Riot by Tillie Cole
I had nothing to say in response. 152 glanced away to stare at the far wall. “You are the Arziani Pit Bull. You are feared. But to me, you are safety.”
A low growl slipped from my throat at her words. Yet again the unknown feeling settled within my heart, chasing away the heat. I tried to look away from this mona, curling against the wall, but I couldn’t. She had me trapped.
A cold snap of air drifted through the cell, slapping against my wounds. Hissing at the feel of the breeze on my torn and exposed flesh, I glanced down at my open sores and picked up the needle. I tried to angle my body so I could sew up this wound, but no matter how I positioned myself, I couldn’t reach.
“Fuck,” I spat, about to rip the damn thing from my arm, when I felt a small, soft hand cover the back of my own. I looked up. 152 was kneeling before me. Her blue eyes were huge as she nervously looked down at me.
Her hand jumped as it lay over mine, and I felt her fingers shaking. Her face was flushed. Inhaling deep, and with a strength I would never have imagined, she took the needle from my hand and held it in hers. Wordlessly, she moved around where I sat. Sitting on the floor, she leaned in to my wound and commenced threading the needle through my skin. I watched her hands as she worked quickly and gently. When I moved my eyes to her face, my heat rose.
She wasn’t a whore. And I felt my stomach cramp when I thought of her being Master’s. She wasn’t his. He didn’t deserve her.
The feel of warm water trickled over my arm. 152 was cleaning the wound she had been working on, the wound that she had now sewn shut. Her touch was so light it felt like it almost wasn’t there.
Without looking up, she moved to the wound on my shoulder and began to work. I couldn’t speak as I watched her. My pulse was thundering in my ears, my blood was rushing through my heart at a rapid speed. I had never been this way with a female. This close. Feeling these strange things. The idea had repulsed me. Nothing about this was repulsive.
As 152 reached the halfway point on my wound, her bottom lip began to tremble. I didn’t know why, but it made me suddenly feel cold. When a tear trickled down her cheek only to splash on her arm, I reached for her arm and stilled her hand with my wrist.
I wanted her to look at me. When she finally did, she whispered, “I do not like that you are this wounded.” She lifted her hand to her chest. “It pains me in here that you are hurt.” She blinked, her long dark lashes brushing her upper cheek. “That you are hurt because of me.” She turned her head away. “I made you weak, after all. Your greatest fear realized.”
I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t like to see her cry. My hand clenched and unclenched. I raised my hand, fighting against my instinct to stop, and placed it on her cheek. 152 froze under my touch.
I went to pull it away, feeling too much pain at the fact that she didn’t want my hand on her skin. But as my arm dropped, she quickly lifted her hand and laid it over mine. She was keeping it in place.
I breathed, and she breathed in unison as we stayed still in the moment. When her eyes met mine, she said, “I was the cause of your fall. I am a whore and made you submit.”
Clearing my throat, I rasped, “You’re more than a whore. You’re more than a mona.” I shook my head. “We all are. All of us slaves.”
“Slaves?” she questioned, her pretty face screwed up in confusion.
“The monebi, warriors, chiri. All of us are under Master’s control.”
She nodded at my words, but I could see she still didn’t understand.
“We are alike,” she said finally, and my heart melted when a small smile pulled on her lips. A smile. Something I had rarely seen given so freely.
“Yes,” I whispered in response.
“His champion and his whore.” This time her voice shook with sadness. “Not free.”
Not free.
152 sighed, and with her eyes narrowed, she continued, “I … I think I would like to be free.” Her hand slipped from her chest and lay over mine. My skin jumped at her touch. “Would you?” she questioned. “Would you wish to be free, too?”
I thought about what she had asked me. I had never wished for freedom before. I never believed I would get it. Never wanted it. “901?” she pushed. Something about her calling me by my number caused annoyance to spike in my blood. 152’s hand drifted slightly to my tattoo, and she asked, “Would you?”
Using my free hand, this time I laid it over hers on my chest. Her full lips parted slightly and she sucked in a gasp. “What is your name?” I asked, and saw her cheeks pale.
“My name?” I watched her as she thought hard. When her shoulders slumped, I knew she had not found an answer. “I can’t remember,” she said quietly. “I don’t know my name.”
“Neither do I,” I replied. “I know I’m Russian and I think I’m age around twenty-four.”
She flicked up her head and said excitedly, “I’m twenty-one.”
As I looked up at her slightly smiling mouth, the wall lamp on the far wall haloing her head, she looked perfect.
“Near my age.”
Her cheeks burst with redness and she ducked her eyes. When she looked back up, her face had become serious once more. Her gaze wandered to take in my cuts, slashes, and bruises. “You saved me,” she whispered. “You saved me from death.”
My teeth ground together at the relief in her tone. “I couldn’t do anything else. I saw you in that guard’s hands.” I paused to raise my head and run my fingertip over the faint knife mark on her throat. “I saw his knife and the mark it had created. I saw in Master’s eyes that he would order your throat to be slit.” I stilled, then on a sigh, admitted, “I couldn’t let it happen.” I tapped the spot over my heart again. “In here. It hurt too much in here.”
