They kept chanting one thing over and over again.
Razoreniye.
I was halfway down the steps before I realized I moved. I was focused on the wave of people moving back-and-forth, arms up in the air, hand curled into fists as they pumped the air, shouting for Razoreniye.
Razoreniye. Razoreniye. Razoreniye.
When I got to the bottom of the stairs I only had a few feet in front of me before the crush of bodies would swallow me whole. And as much as I wanted to get closer to the cage, a dark and rested curiosity filling me, I also wasn’t foolish.
If I fell I’d get trampled on, nothing but debris under all those shoes.
With each passing second I could hear the shouts growing louder. I could feel the energy rising in the cavernous room. God, this place was huge. All exposed rock walls as if they’d been dug out and just left to their own natural severity. The flooring was standard gray cement, the ceiling a highway of red beams, wires, and caged fluorescent lighting.
And then there was the cage, a massive structure that seemed to dominate the space. I rose on my toes to see if I could get a better look. I caught glimpses of rusty colored smears on what was probably a once white cage mat.
Razoreniye. Razoreniye. Razoreniye.
The name was shouted over and over again, ringing in my ears.
Whatever was going to happen was going to happen soon
Whoever—whatever—they were shouting for was about to make itself known.
I kept to the farthest back wall, but my focus was on the cage. And with each passing second the crowd seemed to get even more frantic, as if whatever was about to happen was what they’d come here for.
I was at the corner of the room when I stopped, rising up on my toes and getting a good vantage point of the cage. An announcer started saying something overhead but the crowd wouldn't be quiet enough for me to understand or hear clearly. And then a second later the crowd erupted in shouts and roars, and I swear the entire interior of the room was shaking, the walls threatening to crumble from the force itself
I couldn’t see anything, not with as many people as there were, not with how short I was. I contemplated moving further up when I saw the top of a dark head, and broad, bare tattooed shoulders.
The crowd calmed slightly when the announcer started speaking again, when the beast of the man climbed into the ring.
“The one. The fucking only. Razoreniye is in the motherfucking ring to destroyyy.”
Skull splitting noise so that I had to cover my ears.
“I know we have some newbies in the crowd tonight. Get ready, you sick bastards, to watch the man they call Ruin, a Russian killing machine who is a certified sociopath.”
The crowd erupted in excitement after that.
And then I saw him, a hulking beast of a man who made Nikolai seem almost… soft in comparison. And it was because as I looked into his face I saw absolute nothing.
Nothing but focus, concentration, and a very clear need for the ruin his namesake was derived from.
The entire front of his chest was covered by a massive wolf’s head, a snarling beast with death in its eyes and blood on his snout. His body was covered with Bratva insignia tattooed on his scarred, tanned flesh.
I was frozen in place as I watched his opponent enter the cage, a man not nearly as tall or muscular, but still beefy, his hands like anvils, his bald head covered in swirling ink.
I didn’t know how long I stood there after they started fighting, but as blood and spittle painted the mat, as punches were thrown, flesh bitten out, cracks of bones being broken, and screams and roars of pain and violence, I knew I’d made a mistake.
A terrible mistake. I should have listened to Nikolai. I shouldn’t have come here, shouldn’t have inserted myself where I didn’t belong.
I was backing up, one hand held out behind me until I touched the cold wall. I curled my fingers around the straps of my shoes in my other hand, tightening them so hard around the delicate leather my knuckles ached.
I didn’t take my focus off the cage until I’d moved ten feet or so, not relying I’d walked so far into this underground coffin. And that's what this place was. A home for death.
I was about to turn and run back up to the main level and barricade myself in the office. But when I spotted Nikolai standing off to the side of the cage, his dark head bent low as someone said something in his ear, a thick yellow envelope being passed to him, I was once again rooted to the spot.
Although Nikolai stood still, a scowl on his face, not doing anything threatening, he exuded power and strength, dominance and severity in whoever went up against him.
The crowd roared and I snapped my focus to the cage, saw Razoreniye tackle the other fighter to the ground and start throwing his fist against the side of his head. Blood sprayed everywhere, and when I glanced back at Nikolai, I watched as he stared at the cage, a splatter of blood on his cheek.
He ran a finger over that blood , a slow grin covering his face as if he got off on the violence. I clenched my thighs again as a wave of heat slammed into me.
And then it’s over, the fight finished, Razoreniye climbing off his unmoving opponent, his chest pumping up and down, sweat and blood dripping off his body. And I didn’t think the latter was his. Not a drop.
Razoreniye walked to the edge of the cage and curled his hands around the fencing, his biceps flexing as he strained against it. Nikolai stepped forward and I could see his mouth moving, see the other man nod once. I found myself taking a step forward, some unseen force pulling me toward my husband.
But before I could move, a heavy arm wrapped itself around my waist and yanked me back so hard my head snapped back on my neck, my shoes fell from my fingertips, and I cried out in pain.
I instinctively reached for the arm, clawing at it, trying to get it off of me, but the grip was like iron, vice-like. And the harder I fought, the more I was dragged away into darker parts.
A grunt sounded when I raked my nails down the forearm, a low laugh as I was pulled deeper into the shadows.
A string of gruff Russian words were said behind me, followed by a response from a second man I hadn’t known was there. More laughing, more pulling me further from the crowd until I was tossed aside and fell to my knees.
Another harsh cry left me as my palms and knees connected with the unforgiving cement. They started laughing and speaking in Russian again, and I quickly pulled myself off the ground and faced them, keeping them both in my line of sight.
They’d pulled me into some alcove. I could see the lights from the main room pouring into the opening. I could hear the shouts and roars from the crowd, but they blocked the entrance, and trying to move past them wasn’t going to be successful.
“You’re making a mistake,” I said with more conviction than I thought I could muster. I opened my mouth to tell them Nikolai was my husband, using my husband’s status and power to put the fear of god—and the Bratva—in them.
But before I could utter another word one of them came at me, hand wrapped around my throat, and used his strength to push me back against the wall.
He said something low and deep and no doubt disgusting. When he leaned in closer I turned my head and started fighting him again.
I managed to lift my leg and knee him in the groin, and was satisfied when a grunt of pain left him. He growled something nasty abasing the side of my face, and I braced for the hit that would surely come, but a rough grunt and groan in the corridor had both of us tensing.