The sound of the main door opening made me jump to my feet. I threw on my training shorts, pushing aside the mat and thin blanket that still smelled of Kisa. My mind immediately raced to last night.

Kisa. My Kisa-Anna… under me, wet and hot and screaming my name.

I’d loved fucking her, loved being inside her, stroking her brown hair and kissing her face. I wanted her to be all mine, to have her belong to me. Never before had I had anyone who cared for me. But I wanted her now… only her, and smelling her scent on that blanket spurred me on to kill Durov.

But the memory of last night with Kisa-Anna riding me like she did brought a sick feeling to my stomach. It made me face something I’d never before confronted.

The Gulag, the guards… what they’d done to me for years, taking me like they did…

I didn’t know there was any other way to be fucked. And I’d almost taken Kisa that way. It would have hurt her. I could still taste her panic in my mouth.

Storming to the punching bag, I slammed my fist into the hard worn leather and tried to pound out my shame, my guilt… my fucking embarrassment. I could have hurt her. I couldn’t bear the thought.

I was so wrapped up in releasing my fury that I didn’t see Viktor come through the door, until he stood before me.

Then all I saw was a red mist.

Launching myself at my trainer, I fisted his shirt in my hands and pushed him away from me until his back thumped into the wall. Viktor’s eyes betrayed his shock, and his face turned a deep shade of red.

“Did you do it too, you sick fuck?” I asked tightly, snarling as my blood boiled.

“Do what?” Viktor choked out.

Leaning in, I growled menacingly, “Fuck little boys in the Gulag. Did you pin them down and fuck them too?”

Viktor’s red face paled and he shook his head. “No…”

“LIAR!” I boomed out, lifting him up to quickly slam his back against the wall.

“No…” Viktor gasped, and seeing his eyes bulge, I let him go and stepped back. I began to pace as Viktor slumped to the floor, rubbing at his throat.

“Raze, I swear, I never did that… I would never do that.”

I looked at him in disgust. “But you knew about it? Knew they fucked little boys?”

Viktor dropped his head. If anything, he seemed to crumple as he slumped even farther. “Yes.”

“And you did nothing to stop it?”

“What could I do? I’ve been paying off my family’s debt since I was a teen. First for the Georgians, now for the Russians. My papa was a gambler and fucked us all over. I was the lowest of the low. I had no power in those places. I’m not the mob. I’m a grunt, disposable.”

I ran at Viktor, getting a kick out of his loud whimper as I approached, and punched the mirror above his head, shattering the glass, which rained down on his head.

“Yeah? No power? Neither did I when I was forced to take guard cock up my ass!”

I stilled as those words slipped out of my mouth, and cold shivers skittered down my spine. I had no idea that what the guards did was wrong. In fact, I’d never thought anything that happened in the Gulag was wrong. It was life. It was what happened day in and day out. Why did I suddenly know it was wrong? Why was something inside me suddenly telling me I’d been raped?

Fuck! I’m feeling too much lately, unable to block it all out. I have to keep it blocked out. I need to kill. To fight. To get my revenge.

My head throbbed, a sharp pain pierced my skull, and a familiar scene abruptly played in my mind. It was of the very first guard that I met, the first one who fucked me, beat me, trained me. It wasn’t of his rape or his baseball bat that he beat me with; it was being pushed down the stairs to the Gulag basement to show me my future, to show me two young boys in a cage, one slicing open the stomach of the other.

“Welcome to hell, boy.”

I closed my eyes, heart pounding, temples throbbing, and tried to cling to the memory.

My eyes snapped open and I stumbled back in shock. That was me… That boy was me. I’d been taken from somewhere. My home? I couldn’t remember, but I did remember that I’d been knocked out and tied up. We traveled for what seemed like days. Then I woke up in a cell, and I was immediately forced down to the basement.

I saw spots in front of my eyes, and then I felt a hand slap my cheek.

“Raze. Snap out of it, son. Raze!”

Blinking furiously, my vision cleared, and Viktor stood in front of me, his face… concerned? Worried?

I wanted to push him off me, but I still couldn’t move. I was paralyzed.

Viktor sat up and stared at me. Holding out his palms, he said, “Raze, listen to me. I’ve seen it with hundreds of fighters who’ve left the gulags, or any of the other underground prison death match rings the mafiyas have. They’re everywhere, son. Hundreds of fucked-up kids like you, only knowing how to kill, not feel. They pumped you full of so much shit and tortured you for years, they conditioned you to not remember anything but the need to kill. You’ve blocked out your past to cope with what they made you do. Then, when you get out and the drugs leave you, triggers fuck with your mind, you start getting memories and remembering things from your past. And you can’t handle it.”

My eyebrows pulled down, but my legs and arms still wouldn’t move. Viktor cleared his throat and moved forward, lifting his hand slowly, finally placing it on my shoulder.

“Just let the memories in. Don’t fight them. Don’t push yourself to remember. If something’s familiar, let it play out. Best way or you’ll end up killing yourself.”