152 didn’t react to what I had said. She didn’t move. For a minute I believed she had sincerely wanted me to let her die. Then she shifted her knees closer to mine and, leaning forward, pressed her lips to my forehead. My breathing came quick and fast.
Her unique scent drifted up my nose. Filling my lungs, I had to force my hands not to reach up and pull her closer to me. When 152 moved back, I instead ran my finger down her face and said, “You are beautiful.”
Her eyes widened, as if she could not believe those words had come from my mouth. When my eyebrows dragged down in confusion, she revealed, “I didn’t think you liked me. I didn’t think I appealed to you.”
I reared back in shock, my shoulders hitting the cold wall behind me. My hand fell to the floor. 152 shifted closer and implored me to answer with her blue stare.
Fighting against my instinct to push her away, I replied, “I want you. I … like you. Too much. I wish I did not.”
A small gasp left her mouth. Reaching down, she picked up my hand in hers. I watched, rapt, as she brought it to her mouth and pressed three long kisses to my broken skin. I sucked in a sharp breath, waiting for what she would do next.
She lowered our joined hands until they had fallen to her knees. She said, “I want you, too. I like you, too. Very much.”
With those spoken words, I knew something within me had broken. I could feel the wall around my heart crumble. And I also knew that there would be no more hiding, no more fooling myself that I could be unaffected by her.
My want for her was as real as any match I had ever fought. It was as dangerous, too. 140 was right. Master had me exactly where he wanted me. His plan had worked perfectly. It should have fueled my constant rage. Instead it filled me with light.
Her eyes fluttered to stare at me, and she said, “And I also think you are beautiful.” The blush from her cheeks spread to her neck and down over her chest. “I am not sure if a female declares that to a male, but I think it nonetheless.”
152 picked up the needle and thread from the floor. She tried to pull our joined hands apart, but I held on. She looked up at me, confused that I wasn’t letting go. I wasn’t sure. I just didn’t want to.
Clearly seeing this in my expression, she smiled and said,
I reluctantly let go. 152 shifted to my side and cleaned my gashes with the warm, wet towel. She moved to every cut and sealed them shut, cleaning the blood from my skin.
When she was done, I walked to the shower to wash the remnants of the fight away. As the water hit my head, all I could think of was 152 caring for me, cleaning me … smiling at me.
I wanted to smile at her, too.
Turing off the shower, I dried myself off, then entered the sleeping room. When I searched for 152, I found her sitting back in the corner of the room, her knees tucked against her chest.
My heart fell. She was so small and delicate huddled on the floor. She watched me move to the bed. As I slumped down, I took a deep breath. Then I held out my hand. 152’s eyes widened.
It was several seconds before she timidly got to her feet and made her way to where I sat. Her hand landed in mine, and she froze. I shifted back on the narrow mattress and guided her down. She lay beside me, still looking at me in surprise.
Finding myself suddenly racked with nerves, I said gruffly, “No more sleeping in the corner for you. If you’re in this cell, then you’re in my bed. You’ll be sleeping right next to me.”
Tears filled 152’s eyes, but none fell. I waited for what she would say. But she simply squeezed my hand. My eyes were heavy, pulled under by sleep. When I woke later that night, 152 thrashing from the drugs, I rolled her onto her back and rid us of our clothes. As I pushed forward, wrapped in her heat, her eyes dilated with need, I wished that she wasn’t under the influence of the drug.
For the first time in my life, I wished that she were beneath me of her own accord. Wanting me inside her, taking her as a male takes a female.
Making her mine.
No drugs.
No mind games.
Just her and me, lost to the feelings. Two slaves, for one night freed from their Master’s chains.
10
152
“You’re smiling.”
I blinked, clearing myself from the trance I had become lost in. The steam from the heat of the water rose from my hot skin and bubbles surrounded every inch around me. When I looked to Maya, she was studying me.
Bringing my hand to my lips, I asked, “I am?”
She nodded suspiciously. “In fact, you’ve been different for the past few days.” She stared off into space as though racking her brain. When she looked back to me again, she added, “Since 901’s match.”
Instinctively, I raised my hand to my throat. The knife mark was fading, but the skin was still broken, still sore to the touch.
Maya’s face fell on seeing the mark. She had been worried about my throat since I had told her what they had made 901 do. I hadn’t told her of how he held me close as we slept. Of how he told me that he liked me, how he wanted me. How he thought I was more than Master’s whore. I didn’t know why I had kept that to myself. But I didn’t want to share it. It was sealed in my heart for only me to enjoy.
Maya’s head tipped to the side as she brought the sponge along my arm. “Did something happen over the past few days, miss? With 901?”
“What makes you say that?”
Maya sat back on her haunches. “You are acting different. Less closed in. More at peace, if such a thing can be achieved here.” She paused, then said, “You are like the champions’ monebi. The ones weaned off their drugs. They smile like you. They own a peace the others can’t gain. Just like you.”
Over the past few nights, 901 had healed. He had been excused from fighting, from leaving his cell. But I was still delivered to him every night. It was later than usual and I was collected first thing in the morning. There wasn’t much time for talking, but when I walked in the cell, he would immediately hold out his hand. I would take it as he guided me to his bed. We would fall asleep facing each other, until the drugs struck my veins and pulled me under. I would always wake later, flush against his chest.
