to replace the burning lust running through my veins. “Whatever you’re thinking is wrong,” I hissed. “I wouldn’t touch you if you were the last woman on Earth. Even then, it would be a fucking chore.”
She tutted. “Lying is bad for the soul, Butcher.”
“I don’t have a soul.”
“I won’t disagree with you on that. What I was going to say was, you’ll owe me one.”
I frowned. “Owe you one what?”
She shrugged a shoulder casually. “Anything. A favour from the Bratva Butcher could come in handy one day.”
My eyes narrowed in skepticism. It seemed like an easy enough bargain, especially when I considered the fact that we were most likely not going to get out of there alive. There was a very good chance I’d never have to make good on that favour.
“Fine,” I agreed. “But you need to stay away from all the other prisoners. We’re not here to make friends. We’re here to kill each other. And if you compromise me, I’ll end your life in a fucking heartbeat. Got it?”
She cocked her head to the side and ran her eyes down my body, then up again slowly until she landed on my face. She took a step forward, bringing herself completely into my space.
I had to remember how to breathe. What the fuck was going on with me? How was she affecting me that way? I didn’t understand it. Didn’t understand this powerful pull I had to look at her fucking lips again.
I kept my eyes locked with hers. It took every ounce of willpower I possessed.
She leant forward, rising up onto her tippy toes so she could whisper in my ear, “Not if I end yours first.”
Why the fuck does that excite me?
It was eerily quiet with everyone asleep. A short while after dinner was served, the lights went out, encasing the room in darkness. Almost everyone got the message, going straight to sleep. Only a few remained awake: myself, a blonde woman in the far cell, who was sobbing quietly, and a short, dark-haired man doing push-ups.
Autumn had the right idea. She was sleeping, gathering her strength, but there was something keeping me awake.
No—someone.
Yekaterina.
She was there, looking as regal as she always did. However, this time, something had changed. I knew she couldn’t possibly be there. She was dead. I’d come to terms with that a long time ago. But never in the ten years since I’d been sporadically hallucinating her had she ever said a word. She’d just stood there. Sometimes she’d smile. Sometimes she’d just stare. I quickly figured out there was almost a pattern to when she’d appear.
She tended to show up at moments when I needed her the most. Like a guardian angel. Those moments when I was in dark, volatile places, barely clinging onto my humanity. Or moments when I desperately needed her advice. Her guidance. Her support.
The first time had been at her funeral. She’d appeared out of thin air, hovering above her coffin. There was this ghostly, ethereal glow surrounding her. She was hauntingly beautiful, with this sad, almost remorseful look on her face.
At the time, that rational side of my brain—the part to tell me she couldn’t possibly be real—wasn’t working. I was far too overcome with grief and pain. All I saw was her, right there, within my reach. I leapt onto the coffin and pried it open with my bare hands, certain she was alive. In there. That she needed me to save her.
Chaos had ensued. There had been screaming, crying. My sons had tried to restrain me, but I’d refused to stop. In the end, I had to be sedated.
The next time was when Illayana was fourteen. She’d just gotten her first period, something Yekaterina and I had discussed before. We’d decided when the time came, she would handle it, just as I had handled the sex talks with the boys when they became of age.
I’d tried to fill Yekaterina’s place, but Illayana refused to talk to me. She locked herself in the bathroom, and wouldn’t come out for anything or anyone. Desperation had filled me. I’d struggled to find the right words to support and comfort her.
Suddenly, Yekaterina appeared, looking exactly the same as she had the first time. I’d always questioned whether or not I had truly seen her that day. So, when she appeared again, I knew it hadn’t been a dream like my brain had been trying to rationalise.
Whether it was real or not, I’d seen her.
She didn’t speak, no matter how much I tried to get her to. She just stood in my office, her presence providing comfort regardless of the fact that she wasn’t saying a word.
That was when it clicked in my head. That was all Illayana needed. For me to be there, like Yekaterina would have been.
So, I sat outside that bathroom door for over seven hours, waiting for her to come out. When she eventually did, her eyes were red and glassy. She’d told me she missed her mother, and then hugged me.
Over the years, I’d seen Yekaterina a total of twelve times, and this was the first time she’d ever spoken a word.
“I like her.”
