Fifteen
Leo
The Dungeon was an underground web of tunnels leading to gigantic “residences.” It never ceased to amaze Leo how the Merchant twisted the forced living arrangements of these prisoners. Tried to dress it up like these poor bastardswantedto be here.
Cattle were whores.
Golden Birds were the elite whores fighters would compete for.
Competitors the fighters.
Untouchables were the undefeated victors of at least three death matches.
Prisoners were divided into three quarters, balanced equally across the board in strength and numbers. When they fought, it was a matter of principle that the fight be equal.
After putting down a substantial bet, the exclusive audience sat behind one way glass and looked on to the fighting pit where competitors fought to the death.
A lotof money was made.
Especially if a Golden Bird was at the centre of it. She could be a virgin. Or she could be a well-used fucktoy the opponents loved a piece of. Didn’t matter what it was. At the end of the day, if she was sought after, she was a Golden Bird.
“I want to see the match books, look over these fighters, find the best set of competitors to invest in,” George said to the Merchant as they walked through the empty fighting pit. Leo’s gaze skimmed along the floor, catching the dried patches of blood. He could still smell the scent of musk and fear in the air. A concoction that made his stomach tighten. Was it bizarre he was so used to death that he was now curious what a death match might be like to watch?
As the Merchant discussed the matter of money to George, Leo looked toward the one-way glass, unable to see anything beyond it, but he could stand here and imagine what it might feel like toknowthat people were watching.
That they would be excited, anxious, feeding into the match like a drug addicted customer from the rough streets of downtown. Leo suddenly realized there was no difference between them. That money may have dressed one side up better, but the thirst, the need, the addictive rush, it was the same.
Desperation had the same flavour all across the board.
“I want to see the Cattle,” he interrupted, turning to look at them.
The masked Merchant turned his head to peer at him. “What’s that?”
Leo strode to them, ignoring George’s frown. He didn’t like when Leo was outspoken. He wanted him to be docile, quiet, like a perfect fucking gentleman was. “I want to see the Cattle. I want to visit the Quarters, look at these Harems—”
“I’d like to see the books,” George cut in on a growl.
Leo shook his head, barely looking at him as he spoke. “No, this place is making money. This place will never stop making money. Money isn’t the issue. Finding fighters isn’t the issue, either.” Before George could say a word, Leo turned his intense stare on the Merchant. “I want to know how this place is running. I want to be face to face with your investments, and then I want to sit behind that glass and watch a death match.”
“That can be arranged.”
“I want access to more than just the fighters.”
“You’re referring to the Cattle.”
“Yes.”
“The Cattle are just prizes,” Merchant explained. “In major matches, we give the men something to fight for.”
“The Harems are open to Members.”
“That requires a Premium Membership.”
“And once you pay for that Premium Membership—”
“You get to have the Cattle of your choice.”
Leo took a moment to think. “But you’re not asking for someone to look over the Cattle, are you?”