I swayed on my feet. Never had I met anyone like me. Never had I met another with this tattoo who wasn’t a slave girl.
A shot of pain pierced my head and my hands gripped the side of my skull. A number pushed through to my mind, but I could not make out what it was 2 … 3 … 6 … no, it was scrambled, it was—
“Shh…,” Talia soothed, her hand running up my chest. I cracked open one eye and flinched at the bright light of the sun.
I wrapped Talia in my arms, gaining strength from her touch. I looked over her head at the man, at 818, and asked, “A gulag? I do not know what that is.”
Darkness swept over his face. “It is an underground prison. We were kept in cells, like you. Chained up, like you. We were forced to learn how to fight to the death, like you. The only way to survive was to win our matches. I won all mine. And I survived. I got free.”
The male swallowed as he said this. Something made him step back. I pressed my hand on my chest. “I am free now?”
He nodded. “I came and freed you from your Master, Jakhua. You were on a drug they are selling. It makes you want to kill. It makes you angry, so angry that the only way to ease it is violence. You have been tested on by Jakhua since you were eight years old. Jakhua uses you as an example of how his drug works. He takes away your free will. On the serum, you do anything he asks of you. You kill anyone he commands, and forget anyone from your past.”
My heart stuttered as I tried to understand what I was being told. “Eight years old,” I rasped. “A child?” The man nodded and Talia sniffed back tears. She cried, her head tucked against my stomach. My hand on her back tightened and I asked, “How old am I now?”
“Twenty-nine,” Talia whispered from my hold. Her head lifted. “You are twenty-nine, Zaal. That man, that sick man you call ‘master’ has held you captive for over twenty years.”
I staggered back. My legs hit the long seat behind me and I dropped down in disbelief. Over twenty years.
My eyes closed as I pictured Master’s face. I thought of his short dark hair, his harsh brown eyes. I thought of his mouth, his hands, his fists. Too many fractured images raced through my head—screaming. I was screaming, my arms held out for someone. Blood. Blood, so much blood.
And I felt rage. I felt a rage burn in me that I couldn’t explain.
“What happened?” I asked coldly, and looked up to 818. “Why did you free me?”
818 walked back to his seat and sat down. His shoulders sagged, but his dark eyes met mine and he asked, “Do you remember anything before you belonged to your master?”I shook my head, but remembered my dreams. Remembered the two boys that looked alike. The little girl. My eyes widened. The little girl tapping my face counting “one, two, three…”
I lifted my hand to my face, to my left cheek and felt for the moles. Talia was suddenly before me, on her knees. She watched my hands. “Do you remember something, Zaal?”
“One, two, three…,” I said, my eyes still picturing the little girl’s dark eyes and hair. Talia’s eyes narrowed in confusion, but as she moved my fingers from my face, her thumb stroked over that same spot.
“Your three moles?” she asked.
“One, two, three,” I murmured. I looked into her eyes. “Three of us walking. Two boys and a little girl.” I forced my mind to remember. I touched my long hair. “The boys had long black hair.” My breathing increased as I remembered. “They looked the same.”
“Yes,” 818 confirmed. My eyes snapped up.
“Who?” I grunted, my hands beginning to shake.
818 swallowed and said, “Your brother, your twin brother, Anri.”
I stared and stared as 818’s words carried into my mind.… your twin brother, Anri, your twin brother, Anri …
I tried to remember but nothing else came. Frustration built in my chest. I barked, “Continue. I want more. I need to hear more.” Talia gripped my hand, but I couldn’t look at her. I needed to know more without distraction.
“I knew him,” 818 suddenly said. “I knew your brother.”
I stilled. “How?” I asked.
“He was in the gulag, the Georgian underground prison, with me. He was the best fighter we had.” 818’s eyes misted with water and he rasped, “He was my best friend.”
818’s face dropped as he spoke those last two words. Frustration built in my veins. “I do not remember him,” I snapped. “I do not remember knowing him.” I breathed through my nose. “What else?” I asked. “Tell me more.”