Safe.
“Miss?” Maya pushed, and I cleared my head once again. She was watching me expectantly. Maya’s shoulders sagged. “You like him.” It wasn’t a question. She knew it to be the truth.
Dropping my head to run the water through my fingers, I said, “I like him very much. More than I fear I should.”
“Miss, you cannot pursue anything with 901.”
My stomach fell at the urgency in her quiet but hurried tone. “Why?”
“Master,” she whispered, then glanced back to the door. When she faced me again, the blood had drained from her face. “Master can’t think you have feelings for 901, or 901 has them for you.” I sat patiently, waiting for her to continue. “He has given you to 901 because 901 showed interest in you. I watch Master, miss. I watch his every move, to protect you.” Her small hands gripped the edge of the tub. “He is obsessed, miss. I don’t think you realize the extent.” She looked down, then took a long breath. “I … I have followed him sometimes. To see where he goes at night when you are with 901.”
“And where does he go?”
“To the champions’ quarters, miss. He watches you being taken by 901.” She looked away, a sad expression spreading on her face.
“What are you not telling me?” I questioned.
Maya slumped back. “He often goes to the monebi quarters afterward.”
I stilled.
“He takes a mona, one with dark hair and preferably blue eyes.” She stopped talking after that. I stood from the tub and wrapped myself in the towel. I sat down opposite Maya and took hold of her shaking hand.
“What, Maya? Tell me.”
“He hurts them,” she said almost inaudibly. “He punishes them as he takes them. Beats them, lashes them, all while calling your name.”
Every muscle in my body drained of energy. “He does what?”
Maya suddenly leaned forward, gripping my hand tightly. “You can’t like 901, miss. Master wouldn’t tolerate it. The last High Mona—”
“What?” I pushed, jerking her hand. “What have you discovered?”
“I asked around, miss. I asked the other chiri. One of them confided in me that the High Mona, the one before you, the one Master never looked at like he does you, he had her killed. He hurt her for days and days before she died, because she had affection for a warrior, a warrior Master made her visit … just like you and 901.” Maya’s fingers shook. “She risked her life to visit him in secret. Her chiri helped her in leading the way. She was killed, too.”
“No,” I said in a hushed voice. My heart thudded too loud and too fast at the thought of the female before me. My heart squeezed in understanding. She had found a male she wanted to be with, one he forced her to be with, then killed her. It was too cruel.
“And the warrior?” I questioned. “What happened to the male?”
“The next night Master entered him in a championship match.” Maya’s dark eyes never moved from mine. A cold trickle dripped down my spine, a stark realization hitting home. “901,” I whispered. “He fought 901. 901 killed him.”
Maya nodded. “He wouldn’t have known. To him he would have been just another opponent.”
“But 901 is undefeated,” I concluded. “Master knew he had sentenced him to die.”
Maya nodded slowly. “Miss, you must keep your emotional distance from 901 until Master believes there is no threat. If he believes you have feelings for each other”—she shook her head, her face paling—“there is no telling what he would do. Master is unpredictable, and he is deadly. I fear that the way he feels toward you, the compete fascination, the obsession he has for you, will make him that much more cruel.”
“I understand,” I said. And I did. Maya checked the time and got to her feet. “Miss, I have to get you ready. You are to attend the second and final show fight with Master tonight.”
As her words left her lips, my legs grew numb. Maya crouched down. “What, miss?”
“901 is fighting again tonight,” I said,
“You must,” Maya said, and cupped my face, wiping away tears I didn’t know had fallen. “You must act as though he means nothing to you.”
The sound of guards approaching pulled my attention. I had just risen from the floor, guided by Maya, when the door to my room slammed open. Fear ran through my veins like ice, sluggish and slow, when Master walked through. He was impeccably dressed, not a hair out of place. But the hard glint to his eyes told me that tonight I was dealing with the Master that liked to cause pain. The Master that liked to be cruel. The one that liked to make you scream.
I froze when his eyes collided with mine. Master, cool and controlled as always, made his way to me. But I saw his cheek twitch with each step; it betrayed the anger simmering beneath.
Maya’s hand tightened on my arm. Master stood before me. Like batting away a fly, he gripped her by her hair and threw her to the floor.
Maya fell with a thud. I instinctively called out and went to help her. But Master was there first, gripping my arm in a painful hold, spinning me around as he dragged me to the bed. My body was bared as he threw the towel to the floor. Without speaking, he pushed my chest down over the side of the bed. I cried out when his feet kicked my feet apart. I heard the zipper on his pants rip down. Then he was over me, slamming inside with all the cruelty I knew he harbored within.
My hands grasped at the bedsheets as his chest pressed flush to my bare back, keeping me in place. And he was relentless. He wasn’t slow, didn’t ease me into the taking. He took me hard and fast. He took me unprepared. The pain was great, but the hurt blazing in my chest was worse. He moved my head, shifting its direction on the mattress. I faced the room, my eyes colliding with Maya as she still lay hurt and afraid on the floor.