She was referring to Autumn. Those three words had shocked me so much that, for the first time in my life, I’d been completely speechless. Not only was I hallucinating my dead wife, but now she was talking to me? A figment of my imagination was talking to me.
It’s finally happened. I’ve finally gone insane, I thought.
“You haven’t gone insane,” she’d replied.
That had been—what I guessed—several hours ago, and she was still there. Yekaterina was still there.
“You’ve got to speak to me eventually.” Her ghostly image hovered a few feet away from me, her pale and translucent skin a clear indicator she wasn’t alive, just in case I needed the reminder.
Her hair was as dark as night, running freely down her back, and she was wearing what she always wore when I hallucinated her: the last outfit I had seen her in alive. A black dress with lace running all the way down the sleeves. Around her neck was the necklace I’d gotten her for our ten-year anniversary—the one I’d given to Illayana when she left for New York.
Yekaterina was absolutely beautiful, and every part of me ached to hold her.
“You’re not real. You’re not real.” I didn’t bother whispering. I didn’t give a fuck if the other prisoners overheard me and thought I was crazy for talking to myself.
I was crazy.
“Of course I’m not real,” she laughed playfully.
I closed my eyes, savouring the sound. I never thought I’d hear it again.
“That last blow to the head from your cellmate over there did it in.”
I touched my forehead. I winced at the contact, pain lancing through me. Autumn had managed to get me in the side of the head with one of her kicks during our last training session. I’d tried the best I could to patch it up with what was available to me, which was just toilet paper.
“That bad, huh?”
“Yes and no,” she smiled. “In truth, I’m here because there’s something you won’t admit to yourself. Something you refuse to acknowledge. Something you’re keeping so deeply buried that your subconscious has decided it needs to step in and make you open your eyes.”
I frowned. “That is…absolutely absurd.”
“The brain is the most complex organ in the human body, Dima.”
I sucked in a sharp, painful breath. Nobody had called me that in ten years.
“We still don’t entirely understand it, or what it’s capable of, despite centuries of research. How else do you explain me standing here in front of you?”
Simple.
“I’ve. Gone. Insane,” I enunciated slowly.
She laughed again. Shivers danced down my spine. If it wasn’t for that ethereal glow surrounding her, I could have sworn she was right there with me.
“Maybe you have. Maybe you haven’t. I suppose we’ll never really know, will we?”
My dead wife standing in front of me having a conversation with me was all the proof I needed.
Despite knowing the harsh truth—that she wasn’t truly there, that she was nothing more than a figment of my imagination—my heart still pounded in my chest at the sight of her.
Who cared if she wasn’t real? I could see her. I could talk to her. I didn’t care that she was clearly a hallucination from my crazy, deranged mind.
Seeing her, delusion or not, was better than not seeing her at all. I would happily take any moment in her presence, even if it meant I had to give myself a concussion every time to achieve it.
She gave me a small smile, eyes sparkling with sadness.
“I’m not her. Not really.”
I knew that, and I didn’t give a fuck.
“Besides, the moment you finally acknowledge what you’re trying so desperately to avoid, I’ll disappear, and you’ll finally be able to move on.”
Anger and panic lashed through me, rocketing me to my feet. “I will never move on,” I snarled.
“Okay, that’s it!” Autumn screeched, flinging herself up in her cot. My gaze darted to her at her outburst. When I moved them back to where Yekaterina had been standing, there was nothing there but empty air.
She was gone.
“You must be unaware, so let me give you a quick lesson in prisoner etiquette 101.” Autumn had a hell of a lot of nerve talking to me about prisoner etiquette. Bitch never shut the fuck up. “When you’re stuck in a room with a bunch of other people who are all trying to sleep, keep your fucking trap shut,” she hissed. Her green eyes were on fire, her red hair in a big tangled mess, sticking up haphazardly in every direction. The image of Doc Brown from Back to the Future flashed through my mind. The resemblance was so close, I barely managed to hold back my snicker.
Without saying another word—or giving me a chance to say a word back, for that matter—she laid back down with a growl, her back to me, and flung the blanket over her head so she was completely hidden underneath it.
And that was it.
There was no mention of the fact that I’d been talking to myself. No odd or weird looks. Absolutely nothing to indicate what she’d just witnessed was strange or out of the ordinary.
I glanced around the cell one final time, hoping to catch just one more glimpse, one more second of my Yekaterina, but she didn’t return.
